Coming Home

The end of our trip to Utah was pretty much a disaster.  A disaster that began with Drew waking up to puke at both 2:30 and 4:30am Saturday morning, the boy having caught the short-lived, albeit nasty, stomach-bug that had been ailing a couple of the other Smith cousins.  Of course, the beginning of the trip wasn't without illness as Sami came down with Strep symptoms and was rushed to the urgent care in Springville within eight hours of arriving the previous Saturday.  But I digress...

In spite of my concerns with continuing our plans to travel home, worried that others of us might be struck ill in the middle of a flight, we carried on as planned.

I'll just say it.  I hate flying.  HATE IT.

And I hate it even more when we have to hold a baby on our laps that can (and wants and tries to) move.  On a four-hour flight, that is torture.  The crying and the fussing and the wrestling matches.  The quick little hand that grabs my glasses... over and over again.  Trying to nurse in a narrow seat with the jet engines roaring, avoiding hitting her head on the armrests, attempting to keep the blanket in place...

And then there is trying to maneuver the consumption of the complimentary drink, moving it from one hand to the other and she tries to continually grab at it.

And it was the drink that proved to play our next, and major, role in this disaster of a journey.

The male flight attendant had taken our drink orders hurriedly.  He had handed me my Sprite, which I placed on Sami's tray, along with her orange juice.  I got ready with Eve's sippy cup to ask for some water when he rushed over and carelessly placed Allie's tomato juice (oh yes, tomato juice) on my tray right within Eve's reach.  And she's quick.  Extremely quick.  Immediately, the attendant yelled, "Oh no!" and ran to get me a stack of paper towels... which he then threw at me and promptly rushed off, never to come back again.  The floor, the tray, Eve's white blanket and onesie, and my cream-colored corduroy shorts all drenched in tomato juice.  It looked like a crime scene from CSI.

And Allie promptly responded to the situation with a disgusted, "Moooom!"  Since obviously the fact that she lost her tomato juice was the most important thing...  I wanted to wring her neck.  You know, Homer-and-Bart-style.

Nearly in tears from exhaustion and embarrassment (while also feeling so angry I could have punched out that flight attendant), I handed Eve to Kev while I dabbed at the juice all around me, unaided, not sure what to do.  Till another flight attendant came through the aisles selling headsets.  She took one look at me and gasped, telling me to come to the galley so she could help me.  The woman was a saint.  She handed me a huge stack of towels and a can of club soda, and had me drench the towels in the soda and rub it on my shorts.  I went in the lavatory and did so.  And since it was private, I sobbed.

Soon we landed in Atlanta, and I had to get off the plane.  After all, we had another plane to catch to make it home.

My shorts were destroyed, as well as completely soaked, and I had to wrap Sami's hoodie around my waist to avoid unwanted attention.

Our plane into Melbourne was small.  One row of two seats, and another row of three.  We put the girls and Drew in one row, and Kev and I sat together across from them, with Eve on our laps.  Unfortunately, Allie sat in the middle, which we tried to avoid until Sami had a meltdown because she wanted the window seat.  Allie switched seats with her... which was the worst arrangement ever.  With Drew on her right, she spent half the time on take-off laughing and tickling and squealing, and with Sami on her left, he spent the other half of the time arguing and hitting.  I was horrified.  Just before the captain turned off the seat belt light, Kev and I were fed up.  He unbuckled and picked Allie up and threw her (literally) next to me, and moved Drew to the middle seat so he could sit in the aisle... completely isolating Allie from the other two.

She sat, her head down, her face scowling, and her arms folded.  Of course, she didn't feel remorseful-- just bitter, like some great injustice had been done to her.  Apparently, she is upset that her dad and I haven't bought in to the theory that in-fact she  is the center of the Universe.

Then the flight attendants came by with the drink cart.

I looked at her, pointed and said, "NO tomato juice, Allie!"

(After having spent significant time today soaking and scrubbing... and soaking and scrubbing some more, I am happy to report that my shorts have been resurrected.)