The plan was to drive to V's house and carpool to the airport (basically, to make sure all the luggage, car seats, strollers, and other crap needed when traveling with toddlers would fit into one car so we would know if we could get away with renting one car/van in Florida). Things were going well. Everyone was excited.
No vacation is complete without a vacation hat - and happy feet!
The airport was busy, but manageable. We planned the flight around naptime, with the hope that the kids would sleep on the plane. We had a decent lunch, and a snack, and waited for the flight to board.
Really, he's happy in this photo. He gets to wear his Thomas backpack, or "beckpeck" in P speak.
Important sidenote to the story: G was a frequent flyer for years - he'd fly to different places for work about three times a week. Then he found himself on a really small plane during an IBS attack. No bathroom. No where to go. He was fine, but emotionally scarred. He hadn't flown since. Knowing that he'd experience anxiety and fear and not wanting to scare Pumpkin, G went to the doctor to get a prescription a few days before our trip.
G took the medication as prescribed, 30 minutes before take off. It wasn't enough time. We boarded the plane, and G was freaking out. Like major freak out - if I didn't know him, I would have suspected he was faking this for attention. Rocking back and forth. Sweating profusely. Slapping his hands against his legs.
I tried to block Pumpkin from seeing his daddy going nuts as people continued to board the sold out flight.
A flight attendant named Mike came over to talk to G. He asked what was wrong. He told G that he wanted him to make the trip with his family, that he would be okay once we took off. The flight attendant asked that G tell him he'd be okay before the doors closed on the plane.
G said, "I can't promise anything. I don't know that I'll be alright."
The flight attendant went up front to consult with the other airline personnel. A group of them came back to our seat to ask some questions. They recommended that G leave the plane. G turned to me, "I don't know what to do."
I told him to get off the plane. It wasn't fair to the other passengers to hold up the flight. We were already about 15 minutes late to take off.
G left the plane. Our friends, who were sitting several rows in front of us were confused. They didn't know what was going on and I didn't really have any way of communicating to them right away.
P and I stayed on the flight.
Handy Manny? Check. Sippy water? Check. Wooden airplane model? Check? Daddy? Daddy? Bueller?
I've thought about this a lot. Should I have gotten off the plane with G? Should I have dragged P off the plane with all our carry on baggage? Should we have gotten off the plane as a family? How would I explain what happened to G when Pumpkin asked about his daddy?
Stay tuned for the next installment to find out if/when G made it to Florida...
