Sweet home Alabama

Behind on blogging, much?

Every time I try to access blogspot through the website address, I get an error message. I have to access through facebook links that are posted. Any suggestions? At any rate, through great pains I uploaded oodles of pictures from my trip to Huntsville, AL to reunite with my BEST FRIENDS EVER to celebrate the birth of one of our own.

(Side note: Jessie's bachelorette AND a wedding shower were this past weekend on Saturday night/Sunday afternoon. I have pictures, but needed to make this post first. Like I said...behind. So, so behind...)

SO. A little background. I hate traveling without Dan. I hate it. It makes me nervous, uncomfortable and it feels unnatural. The first time I ventured down this road was last summer when I flew to Charlotte to reunite with my mom and sisters for the birth of my nephew, Ben. As luck would have it, I was stuck in Detroit overnight. End of background.

At 3:15 on Thursday Dan picks me up from work and we are going to do a little time together/errand running before I leave home for a long Memorial Day weekend. My flight is going to leave at 5:40pm, and getting to the airport at 4:40pm will be plenty of time, since the G.R. airport is small and convenient.

WRONG.

The security line is practically to the parking garage. (Okay, a little dramatic, but still.) There is no point in Dan waiting with me and paying for parking, so we say a quick goodbye and he's gone. As I wait in the security line, I see that my flight has been pushed back until 6:00pm. I'm relieved because srsly, this line was out of control.

Oh...back up. When I check in, I don't get a seat assignment. I get a "seating request" boarding pass, even though I know I'm confirmed on the flight. But it's still odd, coupled with the fact that I don't even get a boarding pass for my flight from ATL to HSV. Whatever. I'd ask at the gate.

So I get through security, alive and well. I visit the gate A1 check-in counter and chubby man in a vest and turtle neck named Chester gives me my seat assignment and boarding pass for the second leg of my journey. Whew.

Then. The plane iss delayed from 6:00pm to 6:45pm. Inconvenience, but eh...I have plenty of time. My flight doesn't leave ATL for HSV until 11:00pm. No worries.

Then. The departure time iss taken off of the monitor altogether because of thunderstorms in ATL. All flights in and out are stopped. At this point I begin to worry, but still think I'll have plenty of time. I hear rumblings of wheels up at 7:45ph, which will still get me there in plenty 'o time.

So we wait. And we wait. And my Cup 'o Soup from 12:30 that afternoon is starting to wear off. Then Chester in the turtleneck announces that wheels up will now be at 8:45pm. CRAP. It's supposedly a two hour flight which puts me in ATL 15 minutes before my connecting flight.

THIS. COULD. NOT. BE. HAPPENING. AGAIN.

Starting to panic, I quickly get in A1's line for my next course of action. As I held the coveted position of next in line, Chester calls me forward, once again. I explained to him my dilemma, almost in tears (already) at the thought of spending the night in an airport. Alone. Again. "My connecting flight leaves Atlanta at 11:00pm and I don't know if I'll make my connection." Chester reassures me, nonchalantly, that it's only an hour and a half flight and I'll make the connection in plenty of time.

Whew. I buy a bag of pretzels in celebration and camp out to wait for boarding. We board. We fly. Uneventful.

We land.

We land at 10:14pm and I'm hopeful. I might even have time for a bathroom break! Huzzah! We taxi for what seems to be an unusually long time and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach and think, Ohmygosh. If we have to wait in one of those dreaded "holding areas" for a gate to be available I'm going to THROW. UP. And like clockwork, our kind pilot informs us that, yes, indeed...this is our fate.

He says that our gate should be open in "about a half an hour. " In horror, an episode of 30 Rock pops into my head - the one where pilot Karole (a.k.a. Matt Damon) informs Liz Lemon that "about a half an hour" is a magic trick pilots use. It's a time frame short enough to not make people angry, but long enough to let them know there'll be a wait. And after that half hour is over, another half hour is announced.

Our kind, not-to-blame pilot comes on and says that the plane we're waiting for to leave our gate is supposed to leave on the hour, at 11:00pm. Once it leaves, we can occupy the gate. (The flight I'm supposed to catch leaves on the hour. Could it be a painful irony that the plane we're waiting for to leave is actually the plane I'm supposed to be on? In on of life's painful jokes...I'll never know for sure.)

I surrender to the inevitable, place my back pack on my tray table and fall asleep.

I'm awoken with a jolt and lights. We've finally docked! I groggily exit the plane, along with the other disgruntled passengers. Unlike seemingly everyone else, knowing it's not the pilot or crew's fault, I sleepily thank them for the safe travel. (Only to realize later that in my fatigue I actually thanked two random crew members who were merely passengers on our flight...not our actual pilots. It didn't hit me at the time, Why would our pilot and co-pilot be sitting in the middle of the plane? In their kindness, they said "You're welcome" without a laugh.)

Reality hits as I exit the plane into the Atlanta airport aimlessly. I look for those promising neon blue screens, hoping to see the word "Huntsville"...somewhere...anywhere. Nothing. WAH!!!!!

I take a moment and make my phone calls. I'm going to be in Atlanta overnight. I'll text you when I know anything.

The most difficult thing about situations like this, for me at least, is resigning myself to the knowledge that there's nothing to do but wait. I know that, by myself, in my own strength, I'm going to have to wait in that MAMMOTH line. The Delta phones are clogged and I have ZERO options...except this one...

To wait in this line that spans the length of the A concourse - with an elderly couple who spoke nothing but French in front of me, and a group of travelers who spoke nothing to Spanish behind me. No joke.

So I wait, from 11:45pm until 3:30am, in this God forsaken line. The home stretch is the longest. When I get within thirty walking paces of the front counter, movement seems to STOP. I watch helplessly, as departing flights begin to disappear. On my ATL arrival, all the blue screens were full. And now, this is my reality. EIGHT DEPARTING FLIGHTS.

And yes...it's 2:30am and that Cup 'o Soup and bag of pretzels have left me abandoned. Fatigued and greasy.


Three hours and forty five minutes later, this view is my reward and elation...

I'm put on standby for a 7:30am flight to Huntsville. I thank the kind lady and prepare for an unsettled, sporadic night of "sleep." As I peruse the A concourse for nourishment I stumble upon Starbucks, Chick-Fil-A and Cinnabon. The sights and smells are overwhelming to my tired mind and body. I wander aimlessly, wondering what to do, what to buy, what's best for me.

In my bewilderment and confusion, I decide on a diet sprite and two cinnamon & brown sugar pop tarts. (WTF, HEIDI?!?! Look alive!)

I spend $12.99 of my treasured $40 of spending money on an awful, itchy, shedding red fleece blanket from an airport shop. It's disappointing and upsetting, but a necessary evil. I cannot sleep without a cover.

Just like a college all-nighter, the sun begins to rise outside and my poor mind is so confused about time, sleep, wake and what's going on in the real equilibrium of the world. I fight my itchy contact lenses until 7:00am when boarding begins for my hopeful flight.

The screen shows five unconfirmed seats, and I'm the sixth standby passenger. My heart might explode.

The Delta agent begins to call standby names. On unconfirmed seat three she calls, "Orr. Passenger Orr." I'm jittery and nervous, looking around, hoping that Orr doesn't show up. Then I hear the redemption words. "Excuse me, Orr, party of three." !!!!!! This could be it! My ticket to the Promised Land of Huntsville!

Orr never shows and she calls, "Passenger Heidi Schumaker." That. Is. Me. I board the small commuter flight and sit in the back row, seat 14B, right next to the bathroom. What a sweet end to an awful journey.

At 7:24am local time, I arrive in Huntsville, a little rough-looking. I see Laura, my life-saver, who treated me to a Chick-Fil-A breakfast. Nothing has EVER tasted so good.

Now! To leave the drama behind and move onto fun!

Connor, Becca's precious firstborn, now sure he's feeling about this particular diaper change


SO. PRECIOUS!!!


Patrick and Becca, who, in a move of unprecedented kindness, inform us moments before this was taken that they'll be covering our food expenses for the trip. (Please remember: As I spent $12.99 on my airport blanket, this gesture meant twice as much as it would have otherwise.)


Laura, perusing the menu as we waited for a table/Katie at Ol' Heidelburg. Best. German. Restuarant. Ever. The waitresses have southern accents and wear lederhosen.


Heidi: "What do you think that means?"
Laura: "Badass beard, probably."


Patrick and his delicious beer that proved a little too much for him to handle, as he became increasingly more tipsy as the evening wore on. This resulted in a severely bruised toe, after tripping on a nightstand. (Actually, not sure if that trip was from the beer, or just clumsiness...)


Chicken Jarlsberg. Enough said.


Fellowship and German food. Can a girl ask for much more than that?


Spaetzle! :)


We all shared this however-many-layer chocolate cake. It was pretty much one of the best things I've ever eaten.


Katie, reading my special book from Becca and Patrick. Hours of entertainment.


We went out to eat, just us girls! (It ended in a hilarious disaster, but the at least the first part was incident free.)


You can tell by the pictures...it was my first time at a hibachi grill. I was pretty excited. Luckily, our chef was awesome (And also my brother-in-laws Asian doppelganger. I know, right?) and ate up the camera action.


Mmmmm...the meats...


So. Much. Food. Luckily, Connor chose to eat for an HOUR STRAIGHT before supper, so we were all famished.


Laura and her chopsticks.

So as we finished eating, Patrick called Becca and right when she heard Connor crying in the background, we were outta there. Becca had left some breast milk in the fridge, and instructed Patrick to "use the bottle in the cupboard" if he needed to be fed.

As we pulled into the house, Becca made a beeline for the baby and, trying to be encouraging yelled to Patrick, "Patrick, you did a GREAT job!" Patrick replied, in desperation, "No I didn't! It was a f***ing disaster!" I've never laughed so hard.

Patrick had followed Becca's instructions with the breast milk and bottle, not realizing that the bottle was basically a cylinder that you're supposed to use a bag with. So he poured the milk straight through and it spilled all over the island and floor. With his hurt toe and a crying baby, he was struggling. Poor guy.

Here you can see...the culprit bottle


Laura, giving Patrick a quick tutorial on a new kind of bottle to use in the future


Icing the toe. (Seriously it was pretty gross and black and blue.)


After the dust had settled, Patrick and Connor got in some man-time...

Sunday was Connor's baptism and a lot of Becca and Patrick's families were in town. We got to the church JUST in time, only for Becca to realize that she needed to change 1) a poopy diaper and 2) Connor's clothes.

Becca the supermom, changing the poopy diaper in the back seat


Laura and Katie, keeping it all under control


Connor's baptized!! "Original sin? GONE."


Laura, I decided, has the spiritual gift of Helps.


Katie's gift to Connor. Love it!!


K-Frids and The Connor, chillin' before a visit to Five Guys


Ah, glorious!!!!! (The closest Five Guys we have is hours away...this was a real treat to say the least.)


I accidentally ordered a double hamburger. One of the best "oops" of my life.


Classic southern summer evening. Love it.


Our Becca and her baby.


Watching Ben Does Life. So inspirational!


I think she was telling a story, and I don't know where this face came from, but it's a classic picture. I mean, obviously.


I think this was shortly after we were all wishing to be Beyonce.
"I mean...no wonder her and Jay-Z have such a healthy marriage."

Sadly, the next day it was time for me to leave. HAPPILY though, I boarded both flights on time, with success. On both flights the pilot came on and said, "Folks, we're number 1 for take-off, we should be off the ground in just a minute or two."

Sweet, southern sunrise over Huntsville


We followed the Mississippi River pretty much all the way north. It was a nice way to pass the time to just follow it along.


There were some areas though, where I'm pretty sure I could see remnants of the recent flooding. From the air it's so devastating because you can actually see how far out the water rose...along with all the houses in its path.


Unfortunately, the only pictures taken of the four of us together were on Becca's camera, moments before we all went to bed on Sunday night. I stole this from facebook.
Katie, Laura, Becca, Me. Always and Forever.

I got to the G.R. airport safe and sound, with Dan waiting for me. Another successful trip to the south...the Motherland.