Other people's baggage

Yesterday, I touched on the experience of air travel with a small child. And once we arrived safely back in Newark, I was reminded of a rather annoying rite of passage that takes place at baggage claims throughout the world.

Those people.

You know them- the ones who don't seem to remember what their luggage looks like, despite the fact they had it in their possession mere hours earlier. Sorting through each suitcase, regardless of color or shape, hoping for signs of identification that this is the bag containing their personal effects. Okay, maybe your black bag you looks similar to the one you are trying to pick up- but do you see the big red ribbon tied to the handle?? Do you remember tying a big red ribbon to the handle of your bag? No? Then it's probably not your bag.

One of these morons got me in trouble one time. A woman was struggling to get her bag off the carousel, so I assisted her in retrieving it. And she put it down next to her, and proceeded to wait for more bags to come out. A short time later a man came over to me and began to yell at me that I had his bag. "I don't have your bag," I replied. "I saw you take it off the carousel!" he said to me, at which point I realized the bag I had helped the lady with was sitting next to me, although the woman no longer was. I tried to explain that it was the woman's fault, that I didn't know it wasn't her bag, she hadn't said anything to me. He was stuck on the fact that it was his bag, and I had taken it, and I should really check to see who bag it is before pulling it out, yada yada yada. It gets cloudy here, but as I recall, I may have called him him an asshole and told him to take his friggin' bag and leave me the hell alone, or something of the sort. This could have been avoided had the lady I helped said to me- "Oh my, this isn't my bag." At which point we could have put it back on the carousel, and Jerky McJerkerson could retrieve when it came around to him, and we'd all head home much less elevated blood pressure levels.

So the other night, weary from travel with our baby, I am waiting at the baggage claim for our luggage- which as fortune would have it, I can identify without having to put my hands all over each article that passes. Not so much for the woman in front of me. And when she struggled to pull a suitcase off the carousel, I steered clear as other Samaritans helped shoulder the load. Once they got the bag on the ground for her, she proceeded to unzip the top of the bag, and look at its contents, so as to decipher whether or not this was her suitcase. Because looking the name tag hanging off of it wouldn't give her quicker, more accurate information. Leaving the bag sitting next to her, she continued to wait at the carousel, presumably for other pieces of luggage she had checked. You can see where this is going. As I wait- it's not too crowded- I see her starting to inch away from the bag. My wife returns from the restroom with our little one, and I apprise her of the situation. "I'm pretty sure that's not her bag," I say after relaying what I had been watching. Once the lady had moved about five feet from the suitcase, I approached her and asked if that was her bag. "No," she replied, as if she had never seen it before- and proceeded to walk away, leaving her douche-baggery in her wake. So as to avoid any further baggage claim altercations, I picked up the bag and put it back on it's it merry way. Now who's the good Samaritan??

Here's a suggestion to these treasures of the gene pool- get a suitcase that had your name emblazoned on it in foot-tall lettering. Get one that's magenta or chartreuse. One that has a speaker built into it that say's "I'm your bag. I'm your bag. I'm your bag." Because the whole name tag or ribbon on the handle- none of these tried and true methods of bag-recognition seem to be enough for you. Or pack lightly and carry-on. Or do us all a favor and take the bus. Nobody wants to deal with your baggage.

Confessions of a new dad, vol. 7: Traveling circus

Now, it's obvious that travel changes when you have a child. Anybody with any level of common sense can figure that one out. But just how much it changes you can't know until you've done it with a child of your own.

We made a trip down to Baltimore for Fourth of July weekend, when our little girl was just over two months. We made this trip by car. While there was extra time added to the trip to take care of feedings, changings and the like- it wasn't too out of the ordinary from a normal car trip. You see, you just load up all she needs for the weekend in the back of the car and there it stays for the duration of the trip. While this is mostly true for plane travel, the added romp from through the airport until you actually get on the plane proves to be the challenge.

Going through airport security is a hassle without a baby. Take your shoes off. Take your belt off. Empty the contents of your life in a plastic bin and motor through the metal detector and try to make sense of it all on the other side. Add a baby, and her accouterments, to the mix and it's like adding mass amounts of tequila to the hokey-pokey. "You put your left foot it in... wait, which is my left foot?...(drink)... wait, what's a foot?" It's now take your shoes off, take your belt off, empty the pockets (the wife does so as well)... Then it's do "We take her out of the car seat?" "Yes." Remove the baby from the car seat, detach said car seat from the stroller and separate it from its base, collapse stroller, make sure everything fits through the rubber curtain separating the rest of the world from x-ray land... breathe. Look back, realize that you're holding up a bunch of people who look thrilled with you- and let's face it if they were in that much of a hurry there's been ample time for the to have gone ahead of you- quickly slide the remaining bits of your inanimate entourage on the treadmill, race through the the metal detector hoping and praying you've taken everything beep-worthy off, and then start the whole process in the reverse on the other side.

And I realize they're probably doing the best they can- but can we get a little consistency with how this process goes? On the way back, thinking I've got it down pat this time, it's "That needs to be upside-down, that one needs to be wheels first, and please hold the baby by its ankles as you go through the metal detector." Okay, perhaps not that last one, but come on people, let's get it together.

I will say, the pre-board is nice. The "those of you traveling with small children" treatment. Although by the time we get the jet-way and take everything apart to be checked at the door, your pretty much fighting all the regular boarders anyway. On the trip back my wife was wise enough to scoot ahead with the precious cargo whilst I wrestled with the less-precious cargo.

The flight wasn't really all that bad. She didn't sleep quite as much as we'd hoped, but while awake she didn't have any major meltdowns. There was a few moments she was on the precipice, but we were able to coax her back from the edge. Just a lot passing her back and forth between my wife and I, and thankfully understanding passengers sitting adjacent on both legs of the journey.

Getting off the plane and recovering the stroller and car seat, and putting it all together didn't seem to take too long. However, each time we were pretty much holding up the entire flight crew from leaving- not that they offered to help, really.

All in all, we made it. And it certainly wasn't anywhere near as bad as it could have been. I realize that traveling with older children is problematic for other reasons, but look I forward to the day I can say, "You can hold your backpack, sweetie," as she walks next to me. It seems like an upgrade now, but I am sure I will be yearning for simpler times when it comes around.

Confessions of a new dad, vol. 6: Hearing things

With a newborn around the house, you tend to hear things. My wife and I tend to be unconsciously vigilant about listening for our little one when she is in another room sleeping, either on the baby monitor or with the naked ear. It's not uncommon for one of to stop the other when we think we've heard a noise resembling that of our child. "Was that her?" Sometimes it's her, but often times it's not her, but a noise from outside or the like. Now none of that is outside the range of normalcy for parents of a young baby. But we hear other things too, which may or may not make us a little crazy.

I'll think I hear a peep or cry through the monitor, when the monitor may not even be on and she is lying in the same room as me. Or the monitor will be on and I'll think I hear her from down the hall, yet no noise is coming through the monitor. Her sleep sheep- which is an ingenious little white-noise machine and is set to calming wave noises to help her go to sleep- I hear quite often throughout the day whether it's on or not.

We also have a couple of little entertainment devices for the little lady: one being a play "gym" which amounts to an elaborate mat that she lies on and looks up on various animals unrecognizable to science hanging above (such as Geebee the ginormous light-up butterfly, or Gloria the turtlebug... and yes, they have names). The other is a bouncy chair where she can sort of recline in while looking at sea life shapes and dancing lights. Now it must be said that both of these things can be a lifesaver. She can sometimes be entranced by them for quite a few minutes, giving us a small respite from entertaining her ourselves. They share another quality in that they both play various catchy*  (*see also: burned-into-the-fibers-of-your-brain) tunes. So common are the tunes heard, and so limited in their variety, we tend to hear them sometimes- even when they are not on. So much so, that if we are in another room and think we hear one, one of us will call out to the other saying something like, "I hear Geebee. Do I really hear Geebee, or is that just in my head?" And to add to the mayhem, throughout the day I will catch myself or my wife humming or whistling these tunes unconsciously.

We recently added a swing to the mix, which as luck has it, plays the same tunes as the bouncy chair. Who needs variety? Right now as I write this I am hearing a couple of the songs from said devices- a quiet tune that makes me think of stately people doing medieval dances in candle-lit chambers, and also a quite jaunty arrangement of Ba Ba black sheep... Yessir, yessir my brain is full.