Flashback to the Flight...before I forget, not because of the PTSD

After Theresa and I had made it through Wednesday (having picked the kids up Monday) and had their visas in hand, I felt we were 2/3 of the way home.   All of my medical training aside, I had this irrational fear that the kids would completely decompensate, wouldn't eat or drink or sleep around us, and would quickly get admitted to a local hospital and taken from our care while some sort of permanent "Unfit Parent" label was tattooed to our foreheads.  Well, my forehead anyway, Theresa's pretty competent.  But by Wednesday, meals were going pretty well, everyone was sleeping most of the way through the night, no tattoo needles were in sight, so we had only the impending combination of a 3-hour flight from Taipei to Tokyo and the 9 hour flight from Tokyo to Seattle to face.  So I could relax, comfortable in my new state of impending doom, which was a significant improvement over the 2 previous days of complete, terrified panic (getting the kids, not getting killed or killing the kids, and completing the American embassy (AIT) visa work being the cause of the prior state).

In retrospect, it was a cakewalk.  Sure, we had more luggage than 2 people could actually move (counting 2 strollers, 2 kids, 7 bags continually), but we sailed through Taiwan security.  The expected hoard of police never descended, publicly interrogating us as to why we were taking 2 of their beautiful children away and threatening to take them away/lock us up.  And it was neat to finally be one of those irritating families that gets extra time to board first.

Sure, there was the time Madelyn and I went to the handicapped bathroom in Tokyo, which was 2 feet from a main connector between 2 concourses, and after going "Niao niao" (voiding), she discovered the toddler level button to open the power door, subsequently sprinting into a speedwalking crowd and exposing her new Daddy, who put a "stop stop" to his business and got to sprint into the crowds while hoisting up his pants.   There was Madelyn's first serious "oops, I crapped my pants" mistake (her potty training had held up nicely up to that point) about 6 hours into the trans-Pacific flight, which was discovered only after checking Isaac, pointing accusing fingers at each other,  and thinking poorly of our neighbors for several minutes.  But there was not a meltdown, there were no inconsolable bouts of crying, and as we were leaving the plane, a woman 2 rows back stopped to tell us what wonderful children we had, she hadn't heard a peep from them the entire flight.  I didn't have the heart to tell her she's either delusional or anosmic, and should get checked for the brain tumor that's arrested her olfaction. 

As a quick aside, I have to thank my wonderful wife for all her blogging, as I have a new daughter who will not let me sh#@, shower, or shave without being by my side, and blogging is apparently not on her schedule!   Re-naming her brother is on her schedule, however - she calls him either Igor or Ivan, depending on whether she needs him to be a stooge or a tyrant.