Goodbye, Dear Airport Friend

It has come time for our family to visit our home.  Home being, in this case, California.  Which, to be fair, is most people’s idea of a vacation.  So that’s kind of like winning the travel lottery, really, and it can be quite a money-saver when it all comes down to it.

We’ve traveled enough that we have definite airport preferences – because any traveler can tell you exactly how much an airport can make or break a good visit.  Everything – from services, to concession hours, to cleanliness, to available connections,  to the attitude of employees, to outside traffic, to the prices of rental cars – EVERYTHING in an airport adds up.

And when I say everything, I mean everything.  Like Ebola hand washing stations.  Those definitely add up.

**Meanwhile, in Sierra Leone…

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Eh, It Will Be Just Fine

Several months ago I went to hear a talk about travel.  This one, one which I’ve had a chance to quote several times since, dealt specifically with the issue of travel safety.  Plus, we got to play with some fun toys.

Because not every travel destination is the beautiful, safe beaches of Hawaii.

Or the beautiful, safe beaches of California.  Which, as we all know, are best enjoyed with food in our teeth.
Or the beautiful, safe beaches of California. Which, as we all know, are best enjoyed with food in our teeth.

On the other hand, the vast majority of the world does not house terrifying specters of Jack the Ripper, just waiting to pounce on unsuspecting tourists and go all Sweeney Todd on their innards, either.  Still, it doesn’t help to be prepared.  But how does one do that?

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The Time I was THAT Mom

I’m not going to lie, I’m THAT mom more than I’m comfortable with.  I’m THAT mom whose kids melted down at the dinner table after a full day of sightseeing while other children sat beautifully and quietly in starched dress clothes and said things like, “Please, Mother, might I have a bit of cheese?”  At least, that’s what it seems like the other kids are doing when I’m THAT mom at the restaurant.

I’m also THAT mom when my son chooses to run-off to the bathroom without telling anyone while we are checking our luggage at the airport and in a time crunch due to unexpected traffic.  You know the one, THAT mom who loses her mind and marches her child, goose-stepping toward the immigration officers who look like they are caught between fear of bringing the matter up and causing an explosive incident and wondering if the flight will be safe with that much frustrated anger  in one economy seat.

This time, though – this time I was the mother who should have been featured on Passenger Shaming. Specifically, this mother,  although not really that mother, just one with the same sort of detritus left by my offspring.

It happens.

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