Airplane travel is akin to pregnancy and childbirth: After some times has passed, I forget how painful it is, yet I end up doing all over again. I even get nauseas. Really, we are just cattle in the sky. Shipped from one ranch to the next. It is an amazing feat, getting us all there in one piece. The leg from New York was a long one. A one hour delay in the airport was nothing compared to the one and one-half hours sitting on the tarmac. I’d run out of things to do after an hour and watched the time tick away. Instead of landing at a reasonable hour, I became faced with lugging two - no three- exhausted humans home.

Once up in the air, we whiled away time looking at Coco’s new Ninetendo DS. The little Husky puppy can do all sorts of things that delight a younger brother. The meal came and I took all three (I did pay for three seats!) with the hopes that something would be edible on the compact tray. Addison was unable to eat anything, so he got quite pissed and tossed two of the trays in the isle. Coco was quick to follow by dumping her salad all over the airplane wall. The great thing was this was her first attempt at salad and of course she dolloped lots of dressing on top. I managed to recover most of the plastic wrapped items before someone stepped on them, and Coco found most of her lettuce pieces and wiped the dressing off the wall.

Then we sat with those half-eaten trays in front of us for 45 minutes. I perked up when the movie began. Then I remembered there was music on the headsets. Since the first flight had no movie, music, or headsets, I figured it was another airline cutback. I wrapped the headset around Addison’s ears. He began to rock out. Then Coco rocked out. It bought us enough time until the trays were taken away. As if on cue, Addison hit the wall and decided NOTHING would do. NOTHING could make him happy. Not even that little Husky. Then, I smelled something. Yes. He pooped. It was inevitable. Since the seatbelt light was on, I was stuck. I could deal with diaper rash, I couldn’t deal with changing him. Possibly the bowel activity calmed him down because he sat in his seat and began twirling his hair. This meant he was going to fall asleep. I buckled the seat belt around him and tucked a blanket against the metal arm rest. He zonked. Coco managed thirty minutes of sleep before landing.

When we arrived, I went to the immigration line and felt so content knowing we could go to the resident/citizen’s line. The tourist line snaked back into a coffee shop. However…..however…..I hadn’t gotten any forms. I asked the man for some. He pointed over there. I turned my head to see a gaggle of wandering tourists looking for someone, anyone, because they needed forms too. Since I was the only one who spoke Spanish, I asked anyone with a badge to help. Finally a guy gave me one.

Don’t I need three for my family?

He assured me no. After returning to the line, I was told I needed three forms. No one could find any, and it meant squat that I was the only one with children (let alone that special needs thing). I walked up to the counter with my properly filled out forms, and the man walked away. He walked away. So I began to change lines and just as he came back, I asked him if he was working or should I go to another line.

Whatever you want, he said.

Want? I wanted to be in bed and not have my child’s rear end caked with poo that surely by this time has given him an incredibly rash. I wanted to stop lifting and hauling and being around airplane things. I pushed the stroller back to his desk and watched him slowly address an envelope and put some things inside. Seal it and then walk around his office for a bit. Coco was having an uncontrollable shaky fit because she had never been that tired in her life. I felt as helpless as I did on the plane. Yelling at people who work in immigration cannot be a recommended thing, and I would venture to say possibly land you in a small room for a round of questioning. I took it as a challenge to stay calm. Even getting angry on the inside was only going to use up my last ounces of energy. All the people I’d help to get forms were through the line and picking up their luggage.

I was the LAST person to leave the airport from our flight. Back on the plane - I think it was when the dressing hit the wall - I swore I wouldn’t fly again. But I think anyone who has more than one child or has bought those airline tickets yet once again, understands all to well that it sucks us back in. As soon as I walked outside I smelled the fresh green and wet life of Costa Rica. Isn’t it funny how quickly we can forget the pain? Thank goodness or many of us would have been born.