Our trip home from vacation was….challenging. It all started when we realized that, as many times happens, our luggage had multiplied while we’d been traveling. We had bought things to take home, and things we forgot, and needed more room. We thought we might even have to buy another suitcase to get us home. That was, until I remembered the two extra tote bags I’d packed, and the big pocket in the front of the car seat bag. We loaded everything up, and surprisingly, it all fit. We were so proud of ourselves.
So, we made our way to the airport, returned our rental car and rode the shuttle to Denver International. During the shuttle ride, Isaac let out a burp like a truck driver. It was impressive, a little embarrassing, and a whole lot funny. Not significant to the story, but I’ll never forget it. It was THAT LOUD.
Those of you who’ve flown from Denver will know that once you get there via the rental shuttles, you must Frogger it across 5 lanes of traffic, then make your way upstairs to check in. Picture this: I have Isaac in the Boba, and am pushing the stroller which holds two tote bags, and the diaper bag, AND I’m pulling the giant car seat bag. Jon is carrying two giant suitcases (one of which has a broken wheel, the other of which is from circa 1982 and does not roll worth a darn. a.k.a We need new luggage, BAD.) He is also wearing a backpack. We make it to the elevator and through the line to the check in, both feeling like we just ran a 10k.
The check in lady proceeds to take our bags. When she gets to the car seat bag, her face turns smug and she starts chastising us for it’s weight, telling us we’re “using it as luggage” and “car seats don’t weigh that much”. The whole time, neither of us are denying that there is extra stuff in the pocket, we simply didn’t know that was an issue. She continues to treat us like we’re trying to pull something over on the airline, but says she’ll let it go “this time”. At this point, I get mad. It’s a combination of nerves about flying, exhaustion from a week with little sleep, and frustration from being talked to like a naughty kindergartener.
Jon talks me down, and we move along, heading back downstairs to go through the giant security line from hell. As we enter the line, we notice a lady two rows behind us with a baby. A TSA lady chases her down, telling her to come over to this other line. So, we think, maybe there’s a special “baby” line? I mean, with all the hand swabbing and sippy cup testing that has to happen, that could be possible, right? Jon gets the TSA lady’s attention and flags her over. She is obviously put out by his request to ask a question. When she finally reaches us, she verbally reprimands him, saying that “There is no special FAMILY line, and that was a FIRST CLASS PASSENGER!”. At which point I tell Jon to shut his mouth and get back in line with the other peasants.
That’s when Isaac starts squirming, and I smell it. We have a full diaper. And we’re halfway through the one line along with everyone else who is traveling through Denver that day. We can’t get out now to change him. We are stuck, and he’s not happy. So, we do our best to keep him from screaming like a crazy child, all the while listening to the guy in front of us talk about how easy Denver’s airport is, except the fact that this was his second time through this line because he had somehow accidently ended up back outside and was going through again. Mkay. Isaac is flipping out for at least 20 minutes, and I can feel the stares. Every single person in that line was praying we weren’t on their flight, I guarantee you.
We finally make it through, and find a bathroom to change his diaper, and his pants. We let him run around and wait to board. The time finally comes, and we push our way through the crowd of people to our gate, and the very back corner of a packed terminal. Again, Isaac is flailing. We board the plane, find our seats and sit down. The flight continues to fill up, and we meet the poor soul who will be trapped in the window seat with us. He’s an older gentleman, our parent’s age, father of three boys. Whew. At least he’s seasoned.
Then, a woman approaches. She is looking for a spot for her carry on suitcase. To back up just a tad, when we boarded, I placed the diaper bag at my feet, and a tote bag containing a half a box of formula, and some toys in the overhead compartment. Anyway, the woman decides to put her bag above my head. She proceeds to heave what is obviously a very heavy suitcase directly above me. Isaac is sitting right between us on our laps. She can’t get her suitcase in the bin, because my bag is there, and she proceeds to yank my tote out of the compartment and move it to another one. The flight attendant approaches and asks what is going on, to which the lady comments that her bag won’t fit because of “that one” and that “that one shouldn’t even be up there”. That’s when it happens. Her suitcase, which has been precariously perched on the ledge this whole time, comes falling down directly on our heads. Luckily, Jon was quick to react and deflected it. No one was hurt, and she rammed it back up there and sat one row behind us on the other side of the aisle, where she glared at me for the rest of the trip. Apparently I was somehow her enemy now.
At this point, Isaac is getting anxious. He needs a nap, but all the commotion is making that impossible. That’s when the pilot comes on and tells us there is going to be a bit of a delay taking off due to lightning overhead. Joy. We pull out all the snacks, the toys, the iPhone videos, the books, more snacks. All the while, Isaac is doing alligator rolls and wanting to touch all the things. All the germ covered things.
An hour later, we finally take off. As we’re taxiing down the runway, I’m feeding Isaac a bottle, and just as we start accelerating for takeoff….he pukes. All over me.
Naturally, I start laughing like the most hilarious thing every just happened. It was laugh or cry. I chose laugh.
He ends up falling asleep quickly, and is out for the whole flight. (Praise the Lord!) The flight is great. Uneventful. Then we land. I know that I MUST jump up and get to my tote as soon as the seatbelt light goes off at the gate, before formula and toys get dumped everywhere. I succeed with my cat like reflexes, and we make our way off the plane. We stop right outside the door and wait for our gate checked stroller. People stop coming off the plane, and we hear yelling. It’s the suitcase lady. She’s yelling at the attendants about how they “humiliated her and would be reported”. Cray-Zee. Jon, still feeling perturbed that she almost smashed his family says to her as she storms by “you realize you dropped your suitcase on my wife and never acknowledged it, let alone apologized?” To which she replies “You don’t put a BABY BAG in the overhead bin! Wise up!”
We laugh. What else is there to do?
At the luggage carousel, we watch her storm around looking for someone to complain to. People from the flight are asking us what is going on the with “the crazy lady”.
We finally get the bags, ride the shuttle, and make it to our car. I take Isaac out of the carrier, and his diaper has leaked all over me. Just pee. So, during the course of the trip, I got pooped on, puked on and peed on. Yay me.
We were so glad to be home. It was a hectic end to a wonderful week.
And now I must say, DO NOT LET THIS STORY SCARE YOU. (Ha!) The important thing is, we made it! We survived, and we will most likely never see any of the characters from the day again. Travel with your kids. It’ s hard, but oh so worth it!