Meryl and I were sitting around our home away from home, Jim and Chris Berry's house in Sammamish, saying "You know Meryl, we just don't travel on airplanes enough." Just then an emergency email came saying our daughter was in a bit of a jam. A friend said Christa had taken a fall on her mountain bike in Colorado (did I ever say we raised a tomboy?) and had mangled her wrist. She was in surgery but was due out in a couple of hours. Given the fact she has a two-and-one-half-year-old and a 9-month-old and was scheduled to travel to Seattle the next day, we felt she may need a bit of help.
After a few telephone calls Meryl and I found ourselves back at SeaTac Airport ("weren't we just here?") hoping on a plane to Denver and connecting through to Gunnison. A friend of Christa's left his car at the airport and soon we were driving north through some of the most beautiful mountain scenery in the world.
Christa had rented a house at Crested Butte for a week of fun and sun with her high school friends and some friends from grad school. Unfortunately the grad school friends couldn't make it, but she still had her high school friends. Only problem was two of them were scheduled to fly out the day we arrived.
We arrived around 5 pm to find Christa laying on the front lawn playing with Quinn and Conner, except her wrist, which was fresh from surgery with six screws and a stainless steel plate, was propped up at a funny angle. As you can imagine the next several hours were a blur as we helped her feed the kids, get packed up (no small task given the amount of luggage she travels with during her summer visits) for the trip back to Seattle, and get the house back in order. I'm always amazed at how well Christa can function no matter what the adversity in her life.
The next morning we all squished into two cars and drove to the airport in Gunnison. Now you might imagine a tiny Colorado airport would be considerate of a young mother with a broken wrist and two toddlers, but no. Christa got the security checkup of a lifetime. I swear if two Middle Eastern types with a package marked "bomb" walked up they would let them straight through ("we don't profile), but a mother with two young kids? They tested her water, they tested her milk, they tested her sealed containers of baby food (they were 4.1 oz rather than the allowed 4 oz), and so on. They wiped down the stroller and car seat with bomb detection cloths. We almost missed our flight.
The only issue when we boarded the flight (which Christa warned me about) was Quinn's proclivity for a window seat. Since I wanted to watch the mountains as we flew out, I thought she might let me sit in my assigned seat. Apparently not. To add insult to injury she played with her iPad the whole way home. Meryl was flying on a pass and couldn't get on the Seattle flight so I went ahead with Christa to help with the kids and luggage.
Once back in Seattle we reversed the whole process at SeaTac Airport (weren't we just here?). I was reprimanded by a traffic cop for the huge pile of luggage I had carefully positioned near the curb so we could make a quick exit. Apparently he considered it unattended luggage. I said I'm standing right here, but I have to watch two little kids (while waiting for Christa to arrive with the rental car). My rapidly deteriorating attitude was "If you want to move, move it yourself." A family nearby lent me their two teenage sons to move the bags back about six feet back in hope of avoiding an altercation. (Oh, it's moments like this that make me feel so glad to be back in the US.)
We finally made it down to Lake Sammamish where Christa had rented a small lake cottage for a week. We reversed the process of moving the 47 bags across the trail and down a flight of stairs to the cottage. It was a wonderful little house right on the lake with kayaks, sailboat, hot tub, and a walking trail in the backyard. Only problem is Christa couldn't do any of these activities because of her wrist. Bummer.
After a few telephone calls Meryl and I found ourselves back at SeaTac Airport ("weren't we just here?") hoping on a plane to Denver and connecting through to Gunnison. A friend of Christa's left his car at the airport and soon we were driving north through some of the most beautiful mountain scenery in the world.
Christa had rented a house at Crested Butte for a week of fun and sun with her high school friends and some friends from grad school. Unfortunately the grad school friends couldn't make it, but she still had her high school friends. Only problem was two of them were scheduled to fly out the day we arrived.
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| Meryl, Quinn, Conner, and Christa with the broken wing. |
We arrived around 5 pm to find Christa laying on the front lawn playing with Quinn and Conner, except her wrist, which was fresh from surgery with six screws and a stainless steel plate, was propped up at a funny angle. As you can imagine the next several hours were a blur as we helped her feed the kids, get packed up (no small task given the amount of luggage she travels with during her summer visits) for the trip back to Seattle, and get the house back in order. I'm always amazed at how well Christa can function no matter what the adversity in her life.
The next morning we all squished into two cars and drove to the airport in Gunnison. Now you might imagine a tiny Colorado airport would be considerate of a young mother with a broken wrist and two toddlers, but no. Christa got the security checkup of a lifetime. I swear if two Middle Eastern types with a package marked "bomb" walked up they would let them straight through ("we don't profile), but a mother with two young kids? They tested her water, they tested her milk, they tested her sealed containers of baby food (they were 4.1 oz rather than the allowed 4 oz), and so on. They wiped down the stroller and car seat with bomb detection cloths. We almost missed our flight.
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| Notice the cute purple headphones? |
The only issue when we boarded the flight (which Christa warned me about) was Quinn's proclivity for a window seat. Since I wanted to watch the mountains as we flew out, I thought she might let me sit in my assigned seat. Apparently not. To add insult to injury she played with her iPad the whole way home. Meryl was flying on a pass and couldn't get on the Seattle flight so I went ahead with Christa to help with the kids and luggage.
Once back in Seattle we reversed the whole process at SeaTac Airport (weren't we just here?). I was reprimanded by a traffic cop for the huge pile of luggage I had carefully positioned near the curb so we could make a quick exit. Apparently he considered it unattended luggage. I said I'm standing right here, but I have to watch two little kids (while waiting for Christa to arrive with the rental car). My rapidly deteriorating attitude was "If you want to move, move it yourself." A family nearby lent me their two teenage sons to move the bags back about six feet back in hope of avoiding an altercation. (Oh, it's moments like this that make me feel so glad to be back in the US.)
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| There's still more coming. |
We finally made it down to Lake Sammamish where Christa had rented a small lake cottage for a week. We reversed the process of moving the 47 bags across the trail and down a flight of stairs to the cottage. It was a wonderful little house right on the lake with kayaks, sailboat, hot tub, and a walking trail in the backyard. Only problem is Christa couldn't do any of these activities because of her wrist. Bummer.
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| Cottage on Lake Sammamish just down the lake from where we lived when Christa was in high school. |
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