Trip Day 1: Planes, Cops, Paramedics, and Sweatbutt, oh my!
There have been so many blog-worthy stories in the past 24 hours, I’m going to have to split this sucker up into some sections!
Background: How in the world can a mom of 4 take a trip?
As a background, so the rest of this blog makes sense: I am currently on a cross-country trip with one of my twins, staying with a friend (whose name is also Lindsay), all signed up and excited to go to a writers’ conference this weekend.
By all rationality, I shouldn’t be here right now. This conference was completely booked. On a whim, I emailed the director of the conference telling him I’d give my right leg and a toe on my left foot to be able to go. Last Monday, merely a week ago, I received an email from the director telling me that there is one person who can’t make it and that I could take her ticket if I wished.
There’s no way, I thought. I had to line up babysitting for Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, not to mention scrounge up a decent chunk of money to fund the trip.
Oddly enough, the conference is just 45 minutes from Lindsay, who I have been dying to visit.
Oddly enough, I found a plane ticket for $260.
Oddly enough, my friends and family started lining up to watch my kids.
Oddly enough, I had just been hired for a company that pays quite well for articles the day before I was told there was a ticket open for the conference.
It was a God thing. It all worked out, and here I am, sitting in Lindsay’s dining room, about to blog about my trip so far. I still can’t wrap my mind around it and I’m here! A mom of four can take a trip when her friends and family believe in her so much and feel that she needs to be at a writers’ conference so badly, they’re willing to give up a day of their sanity to watch her kids. A mom of four can take a trip when her husband is a rockstar who knows how important writing is to his wife.
Cheesecake and Missed Exits
All was going well yesterday when my friend drove Wy and I down to the airport. Somehow, we made it there with over two hours to spare. So, we did what any true chick would do: We stopped at the Cheesecake Factory for cheesecake and a drink. We left the restaurant with plenty of time to spare.
Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough time to accidentally miss the exit for the airport and have to drive to the next town to turn around. By the time we got to the airport, we were cutting it a bit close, especially when the line was enormous.
Why were these people flying out at 10:00 at night on a Tuesday? What are they, crazy? Oh, wait. I was too…
We were expedited to the front of the line, where the flight dude did the whole run-down with me, very thoroughly. Painfully thoroughly, in fact. When he was finally done, he said, “You’d better hurry up, they begin boarding at 9:55 and close the doors soon after that.”
“What time is it now?” I asked.
“9:54,” he replied.
One minute! I had one minute to get through security, hop on a tram, sprint to the gate, and make the plane before they stopped boarding.
I begged people to let me cut in front of them in the security line and thankfully, they did. (I think Wy helped with the sympathy factor.)
I had an enormous carry-on bag, my laptop, Wy in the Ergo, my shoes in my hand… I was a walking cluttered mess. The people behind me were undoubtedly regretting their decision to let me cut in front of them.
Finally, I made it through the detectors and my stuff made it through the xray. Unfortunately, I had to bring pre-made formula, so the world’s oldest, slowest TSA worker said,
“Maaaaaam? Iiiii haaaaave toooooo cheeeeeeck thisssss, oooookaaaay?” I swear, he spoke in slow-motion.
Then, in even slower motion, he screened the formula. It passed, he tried zipping the bottles back in the carrier I had them in.
“I can do that!” I said cheerily, praying that he wouldn’t insist to do it himself.
He didn’t. I grabbed my crap. I sprinted… sprinted with Wy on my front, my hugemungous bags digging into my shoulders, through the terminal, up the stairs (no escalators for me because my shoes were untied and I just knew I’d get them caught) and on to the tram (which took eternity to arrive, of course).
Finally in the S concourse, I could see my gate. It was there, merely steps away. I tried to sprint again, but my legs weren’t having it.
Sweating, huffing, and puffing, I handed my ticket to the checker-inner person. I was the last person they let on the plane.
The rest of the flight was uneventful. Wy was amazing. He slept, he snuggled, he smiled at anyone and everyone. He was the perfect traveling baby. All of the mommy guilt I had previously felt for choosing Wy instead of Z was gone since I know Z would’ve been miserable to not be able to get down on the floor and crawl around. For both the long flight and the layover flight, I had a free seat next to me which was wonderful.
Couldn’t have gone better.
Unfortunately, Lindsay wasn’t having such a lucky night and her day was only going to get worse.
Breakin’ the Law!
A funny back story to this: Just last week, Lindsay bragged to her mother in law that she had never had a speeding ticket.
Fast forward to today.
70 in a 55.
In a construction zone.
Double the fine.
Ouch.
I told her she should probably be naked when she showed the citation to her husband…
The officer asked the obligatory, “Why were you speeding?” question and Lindsay told him she was worried about her sick child at home.
It wasn’t a lie. While I was having a successful plane trip with Wy, Lindsay was dealing with Brody who woke up, complained of ear pain, and subsequently projectile vomited everywhere. In and of itself, that seems like no big deal, but he has done this a few times in the past couple of weeks. Always complaining of head pain, always vomiting. Weird. Disconcerting. Yeah.
Momtuition
When we arrived at Lindsay’s house, her son was conked on the couch, apparently an unusual feat for him. He didn’t have a fever and was difficult to rouse. When he did wake up, Lindsay said that his eyes were wiggling back and forth and were extremely dilated. Plus, he was staring at her with a blank, emotionless stare.
She had made an appointment with the doctor’s office, but decided since they were likely going to send her to the hospital anyway, she’d just cancel the appointment and head to the hospital. The more she looked at him, the more concerned she became. She didn’t want to drive with him like that, he couldn’t even sit up. I offered to drive while she sat in the back seat with him and she considered it.
His eyes were still wigging out and she was getting more and more concerned by the minute. She has dealt with a lot of hospital stuff in her mommy years and she is so far from being a “freak out over every little thing” mom, that she began to realize her momtuition was kicking in. She dialed 9-11 and asked for an ambulance.
Thank God she did. Several minutes after they left, she texted me and said they were arriving at the hospital and that her son had experienced a seizure on the way to the hospital.
Could you imagine if it had just been us in the car when that happened? It’s a good thing she trusted her gut.
Starbucks and Sweatbutt
With Lindsay and the kiddos gone (her older son went to Grandma’s), Wy and I had a quiet house all to ourselves. Since I hadn’t slept more than a nod last night, I decided Starbucks was just what the doctor ordered.
I enjoy going on mini-adventures when I’m visiting a new place and couldn’t resist going outside on this stunning 74 ° day. So, I packed Wyatt up in the stroller, sprayed us down with sunscreen, wrote out directions to the nearest Starbucks, and hit the road.
It was lovely! And, best of all, there was an iced triple grande vanilla nonfat latte waiting for me once I found it.
I walked and walked. I followed the directions, I turned down the correct streets. I almost got run over by a 
chick who wasn’t paying attention, and I passed fast food restaurants, grocery stores, all the kinds of places where you typically find a Starbucks. I just knew it was nearby. It’s my Seattle instinct surfacing, I guess. Coffee is in my blood. Still, my directions told me to keep walking, so I did. I passed a McDonald’s that was advertising a new coffee frappe drink.
“Yuck,” I said aloud. “I don’t want no stinking McCoffee!”
Wyatt smiled up at me in agreement. Or because he was pooping. Or, because he forgot I was there until I spoke.
Whatever the reason, I decided to push onward to find my cherished caffeine fix. I walked until I passed the shopping area. Soon, I was sweating. The lovely 74° had quickly become a yucky 74° and I suddenly noticed the humidity. I had walked 2 miles and should’ve been able to see my haven at that point. With no Starbucks in sight, I reluctantly decided to turn around.
Near delirium from lack of caffeine and sleep and too much sunshine, I continued talking aloud. (I was, um, talking to Wyatt! Yeah, that’s it.)
“Fine, I’ll have that nasty McCoffee,” I said. This time, however, Wy wasn’t interested. He was studying the backs of his eyelids really hard, like I was going to quiz him on them later or something.
I walked down the drive to McDonald’s when I saw it: A green roof. A window. A truck pulled up next to the window. It was my oasis in the desert.
There’s my Starbucks! I thought, thankful that I had seen it before I went and wasted my money on McYuckiness.
I navigated through the parking lot, across a field, past a half naked white guy sitting next to an empty shopping cart, and around the back side of the grocery store. I rounded the corner and, in crushing reality, realized it was a mirage of sorts.
There was a building with a green roof. There was a window and a truck. However, it was a Hallmark and there wasn’t actually a drive-up window after all.
Bah! No! I thought.
Then, I glanced across the parking lot. A green umbrella. A towering steeple-like building. Certainly, a Starbucks. I looked harder, walked closer.
No. Just a green umbrella and a cool seating area. Not a Starbucks.
“Curses! Foiled again!” I said.
(There’s one reader who will know exactly why that was my first thought…)
At this point, I was too far from the McDonald’s to turn back, and the way I rationalize things, if there are two downsides to something, I just don’t go for it. Downside one: Crappy coffee for too much $. Downside two: Far away (plus, there was that half-naked dude…). Knowing that my friend would make a great candidate for a Coke Zero Drinkers Anonymous support group, I settled with the knowledge that at least I’d get to have a nice cold pop when Wy and I made it back to her place.
So, still a mile-and-a-half away from Lindsay’s house and rockin’ some serious no-no-zone sweat, I busted butt and made it home in record time more appreciative than ever for Coke, clean undies, and air conditioning.
What? I’m from Washington! I need to be eased into this insane mid-70s temperatures. In my neck of the woods, we’re sporting shorts when the mercury touches 60°. True story.
Aaaah, quiet.
Lindsay is still at the hospital with her son, and apparently his blood work and scans came back normal. She called and apologized profusely for not being here. I told her 1. Duh, it’s not your fault so stop it, silly. and 2. Wy is napping, I’m writing, listening to music, and relaxing in a quiet house. This is awesome!
So, tomorrow is day one of the writers’ conference. Apparently the CBS Morning Show and Mo Rocca are going to be doing a story there one of the days of the conference, so keep your TVs tuned in!
Oh, and by the way, I looked at a map online to see how far away I was from Starbucks… If I had turned one more bend, I would’ve seen it.
Curses!
Photo Credit: Avion by elessar x, Restaurant Menu Items 1 by drawsalot, Police Officer by juliosstock, Ambulance by cdnmedic, joe to go by singing
Source: sxc.hu
