Homonym Trouble

Fiona did very well on the flight to San Diego. As we taxied down the runway, she kept saying "we're in the air now", which I think was hopefulness on her part--taxiing can take forever at JFK, and I know Fiona wanted to make it through takeoff. As soon as she felt the rumble as the jet picked up speed, she turned to me and said "Daddy, I'm scared," but we had a lollipop at the ready (to help with her ears), and that distracted her so much that she quickly forgot her fears.

The flight, despite my fears about flying with a very active toddler, turned out to be (relatively) easy. It'll still be years, I'm sure, before I can read a book of my own or take a nap midair, but after a single try Fiona understood that she had to remain in the row with her parents rather than running up and down the aisle, and she only had two very brief tantrums (probably less than two minutes of crying on each), which is better than average for a six hour period, let alone a six hour period confined to a few square feet.

On the descent, she barely needed the lollipop. We complimented Fiona on her bravery, and then Mommy just tried to guide her through the final moments as we touched down.

"The plane's going to brake really quickly up here, so it might get a little bumpy, but then it'll stop and we'll be at the gate and all set to see Nana and Pop!"

Fiona's eyes got very wide with distress, and we wondered why she was finding the final taxiing more upsetting than losing altitude. We stroked her hair, reassured her we were right there and everything was going to be okay, but the look didn't go away. And then, once the plane had stopped and we stood up, relief returned to Fiona's face.

"The plane didn't break!" she exclaimed.

We've decided on the return flight to use the phrase "slow down quickly," and then work on the difference between breaking and braking when we're driving the car around the neighborhood.