The alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. and for a few moments, I had no idea where I was.  It didn’t take too long, especially since Na’s foot jabbed me right in the ribs.  It was time to wake up, splash some cold water on my face, get him up and get ready to go back to the airport.

It only took 30 minutes to get ourselves and our luggage back together, but when we got to the lobby, the queue to board the shuttle to go back to the airport wound its way from the parking lot back inside the hotel.  Our flight was at 8:30 a.m. and the way I saw it, if we had waited too much longer to get on a shuttle, we would surely have missed our flight (again!)

The porter called me a cab and within five minutes, we were out front of the Delta terminal.  The ride cost $15!  For a 5-minute ride!  What a wonderful way to feel welcomed back to the States!  I only had $16 and the cabbie pretty much laughed at me and took off.

Another huge line wound its way around to the Delta ticket counter–and from there, we stood in yet another line for security.  So that by the time we got through, it was pretty much time to board our flight–without breakfast.  The line at Starbucks was at least 50 deep, while the line at Burger King–the only eating establishment open–was 25 deep.  I opted for the magazine stand, where I plunked down my credit card and loaded up on chocolate covered raisins, bottled water, and trail mix.  I felt like the worst mom on the planet.  Who feeds their child chocolate covered raisins for breakfast?

What was worse was that when we got our seat assignments at the Delta ticket counter, the woman told me all she had left was the Emergency Exit Row, in which Na wasn’t allowed to  sit because he was too young.  She told me that we’d have to have our seat assignments changed at the gate.  But by the time we got to the gate, everyone was boarding.  At the counter, I stood next to a woman complaining about being seated on the absolute last row, in front of the lavatories.  She whined that her seat wouldn’t recline and she couldn’t stand the smell of the lavatories.  But when she caught wind that I had to change our seats because of the law prohibiting Na to sit in an exit row, she whined even louder, saying that she wanted our seats.  The woman behind the desk refused to give in.  Somehow, she managed to re-seat us, but it wasn’t without HER hemming and hawing about how difficult it was and why the woman at the ticketing desk shouldn’t have assigned us in the exit row to being with, and blah, blah, blah!  The irony of it all was that these were two full grown women whining and my six year-old son took everything in stride!

Finally, we boarded the flight and I felt at peace once we got in the air.  I was going home and it felt grand!

Amazingly, those five hours passed quickly.  We landed at 11:30 in the morning and caught a cab to take us home.  It was warm out but all the sights and smells comforted me immensely.  When we got home, I basically threw everything in the living room.  I damn near wanted to burn all of our luggage, I was so sick of schlepping it for the last 36 hours.  I took Scout out of his kennel and he happily mauled us.  It felt great to be home.  Mr. Na instantly ran upstairs where he spent the next few hours playing with all of the toys he missed.  Meanwhile, Scoutie did the saddest thing: he went from room to room whining and then stopped in the den and laid down on Moofie’s bed, whining some more.  He was trying to tell me that he, too, lost his best friend.

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