Monday, May 18, 2009

I've been wondering all night who sang Two Tickets to Paradise. It was Eddy Money. 1977.

Early Friday morning, we kissed half our bedheaded babies goodbye (the other half were at Mimi's, the grandmas divided and conquered, for which we LOVE THEM A MILLION TIMES OVER)


and we left for the airport.

As we were walking in, we saw a friend of ours, Mike, dropping off two other friends, Stacy and Tone, who were on their way to Hawaii with their baby boy. It amazes me that this city has over five million people, but you still run into friends at the airport. I thought they were really brave to be taking a new baby to Hawaii for ten days until we got inside and saw them meet up with her parents. Ahhhhh. Ten days in Hawaii with a new baby and two grandparents. Now we're talkin.

As we checked in at the Continental e-check in computer thingy, the screen said, "Would you like to upgrade your seat to first class?" Walker said, "Say yes, see how much it is." And do you know it was cheap? I mean, real cheap? And, I had saved mucho dinero by not shopping at Target, right? So of course he said, "DO IT!" And we started our vacation off in the style to which I have grown unaccustomed.

Now, the last time I flew first class, it was after I had followed this guy to Prague and back on a very ill fated mission. And God used it to teach me a lesson. Which, for the record, is my very favorite way that God has ever chosen to teach me a lesson, and I would be delighted for God to teach me another lesson by bumping me up to first class anytime. Amen. But if you do read that story, there is a beautiful irony in the fact that the next time I flew first class, it was with my first class husband and the father of my four wild first class chilluns.

He's a sweet, sweet God. Sometimes I just have to stop mid conversation and point out, that he is such a sweet, sweet God.

Back to the airport. Y'all, due to my gestation occupation, I have flown, like, three times since my honeymoon. Which means that I am a big dork when it comes to all the fancy new stuff at the airport. Which means I say things, out loud, like, "Why, looky there! They have a whole iPod kiosk! Well how smart is that, in case you forget your headphones, you can just buy you some more! Tsk!" while my husband, the frequent business traveller, pats my head and says, "Oh, Ellie Mae, you're so cute" while his eyes dart around embarrassingly to see if anyone overheard us.

Finally we got on the plane and he could pop in his headphones and be put out of his misery.


First class is nice, y'all. The seats are bigger, for starters, which is good since every time I fly my butt seems to be bigger than the last time. And your breakfast looks like this


with your own little mini salt and peppers and cloth napkins, and the flight attendants actually act like they are happy to serve it to you, as opposed to kind of tossing some cereal and a kiddie cafeteria milk at you.

I have mentioned that I am freaked out by public restrooms of any kind (I have my reasons) and every time I have flown coach and had to go back to that teeny tiny thing they call a toilet, where you know it can't be too sanitary because the men go standing up and hello! turbulence! and there is that sign that says "Water not drinkable" as if you need to tell me that and the other sign that says "as a courtesy to the next person, please wipe off the wash basin" which causes me to ponder, just what needs to be wiped off? Water? Or Something Else Perhaps Caused by Turbulence?? and that flushing noise that sounds like a dentist drill - ugh. Anyway, while I suffer these circumstances, I have often wondered if the first class people get something better than us plebes in coach have to deal with. So I was, for once, a little excited about using the toilet on this trip.

Imagine my disappointment.


Airplane potties: the great social equalizer.

One of the great blessings of living in The Republic is that you can fly to Mexico in half the time it takes to drive to Dallas. So quicker than we could say, 'Why yes, I'd love a Bloody Mary, thanks so much for asking in your sweet first class voice,' this appeared outside our window:


See that blue water? I got the feeling we weren't in Galveston anymore...

Within an hour, this was me:


a very, very, very happy woman on the balcony of our beautiful room:


at a little place called Heaven Hacienda Tres Rios in the Riviera Maya.

Hasta manana....

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