Our quest for giving thanks

This year for Thanksgiving, we decided on a whim to take a trip to California. Just for fun. In doing so, Ricardo and I did everything right. We prepared, we planned, we packed. We booked our flights so that we had ample time to make our connecting flights with two kids in tow. We packed perfectly so that we could check the giant suitcase and pay $20 in an effort for our kids to only have to keep up with their backpacks. Every issue was addressed. Every detail, meticulously accounted for, including counting out enough gummy bear vitamins for 6 days.

We had to wake the kids up at 4:30a.m. to get checked in. With all of the hullabaloo about the pat downs and x-ray security. Look, I either get a free body scan check for cancer or I get felt up. It's win-win. Still, we knew there was a possibility for a delay in security check, so we woke our children up at 4:30a.m. We made it. Checked in. All was right. Except, I didn't get felt up. Maybe next time.

And our plans for a vacation in Sunny California are a bit smuttered by the weather. It seems pilots don't like to land in fog. Which is probably good, in theory. Except I've made up my mind faster when buying shoes than these guys hauling my entire life (Ricardo, Max, Lucy, and that big ass suitcase with all my stuff in it) around in a mass steel bird. "We're going to circle Denver. Nah, I think we're gonna go to Colorado Springs. Woops, no it's cleared, going to Denver. It'll just be 20 minutes." 40 minutes of stomach-wrenching turbulence later, we land. In fog, mind you. You can imagine the 25 year-old pilot's face when I thanked him as I departed. I thanked him for finally making a decision, but thanked him quietly so as not to commence projectile vomiting. I was so sick. I thought Lucy would be the one, but no, it's me. We walk into the airport only to find that we've missed our flight by 20 minutes.

We are advised to check in with Customer Service. So we go.It's amazing the glares the poor customer service agents are getting from the folks in front of us. As if Bobby directed the weather to do this. So when we step up to Bobby 30 minutes later you can imagine his surprise when he sighs, "Can I help you?" and I retort "Vodka shots for everyone behind the counter! YAY!" I really thought that'd get me on the next flight. If by next flight, you mean tomorrow ma'am, then yes.

Thanks to all that, we're hanging out in the Denver airport. Our new flight, the one we're booked on is for TOMORROW NIGHT. Hello Denver! However, we're opting to to hang out on Standby for the flight that was supposed to leave at noon, but has been pushed back...to FIVE! Wow. We're up for an adventure.

Whatever we do, we're gonna have fun doing it, DAMMIT! Ricardo and I take turns on taking the kids on "adventures" which would consist of tram surfing. Max and I run into my coach and her team coming home from a tournament. I think we freaked her out, "So, Les, you're uh, hanging out in the Denver Airport tram surfing?" Yes. I. Am.

We watched 3 movies, played 2 games of Uno, 49 games of catch - yes Max packed his football - and I think Lucy finished all of her extra homework that I bribed the teacher to send home. All that good work, and we ended up not getting on the flight on stand by. We trudged to customer service just in case. And lo - they could get us to San Fran. Then a lean in with an explanation that they aren't really supposed to but since we're nice and all.

I looked around and saw every other person screaming rage in their eyes. Some knew more than the ticket agent and others had the best saddest story to top all others. There is something to be said for just genuinely being nice. So we get on a flight at 9p.m. That would officially clock our time in the Denver Airport at a measly 12 hours. The trip, whether we're in route or not, is serving its purpose, I'm spending time with my family. I am thankful. We eat and I don't have to do the dishes, still thankful. We wait for 3 hours. The kids are depressed that we are going to wait for another flight. We try to explain we are not on stand by, that we have tickets. They don't understand, nor do they care. They want to go to a hotel. They are begging us for sleep. That's new. I go ask the ticket agent - "Seriously its on time and everything because we just spent twelve hours in this airport."

"Oh bless your heart! Yes its on time! No worries!" I come back and re-assure the kids in my most comforting actress voice, that indeed, the flight is on time, all is good. FIVE MINUTES LATER the other ticket agent comes on the overhead and says "Folks there is rain and wind in San Francisco so we are delaying the flight to 11p.m. but need to board at 10 and de- ice." Shit. Max begins to weep. Lucy too. How do they know what de-icing means anyway?

Meanwhile, I develop a new appreciation for tagless shirts. Ricardo can't tear off the tag without ripping the shirt. Did you know that ticket agents aren't allowed to have scissors at their counter? I'm guessing its so someone doesn't stab them in the eye when they tell them their flight is not delayed and then oh wait, yes it is. So I can't cut it out. Its now rubbing a blister on me. The kids and I resolve to watch another movie. It's been a long time since I've been able to sit down and watch a movie with my kids. I'm a wee bit embarrassed about that, and yet, thankful.

So then fog rolls in and they hustle us on the plane. Ironic that FOG is what is going to get this plane OUT of here. Eventually we take off. Lucy fell asleep before we ever took off. We landed in San Francisco and went to baggage claim hoping on some prayer our suitcase would be there. It wasn't. Next stop shuttle bus. We call to confirm that our hotel shuttle bus is coming. They promise it's there every 30 minutes. We go out to the designated bus stop to wait. They never came. It starts to drizzle out. Then harder. Then sleet. It is 2 a.m. (4a.m. Central Time - I've officially been wearing this effn tagged shirt for 24 hours). We are apparently the only ones in San Francisco. We are huddled in a bus stop shelter at 2 in the morning. Max loses it. Chris starts to make him stop and I whisper - "The kid has valid and rational concerns."

We finally pay some shuttle who has stopped by every 15 minutes to check on us to just get us to our hotel. When we get there, no one is at the counter. Because it is 2am. Just when I consider hopping the desk and checking ourselves in - a guy appears. My butt is puckered for the inevitable report, "We have no rooms at our Inn." But we get a break, and get a room. With two beds, even! I ask for toothbrushes and toothpaste. He hands me four toothbrushes with toothpaste pre-applied. Which is great, except that means we can only brush (with toothpaste) once. Everyone else opts for the morning brush, but I have to wash away the angst and humility and shower before I go to sleep. In the shower, the hot water stings on the spot where my tag was on my shirt. And I have to brush the hair off my teeth, opting for a dry brush in the morning, with a mouth rinse of coffee. We go to bed, but without our luggage, we have to punt on our pajama apparel. I have to sleep in my bra and undies and its weird because I wear thongs, y'all. I'm also slumbering with my daughter. Awkward.

The next morning I am forced to put my tagged shirt back on. And we track down our bag and go eat and rent a car. Ricardo takes the kids back up to the room to get our backpacks and gets on the elevator and it stops mid floor. Holy crap. Here we go again. We get in the car and head back to Sacramento to pick up our luggage.
We did it - we got our bag - which was the easiest part so far - picking up the giant suitcase. I now have deodorant - face soap and moisturizer. Let's give Thanks.

That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Time Is On My Side by The Rolling Stones