Your first air flight was across the Atlantic when you were less than 6 months old. You, me, and your 15 month old big sister. A wild ride, pretty much a horror movie of sorts, with everything going wrong(see Nov.16, 2009 post for all the gory details: http://justmefallingapart.blogspot.com/2009/11/afton-murphys-law.html). To be sure, we didn't crash into the ocean, but there were times I had almost preferred that. We were pretty beat when we got to Kennedy Airport, where things took a turn for the worse. We lost Afton in the airport, one of our suitcases broke and spilled all over the floor after we finally got through Customs, yada, yada. Not a soul would help, so it was a little daunting.
Without missing a beat, I got us on the flight to Minnesota instead of Illinois and didn't realize it till we were disembarking in the wrong state (at least I had us heading in the right direction. Does that count?) By the time we got to Chicago, we were a bit dazed after our 30 hour ordeal. Grandma Mudgie says she'll never forget how she held you in her arms all the way home to Elgin with your eyes glazed, unblinking, staring as if in total shock and disbelief. But everything always works out in the end...life's ultimate lesson.
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