Friday, August 31, 2012

A remembrance of where I was last year: North Carolina

Hollah!

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

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