Travel Day Adventures

It all started with bad math. I can’t count the number of times I’ve told my husband, “I don’t do math, Love.” After about 1, 2, 3, it starts to get fuzzy inside this mommy-brain of mine, and so it was odd that my husband trusted me to figure out when we should leave Lynchburg in time to check in for my flight out of Raleigh, NC. I think it takes two hours and 15 minutes, so we should leave at 10. Right? Right. Wrong.

It isn’t until we load up the car that it dons on us that no, Tam, it takes at least 2 ½ hours to get there, and my math had only allowed an hour to check in, check bags, get through security, and board the plane. Whoops. We scurry to finish loading the car, buckle the kids, and jump in so quickly that neither of us remember to use the restroom. It’s all right, we’ll just drive quickly, and hope the traffic cooperates. 

           

Well, that plan goes just as it should (in the stories, at least). When we need the lights to be green, they turn red. When we need traffic to move quickly, we get stuck behind pokey-Joe’s Grandma (for 15 miles on winding back roads), and then when we need a clear highway, we find ourselves in the middle of some massive roadwork. That’s right. We sit, at a dead stop, for over 20 minutes. With bladders about to explode. Just a mile away from our ramp to the interstate. We loosen our seat belts. 

Tension rises as we wait. Every second sitting here is a second lost at the airport. Every second waiting is a second further away from a bathroom. And we're currently unsure which one we're more upset about.  We see the road workers changing their signs, ready to let us through at last, when before our eyes another curve ball comes rolling past us... rolling slowly past us. Of course. A funeral procession. We sit and stare with mouths wide open as a line of at least 30 cars driving with lights on at 20 miles per hour allows us more time sitting in a stopped car, giving us both a dose of the reality of the littleness of our problem, and also a touch of comic relief. Laughter bubbles out. Sometimes circumstances become so extraordinarily ridiculous that you can’t help but laugh. But not too hard, because you might pee. The pain is unbearable. We still have over half an hour to drive… we hope. 

We sort out a game plan in the car as Riley speeds down the interstate. The plans change at least three times as bladder pressure rises. Nothing matters more than the restroom. Nothing.

We arrive at the airport, miraculously, without getting a speeding ticket. (I just knew that was going to be part of the story! But it wasn’t. I know, such a let down...) Riley, whose bladder has never expanded so far in his life, has no choice but to run. I unload bags and boys, and he returns to the car in time for me to herd the boys inside and check in for our flight. Riley drives to the short-term parking while my shaking hand writes name and number frantically on tags for my checked luggage. I glance at the security line. Empty. Seriously? Another miracle. I squeeze carry-on luggage and two fussy boys into the bathroom stall and finally experience that most blessed relief, and then encourage my oldest to go potty. He refuses. Flat out, no-way, no-chance, looming-temper-tantrum refuses, because he’s timid of public bathrooms. Loud hand dryers, toilets that flush without telling them to, some stranger in the stall next to you, it's understandable. His younger brother, on the other hand, insists on lying down on the bathroom floor, clearly not plagued with the same fear his brother has. I laugh as I pull Gray off the floor (for a third time) and silently thank God for disinfecting wipes while I tell Asher that we’ll just have to go potty on the plane. We get out of the bathroom and look for Daddy. He’s nowhere to be found. Little one decides to pitch a fit because Mommy won’t let him lay on the floor near security, but I am unmoved, and still laughing. After a few minutes Daddy comes sprinting toward us with a wild smile on his face. He kisses us goodbye, and sends us through the (still empty!) security line with a quick, “I had to park a mile away! I’ll tell you all about it later!”

Not the dramatic parting we had pictured, but it worked.

I make it through security somehow, even without remembering to pull out my liquids, empty the water bottles, or take off my belt. Third miracle noted. I rush up the escalator with three carry-ons, two toddlers, and a stroller, find our gate easily, and hear them call for all passengers traveling with small children to board. The miracles have now reached the number where I start to lose track. They come in abundance, and I am thankful. I breathe deep, smile big, and onto the plane we dash, the boys giggling as they tell the captain that they’re going to fly “way so high up in the sky!” as if he didn't already know. “To the very back, children! All the way!” rings my forced-cheerful voice as I guide my buddies down the long aisle, feeling equal parts brave and insane. They obey with untamed excitement in their eyes, filling the cramped cabin space with their cheerful chatter. Their freshly cut hair and matching outfits complete the picture as we file into our row at the very back of the plane, where we will be the least disruptive to the other passengers. 

Oh yes, we look so put-together. Ha!

I think God was teaching us something. I’m not sure if it was, “Double check your math!” “Pee before you leave!” or “Laugh when it’s crazy!” Whichever one it was, I think we learned it. Our flights were all on time, the boys were strangely well behaved on the planes, and we reached Aunt Danielley in Seattle safely that evening. I could tell you about our layover adventures (which involved boys running in opposite directions in the Vegas airport, dashing from slot-machine to slot-machine pushing buttons, temper tantrums that resulted in the tossing of an entire bag of dry cereal all over the floor, and continued potty-terror), but I think this story is exciting enough on it’s own.

*smile*

P.S. My favorite Asher quote from the day was when he looked out the window from the airplane as we were flying over some farm land. He saw the geometric fields in various colors and exclaimed, "Mom! Look! I can see the United States!!"