How to cure a fear of flying.

I used to have no fear of flying. I'd fly anywhere with anyone and as I settled (squashed) into my stuffing popping seat, nary a broken tray table, permanently collapsed arm rest, or suspicious draft at my feet which may or may not be coming from a hole in the side of the plane (difficult to see as my overhead light wasn't working), could raise an eyebrow.
No, my fear of flying was born after meeting The Marseillan. Perhaps knowing this was 'it' made me more aware of my vulnerabilities but suddenly I felt I had too much to lose.  Of course it was irrational and I knew that marrying my Frenchman would sentence me to a lifetime of jet lag but I accepted this because I love to travel, even as I hate to fly (oh and I love my husband too)

And although the fear was compounded with the birth of Louloute, it didn't stop me strapping on the baby carrier and filling her baby passport. Ironically, flying with Louloute I discovered the least sweaty, most steady version of my airborne self in years. I had to be calm and I was too sleep deprived to deconstruct every engine surge. Now two months out from our next big adventure, when an accidental viewing of an Air Crash Investigations advert causes my stomach to cramp, I remember our last sojourn (a midnight flight from KL with an almost two year old Louloute who was too big for the bassinet yet too small for her own seat) and take comfort in the knowledge that I'll be flying twenty two hours with a 
three year old and an infant. Yes, I take comfort. I suspect 
that with two overtired babies, nappy changing at thirty thousand feet and sticky fingers everywhere, I'll be too busy trying to save my sanity.

So, is travelling with kids the way to cure a fear of flying? Any other ideas?

Don't say cheese

How to take the perfect passport photo of your petite ange.

Step 1. Take your child to your nearest Kodak store and pretend not to notice the retail assistant balk at your request for passport pictures of your petite ange (who may or may not be licking the glass display case as you speak).

Step 2.  Place your fourteen month old on a stool surrounded by bright lights, mirrors and shiny things and ask her to sit perfectly still.  Direct your tiny person to look straight into the big black camera pointed at her by a strange bearded man, ensuring she keeps her head straight, mouth closed and eyes open. Did I mention she is fourteen months old? Hold your child with one hand while dancing Elmo over the camera with the other.

Step 3. Catch your child when she grows bored after approx. 30 seconds and attempts to swan dive off the stool.

Step 4. Repeat.

Step 5. After several failed attempts and countless useless images, admit, to beardy's undisguised relief, defeat. Go home and do it yourself!

The Marseillan managed to take a great passport photo of Louloute which met the ridiculous requirements of the passport people. We recently had Choupette's photos taken, this time at Australia Post and it was much easier, although at four months old she was a little more complient. Propped up in her pram, the kindly gentleman simply placed some white card behind her and managed to take the perfect (baby mug) shot.

(This is not it)