It simply would not be a McCarthy vacation without a touch of chaos and disaster. In fact as we were departing for Cape Cod last week the girls kept waiting for the ball to drop.
“What will happen this time?”
Every checkpoint we reached, whether it be airport security, boarding the plane, actually taking off, or not losing luggage the girls rejoiced. “Nothing has gone wrong…for the first time ever!”
They aren’t wrong.
Florida…lost our luggage.
Key West… don’t even ask.
Cape Cod 2016…13 hours in the airport, one flight cancelled, another missed.
Colorado Road Trip…RV cancelled an hour before we were supposed to leave the house with three weeks worth of luggage.
But THIS trip, Cape Cod 2017, was looking pretty perfect, until of course it took a sharp right turn into vacation hell.
So we left the Cape on a blustery, rainy morning. We got to the airport in plenty of time, checked our flight and really were not surprised when we were hit with a three hour delay. No problem! We can just park our butts at the airport restaurant and feed the kids until they explode or pass out. Hey, we mine as well treat ourselves to a pint of beer…or two.
We finished destroying the restaurant and started walking to our gate, dragging two car seats, carry-ons and small humans. We passed one of the longest lines I have ever seen, everyone pissed off and waiting to speak to someone from the Jet Blue airline apparently. Glad that’s not us! We got to our gate and were a bit perplexed when the gate read “Denver” not “Detroit.” Must be a simple error, maybe they changed our gate, no need to panic.
The flight has been cancelled.
Ok. Now we can panic.
Sam trudged back through the Boston airport and stood in the longest line ever and I stood there, slightly buzzed, staring at my children running circles around me. This lasted all of five minutes before the twins had to poop. Hmmmm. Can’t leave our crap just sitting here, so through the airport we went in search of a bathroom. The kids and I weaved in and out of angry travelers (we were not the only cancellation) dragging two heavy carry ons and two car seats. Mama Sherpa was quickly losing her shit.
(I spy a whacked out hazel…)
We found Sam, and the potty and made some phone calls to the Jet Blue airline, along with the other three hundred million grounded passengers. Bad news: They could not get us a flight out until 8 pm the next day. More bad news: Just kidding, no flights going into Detroit for the next TWO days. What they could do for us was fly us into any number of other cities and then we could rent a car and drive five hours to the Detroit airport and pick up our own vehicle, then drive another two hours home.
What to do, what to do. So many crappy options to choose from.
Before any decisions could be made regarding travel we had to go grab our luggage. Including carry-ons and car seats we had TEN large, heavy items to move. Go ahead and try to mobilize this family along with that shit, it was like a horrifying game of Tetris. No matter which way we loaded shit onto the rented cart we couldn’t really move, which meant Sam ran around the airport trying to find flights to accommodate our family or cars to rent and I stayed put with the angry beasts. Oh angry doesn’t even begin to illustrate the girls. They cried, they bitched, they refused to walk another step. The bigs were furious that we would not buy them twenty five dollar ear buds for a flight that we never even got on. Thee littles fought, yelled, and complained, smashed Cheeze-Its into their hair and showed the Boston airport what happens when you piss off tired twin toddlers. I won’t lie, at this point I kind of enjoyed watching them make it rain with crushed up orange crackers. Serves you right Jet Blue, you assholes.
In the end we decided to say screw it and rented a van to drive home. We lugged all of the kids and junk onto a shuttle, and through the parking lot where the twins peed their pants…again. We loaded the van up and started driving through Boston where we drove a whopping five minutes before nearly crashing the car. We came so close to smashing into the car next to us that it pushed my side mirror in. More crying ensued…mostly from me. We made it to Hartford, Connecticut before we realized that we needed to book a hotel for the night. This is pretty hard to do when you have no idea where you are, where you are headed and have no working phones.
Once we got a smidge of battery life we started calling around.
Apparently Hartford is the place to be on a Monday night.
We called five different area hotels before finally finding one that could house our massive clan. Don’t tell me how much it costs, just don’t tell me.
So here we are, somewhere in Connecticut, eleven hours from home, vacationed out and wondering why in the hell we even try to leave the house anymore.