We missed the plane by three minutes.
We thought we'd make it. Right up until the time that the woman at the gate said, "You missed the plane." Now, since the time was seven minutes prior to take-off, I thought that she surely was joking and would soon smile and let us on.
Not so much.
The plane was still at the gate, but they stop boarding 10 minutes before. And so that is why we missed it by three minutes.
Not that we didn't leave the house 5.5 hours early or anything. *sigh* Had everything gone as planned we would have been at the gate with almost three hours to spare. But no. We got nearly halfway to the airport and realized that we'd forgotten Mozart's birth certificate. The last time we flew we were told we would need it. That put us a good step behind. Then Boston traffic. Then the shuttle from parking was delayed as it had to get gas. Then the TSA line. Oh Lord, the TSA lines. Any one of those things not happening and we would have been able to catch that flight.
After begging our way past some people in the TSA line, then getting stopped by a haughty young man who very calmly said, "Well, my plane is boarding too," finally making our way through security, and hauling A$$ through the longest terminal run I've seen, with TW pulling Mozart behind in a GoGoBabyz - hands and feet waving and singing "weeeeeeeee", and me trailing behind carrying and pulling all the bags and coats, and nearly having an asthma attack, we just didn't make it.
They did rebook us on the 6am flight the next morning. We are very fortunate in that respect. And we had a very lovely, albeit overpriced even at "distressed passenger rates", night at the Hilton where we got a full 3.5 hrs sleep before getting up and in a much calmer fashion got to the gate in time to board!
And we even got to Nana & Grandad's house in time for the party that was scheduled for 10am.
We are recovered.
And just in time for two dumpings of snow. Beautiful, but I've had enough shoveling for the winter, thanks.
Prancer is down with it, though, and so we had to postpone our Christmas with him. It was the saddest thing ~ I shoveled all morning so I could get the car out of the driveway and called over to verify we'd be picking him up shortly. He answered in a not-so-bright voice and when asked how his morning was instead of the usual re-telling of various cartoons or trouble he'd gotten into, I got a weak sounding, "Not good." So hopefully we'll be able to reschedule.
Thankfully, Mozart is fully recovered (and I didn't succumb). When he was well enough, we went over to Mme. Child's house for dinner. While the adults were in the kitchen the children played quietly. Though we didn't *think* too quietly. Alas, a bloodied Mozart came into the room after having "crashed the angels". Mme. Child's very precious Lenox angels. Two of them. And a snowman. And a Santa. They could not be salvaged, though we were able to salvage Mozart's hands with several bandages.
Next day we went to the children's party at my work. Mozart, of course, thought Santa had come to see him exclusively. He could have held court on the man's lap for hours. Before he was convinced not to take up any more time, Santa asked what happened to his hands, to which he replied, matter-of-factly, "Oh, those just my Angel Boo-Boos."
The Angel Boo-Boos have nearly healed and don't need bandages any longer, and though Mozart would clearly like to have them, he can now be distracted away from needing them.
One last tale:
This morning I had been out shoveling from the wee hours. When I cam back in I hear, "Mama! I am awake! I am in a good mood!" Very pleased by this, I go to collect him for breakfast. While getting it together, he says, "I had good dreams. So, I am in a good mood." I asked him what his dreams were about, thinking they were likely about Santa or fire trucks as these are the things he talks most about these days, but his reply: "COOKIES! Lots of them!!!"
Prancer is down with it, though, and so we had to postpone our Christmas with him. It was the saddest thing ~ I shoveled all morning so I could get the car out of the driveway and called over to verify we'd be picking him up shortly. He answered in a not-so-bright voice and when asked how his morning was instead of the usual re-telling of various cartoons or trouble he'd gotten into, I got a weak sounding, "Not good." So hopefully we'll be able to reschedule.
Thankfully, Mozart is fully recovered (and I didn't succumb). When he was well enough, we went over to Mme. Child's house for dinner. While the adults were in the kitchen the children played quietly. Though we didn't *think* too quietly. Alas, a bloodied Mozart came into the room after having "crashed the angels". Mme. Child's very precious Lenox angels. Two of them. And a snowman. And a Santa. They could not be salvaged, though we were able to salvage Mozart's hands with several bandages.
Next day we went to the children's party at my work. Mozart, of course, thought Santa had come to see him exclusively. He could have held court on the man's lap for hours. Before he was convinced not to take up any more time, Santa asked what happened to his hands, to which he replied, matter-of-factly, "Oh, those just my Angel Boo-Boos."
The Angel Boo-Boos have nearly healed and don't need bandages any longer, and though Mozart would clearly like to have them, he can now be distracted away from needing them.
One last tale:
This morning I had been out shoveling from the wee hours. When I cam back in I hear, "Mama! I am awake! I am in a good mood!" Very pleased by this, I go to collect him for breakfast. While getting it together, he says, "I had good dreams. So, I am in a good mood." I asked him what his dreams were about, thinking they were likely about Santa or fire trucks as these are the things he talks most about these days, but his reply: "COOKIES! Lots of them!!!"
A Bad Thing.
This past week has been consumed by the dreaded stomach bug. First Mozart, then TW. I have gratefully (am now I am furiously knocking on wood) managed to avoid it. There have been many comical moments during this time. Many not-so-comical moments. I will share some of the comical:
Mozart, through barely open, puffed up and watery eyes, in a tired and barely audible voice, "No, I good. I not sick anymore. Went to the doctor. All better now." And then he promptly fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, "Mama, I awake now. Let's go downstairs, have breakfast." Me, "No, sweetheart, it's still sleeping time." Mozart, "Ok, I just need some water. Can I have some water?" Me, "Yes, of course, where is your cup?" He pulls it out and shows it to me, and I say, "Go ahead. Have some." He looks surprised by the idea, and said, "Can I?" Me, "Yes, darling, go ahead." He drinks deeply and says, "Thanks. Now you can turn off the light."
Yesterday morning, while I was not sure I would get by without a run-in with said stomach bug, I sat, feeling rather green, and had a large bowl next to me. Mozart comes over, looks at me, looks at the bowl, picks it up and fake-pukes into the bowl. Charming. Very charming.
I will not share the not-so-comical moments of the last week. They are just too horrible.
Mozart, through barely open, puffed up and watery eyes, in a tired and barely audible voice, "No, I good. I not sick anymore. Went to the doctor. All better now." And then he promptly fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, "Mama, I awake now. Let's go downstairs, have breakfast." Me, "No, sweetheart, it's still sleeping time." Mozart, "Ok, I just need some water. Can I have some water?" Me, "Yes, of course, where is your cup?" He pulls it out and shows it to me, and I say, "Go ahead. Have some." He looks surprised by the idea, and said, "Can I?" Me, "Yes, darling, go ahead." He drinks deeply and says, "Thanks. Now you can turn off the light."
Yesterday morning, while I was not sure I would get by without a run-in with said stomach bug, I sat, feeling rather green, and had a large bowl next to me. Mozart comes over, looks at me, looks at the bowl, picks it up and fake-pukes into the bowl. Charming. Very charming.
I will not share the not-so-comical moments of the last week. They are just too horrible.
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