After a rough flight back home the boys and I are back in Portland and hopefully back to some sort of schedule. It was a great trip through Georgia, up into Indiana, and back by way of a much too busy airport in Minnesota. We got to chill in a cabin in the woods, swim in a mountain stream that we tried to damn up to make deeper pools. We enjoyed a hot and sticky Atlanta and played at a great splash pool in Piedmont park. I got to go to Turner Field and watch the Dodgers and Braves and an inept display of offense which I now owe a beer for. The boys explored the Atlanta Aquarium and got to ride in the RV all day watching movies while we drove up to Indianapolis. We saw old friends at Sunday night dinner, rode around Morse Lake in a pontoon boat a couple of times, and played in another fun splash pool with a slide in the middle. It was adventure and family and we will be talking about it for months to come. I wanted to share one of the stories from the tough trip home.
Flying with a four and two year old by yourself is challenging enough but then when you add in the high prices for suitcases that cause you to carry on more than you should it becomes even more difficult. Getting through the airport with two big bags, two sleeping bags, two kids, and a stroller that no one wants to ride in leaves you in a tense state when you finally make it on the plane. The plane presents it’s own set of circumstances with young kids. Small spaces and restless boys that know how to remove their seat belts kept me on my toes but the real trouble came when the four year old needed to use the bathroom. The two year old was long due for a diaper change and I couldn’t just leave him in the seat so off we all went to the tiny airplane bathroom.
Holding Segundo I lead Primo in first and then followed him in and tried to shut the door. Now the bathroom is small with just me in it but with the two other kids in there it was tiny. We got the door shut with me sitting in the sink, which by the way still had water in it. With a wet butt I maneuvered around enough to let Primo get the seat up and try to pee. He got distracted half way through and turned to look at me mid stream. Now my butt wasn’t the only thing wet. I was startled and jumped back but with no where to go that just meant me smacking my head into the mirror above the sink. Primo finished up and we flushed the toilet and moved the baby changing table down. I put Segundo down on the table while Primo tried to wash his hands. I wasn’t able to pivot fast enough so more water down the crack for me and a hulk like frustration building. I knew that there was work left to do and that losing it wasn’t going to make it any easier so I swallowed it down like much too large vitamin.
I laid Segundo down and took off his wet diaper and wet shorts, from spilling my Ginger Ale all over us earlier, and tried to give him a quick wipe down. He started kicking his feet into the slopped wall and squealing while Primo tried to open the door to escape. I have no idea what the people outside the bathroom must have thought was going in there. One of the kicks missed the wall and caught me square in the nuts, and I recoiled back hitting the back of my head on the door. At this point I just needed to get out of that tiny torture chamber as fast as possible and so I pinned Segundo’s legs down with my forearm and preformed a NASCAResqe pit stop. Diapered with new shorts I washed my hands, squeezed the water out of my shorts, and opened the door. We came shooting out of the bathroom like a tube of snakes from the joke shop to the mystified looks of the passengers seated around the bathroom. They collectively went “ohh, now I get it” as they saw the two little boys and I and more than a couple of them were visibly disappointed that it wasn’t an amorous couple.
I was exhausted when we made it back to our seats but it would still be one more flight and three hours before the boys fell asleep for the first time that day. It was a long day but we made it through and it made it that much sweeter to be home.
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