Whatever happened to "Women and children first"?

Sorry for the long absence, dear readers, but preparation for this week's stay in Florida put a major dent in my free time last week. I am currently writing from my father's house, blissfully alone, while he and my stepmother take the kids to the pool, as I try to recuperate from the flight down Saturday.

After my solo flight to Disney, I got all cocky, so when it was suggested I come to FL alone, I thought, with the lack of possible blizzards and all, this would be a piece of cake. I was wrong, wrong, wrong. So now, after my second venture into single-parent flights with offspring in tow, I have concluded that, when it comes to travel, it is every man for himself or, "Fuck you and your kids, lady."

The trip to the airport was fine. H acted as chauffeur and escorted us to security, after I inquired if he had had a lunchtime lobotomy when he suggested he save the seven dollars in short term parking and drop us at the curb. We checked our bags, where I made another inquiry as to his brain function when he suggest I take all the cases as carry-ons. We then checked the departures board at security to confirm the flight was on time before I allowed H to run away, clicking his heels in the air, to begin his week of bachelorhood. Now the fun begins.

As I mentioned when I wrote about Disney, getting three children through security at an airport is like trying to herd cats, with one arm tied around your back, while a long line of people sigh and impatiently tap their feet behind you. Good for you, smart guy in your skinny jeans and Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, you already have your shoes off and your tray full of electronics ready to go. If you're in such a hurry, quit shooting me daggers and fold up the umbrella stroller so I can take off a crying LM's shoes while trying to convince him his new Lighting McQueen suitcase is not being eaten by the x-ray machine, yell at #2 to stop reading all the security postings and follow me through the scanner, I'll explain what a "body cavity" is later, and thank #1 profusely for being calm, cool and collected enough to push all our shit along the counter while I manage her siblings. I'm dancing as fast as I can here, asshole.

We get through security and check the board to confirm our gate number, at which point we see, in the last twenty minutes, our flight has been delayed two hours and I now have to entertain three children in a crowded, poorly air-conditioned airport on my own. Did I mention it was a hundred degrees in Newark? Did I mention with all the opening and shutting of doors the terminal was about ninety degrees? The only answer is snacks so the girls, each carrying their backpacks, LM, dragging his Lightning McQueen suitcase behind him, and I, carrying my two giant carry-ons, stuffed with snacks, coloring books, and Play-Doh, all head to the food court. Cue more agitated foot tapping. Oh, I'm sorry Stupid Bitch on your iPhone, is that fact that I have to order food for four people preventing you from getting to sit down and post pictures from last night on Facebook? Try this status update - "OMG! Was totally just punched in the face by a crazy mother in the airport." I can make that happen. For reals.

We clear the non-stroller and non-toddler friendly line and as I turn my back to put a Splenda in my coffee, I hear LM's loud, "I'm hurt" cry. This kid of mine is not a crier, the shit really needs to be going down for him not to shake it off, so I know it's not good. He is flat on his back after having been run over by the four foot tall Mexican woman pushing a four and half foot can of garbage through the terminal. She doesn't even look me in the eye as she scurries off.

The flight was delayed three more times, during which we were almost run over several more times by adults rushing to catch flights, expecting my children to dive bomb out of their path. And Guy with the Seven Week Old Bulldog Puppy? Perhaps sitting next to three children was not the best idea if you didn't want three little faces practically pressed up against the side of you dog's carrier. Why didn't you just bring Team Umizoomi, Phineas, Ferb and iCarly with you?

We finally board the flight at six o'clock when the original flight was supposed to depart at three-thirty. Boarding was super-fun as well. I will never understand why people crowd the gate area when the airlines call you by row number. Do you think the aggressive inching forward of your roller-bag is going to get you on any faster? Luckily, having LM, I still qualified for the "those traveling with children under five" pre-boarding. I got in line with all the old people in wheelchairs for this early call, during which #2 asked me, "Are we on a hospital plane?", and was immediately cutoff by a father with his ten year-old son. Here I am with my kids and all our shit and the two of them, holding nothing but backpacks, texting away, jump right in front of us. #1 points out their rudeness and the advanced age of the kid, which i told her to file under Some People Just Suck.

We get on the plane, every gets a lollipop for their ears and the minute we begin speeding up for take off, LM tells me he has a "pee-pee emergency", despite the fact he has gone not ten minutes ago. I plead wit the stewardess to let us up to which she, really very kindly and sympathetically says no (the only nice person on this trip), so I spend the next twenty minutes trying to distract him, hoping he doesn't have an accident and silently cursing the pilot for every second he doesn't turn of the "fasten seatbelts sign". The minute the light clicks off, I sprint down the aisle, LM under my arm like I'm running from an explosion, with #2, who has now also reached full bladder capacity, trotting behind me, when, not one, but two, old men dart into the aisle and cut me off, occupying the two bathrooms. No really, it happened.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, Little Man fell asleep on me around seven. Then we began our descent, during which #2 began screaming like a banshee that her ears hurt, and pinned under the sleeping LM, I was unable to get more lollipops that I stored in the overhead compartment to prevent the Mr. Grabby hands from eating them all before he fell asleep. I got #2 to lie down and, by some miracle, she fell asleep with her head on me almost instantly. Thank you, God. But then I realize, how the fuck am I getting not one, but two sleeping children, and our bags, off this plane?

We land and the cabin lights come up. I tell #1 to have a seat, we are not going anywhere. The plane gradually empties and I there I am, still covered in pile of sleeping humanity. I wake #2, strap her bag on her as she cries, and beg her to drag Lightning McQueen, who I now hate with a fiery passion, for LM. #1 bravely carries the slightly less leaden of my bags, as well as her own, and I haul my big bag and forty-eight pounds of kid up the aisle. Panting, we reach the exit, where my stroller awaits and I can dump half my load. Except it's not there. I am told it's at the top of the jet-way. Awesome.

The trip wasp pretty much over at that point. We got to baggage, found my parents and headed home, but I left the airport really hating people. I don't expect to be catered to because I'm travelling alone with my kids, I just don't want to be actively abused. Have we all lost the ability to walk a mile in another's shoes? While waiting for the flight, a mother was holding a baby who was violently crying. Another mother next to me, mutters to her teen-aged daughter, "God, I hate that!" WHAAAT? Do you not remember how it felt to have an infant? Never mind one who is probably hungry and tired, thanks to the delay, after you picked this flight specifically because it worked well with feeding and nap times to avoid this scenario? It's called empathy, people, and apparently, some of you graduated from childhood without learning that lesson. It's hard to raise nice kids when they are constantly surrounded by selfish assholery.

So yay for me, I have the return flight to look forward to. Even better it's supposed to land at eight in the evening so H can pick us all up after work. A three hour delay would be really fun, I think. Here's hoping this trip goes more smoothly, or I run into some nicer people. Or I can just start using the stroller as a battering ram.

And I'm checking that goddamn Lighting McQueen.