Returned from a very nice trip to Atlanta: art museum, botanical garden, well-spent time with family, fun with old friends (and a new baby). It was an excellent trip.
We got to see my my Dad's, Chuck, and Sharon's new home that they had only lived in 2 weeks. They have managed to unpack almost exactly the same amount Rick and I have managed in a year. I can't wait to see our baby in the little tie-dye outfit!
We love and miss our friend Terry. Terry, you get that adult tricycle. I love the idea of you doing your realty business by cargo-bike (or "adult tricycle", which still makes me think of "adult diapers" for some reason).
Dave and Mandy have a beautiful new home that is completely eclipsed by their beautiful new baby.
And then, after all that vacation it gets bookend-ed with airline travel. I hesitate to write this as it is all our own fault. We didn't give ourselves enough time to get to the airport. I wanted to sleep past 6:30 AM, and thought that if everything went perfectly we could manage to make our flight if we awoke at 6:45. Well, after a wrong turn on the way to the airport, AND a line for the ticketing kiosks, AND a long security line, AND a TSA agent who wouldn't escort us to the front (she latest escorted a mother and son through the line which made me want to scream!!!!), well, after all that we made it to our gate with 5 minutes to spare. Except they close the flight at 10 minutes before the departure time. Rick and I were running to the gate (I am 32 weeks pregnant. I shouldn't be running. Again, my own damn fault.) When the gate agent told us we were out of luck I started crying. Audibly. Publicly. Shamelessly. And she could have cared less.
So we made stand-by on the next flight 4 hours later. By that time my crying-mottled face had recovered, and so had our sense of humor. Things we learned:
1) Use google maps for directions to airport. No matter how sure you are or things it is best to have real directions.
2) Always leave extra time to get to the airport. Always. And especially when/if we ever fly with small children.
3) Don't fly with small children.
4) Travel with someone who has the magical ability to be sane when you are crazy and if they feel crazy, wait until you feel sane. Rick is my perfect travel companion.
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2 comments:
This is what my wife does for a living. Runs around airports barely (sometimes not) making flights to get home, to get to work.
So, I just have to make her less crazy than an airport and we're good.
Simple.
Heck, you could wear a chicken suit, bath in jello, and constantly repeat everything she says in pig-latin and you would still be better than what the TSA, airline bureaucracy, and high oil prices have turned air travel into.
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