Playwright with writers' block. Probably in left fallopian tube.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Home Again Home Again Jiggety Jig
He looked like this. But at an airport. And screamier. And more tomatoey...
We made it home intact but it was a very near thing. The cracking point came, funnily enough, at the very end of our journey as we waited for our luggage to be delivered via 'carousel'.
As I waited with Tricky by our small mountain of hand luggage I had the brilliant idea of amusing my over-tired, over-sensitive toddler with a couple of blown up balloons.
Yes, I'm one of those organised clever mothers who tuck little toys and balloons into their handbag for just such a moment when one's child needs distraction. So there I was, blowing up balloons (not too large) and tying knots in the end and trying to explain why there were no red balloons left, only yellow and blue.
Cut to...balloon suddenly being blown away and drifting down one end of the airport with my toddler in hot pursuit as I stood by the small mountain of hand luggage and my husband waited up the other end of the terminal for our larger mountain of proper luggage.
And, call me stupid (because I certainly did) but I expected Tricky to get the balloon and come straight back to me.
But he didn't. Because he is not quite two. And he had been restrained in a small space for five hours.
And I had to leave the hand luggage, all the computers and cameras and brand new portable dvd player and leg it after him and then when I caught him and started heaving him back to the seat because god forbid he should happily walk hand in hand with his MOTHER, he let go of the balloon and started screaming the place down.
It is gone I shouted. Let it go. I will blow up another one.
I will blow up another one, I shouted. Can you hear me? I WILL BLOW UP ANOTHER ONE.
It dawned on me eventually that this was not quite the thing to be shouting in the middle of Sydney Airport. And it didn't work anyway. It didn't matter that I had a fistful of yellow balloons in readiness.
He wanted the one that drifted away past the airport security guy who sternly ignored it.
He wanted the one that drifted past the backpackers who tried to kick it as it went by.
He wanted the one that drifted past the family, who saw my loudly shrieking little boy and failed to put two and two together so that when they finally saw the yellow balloon and the woman picked it up she handed it to her little girl as they disappeared through the doors.
Another yellow balloon hastily blown up and return of C with luggage. Now we had to make it onto a taxi. With a child seat. The taxi queue guy took pity on us and called us forward through the crowd that had suddenly appeared alongside us.
Tricky dropped the balloon and it sailed back into the airport.
Cue screaming tomato.
Cue quietly hysterical mother attempting to drag enormous backpack plus toddler plus baby backpack behind ridiculously cheerful husband dragging two small wheely bags, suitcase, two computers and camera bag towards taxi at front of queue.
Taxi queue man sends minion into airport "to get kid's balloon."
Korean tourist retrieves it and carries it out to us.
Three steps later Tricky drops balloon again.
Amidst new screaming hell, not so cheerful husband drags back all baggage to say that taxi at front has no child seat.
Mother begins to weep inwardly.
Delightful blonde woman from taxi queue leaves own bags to get balloon and hand it back to us. Mother weeps openly.
Enormous semi trailer type taxi appears, seemingly from clouds. It has child seat. We get home and fall gratefully in front of takeaway chicken curry.
Tricky wakes at screamy ten minute intervals during the night.