1 Mother 2 Another

I know I’ve waxed rhapsodic about
our recent family vacation, but in the interest of full disclosure
I feel honor-bound to tell you about the worst part of our trip
– just to even things out.


That would be our first travel day.

Flying on frequent flyer miles, we had a
6:30 A.M. flight out, which meant waking the girls up at 3:30. A.M.
Not a huge deal, except that they’d stayed up until nearly
midnight the night before – not too excited to sleep, as you
might imagine, but too sad to sleep.


Yes, my children were about to take a dream trip to Hawaii and were
sobbing, heartbroken, at the thought of leaving their home, their
friends, the cat. SOBBING. I loved on them, trying to stifle yawns
as I talked about how it’s ok to be sad when something is
changing, and it’s ok to be excited even as you miss what you
leave behind. Whatever.


At any rate, we dragged ourselves into the car and drove through
the dark to the airport, where we implemented Operation Cheap
Skate: rather than pay two hundred bucks to park close by,
I’d calculated we could save over a hundred dollars if we
parked in remote parking. My master plan called for Brian to drop
us off outside the ticket counter, where we’d drag ourselves
in there, get our three bags checked in, then wait patiently for
Brian to come back on a shuttle bus so we could all go through
security together.


My brilliant plan failed to take into account the fact that at
o’dark hundred, not all ticketing counters are open and we
needed to walk a bit to one that was. Which would not be a big deal
– we’re just talking a hundred yards or so, just the
length of a football field - but for that fact that it was me, my
mother, three HUGE suitcases, two car seats, four back packs, and
three wheeling carry-ons. And two sleepy kids.


How does one go about transporting this ginormous load of stuff?
I’ll tell you. We did a leapfrog relay, dragging a few things
ten feet, bringing the kids up with us, then going back for more.
My mom would move the first load forward while I went back for a
third while the girls sat on the second – all the while
keeping our bags (and children) within constant eyesight. The
girls’ heads swiveled like owls, watching this relay race
that would have been, in other circumstances, cause for cheering:
“Go, Mommy! You can do it! Don’t drop the car seat
– you can balance it on your head while you carry a backpack
and drag a suitcase! Yes you can! Yes you can!”


At 4 a.m., not so fun.


So we got within ten yards of the ticket counter, and I parked the
girls. My mom was planning to check all the bags in under her
ticket – she gets free checked luggage – so I stayed
with the girls while Mom dragged one suitcase to the ticketing
line. She turned to go for another one in the empty pre-dawn
terminal when the ticket agent said, “Oh, no, you can’t
– you can’t just walk away from that bag! You gotta
stay with it – government regulations!”


My mom, suppressing admirably a desire to swear, explained that she
had to get her other bags, which were RIGHT OVER THERE. I began
waving frantically saying, “I’m watching her bag!
I’m watching it the whole time!” but the ticket agent,
bless her rule-following heart, was having none of it. Finally the
man behind my mother kindly said, “I’m in line and I
will watch your bag for you. I will vouch for its safety.”
The ticket agent glared but succumbed.


So we got all three bags to the ticket counter, and then the agent
– bless her heart – said that because my name was on
one of the bags she needed to see my i.d. I looked at my
bleary-eyed children, sat them on the mound-o-backpacks, and said,
“I will be RIGHT OVER THERE. Ok? Can you stay RIGHT HERE and
don’t DO ANYTHING?”


They nodded.


I met up with the ticket agent – bless her heart – and
gave her my driver’s license. As she processed my i.d. she
said, “Where are the children ticketed on this flight with
you?” I gestured back behind me and turned to look at my
girls –


Just in time to see Maddie gag three times, then hurl all over the
terminal.


Suddenly we were those people.


I did not think – I just acted to try to control the damage.
Spotting a trash can in a corner perhaps thirty yards away, I
sprinted at break-neck speed to grab it before Maddie spewed again.


Do you know one thing you should never do in an airport? Run at
full speed away from your stack of luggage.


Yes, a security officer saw me running, dropped into a crouch with
a hand on his holster and said, “What are you doing,
MA’AM?”


Not breaking stride I said, “My kid’s throwing up,
I’m getting a bucket!”


He backed away. Quickly.


I got back to my poor girl, who was white as a sheet but said,
“Hey, I feel GREAT now!” The ticketing agent, now my
best friend, handed me a wad of paper towels and I began cleaning
the floor. We got it all cleared up and I said to Maddie,
“Are you ok? Do you feel like you need to throw up again?
Does your tummy still hurt?”


And all the time I was checking her out, I’ll be honest here:
short of a massive internal hemorrhage, we were GETTING ON THAT
PLANE. If Maddie was going to be sick in bed, that by-golly bed was
going to be in freakin’ Hawaii with the sound of the
freakin’ ocean outside our window. No way, no how, was I
canceling our flight. Suck it up and grab a barf bag, kid, and who
cares how many germs go into that recycled air.


I’d like to say that if she’d continued vomiting or
presented a fever or anything, I would have relented and done the
responsible thing. I’d like to say it, but I just don’t
know.


Fortunately, I did not have to make that call and it seemed
Maddie’s stomach was a matter of nerves, not illness. Maddie
had concerns about going through the security checkpoint and had
worked herself into a lather.


One of the good things about having a kid puke in an airport
terminal? They rush you right through security. Everyone was all
smiles and kindness, and the girls and I got to skip the big
scanning machine. Thank you, my little puker.


Once at the gate, I notified the flight crew that Maddie had thrown
up and we’d need an extra bag at our seat just in case. The
flight attendant got that fake smile on her face that says,
“Someone just farted around me but I’m going to pretend
I can’t smell it.” Listen, lady, not my favorite way to
start the day either, but I figured you’d want to know.


Boarding the plane, I thought I’d push my luck one more time
and see if the puking card could get us some seat rearranging. We
were in a row that was three seats, an aisle, then three more
seats, and we had a window and middle on one side, then a window
and middle on the other. I thought I’d try to get all three
seats on one side and the aisle on the next so we didn’t have
to worry about bothering strangers with bathroom breaks, dvd
sharing, snack passing, and so on.


“Excuse me,” I said to the tall businessman on the
aisle of my row. “Would you and your friend consider trading
your aisle seats for a window and middle, so my family can be
together?”


He looked up and said politely, “Well, I’m a tall man,
so I think I’ll stay where I am, but thank you.”


I smiled and said, “I understand. It’s just that
we’ll be passing things back and forth and needing to get up
for a bathroom break frequently and such, and I didn’t want
to bother you with our family needs.”


He smiled back and said, “No problem, I’ll help out
however you need.”


Hmmm.


I grinned widely and said, “Ok, that’s great!
Especially since my older daughter’s been puking, and may
need to get to the bathroom again quickly.”


And guess what? The guy did not budge.


I know- I can’t believe it either.


I kinda wish she’d puked again. Just once. On him.