I need to make time to say them.
I returned yesterday from a week-long trip to the office in Orlando. My return flight on Saturday took off at 7:40 a.m. That meant getting up around 4:30 to check out of the hotel, gas up and return the rental car, get through security, and get down to the gate. And then there’s the waiting. You never know when you’re going to encounter road construction (there was some) or other perils on the way to the airport. Last time I left on the early morning flight, I got stuck in a HUGE line at Northwest because I couldn’t print my boarding pass at the hotel. The huge line was for the kiosk, I might add. So when I’m traveling, I generally try to get to the airport with plenty of time to spare. The Orlando airport has free wireless internet, so I can work from the gate, if I need to. But when I’ve only had a couple hours of fitful sleep (can we say phobic about sleeping through alarms and missing flights?), working isn’t the smartest option. I was awake enough to enjoy spending a little time enjoying my new toy.
Continuing my streak of bad baby karma, I was seated directly in front of a woman holding a overtired, possibly colicky child who screamed so loud and for so long that even the most infant loving adults were plugging their ears and praying for mercy. Even with my earplugs stuffed in so far my brain complained I couldn’t escape the racket. I really felt for the poor parent and fought the urge to turn in my seat and suggest something helpful, like
vodka in the bottle a nice warm bottle, some bouncing on the knee, a firm gag, or a cuddle and a crooned lullaby. Fortunately for all of us, the child finally exhausted herself and slept for most of the rest of the trip. I must have been especially bad because I was surrounded by small people on this flight. A family with two kids split between my row and the one in front (fortunately mostly well behaved, but I wasn’t sure about the frazzled mom in the beginning when she was having difficulty deciphering which seats were theirs and tried to take my aisle seat (nuh-uh)); six-count-’em-six little boys–a combination of five from one family and one from another–sitting three abreast in the row across from me and one row back; the squalling baby, her parents, and her mostly behaved (except for an intolerable 5 minutes he spend kicking the back of my seat during a tantrum) three-year-old brother directly behind me; and a variety of other small people in other rows nearby (including a nearly newborn whose only sound was a delighted gurgle at the end of the flight). Except for being a little eager to burn off some stored energy while we waited for the aisle to clear at the end of the flight, the kids were pretty well behaved. I, however, was a mess. Overtired, cranky, and in need of a stiff drink and some quiet time, I pasted a smile on my weary face, murmured some platitudes to my seatmates, and made a beeline for the terminal where I got to wait some more for an overheated shuttle back to Rochester. Hmmm….I sound a little brittle about my trip, don’t I? Perhaps a glass of wine and another nap will help. Maybe a BIG glass of wine.
It’s good to be home.