It all begins the moment you exit your car in pursuit of luggage, backpacks, kids, and carseat. That feeling of constant agitation, exhaustion, and hunger (don't ask me about this one...I just know that I'm constantly hungry whenever I get around an airport) lingers like a purple cloud over all members in the group. In a heartbeat, the commentary of woes begins:
"I can't carry this...it's tooooo heaaavvvvy" HS groans as he feigns an attempt to heave his backpack over his shoulders. "Well, darlin' you packed your bag...I warned you." I smile sweetly as I assist him with his endeavor.
"Do we have everything, hon?" HH asks as he shuts the side of the cat bus. "Ummmm...luggage, kids, carseat....wait! I need the carseat, darlin'!" I respond as I attempt to maneuver LD's jump seat stroller (the most bare bones of the ones we own) and luggage while coralling HS in the direction of the elevators.
"Hold the door!!! We're still trying to get on HS!!!" HH shouts as HS has a dazed look on his face as if to say really, I'm traveling with my family?
Although part of the United States, departing for the mainland is akin to taking a holiday to Fiji. The line winds like a snake around pillars, along perfectly laid out ribbons of tape that are more like what you'd expect to walk if you were getting a sobriety test. Luggage is everywhere. Bathing suits are under just about every third person's tank, and slippahs reign supreme as the footwear of choice. The comotion is intense as we are lead through the agricultural check point, the luggage weight check, and then...more lines await the groans of a seven year old who packed obviously too much in one pack.
Note to self. Never ever, ever, never ever allow a seat assigment predicated on "their are seats that only the counter can dissemanate the day of your depature." That is based on the reality that there are such said seats available, but those come at a teeny, tiny, fee....$70 a seat tiny...added to an already hefty ticket price and the answer would be...what are you smokin' you're not even going to feed us on this flight! I'm not paying any more money. Find a way to seat us or else the 18 month old is sitting in the given seat...by herself....I think that very idea could cause most of the heavy sighs, mumblings, and prayers of those not traveling with kids to tremble in their shoes that they would be the unlucky candidate for sitting with a drooling, crying, mess of a little person. They did finally get our seats worked out....we were relegated to the 40th row but at least we were all together. HH was able to walk us to the gate which was a definite plus. I needed the extra set of hands, conversation, and brainpower. His absense on the plane would be felt the moment I boarded with two already cranky kiddos.
Six hours is doable even when benadryl fails. Even when your seatmate is an 18 month old pulling at her blankie, rubbing her eyes, and looking at you as if you are an alien. The other seatmate of mine has obviously grown a little lankier than the last time we traveled. I think I felt the sorriest for HS. When he was trying to sleep, he would be akin to the students I taught who would try to sleep sitting up at their desk...eyes would be closed, head would be swaying from side to side, and finally, for HS he would lay his forehead or cheek to rest and snore peacefully as he dreamt of "enjoying a fun movie instead of the boring movie they tried to show me on this flight." (direct quote from HS). Please note: students in my class would never have made it to lala land with their heads on the desk.
We have flown away from paradise for a brief time. That much is true. I'm glad that at the end of every flight we've had people eager to see us awaiting us with open arms. This time...my sister with tears in her eyes. That made each and every moment on that aircraft worth it.
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