Luckily, my cranky pants pack well

Well, they certainly don't make air travel much fun any more do they? Or even reasonably comfortable? I know there used to be a time in our country's history when air travel was a big treat, a positive event in one's life, worthy of dressing up and feeling special. NOT SO MUCH these days. Pretty soon they will strip us of all personal dignity, maybe even actually STRIP US, and smush us all in a big pile in the center of the plane, chuck a few cans of soda on top and slam the door.

When did they do away with pre-boarding for "families traveling with small children"? I used to ADORE the feeling of skipping past the Power Suited First Class-ers, even though I'm not exactly sure I needed "extra time boarding", aka. more time spent on the plane trying to keep my kids from becoming an airborne birth control ad, and I could never actually skip while laden down with children and their accoutrements.

Yesterday, on our way back to Snowville, we were just hoping to make it back here before THE NEXT SNOW STORM WTF. I started out the day with our carry-ons well stocked, extra diapers, snacks, PB&J sandwiches, changes of clothes, multiple forms of anti-bacterial wipes/sprays/FULL BODY COVERALLS, all ziploc-ed and in their own compartments of the diaper bag. We made our connection, took off only an hour late ("only"! Celebration!) and then.... E pooped. Big time. Not to fear, I am a seasoned traveler, I know that airplanes have a little fold-down shelf behind the toilet for just such purposes. I gathered my diaper items and headed for the bathroom.

No shelf.

Hrmmm.

I waited in line and checked the other bathroom.

No shelf.

The queeny flight attendant smirked and uptalked at me: "Oh. Yeah. These are older planes? They don't have any facilities for babies?" (I have many gay male friends [see: was a dancer in a former life] so I feel I can say this with impunity: HE WAS BEING A TOTAL QUEEN.)

So I asked if I could change her on the floor.

"Not in the galley!" he said, aghast at the thought of me changing a diaper in the precious NO MORE FOOD FOR YOU, PEON PASSENGERS, OH EXCEPT FOR A $10 BOX OF ASSORTED SNACK PACKS FROM COSTCO food area.

"Oooookkkkaaaayyyy. Where would you like me to change her McQueeny-pants?"

"I don't knoooowww." he said, not even trying to feign sympathy, and turned away.

So.

I headed back into the sardine can of a bathroom and looked around. The closed toilet was the biggest horizontal surface. I took a deep breath, put down my changing pad, placed all my tools in reaching distance and opened the diaper.

I should tell you that E is in a particularly difficult diaper changing phase we like to call the Immediate Flip Over. It's pretty self-explanatory.

So there I was trying to wipe poop off of every fold (there are many, MANY folds on this girl) and she was trying to flip over. She succeeded in flipping her top half over and started grabbing at every dis-GUSTING surface she could find while I grasped her ankles in the air and fruitlessly jabbed a wipe at random spots on her lower half until the combination of our two efforts resulted in contorting her little body into serious chiropractic territory AND slid her face onto the side of the airplane toilet and then SHE PUT HER TONGUE OUT.

O. M. G.

RRRRRReeeettttCCCCHhhhhhhhh.

I wiped her tongue off with a wipe and then freaked out about the chemicals in the wipes. I went to rinse out her mouth with water from the sink before remembering that the water in those lovely airplane bathrooms isn't usually potable. I give up.

Finally I got her changed and tried to balance her on one knee to wash her hands in the sink. But you have to hold down one of the little faucet levers to get any water to come out and the cold is freezing and the hot is too hot but I could only press one while still holding her resistant hand out so I start using an antibacterial wipe and then she started trying to eat it and I. GIVE. UP.

When I got back to our seats, I found Z in a loud, tired, cooped-up tantrum and I contemplated walking back to the bathroom IT WAS THAT BAD.

After a lovely three hours of MORE OF THE SAME, we finally got within striking distance of our home airport when the pilot announced that we were in a holding pattern because the DC airport can't handle another SINGLE inch of snow, so we were circling there indefinitely and OH YEAH if we start to run out of fuel we will have to divert to BALTIMORE.

Then, E pooped AGAIN.

(KILL ME NOW.)

At the last moment, we were able to land in DC, two hours late. I actually clapped AND cheered before stumbling out into the airport to wait an HOUR AND A HALF for our bags.

Z on the weird shuttle between terminals at Dulles.
And yes, just a moment before this, she had been holding onto the grimy hand rail AND crawling around on the floor. So much for our anti-bacterial wipes.

It was ALMOST enough to make me swear off of air travel with small children. Except that our trip to Arizona to visit my in-laws was SO AWESOME and driving three days to get there would be even more insane.

We went to the playground every single day.


We woke up to this view.


We gloated (Enlarge to read headline.). (We also ALL need a haircut!)

We ate snacks outside in our shirtsleeves.


Z insisted on putting her feet in the (freezing cold) pool.


CG and I went on a child-free hike (where I sprouted a saguaro out of my head.) (TANK TOP!)


We even attempted a family portrait (BARE FEET) (CG is only wearing a coat because he was catching a cold and shoes because he was just back from the park with Z. I wasn't cold IN THE SLIGHTEST.)


So, in summary: Flying BAD. Arizona GOOOOOOOD.