Flying

I love flying!  (It's for you to determine whether that statement is sincere or not.)  We left Colorado yesterday and flew home to Virginia. I had chosen a fairly early flight so that we would arrive home at a reasonable time.  After a quick breakfast, we said our goodbyes, snapping one final photo as Dave hoisted our bags into the car. We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare.

Our time to spare was spent with me doggedly  informing the ticket agent that the $25 I had spent to upgrade to "stretch" seats was supposed to cover our luggage and that, no, the small print did not say that I would have had to upgrade before I purchased the tickets, not after purchasing.  The argument that I only made one purchase that included the upgrade and, therefore, could not have upgraded after the fact eventually became the only thing standing between us and home.  So, I finally surrendered my credit card.

But still, we had a little extra time... time that was spent snaking through the long line approaching the security checkpoint with passengers changing their minds and turning around midstream, trying to make their way back against the tide of surging humans.  Our extra time was ticking by while I rolled my eyes at the spectacle of pompous guards in tight uniforms hollering at passengers to take off jackets and shoes, display all cosmetics and toothpaste, approach the booth only when instructed and, above all else, to keep moving!  Time was ticking by while I tried to pretend I was alone and not notice Cassie diving toward the moving belt while simultaneously unzipping her backpack and coming up with a tube of toothpaste held proudly above her head  as Lacey yelled, "Careful, Cassie!  It's open!"   Too late.  Too late. A guard was beckoning us over to the security line reserved for families traveling with young children and I was urging the girls forward as they strained to see what their dolls looked like on the X-ray machine. And eventually, the girls were shouldering backpacks as I pointed them toward the moving walkway that turned out to be the only stationary walkway in the airport, while Lacey was shouting to nearby travelers that we were looking for gate "hundred eighty-three."

Hooray, it was boarding time and the girls were rejoicing because we weren't only in Zone 1, but Row 1.  And then, at the exact moment that we were stepping onto the ramp to board the plane and claim our cherished seats, the sole passenger in front of us chose to set her toddler down and let him practice walking.

We finally reached our seats and suddenly, from the front row vantage point, I was overhearing far too much.  The crew destined to staff our plane had been waylaid by mechanical problems in some unknown city.   The sole stewardess who had punched in on time was obligated to repeatedly inform the passengers that a pilot, copilot and crew would be arriving momentarily.  I was watching as this stewardess used her feet to open the cabinets housing the food and passed out warm cookies with the napkins that she had dropped on the floor.  Even as the pilot arrived we were informed that we would again be momentarily delayed while we waited for passengers whose planes were just a tad behind schedule.  (Note to self:  check to see how Webster's defines "momentarily.").   Politely raising my hand I was informed that no, our connecting flight at the next airport would not be waiting for us, regardless of our mounting delay.  And eventually, the panting, sweating passengers arrived and we were airborne.

Breathing recycled air and watching TV reruns, we made our way to Milwaukee.   We found our connecting flight, only steps away. Observing the throng of waiting passengers, we learned that our flight had been. . . Delayed!!

Finally, we were wheels up and only a couple hours away from home and  i was peacefully nodding off only to be awakened by Lacey yelling, "Mommy, Mommy!!  Quick, wake up!!  Mommy, what's your favorite color?"