Boots rezipped, belt buckled, boarding passes hot off the press, bags tagged and checked we plopped into the big cushy Southwest airlines chairs at the gate.  My 2, hoodie clad kids were opening their backpacks with cords,connectors Ipad and laptop before I could say, “Wow!  I think you can use your chargers in this new waiting area.”   Stools lining  a table with electronic access and rows of leather armchairs with the same, I was very impressed.  It looked like the old UsAir club that my Dad would take us into as kids but minus the quiet, snacks and old suit-clad business men looking grouchy while ice-clinked against their whiskey glasses.  This helped to relieve the stress knot my insides had become since discovering the day before we were “C” boarders.  C?!?  Well, might as well be steerage class on the Titanic.    I didn’t remember  time was of the essence with Southwest boarding passes and my husband, who flies practically EVERY WEEK, somehow forgot to convey this important tidbit while golfing the day before.  The thought of my youngest possibly not being able to sit with me or his sister had me on the phone trying to find other flights, upgrade to business class, imploring the Southwest voice on the phone line for any ideas.  Of which she had none, except to say,”Have  a little  faith in people.  They usually switch if you ask.”  No, I have no faith in the public, so I planned on taking some $20 as a bribe and nurtured my grudge against hubby who was flying care free a day later with my oldest teen.  Lesson learned. I purchased the “Early Boarding” option for the return flight where they eliminate the need for you to check in, and they give you the next available boarding number at the time of Early Bird Boarding purchase.

Luckily, my 13 year old  spotted 2 seats together in the next to last row with 1 across the aisle.  Whew!  While we were slipping into the last 3 seats together, I heard the guy behind me say to the flight attendant, “This isn’t going to work.  I need to sit with my kids.”  I hope she was able to facilitate a move for them and I am storing that information away.  As last resort, throw yourself on the mercy of flight attendant.  Flying is so easy now that the kids are older.  The chaos of gate checked strollers and car seats, emergency diaper changes, and rotations of snacks-books-coloring-stickers for entertainment was all a part of  vacation excitement.  I actually miss it.  Then my oldest wouldn’t have dreamed of  cutting the Christmas trip short in favor of  ”things planned” with his friends, and we would have had early family boarding.

After a wonderful Christmas filled with family,food,snow,movies,sledding,cards,presents and love, we were in the airport with our boarding passes of B 6,7,8 thanks to Early Bird Check in. No stress about sitting together, but still I had a tiny worry.  When they announced the cattle -call of B boarding with columns clearly label 1-5 and 6-10 I noticed a tight lipped lady clutching her bag  had nudged ahead of us and staring straight ahead. Hmmm.  I don’t know if it was being around my extremely loud, opinionated family for a week or seeing my 70 year old mom get out of the car in the pharmacy drive through line to tap on window of the one ahead to ask what was taking so long, but I was determined not to let her elbow in front of us.  After all we did pay extra for these spots and maybe it would be the 1 seat ahead that would separate us? Stepping in front of her I said, “Excuse me but this lady has number 5(pointing at the back in front of us) and we(gesturing at myself and 2 kids) have 6, 7 and 8 so we are here.”  This is huge for me.  I really usually just pity the poor sap with bad manners or roll my eyes at rudeness.  When we were first married and living in Massachusetts, I would be among the mob in the deli line holding my number while every time I tried to claim my spot someone just barreled ahead with their order. It still bothers me that an old biddy came over to our booth years ago at a kid friendly restaurant and told my very well-behaved son to stop kicking his chair, the noise bothered her. Huh? I didn’t even know what she was talking about.  And the lady who had the nerve to move our all our beach bags from the table we had waited for just as I was arriving with the lunch tray, and little kids with the explanation of “where am I supposed to eat?”  My 45-year-old self would have replied I don’t fuc*** freakin’ care what you think or what you do, don’t touch my stuff or address my kids.  I’ve come a long way, baby.