In a week’s time, I will be sitting on an airplane with Little Fairy, Boy-Who-Asks-Questions and Busy-And-Important-Husband, winging our way from Sydney to Ireland.

I think I would rather drink a glass of wee.

I agree, this melodramatic opening is possibly a tad lowbrow – but if you drank a glass of wee it would be over quickly. Flying to Ireland takes 22 hours.

There are a number of reasons why I would consider a glass of wee more palatable than a trip to Ireland:

1. Packing…for me it involves much concentration, anticipating a number of scenarios. What if it’s cold? What if it’s hot? What if it rains? What if we bump into Bono and he invites us to his house for tea? I also have to pack for an entire family – the same rules apply for each member.
2. I am scared of flying. Always have been, always will be and I doubt anything will ever cure me. I fly at least five times a year in small planes, big planes and in-between planes. I’ve sat in jump seats, flown flight simulators and even befriended a Pilot Mum. But the nerves remain.
3. Little Fairy is two-and-a-half, Boy-Who-Asks-Questions is four – there is no need for me to explain this point any further. If I did, I would only start to hyperventilate.
4. The two-hour stopover in Heathrow airport, otherwise known as the ‘monolith of doom’. It’s big, it’s ugly and very, very crowded, not to mention the unnerving tannoy announcements about unaccompanied bags. In fact, the only time I am happy to step on a plane is when I am leaving this place.
5. The green shamrock on the Aerlingus airplanes (Irish national carrier). While cute, I can’t help but look at the cockpit to see if there is a leprechaun flying the plane (see point two).
6. We will drive past the house we bought during the spectacular Irish property boom, which is now worth half its value thanks to the equally spectacular Irish property bust.

But there are also a number of reasons why I will push aside the glass of wee and bravely board the plane:

1. The champagne I will drink in the lounge before departure.
2. The champagne I will drink on take-off.
3. The champagne I will drink on the climb to cruising altitude.
4. The champagne I will drink at cruising altitude.
5. The champagne I will drink on descent.
6. The look on Busy-And-Important-Husband’s face when he touches down in his home country.
7. The look on my mother-in-law’s face when she sees her two grandchildren (no matter what kind of relationship you have with your mother-in-law, this still feels good).
8. The look on my friends’ faces after too many drinks, catching up on old times.
9. The look on my face when we land back in Sydney, and I hand my empty champagne glass back to the flight attendant (see points 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5).

For me, our yearly trip to Ireland is indeed a bittersweet affair. Wish me luck!