The debate continues as to who had the more difficult trip back to Brussels - Tony and Rich, who drove the 20 hour drive from Spain, or Kelly and I, who flew with the kids. Don't choose until you consider the following:- We woke up at 5am, packed the kids (ages 5, 3, 2, and 1) in the car, and drove an hour and a half to the airport (we only got lost once).
- While standing in line at the airport to check in, a red sign goes up indicating an 8-hour flight delay - this has got to be a joke - nope.
- I spend the next 4 hours running all over the airport, waiting in lines, and begging in an attempt to get us on a different flight while Kelly watches the 4 kids (she definitely had the more difficult job).
- Some nice airline person in Brussels takes pity on us and contacts an airline person in Spain, who manages to get us 6 seats on the 1:30 flight.
- Our 6 seats, despite being a godsend, are not all in one place, or even all in two places, so upon boarding we (and the flight attendants) have to negotiate with the other passengers to get two sets of 3-seats.
- During this process, Grayson has a pee-pee accident (oops). In some strange act of karma, it happens all over the seat of a guy who 5 minutes later makes me and 2 of the kids pack our stuff and move so that he can keep his assigned seat. I am not making this up. The seat is vinyl, so I wipe it off and we move on, with Grayson walking down the airplane aisle barefoot and wearing only his underpants (are you picturing this?).
12 hours after starting this ordeal we arrive in Brussels. Tony and Rich are still on the road, but in peace and quiet, enjoying the vistas of the French countryside.
