See… it was freaky enough to force my OCD self to leave a typo.
We were crazy enough to try to keep our vacation a big fat secret until we got home (somehow “house protected by attack horse” doesn’t have the same ring as ATTACK DOG ON PREMISES)
And our adventure in Houston was that big fat exclamation point on
A thunderstorm closed the airport, yet our plane circled until that dire announcement.
After Itty Bit’s subtle echo to the rest of the passengers, he (like any other responsible kindergartener) picked up the flight instructions,
and without any prompting, tucked into the crash landing position.
He completely did not understand why I was goofing off with the ninja pictures instead of preparing for an emergency. Parent Fail.
After diverting to a bumpy landing in Corpus Christi, we were stranded on the tarmac because the airport didn’t have Customs agents.
Did I mention that I’d gone to bed at 1:45 that morning and awoken early to leave paradise?
And that our only meal by 5pm that day had been a flight snack?
And we were leaving 90 degree weather to return to SNOW?
And a kid who kept loudly asking what air sickness bags were for?
When we finally started our third takeoff of the day, I did a little happy dance to see Houston an hour later.
We sat on the tarmac again midst a lightning storm and watched the clock tick past our connecting flight.
Since so many fights had been delayed, the lovely security checkpoint area was packed with agitated travelers. Once passing inspection (the menfolk were selected for the nekkid xray adventure), we spent the next three and a half hours in purgatory.
Purgatorty: [pur-guh-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee] noun, plural -ries, adjective noun
To be stranded at consecutive airports with a caffeine withdrawal headache. To endure multiple security searches at three separate airports. To have your good tweezers confiscated. To consume a single snack in 36 hours. To miss your connecting flight. To run across the entire airport to FIVE SEPARATE GATES and wait for an eternity in line at each. To juggle a heavy rolling suitcase, a camera bag, a purse, and a kid survival bag – all whilst carrying a tired 48-pound kindergartener across miles of escalators, elevators, subways through crowds of upset passengers.
Ultimate purgatory: [uhl-tih-mut pur-guh-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee] noun
to lose your iPhone for approximately 12 hours at the start of this madness.
There’s more… so much more. Including why seeing this man forget about sad things for awhile made crazy Houston worth it.
Now if you’ll excuse me… there are 926 unread blog posts in my reader. Off to catch up with you!