Fancy Is A'Travelin'

Greetings from the United States of America! Yes, the Fancies have travelled across the ocean in search of Cool Whip. That’s actually a lie. The new Nanny doesn’t start for a few more weeks. We came in search of my mother.

I don’t have much time today, policing the girls in a new place where every drawer can be opened to reveal years and decades of utter crap that has accumulated in my childhood home. But I do have something to say to the world. It’s time for a Dear So and So.

Dear Richard Branson,

If I am ever lucky enough to buy have another child and it’s a boy, we’re naming him, “Richard.” Even if that means that someone might call him “Dicky.” Thank you for putting a children’s playroom in your Heathrow lounge. And bringing my kids a full English while they played with your lovely, imaginative, and well kept toys. Behind the solid glass doors that protected others from the ruckus we created. I love you. And it gives me extra strength to know that Virgin Atlantic appreciates families and knows that children prefer Upper Class too. It softens the sting of the vicious looks we received while boarding.

Dear Bitter and Nasty Woman on the Aeroplane,

You seem to be travelling along. I am not surprised. Your general appearance implies that most men would find you painful and uptight. However, would it have really pained you to move to the other window seat so that my children and I could sit together? I’m not at all bothered now that my toddlers may have disturbed you when we played “bouncy horse” during the flight. And yes, my sweet, I did hear you hiss at me to “stop it.” Bite me.

Dear MiniFancies,

Thank you for being perfect angels on a very long trip. I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t sleep the whole way, but it’s not your fault. If the other passengers wanted you to sleep, then they could have closed their shades and not made so much noise, clinking their drink glasses and banging their silverware around. I think it should actually have been us making them feel uncomfortable, if you ask me. You two were dream babies. Well, except that little meltdown at landing. But crikey, you were nearly perfect.

Dear Flight Attendant,

Thanks for bringing me food and drink, even if I couldn’t actually get any of it to my mouth. Oh and if my Fancy Children weren’t complete food snobs, they’d probably have appreciated your offer of “baby food.” But they aren’t babies and they find that insulting. Your tabouleh salad, however, was a hit. As was the cheese plate and the scones. Well done. But maybe you could find some sort of spill-proof champagne flute for us poor mums?

Dear H,

Thanks so much for acknowledging that flying with small children is “really hard.” I know you aren’t used to trips like this but, you know, we’re between Nannies. So thanks for coming with us. And thanks for not getting mad when I threw one of the children on you and screamed, “Dude! Nap’s over!”

Dear Strangers in the Airport,

I know you have been taught to mind your own business. But if you see a woman running after two small toddlers, screaming their names, can you grab one? Or at least try to slow her down? I swear I won’t think you are a pedophile or a kidnapper. Promise.

Dear Mom,

I know you are frugal. I didn't really grow up Fancy and you are a bit tight with the pennies. But it’s not okay that I had to chip my child out from under an ice block and bring both girls to my bed where we huddled together, trying to get warm. I can afford to pay your heating bill this week. Turn up the fucking heater. Oh and thanks for having us. Love you.