On Monday I got an email, with the subject: "your trip is just around the corner!" How convenient, I thought, now I don't have to look up my itinerary, or Tommy's. I clicked on it and glanced at the flight time (I knew the day already), and filed the information away. I was a little bummed that it was at 7am. I mentally kicked myself for scheduling such an early flight, because I hate having to get to the airport by 5:30, but, I figured it must have been the cheapest ticket and resigned myself to a very early start.
On Wednesday Jeff and I woke up at 4am. Jeff got the car loaded, defrosted, and warmed up (it was 6°F outside) while I got myself and then Tommy ready. We got out the door a little before 5, and on the way I groused about how much I dislike 7am flights, and told Jeff I was never scheduling another one, and that I couldn't fathom why I had scheduled this one. Thankfully we made it to the airport by 5:30 (a Christmas miracle). By 6:10 we had finished with security, despite an absurd hold up at the scanner due to a cat urinating in the exact center of the scanner path, and the TSA agents insisting that anyone who wished to be scanned had to shuffle through the exact center of the scanner and actually place their feet in the puddle- no hopping over it. Then two agents got into a fight over whether or not they should let people do it because a few people did (sick), so the entire line was stopped while we waited for someone to clean up the pee, and apparently there was no one qualified to do that because it took forever (seriously, how hard is it to clean up pee? Do you have any idea how much pee I have mopped up in the last few months? GALLONS. If I had a paper towel I would have done it).
Anyhow, there we were at 6:10. 50 minutes to go until our flight. I decided that we should probably check our gate, because the gate we were told when we checked our bags was all the way at the end of the terminal. I pushed Tommy over to the big bank of monitors and found our flight. Found the 7am flight, departing from B9-a different gate- and mentally congratulated myself for having the foresight to check. I was feeling a little smug. I had timed everything so well. We had only twenty minutes to kill before the flight left. With Tommy, that's like a trip to the bathroom and the drinking fountain and once or twice around the moving walkway. I had managed to make it up to the counter with a minimum amount of help, and Tommy was an angel going through security. Everything was going perfectly.
Then, my eye caught the info for the next flight down. Los Angeles, 9am, gate B23. Hmmm, B23 was the gate we were originally supposed to report to. Scramble for the boarding passes. Glance at the time. 9am.
I went from smug to chagrined in 2 seconds flat.
And, I had three hours to spend at an airport with an extremely tired (and therefore hyper) two year old.
Ahhh, the morning of every mother's dreams.
Did I mention that I was running on only a few hours sleep? And that I am the type of person who really needs to sleep to function?
So, I did what any good mom would do in such a situation. I stuffed my beloved child full of bacon (thank you awesome airport Potbelly's for being cheap and decently good). Then, I capitalized on his love of throwing things away by having him clean up our breakfast one piece of trash at a time. We maxed out his love of moving walkways, checked out some planes being de-iced, watched the planes taking off and landing, and played the trash game again with a trashcan that was pretty far away- and in doing so cleaned out my entire diaper bag (bonus). Finally, we boarded our plane and made it through a delay and a rather long flight.
It was all worth it for temps in the 60s and In-N-Out. Our family is nice too, but no double-double.
In case you were wondering, I figured out my mistake- the email wasn't for me, it was for Jeff!
On Wednesday Jeff and I woke up at 4am. Jeff got the car loaded, defrosted, and warmed up (it was 6°F outside) while I got myself and then Tommy ready. We got out the door a little before 5, and on the way I groused about how much I dislike 7am flights, and told Jeff I was never scheduling another one, and that I couldn't fathom why I had scheduled this one. Thankfully we made it to the airport by 5:30 (a Christmas miracle). By 6:10 we had finished with security, despite an absurd hold up at the scanner due to a cat urinating in the exact center of the scanner path, and the TSA agents insisting that anyone who wished to be scanned had to shuffle through the exact center of the scanner and actually place their feet in the puddle- no hopping over it. Then two agents got into a fight over whether or not they should let people do it because a few people did (sick), so the entire line was stopped while we waited for someone to clean up the pee, and apparently there was no one qualified to do that because it took forever (seriously, how hard is it to clean up pee? Do you have any idea how much pee I have mopped up in the last few months? GALLONS. If I had a paper towel I would have done it).
Anyhow, there we were at 6:10. 50 minutes to go until our flight. I decided that we should probably check our gate, because the gate we were told when we checked our bags was all the way at the end of the terminal. I pushed Tommy over to the big bank of monitors and found our flight. Found the 7am flight, departing from B9-a different gate- and mentally congratulated myself for having the foresight to check. I was feeling a little smug. I had timed everything so well. We had only twenty minutes to kill before the flight left. With Tommy, that's like a trip to the bathroom and the drinking fountain and once or twice around the moving walkway. I had managed to make it up to the counter with a minimum amount of help, and Tommy was an angel going through security. Everything was going perfectly.
Then, my eye caught the info for the next flight down. Los Angeles, 9am, gate B23. Hmmm, B23 was the gate we were originally supposed to report to. Scramble for the boarding passes. Glance at the time. 9am.
I went from smug to chagrined in 2 seconds flat.
And, I had three hours to spend at an airport with an extremely tired (and therefore hyper) two year old.
Ahhh, the morning of every mother's dreams.
Did I mention that I was running on only a few hours sleep? And that I am the type of person who really needs to sleep to function?
So, I did what any good mom would do in such a situation. I stuffed my beloved child full of bacon (thank you awesome airport Potbelly's for being cheap and decently good). Then, I capitalized on his love of throwing things away by having him clean up our breakfast one piece of trash at a time. We maxed out his love of moving walkways, checked out some planes being de-iced, watched the planes taking off and landing, and played the trash game again with a trashcan that was pretty far away- and in doing so cleaned out my entire diaper bag (bonus). Finally, we boarded our plane and made it through a delay and a rather long flight.
It was all worth it for temps in the 60s and In-N-Out. Our family is nice too, but no double-double.
In case you were wondering, I figured out my mistake- the email wasn't for me, it was for Jeff!
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1 comment:
Oh, Amy...airport delays & toddlers=no fun! Glad you are there safely. Just think-next Christmas you will have two little men in tow!
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