I realized after I teased this entry yesterday that there’s not much to getting a baby to sleep in a strange place. At least, not for us. We’ve altered our strategy from tossing them into the strange room and slamming the door.

We learned the best way to get the fellas comfortable in an unfamiliar apartment/home/hotel/cardboard box in an alley is, on the first day, simply play with them for a while in the room in which you will eventually put them to sleep. This will get them used to the space. Of course, you should use toys with which they’re familiar. You can’t be all, “Okay, we’re in a new city, so new games. Put the blocks away. Tonight, we play Risk!”

So, the verdict for our first plane trip is: Moderate Success. The boys did fuss some and on the return flight they were really uncomfortable. But, there were no crying jags, so it could have been much worse. They adjusted to the time change fine and Boone’s early morning freak-outs could have had less to do with the trip and more to do with the new teeth he just sprouted. And thanks to a little coating of puréed prunes, we were able to get the guys to swallow a substantial amount of balloons, making them the perfect drug mules.

I’ll leave you with one last observation, unrelated to travel. My dad and stepmother, our hosts while in Florida, lavished the boys with all kinds of cool toys. The thing my children enjoyed the most, however, was the wastebasket in the living room. Near the end of our trip, we were simply tossing them junk mail and old magazines to play with. And they loved it. Whether this is a lesson in the futility of capitalism as it pertains to babies or just a sign that my guys will be mail carriers, I’m still not sure.

Experts say, if your baby isn’t a solid sleeper or is easily affected by schedule disruptions, the best way to prep him or her for a new time zone is to simply start accommodating for it a week or two before you leave. Start waking your baby earlier and earlier or putting them to bed later and later, depending on which way you’re heading. Of course, that is only possible if you have a team of nannies who aren’t already sleep deprived or if you even give a shit. I think my wife and I assumed we would just be functioning on West Coast time while on the East Coast.

I mentioned our guys did damn little sleeping on either flight. That’s because, as any parent will tell you, there’s a bedtime routine. And that can’t be mimicked on a flight. At home, you take the baby to their room, dim the lights, maybe offer a last bottle. On a plane, babies go from sitting in a car seat to continuing to sit in a car seat. Just stating “It’s nap time” doesn’t quite do it. Threats don’t work either. I tried.

That coupled with the fact that my guys got up super-early on our travel days would make you think that they would just pass out as soon as we stopped moving. Alas, no. On the contrary, they were so wired their first night in Florida they stayed up late enough to see Jay Leno’s opening monologue, if anyone actually watched Leno, that is.

The aforementioned experts say babies who do not sleep well (or at all) during the day, sleep poorly at night. This has not been the case with our guys. So that first night, they slept straight through until about 8 am EST, which effectively put them on local time. Problem solved. Or so we thought.

The results of the disrupted schedule manifested about halfway into our stay. Boone woke up around 4:30 am EST, screaming, and was unable to put himself back to sleep. At all. This happened almost every night for the remainder of our vacation. My wife was able to get him back down, but that took a while. The really strange thing is he seems to have brought this new quirk with him back to L.A., but he’s adjusted for the time change, meaning he now wakes up at 4:30 am PST, screaming. He doesn’t do it every night and it’s very possible it has nothing to do with the time change, but rather his desire to be a tenacious little pisser.

Next: Strange Places!

Neither our departing nor returning flight had a block of seats wider than three across. Also, you’re not allowed to put a baby in the aisle seat. For us, that meant the configuration on our return flight went thusly:

- Boone in the window seat
- Wyatt in the middle seat
- A responsible parent in the aisle seat
- A lucky parent in another row or across the aisle

And since my chivalry lasts only about as long as I’ve slept the previous night, that responsible parent was my wife.

Now, I said that’s how it was on our return flight only because, due to either forward thinking by the airline or pure dumb luck, we were given the very last row on our departing flight, between both rear lavatories. So, Boone technically was on an aisle, but no one cared because the aisle opened up back there. In fact, if you’re flying with two babies — or even just one — I totally recommend the last row. Here’s why:

- Smell from the lavatories was no worse than anything coming from a mildly dirty diaper or Courtney Love
- Lavatories are right there and convenient for changing diapers or a few minutes of “Daddy’s Weeping Time”
- Flight attendant station is also right there and convenient for nabbing extra milk and other goodies like a wildly entertaining “plastic cup”
- Extra space allows you to hold your baby, giving you a both a break from sitting, without being in anyone’s way
- If the configuration is like it was on our flight and you have two kids, both babies are accessible
- Fewer people to annoy
- Close proximity to the emergency exit, which makes for a good threat if your child acts up

I actually spent most of that flight standing or kneeling next to Boone to entertain him while my wife handled Wyatt. Despite us waking them 3.5 hours earlier than normal and despite the long day, they had no interest in napping. They did finally zonk out for an hour just over halfway into the trip, but my wife and I basically had to put on the longest show of our parenthood. No intermission. No applause.

We brought a duffle bag full of toys, but they did little to distract the guys. That’s where magazines come in. We gave them each a copy of SkyMall and they occupied themselves by tearing the issues to ribbons.

Before we left, we briefly entertained the possibility of letting the guys roam the aisle to stretch their limbs. We quickly dismissed this idea, however, remembering the floor of the modern airliner is like the movie theater floor’s slutty cousin. Our guys are squirmy and active, so trying to keep them off the floor was a challenge. Your baby may be content to just chill in his seat the whole way, but if they’re not, you may consider introducing them to the joy that is the airplane Bloody Mary.

Tackling the ear pressure thing is easy. We did a bottle on the way up and a bottle on the way down. We did the same for the boys. Huzzah! Okay, seriously, just ask for bottled water or those little cartons of milk from the flight attendants. And, of course, you should have your own baby bottle. And your own baby.

Overall, our boys’ did okay. There was some fussing, but no major meltdowns.  On the return flight, we sat right behind a newlywed couple. Anytime the boys’ started to freak, I made some joke to them about how they’d have this to look forward to. They laughed politely the first few times. Then, I think it started to creep them out. It probably didn’t help that, for 20-minute stretches, I’d just stare at them.

Next: Jet Lag!

I recently compared modern air travel with a cross-country ride on a bus with an overflowing toilet. I now know that comparison is an insult to cross-country rides on busses with overflowing toilets.

While still dashingly youthful-looking, I’m old enough to remember the days when air travel was an event. People used to actually dress up to fly. Drinks were free as was the food. Flight attendants were called stewardesses and Kennedy had a new plan for America… Okay, I’m not that old. And I don’t think Kennedy actually had a new plan for America. He was too busy sexing up Marilyn Monroe and getting shot.

Flying with children was never entirely pleasant. But even with well-behaved kids (meaning “dosed with Ny-Quil”), the current experience would make any parent run for the nearest Zen meditation center (meaning “Diazepam”). But, I digress. This is supposed to be about getting your baby through airport security.

If you think security is a bear, try going through with two toddlers, a stroller, two car seats, four carry on bags and my bad attitude. And before you try it, the TSA folks did not appreciate my offer to expedite things by sending my boys through the X-ray machine.

Here’s how it works: You have to send everything (except yourself and the baby) through the X-ray machine. We purchased our boys seats on the plane, so we could use our car seats, which meant they had to go through, along with the collapsible stroller frame they snapped into. To get all your baby food through, you simply have to declare, “I have baby food.” For us, that was carrots, Cheerios, cheese, chicken, water bottles and some jars of pureed veggies (those last two, well over the 3oz limit). We were also allowed to carry on hand sanitizer, diaper cream, etc. I don’t think I have to point out what a glaring security loophole that it but, if the TSA is unaware, I’ll go ahead and point out terrorists can have babies, too.

You carry your baby through the metal detector. So, I took Boone and my wife took Wyatt. They were both just stoked to finally be out of the stroller after sitting in it for nearly 2.5 hours straight. Then, after passing through security, we had to put them right back in to wheel them the rest of the way to the gate. We had to bribe them with cookies just to keep them from organizing a little mutiny from the stroller. I knew we shouldn’t have given them those muskets.

I have two other pieces of info for those ready to take a wee one on a plane for the first time. First, if you have a stroller, some airports will allow you to get in the Wheelchair Line (aka “The Family Line”) for screening, which is shorter, but moves just as slow because all the old people in wheelchairs stop to ask if the TSA agent is their grandson. However, no one will be so helpful as to just tell you to do that, so you have to ask. Second, if any of the flight attendants are mothers, you may get free Bloody Marys.

Next: The Flight!