We arrive safe … and stinky

Sisters looking out at the worldAs the wife naps, the preteen bathes and the baby slumbers, I take time to play on the net to share with you our adventure getting to Las Vegas:

– I don’t care for flying. Actually, I don’t mind the flying itself. It’s the taking off and landing parts that get me (or as my wife calls them, “the funnest parts”). With that in mind, while waiting for our flight in Charlotte I popped open the book Freakonomics. It just so happened I was on chapter five – “What Makes a Good Parent.” In less than two pages I get a dissertation on the fear of death and flying. Did you know the per-hour death rate of driving versus flying is about equal? Geez. Yet, I still boarded.

– We first flew from Charlotte to Chicago. My initial fears were eased as soon as I saw our aisle number – 23. His Airness was with me.

– Further evidence I’m going into football withdrawal – a gentleman in the aisle in front of me wore an Appalachian national champions t-shirt. And a young boy behind me wore a St. Louis Rams cap. And everyone knows Mountaineer Dexter Coakley stars with the Rams. Yes, his Yosefness was with me.

– On that same thread, during every liftoff I endure I think of Jimmy Watkins, a former player for Appalachian. I sat beside him on a team flight once, and it was his first time. The sight of a 220-plus-pound rock of lineman muscle with a death grip on the armrest has forever stuck with me. Odd what links you to someone.

– This was the preteen’s first flight. She noticed the same theme I did my first flight – the world may be round, but from the air it’s comprised of squares.

– The flight from Chi-town to Vegas was three hours plus. We were shown Mission Impossible III, which was horrid. How horrid? Godzilla with Matthew Broderick horrid. That’s pretty horrid.

– Gabrielle sat in my lap most of the flight. Unbeknownst to me, her diaper reached the saturation point sometime after liftoff. Thus, soon I had the right leg of my shorts soaked with two big spots of pee. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Just before we started our descent, she unloaded from the other direction. The result easily makes my personal top three “worst diapers disasters ever” list. Louie Anderson on two days of Taco Bell and exlax couldn’t produce more filth. And yes, some leaked onto my left shorts leg. So I made my grand entrance into Sin City with dried poo on one leg and dried piss on the other. Welcome to fatherhood.

She actually blended in pretty wellAs an epilouge, Gabby’d diaper bomb took out her outfit. We had no other. The wife took the preteen’s sash and attempted to create a robe/hula top/Indian-type of covering. So Gabby made her grand entrance to Sin City resembling a harikrishna with hair and a pacifier.

– Our first impression of Vegas can be summed up in one word – dead. There is no grass anywhere. Rock is used as decor along the roads. There are more planes than birds. It’s an ashtray littered with Monopoly buildings. And it’s flat. So very, very flat, yet surrounded by mountains, which Amy insist look fake. We did drive a bit down The Strip. It looks less magical than EuroDisney. But we’re being unfair. We’re pooped. Life is less grand when seen through weak eyes. Let’s see what a good night sleep will do.

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10 thoughts on “We arrive safe … and stinky

  1. What were you thinking? NEVER leave home without at least one set of spare clothes! We’ve been known to go thru at least three on a cross-country trip and still arrived in just a diaper.
    Have a wonderful vacation!

  2. But Katie … there’s more …

    While in line to board our flight from Chicago to Charlotte (we had a stopover), Gabby got in a really odd Mickey Mouse Club kind of mood. I was holding her and she was just talking babyish to everyone. Suddenly, she pointed at sister and said loudly “Sisssthss,” then to the wife and said “ma-ma,” then, finally, she pointed both her hands at me and said, “da-da!” before laying her head against my chest to give me some love. Too sweet.

  3. hehehehehe …. gotta take the good with the bad …. like marriage … though, of course, spouses are expected to be potty trained.

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