This day started at the crack of dawn. Actually, dawn hadn't even cracked yet. I almost said the butt-crack of dawn (that's what I was really thinking to be honest), but that would have sounded very juvenile for a 38-year mother of four, right? So I won't say that. We don't even use the "B" word in our house. It's either bum or patootie. No, I have no idea where I got patootie, but it has really stuck.
Anyhow, the 4:00 am alarm was painful. I'm an early riser by nature, but any wake up time with a 4 in front of it is just not right. Unless you're my cousin, Beth.
But since I'm not Beth, it seemed too early. Unfortunately, I had no snooze bar option today. My flight to Utah was leaving Sky Harbor at 6:10 am. Ryan's still up north doing the guy thing at Camp Geronimo, so I left my peeps home alone sleeping with Barrett in charge and instructions to call Grandma as soon as they were all awake. She was coming over to get them for the day.
Surprisingly, the airport was packed when I arrived just after 5:00 am. Apparently there were a lot of unhappy risers in the 4:00 am hour today. In my rush to get through the crazy long security line, I forgot to de-terrorize my purse. I was carrying some lethal Jergen's hand lotion, a toxic 3oz tube of Crest, and a mean tube of lip gloss. All unprotected in the confines of my weaponized handbag.
Of course, security pinned me for the attempted breach. After what seemed like an eternity, the team of specially trained security scanners finally detached themselves from scrutinizing my deadly purse through the x-ray machine screen. The unhappy man in the royal blue uniform then shamefully lifted my unstable Coach bag high in the air and demanded at full volume, "WHOSE BAG IS THIS?"
I proudly proclaimed that it was mine (it's an awesome purse if I do say so myself - Thanks, Ry. You picked out a beauty!) After he said, "Come with me. You and I are going to become real good friends," I started to panic that maybe one of my peeps had inadvertently stashed some dollar store weapon in my bag.
He looked serious.
After grabbing all my various components coming through the scanner, and after replacing my deadly black sandals that I had to remove, I was escorted to the troublemaker's table where I got read the riot act. Did I know about the Nation's Security Policy requiring all liquids to go through security in their own separate quart-sized zip lock bag? Did I have such a spare bag?
Did I know that this was a serious offense?
Um...Sorry. I truly just forgot.
I couldn't come up with anything better. Not at 5:30 am.
Yes, sir, of course I know the rules.
No I don't have a quart-sized plastic bag on me.
I would have used it if I had.
Yes, I travel often.
Yes, I realize that this is serious.
I just forgot.
No, my hand lotion isn't going to spontaneously combust on the plane and I'm not planning to rush the pilot.
******************
At the risk of sounding oh so snooty and completely spoiled, I'm just gonna lay it out there like it is. I hate flying commercial.
I admit, I am completely spoiled. But I'm OK with that when it comes to air travel. I've been working for Pivotal for almost nine years now, and 90% of the time I get to fly on my super rich boss' private jet. It's an incredible perk and one that I become increasingly grateful for every time I have to fly commerical. It's days like today when I have to wake before normal human waking hours and after terrorist lotion searches and cramped coach seats that I'm reminded how good I have it.
Not that I ever forget, really.
Thankfully, my return flight on the company jet was markedly different than my morning flight on Southwest. (BTW - Our meetings went well and we got a lot accomplished. And the weather was so cool and beautiful in Park City. I love it there!)
After a great day of meetings, and just as we were getting ready to taxi on the tarmack and head back to the valley, I remembered that I drove to Sky Harbor this morning and we were landing as always at the jet center in north Scottsdale. Again, my mind must have been somewhere else this morning because I didn't even think about the complicated logistics of that.
Hmmm...I'm landing in Scottsdale, my car is in Phoenix, and I live in Mesa.
But again, I am spoiled. I dial up my administrative assistant at the office just before we lift off, ask her to arrange for a car to pick me up at the jet center in one hour and deliver me to my car at Sky Harbor.
Sure, she says. No problem. I have 100% confidence that she will deliver. She always does. She's so good like that.
One hour, eight minutes later our private pilot is opening the door to Francis' plane in Scottsdale and I'm back in the heat. I'm greeted by the driver of the execu-car service, who opens the door into the air conditioned vehicle not ten feet from the plane. Everything is all arranged. She already knows where she's taking me. I sit in the back seat and read my book and get chaufferred to my car. Not to the drop off area at terminal four. Right to my car.
I made it home with my four amazing kiddos by 6:00, cooked dinner, ate together at our nicely set table, spent some family time with them, said prayers, and tucked all of my precious cargo into their beds by 9:15.
I am spoiled and so blessed in more ways than one. My kids are so awesome. So, so awesome. I am lucky to be their mom.
Anyhow, the 4:00 am alarm was painful. I'm an early riser by nature, but any wake up time with a 4 in front of it is just not right. Unless you're my cousin, Beth.
But since I'm not Beth, it seemed too early. Unfortunately, I had no snooze bar option today. My flight to Utah was leaving Sky Harbor at 6:10 am. Ryan's still up north doing the guy thing at Camp Geronimo, so I left my peeps home alone sleeping with Barrett in charge and instructions to call Grandma as soon as they were all awake. She was coming over to get them for the day.
Surprisingly, the airport was packed when I arrived just after 5:00 am. Apparently there were a lot of unhappy risers in the 4:00 am hour today. In my rush to get through the crazy long security line, I forgot to de-terrorize my purse. I was carrying some lethal Jergen's hand lotion, a toxic 3oz tube of Crest, and a mean tube of lip gloss. All unprotected in the confines of my weaponized handbag.
Of course, security pinned me for the attempted breach. After what seemed like an eternity, the team of specially trained security scanners finally detached themselves from scrutinizing my deadly purse through the x-ray machine screen. The unhappy man in the royal blue uniform then shamefully lifted my unstable Coach bag high in the air and demanded at full volume, "WHOSE BAG IS THIS?"
I proudly proclaimed that it was mine (it's an awesome purse if I do say so myself - Thanks, Ry. You picked out a beauty!) After he said, "Come with me. You and I are going to become real good friends," I started to panic that maybe one of my peeps had inadvertently stashed some dollar store weapon in my bag.
He looked serious.
After grabbing all my various components coming through the scanner, and after replacing my deadly black sandals that I had to remove, I was escorted to the troublemaker's table where I got read the riot act. Did I know about the Nation's Security Policy requiring all liquids to go through security in their own separate quart-sized zip lock bag? Did I have such a spare bag?
Did I know that this was a serious offense?
Um...Sorry. I truly just forgot.
I couldn't come up with anything better. Not at 5:30 am.
Yes, sir, of course I know the rules.
No I don't have a quart-sized plastic bag on me.
I would have used it if I had.
Yes, I travel often.
Yes, I realize that this is serious.
I just forgot.
No, my hand lotion isn't going to spontaneously combust on the plane and I'm not planning to rush the pilot.
******************
At the risk of sounding oh so snooty and completely spoiled, I'm just gonna lay it out there like it is. I hate flying commercial.
I admit, I am completely spoiled. But I'm OK with that when it comes to air travel. I've been working for Pivotal for almost nine years now, and 90% of the time I get to fly on my super rich boss' private jet. It's an incredible perk and one that I become increasingly grateful for every time I have to fly commerical. It's days like today when I have to wake before normal human waking hours and after terrorist lotion searches and cramped coach seats that I'm reminded how good I have it.
Not that I ever forget, really.
Thankfully, my return flight on the company jet was markedly different than my morning flight on Southwest. (BTW - Our meetings went well and we got a lot accomplished. And the weather was so cool and beautiful in Park City. I love it there!)
After a great day of meetings, and just as we were getting ready to taxi on the tarmack and head back to the valley, I remembered that I drove to Sky Harbor this morning and we were landing as always at the jet center in north Scottsdale. Again, my mind must have been somewhere else this morning because I didn't even think about the complicated logistics of that.
Hmmm...I'm landing in Scottsdale, my car is in Phoenix, and I live in Mesa.
But again, I am spoiled. I dial up my administrative assistant at the office just before we lift off, ask her to arrange for a car to pick me up at the jet center in one hour and deliver me to my car at Sky Harbor.
Sure, she says. No problem. I have 100% confidence that she will deliver. She always does. She's so good like that.
One hour, eight minutes later our private pilot is opening the door to Francis' plane in Scottsdale and I'm back in the heat. I'm greeted by the driver of the execu-car service, who opens the door into the air conditioned vehicle not ten feet from the plane. Everything is all arranged. She already knows where she's taking me. I sit in the back seat and read my book and get chaufferred to my car. Not to the drop off area at terminal four. Right to my car.
I made it home with my four amazing kiddos by 6:00, cooked dinner, ate together at our nicely set table, spent some family time with them, said prayers, and tucked all of my precious cargo into their beds by 9:15.
I am spoiled and so blessed in more ways than one. My kids are so awesome. So, so awesome. I am lucky to be their mom.
Tomorrow will be a great day. I can already tell. My regular 3-day weekend is here and I'm really looking forward to it. A few chores, a few to-do's, a little swimming and dinner out with my kids. Yep, it's gonna be great.
You are such a terrorist! I knew they would catch on to you. Haha! Glad it turned out great though.
ReplyDeleteyou are spoiled Kelli---> great kids, always available mom, fabulous bag, Francis' plane with your own private pilot, chauffeur, etc.....flying commercial with us little people has got to be the pits...jk!! YOU DESERVE IT ALL and YOU SEEM PRETTY DARN HUMBLE TO ME!!
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