We Did It!

So those of you who know The Mommy know that T.M. HATES flying. LOVES to travel, to experience new places, cultures etc. but hates to fly. Compound that with an unnecessary tendency to panic on occasion, the state of airline travel today (lack of customer service, holding passengers hostage on the tarmac for hours, security torture), the awful affliction of motion sickness, two rambunctious toddlers, two Dramamines, and you can imagine how much harder traveling has become.
So while I have been looking forward to traveling with my babies and showing them the world, I am practically panicked at the thought of having to fly with them... alone.
On our trip to Vancouver, Nico thought it a good idea if the kids and I stay a few extra days after he left to return to work. "It's only a two hour flight. Mom will be with you at the airport. I'll be right there to get you guys, you can come home, put your feet up and sleep off the Dramamine". So we head out on our last day, both Ted and Marcia taking me and the kids to the airport. Ted lets us all out so Marcia can help me with the kids, stroller, two backpacks, laptop case, and two huge suitcases while we get checked in. Then I realize... I have to carry all of this through customs, alone. I can't check the bags until I get through. How can I push a cart, hold Zoe's hand, push the stroller with Julian and bags and backpacks ALL BY MYSELF. I'll ask if either Marcia can come with me to customs, or if they can send someone to help me. They look at me as if I am asking them to rub my feet and peel some grapes. Oh no, neither one is possible. The sweat starts to drip from my forehead, my heart races, I'm starting to get mad and scared, and thinking there is no way I can do this. But Marcia demonstrates that I can indeed push the cart (with Zoe sitting in it, and two suitcases- about 140 lbs) while pulling the stroller with julian and laptop, backpack, while fumbling along through customs, which isn't THAT far away. The security line snakes through the airport, inching along slowly. My god, I'll never make it to the plane on time. Julian is getting antsy, squirmy, whiny. Zoe is hungry and thirsty. I thought we'd snack in the terminal, but now there won't be any time, we'll be stuck in line the whole 2 hours. Marcia and Ted hang with me, pushing carts until I get almost to customs, then... off I go, alone. Pushing, pulling- I'm moving. Single people with tiny rollies run around me. Customs guy is nice, that's over, dump bags, dump cart, grab Zoe's hand, and into the security line. Jeesus. It is sooooo long. But Julian has calmed down and Zoe, sensing my stress, is being really good. She wants to sit on the stroller too, and we inch through the line. Until Julian pushes her off the front-wham!- by surprise, and sends her onto her rug-burned face. Zoe is crying (rightly so), fellow travelers are stooping over with concern, big scene. Finally, an older woman sends me to the edge of the line to tell security that I should be in the "special line", and everyone lets me by, and they do. Shew. I've taken off the kids shoes, pulled out the bottle for inspection, removed the laptop, sectioned off everything into gray bins- trying to keep a hand on each child- and now they want me to remove HALF OF MY TODDLERS CLOTHES. Are you effing kidding me?!? AND fold the stroller and hoist it onto the belt- all while making sure a toddler doesn't shoot through the metal detectors screaming alone, and keeping another eye on all my stuff which is now on the other side. But we made it. With minutes to spare, zipping in the stroller, no shoes on the kids feet, RUNNING on the moving sidewalk, asking people to move to the side if they're just going to stand there- Zoe, her enormous back pack bouncing along behind her, such a trooper. And we made it. With a bathroom stop and snack pick up to spare- because you know they aren't going to feed us anytime soon, and the kids blew through the snacks and drinks in line.
On the plane, I take a deep breath (and a second Dramamine) and pull out the water, sticker books and legos. We're ready. Julian on my lap, a little bouncy but holding it together. Zoe quite content with her books. We're pulling away, rumbling down the runway. Then slow, then stop. Wait. More wait. "We're having an airconditioning malfunction, trying to get that fixed. We'll be underway shortly."
More sweat, heart pumping. Thoughts of being trapped on the tarmac, bottle gone, snackies gone, computer battery gone, water gone. Children FREAKING OUT, TM right behind them. But after about 15-20 mins, we shoot off without a word like a rocket- legos and Winnie The Pooh and Tigger too, rattling under the seats, Zoe and I frantically trying to put everything back into the backpack. And we're up.
We get our gingerale. Fizzy, refreshing, soothing. We buy more snackies. I start the DVD I had packed. And off we were into the wild blue yonder. Holding it together.
Two hours later, as soon as the seatbelt signs were on, and we were turning round over the San Mateo bridge, Zoe announces that she has to go pee-pee. "Really bad". There's no getting up now. Turning, lowering, "the pee-pees are coming!!" Oh god no, not now.
But we make it, all of us make it, and there's the bathroom right next to the gate, and as soon as I'm looking for the baggage sign, there's daddy, yelling to us, waiting.
Zoe cool as a cucumber the whole time. I'm glad someone was.