We are back from a week vacation in upstate New York at our cottage in the small shire of Knobby Knoll in the village of Sackets Harbor. It was a wonderful trip--I got to see all of my first cousins on my dad's side, all of my aunts and uncles, my grandmother, and a handful of 2nd and 3rd cousins. We did a lot of nothing, which incidentally includes breaking our camera, so unfortunately we only have pictures from the first day or two.
Sean and James both did great on their vacation. James moved to a 4 hour schedule while we were there, which was awesome. Sean bunked with Denise, as they did for 2 weeks at the beginning of the summer, so he was in heaven. However, on the way home last night we paid our dues for such an idyllic and peaceful vacation with two babies. At 30,000 ft poor Sean, who is potty trained, had some stomach trouble (too many Bob's Donuts all week?) and had an explosive mess on his airplane seat. He told us he had to go, but just as cody got up to take him to the bathroom, another man beat him to it, and Seannie's poor little GI system just couldn't hold it in anymore. You could tell he was cramping up and was upset about getting himself (and Dad, and the seat) messy. He was crying and pooping all at once, and it was so sad. Cody just looked at me across the aisle (currently breastfeeding a crying James next to a complete (male) stranger) and says "we have a disaster." And it was. Finally Cody gets him to the airplane bathroom and discovers the extent of the disaster--full pants, shirt, and eventually socks involvement. After about 10 minutes I finish with James and sit him (by himself) in my seat as I start cleaning up the poopy seat with airline disinfectant...gross! The man sitting next to me looks over and is startled to see a 4 month old baby sitting by himself, so he graciously helped by putting his hand over Jamesie's tummy to hold him in place. I finish cleaning up the poop and go back to offer help to cody. I open the bathroom door (picture the scene in Tommy Boy with Chris Farley changing into a suit in the itty-bitty airplane bathroom), to find Sean completely naked except socks, standing on the closed toilet seat, cody wiping him down with tiny alcohol swabs the stewardess gave us, and Sean's glasses in Cody's mouth. Sean is still crying, and then he starts peeing--on Cody. I hear Cody say "Can you just wait a minute to pee?" I figure I'm no use to this mess, so I go back with the old poopy clothes in a plastic bag and tend to James and any residual mess at our seats.
Finally Cody and Sean get back in clean dry clothes and we have a nice next 30 minutes. Then, as we start our decent for landing (seatbacks and tray tables in their upright position), we hear Seannie's voice again-- "pee pee! poop! Daddy! poop!" Cody says "again? right now?," and receiving an affirmative answer, unbuckles Sean and picks him up to go to the infamous bathroom again, only to be stopped by a dutiful flight attendant who will not let them get up due to the landing. So, Sean starts crying, and pooping, again. Another disaster akin to the one 30 minutes prior. Only this time, we have no dry, clean clothes, we have no more underpants, no pull-up, no diaper, no wipes, no shorts, and Cody barely saves the shirt by whipping it off of Sean as the poop starts exploding. We have no idea what to do. The plane is starting to stink, and I just put my head in my hands as Cody is trying to stuff paper towels down Sean's shorts. I rummage through our bag and find a receiving blanket which we plan to wrap around Sean's waist for our next flight (yes, we have another flight to go at this point!), when a good Samaritan mother of a three year old a few rows back hands me a diaper, wipes and a pair of her son's shorts! Even though i'm never going to see this woman again, she graciously gave me her son's extra clothes-- we made a note to remember her kindness the next time we're in her position, watching, not experiencing, a crisis. I turn around and apologize to the entire back of the plane. Luckily, no one seemed too mad, most everyone gave me sympathetic looks or nods, or said, we we're once in your position a few years ago. During the second round almost everyone around us started handing us paper towels and even a few air-sickness bags (?) to help.
At this point, we land at 6:25 p.m., and our next flight leaves for Charleston at 6:45. We agree that Cody will take Sean to do a repeat wipe-down and clothes change while I take James and run for the next flight. I get James in his carseat and leave the stroller for Cody and barely-dressed Sean. UGH-- our next flight is a tram away at another terminal (and the furthest gate down that terminal-- of course!). Cody eventually catches up to me on the tram, and as the doors open I sprint up the escalator with James while Cody catches the elevator with the stroller and Sean. I start sprinting-two stairs at a time, holding the car seat with two hands instead of using the handle. I'm in the hallway now and running as fast as I can, intermittenly worrying about what kind of brain trauma i'm inflicting on James as he's bouncing around in the seat, keep running faster and faster, I'm feeling the burn in my legs, but we're only ten gates away at this point, so I push it faster, and then I feel it-- my chest getting tight, short breaths-- I can hear a high-pitched wheeze when I breathe in. Oh no...I know this feeling...but I literally have not had any asthmatic symptoms since we moved to Charleston 3 years ago-- I don't even know where my inhaler is, much less do I carry it with me (I did have my epi-pen with me, mom). What do I do when I start feeling my chest getting tight? Run faster. Smart move (not). I get to the gate and see The Lady closing the door to our flight. The stress, sprinting, car-seat carrying, and dissapointment at seeing the door close in front of me, sends everything into a tizzy--the wheezing is louder, the breaths are harder--I put James down on the ground, completely abandoning any parenting duties at this point, empty my pockets (onto the ground) to show The Lady I have a boarding pass (along with $10, a driver's license and receipt for a banana), drop to my hands and knees, and have a full-blown asthma attack at the gate, in the middle of the Atlanta airport with about 200 onlookers. Tears streaming, sweat pouring, gasping for air, getting more and more dizzy from lack of O2, it is not pretty. Cody comes running up to find me (and the contents of my pockets) on the ground, James by himself a few feet away and the TSA people and a friendly nurse surrounding me. Cody is familiar enough with my breathing issues to know that I just needed to calm down, which I did. As he's getting me calmed down, LUCKILY, another group of passengers arrive for the flight, so The Lady opens the door and lets us all board (after the asthma subsides).
Cody covered in a fine layer of toddler poop, both of us drenched in sweat, me in tears and hands and legs still shaking, we board the plane, and I'm happy to report, had a nice flight watching Curious George and letting Jamesie sleep on the way home to Charleston. We got home in time for baths and showers for all, and we are all happy and healthy and thankful for being home today.
Some pics of the better parts of our week:
My Dad with his 6 siblings and Mother
Luke, Anne, John, Mark, Emmy, Tom, Mimi, Matt (If you're following, yes, the boys are Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and Tom, in that order).
Emmy with all of her grandchildren except Denise (in TX) and Eva (in MI). I told Cody that in 50 years this is what I want. All my kids and grandkids coming to visit me at Knobby Knoll.
Benny with Jamesie
Philip (shares a bday with SB), Brendan and Kacie
Meghan, the budding photographer. I babysat Meghan when she was 5 for a summer. Now she's about to start high school!
I babysat Bridget when she was Jamesie's age. Now she's going into 2nd grade!
Sean and Cody on the beach looking out at Bass Island
Emmy with her great-grandson James, who is wearing a lifejacket for the first time.
Happy.
