On Saturday, we packed a small suitcase: two pairs of shorts, Nicolaus’ overalls, a few shirts. A couple of shirts for me and some pajama pants. I put a few things in a tote bag – snacks, two sippy cups, a little camera with no CF card in it because I’m stupid, my wallet, cell phone, twistable colored pencils, and a couple of tiny tiny coloring books.
Kevin drove us to the airport. We got up to the security checkpoint, he hugged me and said, “I love you. But God I do not envy you.”
“Pah – you’re just jealous of how awesome all my fun is going to be.”
He said bye bye/I love you/be extra extra good for mama to the boys. “We’ll be fine.” I waved him away, “I go places with them all the time – this is no different.”
He left. We bustled up to security, I put my bag up on the thing. A woman barked, “You’ll need to put his cars in there.” – she meant the two toy cars that Graham was clutching. “Okay,” I said, “Graham can the lady see your cars a second?”
That didn’t go over well but he was okay. Then we moved through the line and a man told us, “Shoes. All of y’all. All three of you, shoes off.”
Shit. Shit shit shit. The love that Graham shares with his shoes is like none other. They’re making a movie about it, where there’s a shipwreck and Graham washes up on the shore of a deserted island with his shoes and he is the only one who can tame them enough to be worn, and they form a special bond that only strengthens when they return to civilization. None of this mattered to the hardened hearts of our nation’s protectors at the security gate.
He screamed. He howled. He demanded his shoes back. He turned just in time to see them toss his shoes into a bin and run it through the thingy.
Oh. My. Living. LORD. As far as he was concerned, some horrible person had just taken his two best friends (besides for his toes obviously) and thrown them in the garbage.
“Look look look,” I tried to reassure him, “We’ll get them back just as soon as we step through this little thing –”
BEEP. “Ma’am. You need to step back through.”
“I need to wha? Oh. Sorry.”
I took off my necklace which isn’t easy with a screaming angry shoeless toddler on your hip I hope you know.
BEEP. Crap. Cell phone. Maybe wallet, but probably not. I pulled everything out of all my pockets and threw them in the thing.
Okay… now…?
Finally. Finally, finally the thing didn’t beep. Whatever happened to those magic wand things they used to use to check and see if your beeping was just your necklace or whatever? What would they do if you were wearing overalls or something? Each time we step through, Nicolaus starts to march confidently onward without me and I have to issue a son recall. “DUDE. Come back, Nicolaus, please.”
You haven’t stopped imagining the sound of a screaming angry tiny person have you? Because the screaming was still happening, strewn with words about Dam’s spaceship shooooooes back on Dam’s feet. SHOES BACK ON, please shoes! Back! ON! (howl, kick me in the side, et all)
So finally, the metal dude declares us metal-free. He is proud. He has done a good job of protecting everyone from a potentially dangerous and terrifyingly peaceful afternoon.
In front of us, a business guy stops to slip on his shoes. So does a lady in a nice dress. It’s very odd, seeing people who are dressed nice like that submit to taking their shoes off without a second thought.
The security people ask me some questions about my laptop – can they turn it on and all. Fine. Yes. Are you finished inspecting my son’s shoes yet? Because he –
“DAM SHOES BACKONNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Nicolaus, please stand right next to me. What? Yes, laptop, turn it on.” Fuck, you can have my laptop if you’ll just give me back my baby’s shoes.
“Can we? Just get – he really wants his shoes.”
“Ma’am, they’re over there.” DUH! We quietly sneaked your bucket of crap past you while de-metaled you and checked your laptop for porno and everything. His shoes have been waiting there just beyond
Look, I haven’t flown since 2001. I’ve never flown with little kids. I’ve definitely never flown with screaming kids who were screaming in my ear and who wouldn’t stop screaming. I didn’t know the protocol with the shoes and the drinks and oh! I just had an idea! They could put up some sort of signs. That would tell you things like what to expect and what to do and things.
Of course that would spoil the surprise.
Anyway, I found his shoes. Thank you, tiny baby Jesus, now we can make the screaming stop!
“Ma’am? You can’t set him up on this counter.”
Fine. I put Graham on the floor and started to put his shoes on.
“You can’t stop and put his shoes on here.”
“But – where do I?”
“There is a table over there, with a chair.”
Hm. Over there, behind the wall, away from my laptop and all the other (SCREAMING BABY SCREAMING BABY OMG CANNOT THINK) stuff.
So we finally reunited Graham with his shoes. The screaming stopped. I gathered all my crap, and we went to Dallas.
The trip was wonderful. Graham kept his shoes on the entire four days. He slept with them on at night. We’re home now, and he’s in his happy bed with his shoes.
The way back worked pretty much the same way. Even though I knew what to expect and tried to prepare him, he still lost his mind. He really likes his shoes.
Airports wear me out. The trip was great, the plane rides were fun, but airports are designed to make people with children regret everything they have ever done in their entire lives that might have led up to that moment where they went to the airport with their kids. Today while we sat waiting at our gate, Nicolaus spun around in front of me and danced the way he does and said, “Mama? You look really beautiful.”
“Aw,” I said, “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged, “You just look pretty. Because – your eyes, they have like this black, like circles around them? All dark all under and around like THIS. But your eyes are really white, and it just looks super pretty.”
There you go.