Considering a Flight Out of Newark

It was precisely 30 days, 6 beds and 4 states after our arrival in Newark.  As the plane descended that day, CavGirl shouted “Green!” with glee over seeing so much green that is decidedly missing in the desert.  It was a great vacation.  My one complaint was that I didn’t get as much sleep as I wanted (and I didn’t get to go to Fenway).  This was partly because my in-laws don’t believe in using shades, blinds or anything else that blocks the light from entering the windows.  This means the CavKids got up early.  They would inevitably decide to wake me up.

This morning was no different, though a little bit earlier.  For government work, I’d say around 6:30 or so they roosted me from my slumber.  It would be the beginning of a long day, that would not end until about 3:30 in the morning after crossing the country.  It was not as strange the first trip, but strange in its own way.

After our good-byes, we climbed into the Envoy for the long trip to NJ.  Deciding to save CavWife from car sickness, I sat in the middle section.  I thought that after we got out of the mountains we’d switch.  I … was …. wrong.  This meant I spent about 4 hours unable to stretch my legs except for the stops at rest areas necessitated by traveling with 2 young children and 2 retirees.

Finally we arrived at one of CavWife’s sister’s home.  She fed us a late lunch.  The kids were able to get some exercise in the pool.  Soon they beckoned me to join them.  I dragged my aching back into the pool while CavWife spent time talking with her parents and 2 of her sisters.  At one point I inadvertently ran CavGirl over with the raft CavSon was in.  She was a trooper, hanging on and bobbing back up without getting scared.  Ah, progress.

Then back into the car for the ride to Newark and the airport.  This time I lodged myself into the front passenger’s seat.  No, didn’t call shotgun.  After another hour or so in the car, we arrived and were dropped off.  We paid the sky caps to take care of our bags rather than wait in a long line.  He must have been new because our boarding passes took forever.  His name was long, and unpronounceable.  “Welcome to America!  Here, have a job checking our bags.”  He must have thought us a strange culture.

We made our way through security, and then the fun started.  We were in the same terminal but all the things we didn’t notice in our previous exhaustion soon became apparent.  It is a smaller terminal.  Operative word here is smaller.  There was precisely one sit down restaurant.  We didn’t want to sit down for dinner.  It was around 6 and we wanted something to carry on to the plan.  Mrs. Obama would be happy, there was no McDonalds.  We were not so happy.  There was only a newstand that sold $8 sandwiches.  Yes, $8 for prepackaged sandwiches you could get at 7-11 for half that.  You have to love the whole captive passenger thing.

Then I had to take CavSon to the bathroom.  The whole terminal area had one set of restroom facilities.  The line outside the women’s room was often 10 or more people deep.  That is outside… no telling how many waited inside for a stall.  But we are men so the line was short- we were first.  But this did not stop CavSon from getting on his hands and knees and trying to peek under the doors.  Yeah, crawling on the floor of the bathroom.  An airport bathroom.  I’m not a germaphobe, but I was totally grossed out.

After taking care of business I went to wash his hands.  I usually use my knee to support him.  This time he’s trying to use his feet to support himself on my leg.  Like I wanted those walking on the floor of the men’s airport bathroom feet touching my pants even though I know they are getting washed when I get home.  I still have to fly 2,000+ miles in them.  I officially hate going to airport restrooms with small boys.

CavGirl has found another little girl with a stuffed animal.  They are playing together.  CavSon, left out, does what any little boy does.  He becomes increasingly obnoxious to get attention.  Fabulous.  It’s moments like this that you feel like the World’s Worst Parent.  You feel like everyone is looking at you wondering “can’t he control his kid?”.  At least I do.

We board the flight with our cumbersome car seats.  I hear CavGirl say “that girl doesn’t know God, but I like her anyway.”  I’m stunned that my girl had the courage to ask someone if they knew God.  May she never lose this.  Once again I install the car seat wrong.  Instead of sitting with CavGirl, I’ve been banished back a row.  Once again I end up next to CavSon.  I have flashbacks of our flight east.  This is not good, I think.  Thankfully he didn’t spill water all over me this time.  Thankfully I got my free beer early in the flight.  Unfortunately, while pouring said beer something moved.  This time I have beer on my pants.  Not the “I wet my pants” look.  This was “the faucet splashed water on my pants, really” look.  Fortunately I wasn’t getting off any time soon.

I have red ink pens that I use for writing and underlining in my books.  These are relatively expensive pens, and I protect them from unapproved use much to the dismay and frustration of CavWife.  I was re-reading The Hobbit (get ready for Hobbit illustrations in my sermons!) and came across something I wanted to find again.  Afterall, it is a great story and Tolkien is a great writer.  After I underline a sentence I realize the pen has exploded due to the change in cabin pressure.  My hand is covered in ink.  The slip cover on my 1960’s hardcover edition now has a big red splotch on it.  Aargh!  Figures.  Just like Bilbo experienced the pull of his Tookish half, I feel the pull of pessimism from my New England upbringing (see, the illustrations begin- like Smaug I can tell if one of my precious pens is missing).

While I lament my typically “cloudy providence” I see that CavSon has become Destructo-Boy.  He has torn up his napkin.  He got a coloring book from the stewardess and was tearing that up.  His bit of constructiveness was to put the stick-on wings on a variety of items and make them fly like a plane.  The best was the pencil from the set.  Sometimes he’s ingenious, that boy.  But he was leaving behind a trail of torn and shredded paper.  Though it is close to 10 pm, he’s not slowing down.  He’s now in overtired manic phase.  Jesus, help me!

Finally we arrive at Denver.  CavGirl, apparently, fell asleep just before our final approach.  She’s none too happy about being awake at 10:30.  She’s whining and slow as we make our way toward our next get.  I look longingly at the great number of restaurants we could get food from if only we had the time.  Lousy Newark Airport- I’ll probably have some intestinal issues from that lousy sandwich I overpaid for.  The trail of tears ends and we arrived less than 5 minutes before boarding.  We barely had time to take a bathroom break.  No matter how bad an airport bathroom is, it is light years better than an airplane bathroom!

We go through the car seat installation.  This may be the last time we travel with them, at least with these 2 kids.  I’m going to sit next to CavGirl.  Again I goof the installation of her seat.  I’m tired and I want to cuss a blue streak- but don’t lest John MacArthur find out and write bad things about me on his blog.  Oh wait, I’m not important enough for anyone to write about.

Then comes the meltdown of epic proportions.  “I need a window!”  Due to a structural oddity, the row we were in did not have a window.  CavSon did and the fairness alarm in her mind was clanging louder than an air raid siren.  There was inequality in the distribution of windows, a window deficit I tell you!

Next it was “Water!  I need water!”  I assure her that this flight will be like the 20+ other flights she has taken, and water will be served after we are in the air.  “What if they forget?!”  I’m completely exhausted and about to become unhinged myself.  I’m thinking “meltdown, I’ll show you a meltdown.”  A tiny part of my wants to act like Homer with Bart.  I just want to make it stop.  I turn to the people across the aisle.  “Are you sure you want to stay here?”  Yeah, I’m winning the Best Dad 2011 award now.

Slowly the sobbing slows and comes to an end.  Shortly after take off she’s off to la-la land.  She is O-U-T like a light.  But I still order her water, just in case.  It is the New Englander in me thinking, “If I don’t, she’ll wake up and start crying again.”  Getting it means she’ll stay asleep, right?

But I can finally relax with The Hobbit and some Jars of Clay reminding me that my righteousness is not my own but His, and there is a river that washes me clean.  Yeah, I need the gospel when I fly with kids.

I survived.  Barely.  We arrived around 1:15 according to my body clock.  I’ve been up since around 5:30.  We still have to load the van, drive home, get the kids showered (a CavWife must after being in airports & planes all day), unpack essentials and shower.  By the time my head hits the pillow it is 12:30 local time, or 3:30 am according to my body clock.  I’ve been up for 22 hours, been in cars for 5-6 hours and planes for 6-7 hours.  I am exhausted but I know I won’t be able to sleep in.  And I’ve got a sermon to prepare.  “Jesus, Cavman again.  I’m gonna need more help.  I’m so glad you sit on the throne of grace to help people like me in my time of need.”  But I’m in my bed, in my house, on my pillow.  Thank you!