Planes, Trains, and Angel Wings

A week ago Saturday, the all-seeing meteorologists of the the Boston metro area made what I will call an "oopsie".  They missed a snow storm that dumped 7 inches of snow on our doorstep in the middle of the afternoon.  Normally, I pay zero attention to the weather report (as my mother-in-law can attest), but since Ellie and I were flying to Oklahoma that day, I knew the forecast was calm and clear.  Maybe snow during the overnight.  Normally, this unexpected event would have really stressed me out, but I have learned to mentally prepare myself for disappointment (seems logical when you review the last two years of my life), and so off to the airport we traveled.

Our itinerary required a stop at Dulles International Airport in Washington, D.C. with a two hour layover.  Plenty of time for Ellie and I to deplane, grab dinner, and mosey to our gate.  Unfortunately, our flight out of Logan International Airport was delayed a half hour because the plane was late arriving for Phoenix.  No problem, thought the mentally prepared Sommer.  This is an adventure!  My attitude started to show its weakness as we sat on the tarmac for two hours at Logan.  Ellie gobbled through her bag of snacks in record time, coloring books were utilized, Barbies were played, and even the Ipad was eventually rejected.  Why the delay? Well, those meteorologists forgot to mention the snow storm, so the airport didn't schedule extra de-icing crews, so flights were running a bit behind.  Oh, and then during de-icing the crew accidentally got the fluid into the electrical panel and the plane shut down...for twenty minutes.  By the time our flight was airborne, I had mentally prepared myself we were going to miss our connection in D.C. and it would be okay.  We would catch the next flight out.  Surely, there are oodles of flights leaving from D.C. on a Saturday evening for Oklahoma City, right?

An hour and a half later, Ellie was snoozing on my lap and our seatmate and I were strategizing whether we could make our next flight.  We had ten minutes to deplane, sprint the entirety of Terminal C, take a train to Terminal A, ride 4 escalators, two moving walkways (or treadmills if you are Ellie), and sprint to the far end of Terminal A.  All while lugging a purse, backpack, blue stroller bag towing a penguin, and a three and a half year old whose legs were "tired".  At some point during the flight from Boston, I started getting the notion we could do it.  This of course is dangerous territory because when you put in the effort and don't make it, the disappointment is far greater.  As I dashed through Dulles with a preschooler hanging under my arm like a football, I wondered if I should just stop.  My emotions would be easier to handle if I just didn't put in the effort, and I felt pretty sure whether I ran or walked to our gate, we were not going to catch our connecting flight.  But I ran.  I really wish I was part of a reality show because I would love to see the vision I made running the race of my life with all my living and non-living baggage in tow.  Footwear of choice? Some very cute boots.

As we made our final stampede down Terminal A to gate A1B, a woman in a white puffy coat with a fur collar hurried past us.  "A1B?" she shouted over her shoulder as she went by. "I will hold the plane for you," my fellow racer called as she disappeared out of sight.  We made the flight.  It had taxied away from the gate, but the plane was still sitting on the tarmac and they let us board via stairs.  As I walked my sweaty, disheveled, out of breath self down the narrow isle, Ellie scampered ahead of me exclaiming in delight, "We made it! We made it, Mommy!  We ran like we have never run before! That was fun!"  She cheered up the disgruntled passengers who thought we were slowing them down. My heart-rate had barely returned to baseline as we touched down in Oklahoma two hours later. I like to think Owen had a part in getting us on that plane.

All the effort earned us a wonderful visit with our dear friends, the Potters.  Jenny and Bj added their third son, Van Owen, in December and I was eager to meet my little guy's namesake.  Here he is:

Van Owen Potter

Our trip was just as I hoped it would be: fun and relaxing.  We had four children under the age of four and everyone got along great.  It was busy, loud, fun, and full of activities.  We ate out, we visited grandparents, Ellie played at a park in 60+ degree weather, Jenny and I had massages and girl talk, we celebrated George's second birthday, and I snuggled a delicious baby.

Van was a bit of a test for me.  I was curious how it would be to spend time with a newborn after the past two years with Owen.  Pete and I both still feel this underlying layer of exhaustion and we question whether we have the stamina to care for another baby.  This may sound a bit dramatic, but life with Owen was tiring and hard.  It was two years of endless care with no gains or milestones.  Emotionally traumatic, physically demanding, and now we are deep in a pool of grief.  I thought it was quite possible I would have very little tolerance of Van's newborn cries.  The good news is, this is not the case.  Van is not Owen and I was able to mentally separate the two.  I could look at Van with fresh eyes and not wonder what terrible diseases may be lurking inside waiting to be discovered.  His cries did not make me weary, but rather fulfilled me. I could calm him without needing to dispense medication.  Van is a newborn.  There is nothing else to add to his story.

Our flight home was also dramatic.  Yet another snowstorm hit the East Coast on the day before our departure.  Mid-air from Oklahoma City to Dulles, our connecting flight to Boston was cancelled.  A lovely surprise.  Ellie and I spent six hours in the airport before leaving D.C. at 11pm and arriving back in Boston just after midnight the next day.  It could have been worse, traveling with a three year old isn't terrible and we managed to keep ourselves entertained.  Here's to hoping our trip to Disney World at the end of February is less airport heavy!