By Laura Begley Bloom
It must have been the meatloaf. Something about garlic and my 18-month-old daughter doesn’t mix: instead of scaring off vampires, Lucy transforms into one. And I made the mistake of feeding her a slice of heavily seasoned meatloaf before a recent flight from Florida to New York. She started off as an angel.
But as soon as the flight took off, she was inconsolable—breakdancing on my lap, trying to pull the hair of the woman in front of us, karate-kicking her seat back. And even though I had loaded up my iPhone with Elmo and Dora and her little sidekick Boots, Lucy got tired of watching the videos and started wailing for Mickey. How could I have forgotten Mickey?