How Not to Travel Across the Country

There are certain things I would rather travel without: small children, baggage fees, plane delays, stomach flu...

I guess I should have reminded myself of that last one before I spent the night preceding our cross-country flight trying to decide which end of my body needed most immediate access to the toilet. Luckily, the bathtub was within conversational distance of the toilet, if you know what I mean. And luckily there was a bathtub, because I slept in it. Literally.

Ugh.

The next morning David requested a late checkout from the hotel after the only responses I could give to his questions were along the lines of those Wesley gave Count Rugen after having been subjected to "The Machine".

After achieving the Olympic feat of keeping down a sip of water for more than two minutes (an encouraging development, as total dehydration is not recommended when one is nursing twins) a few hours of rest, and a priesthood blessing, I was able to get out of bed and into some clothes about twenty minutes before we had to head to the airport.

We made it through check-in without having to pay $90 for a bag that was two pounds overweight (who does Delta think they are kidding?!), and we made it through security even though I had forgotten to empty one of our water bottles ("This is for the baby, right?????," the TSA agent asked while vigorously nodding at me).

Our flight was delayed by an hour, and then another. I laid down on the dirty airport floor and wished I had the ability to apparate. Delta started offering $600 vouchers to take a different flight, but the thought of hauling a truckload of luggage and three small children back out of the airport was too exhausting to contemplate, so we waited. By the time we got on the plane the babies had worn out their good behavior and were both screaming at the top of their lungs.

Once on the plane flight attendants started offering $800 in vouchers. (Oddly, several people in our immediate vicinity volunteered to be bumped). Then the heavens smiled upon us and a flight attendant shifted things around so we could have the entire back row of the plane to ourselves. Unfortunately, the angelic chorus that had started playing in my head was drowned out as we made our way to the back of the plane and were greeted with a huge collective groan from the other passengers. Several of them jumped up and demanded new seats as they didn't want to sit next to "those people". (I felt a burst of empathy for lepers). As I sat down the man in front of us turned around and asked me, accusingly, "Are they sick or something?!" as if babies never have reason to cry after having been stuck in an airport for four hours.

Soon after take-off the babies settled down enough to eat and then immediately fell asleep. Michael joined in the snooze fest and slept the whole flight. And, with the peace of mind that could only come from sitting right next to the lavatories, I was able to rest as well. Ah, Divine intervention. It works wonders.

But seriously, I've paid my dues. No more stomach flu for me for at least ten years.

Okay, I'll settle for five.