Sweeeeet Mercy

Yesterday I had to brave the airport with my two kids. Alone. Which I actually don't consider too difficult; however, I always feel a little rushed and crazy while trying to get shoes off (and on again) and push all our bags through security. I actually don't even mind the extra security measures, even though they can be a pain. I've had to pour out our sippy cup once, and another time had to throw away an unopened Capri Sun once. On our way to California I forgot about my own shoes in my rush to ensure the kids took off their shoes. Yesterday in San Diego I thought I was all prepared: the laptop was already out, the shoes were off, and all the pockets were empty of random things like keys or cell phones. I had even kept the tired cranky 3 year old from melting down. Then I remembered,

We had juice boxes in our bags.

That were not less than 3 ounces or enclosed in a Ziploc bag.

I started yelling, "Quick!! Open your bag!!! Find the juice box!!!"

Seth was a little surprised to say the least, but quickly complied.

We hunted down 3 juice boxes, but I knew we had a fourth one somewhere.

Augh! I quickly considered if I could convince security that my children were diabetic (the only legal juice exception: babies get formula, milk, or water). You don't know exactly how strict they will be with the rules. A security guy standing nearby took a juice box and read the label to confirm that the juice boxes were too big, but in the absence of a nearby trashcan he suggested that I ask the other security people about them and hinted that they have the power to allow the juice to pass through.

Before I could reply, it was our turn at the front of the line. I am sure I had a "deer in the headlights" look on my face after I loaded everything else onto the belt and stood there undecided about what I should do with the juice boxes. And what was the appropriate time to start pleading my juice box case? I didn't know.

The security girl (who had to have been over 6' tall) and I had one of those long slow motion moments. We made eye contact. She looked down at my stash of juice boxes in one arm and a cranky three year old in the other arm. Then she looked back up at me. I think she knew what would go down if they tried to swipe the juice boxes and throw them in the trash. Finally, she shrugged and told me to carry them on through.

Pity or mercy? Either way, I was much relieved since those 4 boxes were the only drinks we had and I didn't want to waste money on pricey airport drinks or depend upon flight attendants to refill our sippy cup!





Oh, in other news. At the FRONT of the security line, which means AFTER you have been standing in the security line for 20 minutes, they have a polite informative sign that says "Limited restrooms upstairs." As if, after being in line for 20 minutes you are going to drop out of line to use the downstairs restrooms. Instead it just warns you of the fact that you will stand in line again (with two kids) after you get upstairs. And they weren't kidding. For like 8 or so gates, there was one bathroom with 3 stalls and 2 sinks. Uh, yeah.


Otherwise, our time in California was fabulous and included some really crazy adventures. Pictures and stories to come whenever I might have the chance (and my camera cable unpacked!). This weekend we head for a hotel in our new city and HOPEFULLY will move into our house this next week. Or else I will go ka-razy. :)