Seriously, Dante totally should have created a level of hell where the torture was to fly somewhere with a toddler.
Ok, here's our coming home story:
Tuesday, our come-home travel day was supposed to be low-key. We didn’t fly out till almost 3pm. Toby and I got up, went down for breakfast at the hotel around 8am, swam at the pool, returned to our room so I could shower and he could watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, packed up, and checked out. All by 10am.
Then we went to a botanical garden.
(Also, see Swamp Milkweed picture below.)
Next we made a stop at a store we don’t have locally to buy Kevin’s Father’s Day present. (Name of the store would be a possible giveaway.) Then we had lunch at P.F. Changs. All by 12:15pm.
We had over two hours and the airport was only about ten minutes away, but I needed to top off the rental car’s tank and there was the whole return-the-rental-car process still ahead of me, and then there’s the whole-traveling-with-a-toddler factor… We got going.
I gassed up but the pump wasn’t working right so I only got in a few gallons. I then realized Toby had pooped. I decided to lay him in the backseat to change him rather than take him into the gas station bathroom which probably wouldn’t have a changing table anything. Quickly I realized we were talking a lot of poop.
Down to the socks lots of poop.
Half a container of wipes later I had Toby cleaned, the car cleaned, and the straps of the car seat all cleaned. Toby was in a new outfit. His socks had been trashed. I should have probably trashed his shorts too but they happened to be a pair I really liked so instead I tucked those in a plastic bag and stuffed them in my suitcase. Woe to the TSA employee who decided to check my bag.
Oh, and if you ever find yourself renting a car from the Enterprise at RDU and you end up with a white Chevy Malibu, maybe don’t sit in the backseat driver side. Just a friendly tip. (I did my best, but still.)
I needed more gas but this gas station didn’t have Cheerwine so I decided to go up an exit and try again.
I topped off the tank. Struck out on the Cheerwine again. (I thought I was in North Carolina?!) And I changed ANOTHER poopy diaper. This one was a small one. This one made me feel confident that we’d gotten it all taken care of before our flight.
We arrived in plenty of time. Too much time. Toby was not interested in watching a video on my computer. He was no longer interested in eating snacks or reading books. He wanted to run around. He screamed and finally I let him run around. Me chasing Toby and trying to keep him within a comfortable range of our luggage and not get swallowed by the group… not my idea of fun but at least he wasn’t screaming.
We boarded and I plane-side check my carry-on sized suitcase and the stroller just as I’d done in Orlando. I was very careful about measuring my liquids and following all the TSA rules so I wouldn’t have to check bags. We get on the plane and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
But mostly Toby was being ok. He was watching out the window and occasionally saying, “truck.”
Then, he looked at me and said, “poop.”
And I looked at him and said, “Oh no you didn’t.”
I started to think. I thought Murphy’s Law says if I get up to take him to the bathroom the plane will begin to taxi at exactly that moment. I wonder if there will even be any room to change his diaper in an airplane bathroom. But surely all the businessmen seated in the rows around me didn’t need me changing Toby there in the seat.
And as I thought about these things, deliberating just a moment longer, Toby reached into his diaper, scooped a good handful, and held the poop in the air as if to say, “Oh yes! I did!”
My arm shot up and I hit the call-an-attendant button. She came quickly.
“I’ve got a nasty diaper and I’m going to need a plastic bag,” I said.
She returned quickly with a trash bag and a handful of paper towels. I mentally apologized to all the businessmen around me but I set to work right there. It was another doozy. I used the paper towels and all but two of my wipes. This time the shorts got trashed.
Toby, all cleaned, wearing nothing but a diaper and a t-shirt lasted another five minutes and then lost it. I couldn’t blame him. It was late afternoon (couldn’t say the exact time, still being phoneless) and there had been zero napage. But he arched back and scooted out of his seat belt just as the plane started to taxi. I attempted to get him back in his seat but no way. No how. Lots of thrashing ensued. So I held him as tightly to my body as I could and by the time we were in the air he was sound asleep.
I pulled out my book. He slept and I read for the next hour.
Excellent.
Except the flight was an hour and twenty minutes, and when he woke up he was not happy. At all.
Another mental apology to the businessmen. My boy can be really, really loud.
He didn’t want the cracker I offered. Smacked it away. Juice? Slammed it at the ground. Book? Ditto.
I got his baby and said, “Fine. I’ll read to Baby.” Toby kept screaming.
I said, “Baby wants the cracker,” and proceeded to pretend to feed Baby. This got Toby’s interest. He would watch a second, scream a few seconds, watch a second. When Baby got juice, Toby decided he wanted some too. Then Toby took a turn feeding Baby crackers and helping himself to bites too. The captain promised descent and I held Baby up to the window and announced all the things she could see. Toby was very interested. Thank goodness for Baby.
Get off the plane. Get the stroller. Stroller was all bent out of shape. After much bending and forcing, an attendant got it to open and hold in place. OK, now where was my suitcase? At baggage claim.
Um, what?
If they had told me they would send it to baggage claim why didn’t I just schlep it onto the plane with me? It had always been my intention to avoid baggage claim!
I processed this news and realized at about the same just how annoying this task would be. For whatever reason, I flew out on Delta but back on Southwest. Not only did I have to go to baggage claim but I had to go to “A” side of the airport to do it, then, I had to carry everything back across the airport to the “B” side where my battery-dead van awaited me.
Yes, I had left the dome light on. Yes, the battery was dead.
I went to the emergency phone in my aisle and called for assistance. The phone was barely working and I had to yell into the box. Thankfully this didn’t make Toby cry. I went back to the van and my cell phone, which hadn’t been used for the past two days had full battery (imagine that!) so I chatted with Kevin for about 15 minutes while Toby played around in the van. I hung up with Kevin and waited another five minutes or so and decided to call again. This time I walked to the next aisle over, but this call box wasn’t working at all. I walked in the other direction to the next phone. It dialed. I heard, “Hello?” I started talking. I heard, “Hello?” and then dial tone. Two hellos? That’s it for an emergency phone? Thank goodness I wasn’t being mugged.
I walked back to the sucky phone that worked best and called again, explaining/yelling that I’d waited about a half hour. Supposedly someone was on her way. Toby and I waited another twenty minutes and I contemplated calling again. I carried Toby around the parking garage because he was over playing in the van and up pulled the assistance truck so I hustled back. It took five minutes and I was road ready but as soon as my van came on, its alarm sounded. Cue Toby screaming.
The drive back went well enough until about thirty minutes from home Toby was done. He just couldn’t make it an entire leg of any trip. I ended a phone conversation because I couldn’t hear and then started singing because this is the best way to get Toby out of a car funk.
We sang our way home.