The Plane Ride, 1997
It was the eve of my business trip to Florida, October 1997. My colleagues, my boss, I and were attending a conference and my husband was coming along with the kids to enjoy Sea World and the Magic Kingdom. Our daughter was just nine months old and our son was four, so needless to say we were much more efficient at packing when they were snoozing. My husband and I got the kids down early and were busy packing into the wee hours of the night. Finally, we loaded up the white van, came inside, dove into bed, and looked at the clock. 2:00 am. Our plane was scheduled to depart at 6:35 am. Sleep or no sleep, that was the question. We were both beat, so we decided a little nap would be a good idea. We set the alarm for 4:30 am.
The next thing I saw was my four year old son standing next to the bed and the red numbers on the clock boldly glowing 5:50 am. I leapt out of bed, woke my husband, and quickly jumped into my clothes. He was right behind me.
"Get the kids," I ordered.
"We won't make it," he said.
"We have to, we can't miss this plane," I said. "Go get the kids and meet me in the van. Go!"
I frantically scooped up all the personal supplies on the bathroom counter, including our contacts; grabbed the kids clothes, raced into the kitchen, grabbed the diaper bag, and met husband in the driveway where he had the two kids in the van. We buckled them up and hit the road.
By now it was 6:00 am, 35 minutes until the plane took off. I shoved my contacts in my eyes, handed the baby a bottle, and gave my four year old his clothes to slip into, and we barreled up the freeway. Midway to the airport, we suddenly had an epiphany.
"We don't have time to park," my husband said.
"Ohhhh, you are right. Let's just leave the van in front of the airport," I suggested.
"Great idea," he said. "If we leave it running, it won't even towed."
Now, who could drive the van home?
I called my brother. He groggily answered and I explained what was going on. He thought we were crazy to even try to make the flight and even crazier as I shared our plan to leave the van in the loading zone with the engine running and doors unlocked. Then it dawned on him that he was part of my plan, he would need to rescue the van from the airport, and sooner than later!
We pulled up to the terminal at 6:20, gave the luggage guy a generous tip to grab all of our things from the back of the van, and we sprinted up to the counter to check our bags with two little kids in tow. I looked back over my shoulder and took one last look at the white van, right in front of the terminal, engine running and unlocked. No one seemed to care. Cars were pulling in around it. I looked ahead and focused my attention on checking our bags. We handed the lady our tickets. She didn't need to talk, the look on her face said it all. She thought we were crazy. She called up to the gate to tell them we were coming, waved us on, and said she'd take care of tagging the luggage for us. My van worries were distant as my bigger worry was to get on that plane and hopefully have luggage when we landed in Florida.
By now were quite a sight. My husband had scooped up our four year old and had him dangling on his shoulder and I had the baby on one side, diaper bag and purse on the other and we were running again. We ran up the stairs, two at a time, sprinted down the concourse, and up to the gate. Even though we had been runners in high school, we had never run a sprint relay like this before. We made it to the gate handed the gal our tickets and continued onto the plane. Our prize for winning this race, seats on the plane.
The plane was packed, a full flight. I stood there and took it all in for a moment. We looked as out of place as someone wearing a swim suit to church. I saw my boss, his boss, and my colleagues. I was panting, perspiring, had no make up on, and my hair was a wreck. They just smiled. The one perk of being the last on the plane is that there were exactly three seats left. The downside is that the seats weren't together. That meant our young son would have to go on his first flight ever next to two complete strangers.
I barely had time to digest that he would fly alone before the attendants guided us to our seats. Normally a white knuckled flyer, I didn't even have time to stress about taking off because I was so worried about our son. Who was he with? Would they be kind to him? Was he scared? I know I definitely lost the mother of the year award at this point.
The plane was in the air and finally they said the magic words, "you are free to walk about the cabin." I stood up and located my family. I found my son happy as could be next to two little old ladies and my husband had found a seat at the back of the plane with our daughter napping in his arms. Relieved, I sat back down. The plane was halfway to Memphis before I started to think about the mornings events. What a day! Then the worries crept back in. What if someone stole the van? What would we do? Would my brother even remember talking to me so early in the morning?
When the plan landed in Memphis, I gave my brother a quick call.
"Did you get the van?" I asked.
"What van?" he said.
I stopped breathing. What van? It wasn't there? What happened now?
"Are you there?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I'm just teasing," he said. "Mom and I went to the airport at 7:00 am and got the van. Everything is ok. Now, go have FUN!"
The next thing I saw was my four year old son standing next to the bed and the red numbers on the clock boldly glowing 5:50 am. I leapt out of bed, woke my husband, and quickly jumped into my clothes. He was right behind me.
"Get the kids," I ordered.
"We won't make it," he said.
"We have to, we can't miss this plane," I said. "Go get the kids and meet me in the van. Go!"
I frantically scooped up all the personal supplies on the bathroom counter, including our contacts; grabbed the kids clothes, raced into the kitchen, grabbed the diaper bag, and met husband in the driveway where he had the two kids in the van. We buckled them up and hit the road.
By now it was 6:00 am, 35 minutes until the plane took off. I shoved my contacts in my eyes, handed the baby a bottle, and gave my four year old his clothes to slip into, and we barreled up the freeway. Midway to the airport, we suddenly had an epiphany.
"We don't have time to park," my husband said.
"Ohhhh, you are right. Let's just leave the van in front of the airport," I suggested.
"Great idea," he said. "If we leave it running, it won't even towed."
Now, who could drive the van home?
I called my brother. He groggily answered and I explained what was going on. He thought we were crazy to even try to make the flight and even crazier as I shared our plan to leave the van in the loading zone with the engine running and doors unlocked. Then it dawned on him that he was part of my plan, he would need to rescue the van from the airport, and sooner than later!
We pulled up to the terminal at 6:20, gave the luggage guy a generous tip to grab all of our things from the back of the van, and we sprinted up to the counter to check our bags with two little kids in tow. I looked back over my shoulder and took one last look at the white van, right in front of the terminal, engine running and unlocked. No one seemed to care. Cars were pulling in around it. I looked ahead and focused my attention on checking our bags. We handed the lady our tickets. She didn't need to talk, the look on her face said it all. She thought we were crazy. She called up to the gate to tell them we were coming, waved us on, and said she'd take care of tagging the luggage for us. My van worries were distant as my bigger worry was to get on that plane and hopefully have luggage when we landed in Florida.
By now were quite a sight. My husband had scooped up our four year old and had him dangling on his shoulder and I had the baby on one side, diaper bag and purse on the other and we were running again. We ran up the stairs, two at a time, sprinted down the concourse, and up to the gate. Even though we had been runners in high school, we had never run a sprint relay like this before. We made it to the gate handed the gal our tickets and continued onto the plane. Our prize for winning this race, seats on the plane.
The plane was packed, a full flight. I stood there and took it all in for a moment. We looked as out of place as someone wearing a swim suit to church. I saw my boss, his boss, and my colleagues. I was panting, perspiring, had no make up on, and my hair was a wreck. They just smiled. The one perk of being the last on the plane is that there were exactly three seats left. The downside is that the seats weren't together. That meant our young son would have to go on his first flight ever next to two complete strangers.
I barely had time to digest that he would fly alone before the attendants guided us to our seats. Normally a white knuckled flyer, I didn't even have time to stress about taking off because I was so worried about our son. Who was he with? Would they be kind to him? Was he scared? I know I definitely lost the mother of the year award at this point.
The plane was in the air and finally they said the magic words, "you are free to walk about the cabin." I stood up and located my family. I found my son happy as could be next to two little old ladies and my husband had found a seat at the back of the plane with our daughter napping in his arms. Relieved, I sat back down. The plane was halfway to Memphis before I started to think about the mornings events. What a day! Then the worries crept back in. What if someone stole the van? What would we do? Would my brother even remember talking to me so early in the morning?
When the plan landed in Memphis, I gave my brother a quick call.
"Did you get the van?" I asked.
"What van?" he said.
I stopped breathing. What van? It wasn't there? What happened now?
"Are you there?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I'm just teasing," he said. "Mom and I went to the airport at 7:00 am and got the van. Everything is ok. Now, go have FUN!"
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