Airport Fun

Well, today has dawned, and my oldest son woke at 5:52, per normal, and got in bed with me. DFM goes to work really early, and Jeffrey loves to get in bed with me. Every morning. All of his life. He calls in ‘snuggling’, but what it really is, is him planting his feet in my belly, pulling out individual hairs from my head, and prying my eyelids open to see if I am awake. Since I went to bed at around 2, I am too tired to do the math to figure out how little sleep I acutally got. It’s my own doing, so I’m not going to complain.

This week we are going down to California to visit family. Well, I am going with the kids. DFM is staying at home and saving his vacation for later in the year; he isn’t sold on the idea, but we are going back to California for Christmas. There are several threads here, (Christmas in CA- a bizarre mix of glitz and sunny skies and how wrong that is, Making Husbands Visit the In-Laws and the joys that come theirin, Effective Sleep Deprived Parenting- HA HA HA, and Travelling with Pre-K Kids by Yourself)

Our flight leaves this Thursday at 7 a.m. Yes, 7. That means we have to be at the airport at what? Well, I am guessing by 6, which means leaving the house by 5:30, which means getting the kids up at 5:27… Can you imagine how much fun they will be by the time we land in the Bay Area??

Last time we flew, back in January, both boys were searched at security. Now, Jeffrey is a pretty good traveller; he has been doing this for all of his almost-four years. Eric, on the other hand, is a nightmare. At 18 months, he is a Mama’s-boy. When we went through the scanners, both boys were pulled aside, but the guard told me that I could go… You gotta be kidding me! I was told to wait on the other side of the glass and not to touch my kids, or I would have to go back through security again. So I am standing behind a glass sheild, Eric is crying hysterically while Jeffrey is looking like he is about to panic; I am making happy faces through the glass to try and calm them down and show that everything is ok. They know better, and my eyes are welling up with tears as I do my best happy-mama-is-in-control look. Both boys have their shoes removed and swabbed for explosives, patted down, and then wanded with the little magic-wand thing they use. Eric is now flinging himself against the glass, and Jeffrey is full-on crying, and I cannot take it anymore. The security guard looks at me and says “They’re a handful, arent they?” and I burst around the glass, (shooting daggers with my eyes, only, since I still want to get on the plane) and gather my sobbing children. A lovely way to start a trip, I must say.

(Sidenote: Now, I understand the need for extra security in this day. I support it, and all that. And while I know that in an ideal world, racial profiling is wrong; but did my children really look like terrorists? Outside of the spirit of policial correctness, it is a fact that none of the hijackers on 9/11 were small redheaded boys. It just seems wrong that babies are searched, but in order not to offend or incur a lawsuit, people (read: adults) that might actually have something to hide are let to pass.)

Anyway, I am hoping this trip through the airport is a little better than the last one.