I am (finally) sitting down and typing up a few stories from my trip to North Carolina when I realized that it was LAST labor day weekend that I was actually there. Oh, well.
The best/worst story is as follows...
I shall call it:
STROLLER STRUGGLES
- or -
I LEFT MY BRAIN/HEART/STROLLER IN NORTH CAROLINA
How in the world does one lady (me) get two children, two suitcases,
and two backpacks through two airports in one day. A double stroller of course. A wonderful, convenient, Phil & Ted’s inline double
stroller. The lovely baggage
gentleman at SFO walked me through the check-in calling for a special
circumstance after staring into my saucer-sized eyes upon his first declaration
of the brand new airline policy that I could not take my stroller for gate
check-in. He was lovely. Did I mention that yet?
Getting through the airport with 9 month old Clark and 3.5 year old
Jane was a breeze. The layover at
Houston was equally enjoyable. Take
a tram? You got it. 42 Gates
away? No Problem. Cranky kids
throwing a fit? Strap them into
the stroller: A total, easy-peasy breeze.
Reverse that situation coming from Fayetteville. Picture this scenario: After 17 days away from home, living in
someone else’s house, taking care of double the amount of children that I
birthed, and generally being completely exhausted… wave your sister away from
the airport curb with a looooong sigh.
THEN. Oh, but THEN… Then
the 18 year old check-in girl at the ONLY counter at the very small
Fayetteville Regional Airport snaps her gum and says my stroller is not allowed
for gate check-in. Excuse me? Come again?! “yes, but I’m returning home. I have no where to put the stroller” or my kids. or my brain.
THEN she pushes a piece of paper stating the new airline policy about
big wheeled strollers towards me across the counter. Sorry, ma’am.
–insert tear- I begin to
sweat profusely and wonder how I will carry both my sleeping children through Houston,
much less San Francisco. Did I
mention it is 5:30 pm? Did I
mention we will be in Houston WELL past bed time. Did I mention that we will land in San Francisco at 2:00 am
Eastern?
DID I MENTION THAT THIS GIRL HAS NOT MADE EYE
CONTACT WITH ME ONCE?!?!
I am beyond bewildered, moving quickly past frustrated or irate, and
headed dangerously towards the land of the crazy, frantic angry airport
lady. Too late, I am there. I ask for a manager. A sweaty dude who is clearly the
baggage man (and has his name tag turned around so I cant read it) says he is
the manager and sorry, there is nothing he can do. Baloney.
I have to unload my two children.
Our backpacks. My
sanity. I have to collapse my
super-convenient-but-only-if-you-are-allowed-to-use-it Phil & Teds double
stroller into a garbage bag that the one other employee in the place kindly
procured for me. I have to watch some
lady with an infant unload her large Graco stroller system as a gate check
(?!?!?!). I have to get on the plane without attacking the counter-now-ticket-taking
girl just so we can just get home.
Houston was relatively easy.
Yes I had to carry Clark to find a late dinner and past dozens more
gates. But our next gate was only
a couple over from a kids play area.
That is where I got paged.
Yup. Over the airport-wide
loudspeaker. “Stacey Wilson,
please report to Gate #blah-blah”.
Seriously? What now? I gather up all our stuff, both the
kids, and schlep over to find a WHEELCHAIR waiting for me. “Fayetteville called ahead for you to
have assistance in boarding”
HAHAHAHAAAAAA (insert crazy manic laugh here). Don’t you think I would have needed that wheelchair when I
got off of my last plane? Before
the tram? Before the dozens of gates? Before the sleepy, hungry children
throwing fits with no stroller?
SERIOUSLY?!
So we get on the plane from Houston to San Francisco. We are able to find a row with three
empty seats, and Clark falls asleep promptly. Jane watches a movie and falls asleep maybe halfway
there. Both are sleeping so
soundly that I just bewilderedly watch every last person get off the plane
before attempting to carry them both – still asleep – off the plane. A kind flight attendant offers to help
me as far as the security checkpoint.
Her name: Grace. Of
course. I jostle the two kids one
on each hip, backpack on me, Jane’s on her, and struggle this way only 100
yards before we see Blaine waiting for us.
What a long day/night. Ah,
but now we are home. Only by the
grace of God.
May your travels be light, or at the very least, may your stroller's wheels be small.
Peace out,
Stacey
