Transatlantic Traveling

On Christmas day, Ben drove out to the Luxembourg airport and asked if they would be open later that evening so that we could check into our flight to Utah 24-hours in advance and check in our bags without the hassle of three toddlers, car seats, carry ons, etc. Those Luxembourgish Luxair employees reassured Ben this would be possible and we felt like geniuses because we didn't know how else to get a giant stroller, three car seats, five people, two carry ons, and three giant duffle bags into our car. 

Later that night, Ben drove to the airport. Twenty minutes later I got a text: I hate Luxembourg. Apparently the Luxair employees were wrong. The airport was closed. A lot of things in life are closed on Christmas. 

Luckily, Ben's parents were also flying back to Sweden the next day, so they agreed to drive some of our luggage to the airport and then drive our car back home and leave it parked in front of our house. 

The next day, we woke up at 6 am, put the boys in comfy clothes, kept Ingrid in her pajamas, and all drove to the Luxembourg Airpot. 

We bought breakfast from a bakery that the kids didn't want to eat and chatted with a Colombian colleague of Ben's who was on the same flight to Paris. 

Then we let them run around the terminal until we boarded our 40-minute flight to Paris. We gate-checked the carseats (thankfully) for this leg of the journey. 

Aksel really doesn't want to buckle the seat belts. He had a big melt down about that until we finally gave up and let him do what he wanted and tried to keep it a secret from the flight attendant. Otto chatted on about how we would be taking two planes to Utah. And Ingrid slept. Bless her. 

We whipped out the iPads and kept the boys happy until we landed in Paris. Then I strapped Ingrid in the bjørn, a bag on my shoulder and held Otto's hand while Ben carried a bag and Aksel down the stairs of the plane onto the tarmac. 

We waited for our car seats to be wheeled over and Ben handed Aksel over to my arm that wasn't holding Otto's hand. Ben strapped the carseats and his bag on like a job hog and I begged Otto to keep up. 

We walked up a few long ramps and then scurried onto a bus that took us to another terminal where we had the privilege of waiting in a really long customs line where Otto wriggled free of my hold and found his way over to the windows and fake plants where he started throwing rocks from the potted plants onto the floor. Aksel soon joined him when he realized what a fun game Otto had discovered. When it was time for the customs agent to match people with passports, we couldn't convince Aksel to come toward us. We begged. We bribed. We threatened. And then we finally left the line to go get him and to carry him back kicking and screaming. 

Once through customs, we walked up several un-moving escalators (much to the personal disappointment of Otto who demonstrated his emotions by crying and whining) and into the major terminal of the Charles De Gaulle Paris Airport. We immediately found two unoccupied push-chairs and Otto and Aksel climbed in and I struggled to push their elated bodies for seven more gates until we had the privilege of waiting in a really long line to get our boarding passes to Salt Lake City. 

It was worth the wait; Ben was upgraded to Business Class and Ingrid and I rejoiced for the extra freedom we'd have in the 11.5 hour flight ahead of us. 

We were the first to board and Ben got to work strapping down the boys' car seats. Otto knew what to do. He climbed right up and in, got buckled, hooked his headphones up to his iPad and was happy as a clam for the next half day. 

We bribed Aksel to get into his car seat. He really doesn't like being on an airplane and he really doesn't like getting buckled into his car seat. He cried on and off for the duration of the flight. And broke out in hives. And refused to eat. 

Ben sat between the boys one curtain and three rows behind Ingrid and I comfortably sitting in Business Class. 

Having the extra room to let Ingrid toddle around, the pillows and blankets and lie-flat bed for when Ingrid did sleep, really made a difference. But nothing can really prepare you for watching the flight tracker slowly count down for 12 hours. 

We sang, we walked, we changed poopy diapers, we ate snacks, we rocked babies, we watched Frozen, Daniel Tiger, Curious George, and How to Train Your Dragon multiple times, we felt exhausted, and we almost enjoyed the free meals until they were kicked and knocked over by our sweet children. 

Just as we began our descent into Salt Lake, Ingrid began projectile vomitting down my shirt, down my lap, down my pants, and into my Sam Edelman shoes. The fight attendants kept sprinkling coffee grinds to keep the smell down, and I stripped Ingrid's pajamas off and into the trash. I put on her spare clothes and then she barfed again. I may have cried at this point. 

The plane landed and Ben and I felt like champions. Smelly champions, but champions. 

We found the nearest restroom, changed diapers, freshened up, and made our way through customs and to collect our luggage. 

I don't think the worst behavior by any child, or the longest line, or the most delayed luggage could have dampened our spirits. We were surprised to be pick-upped by Eliza and Lilly Evans and we happily and quickly drove to Chick-fil-a. 

Then we all started to unravel a bit. We were exhausted, hungry and drained; it had been a long 16 hours and then Ben announced that the days  we have spent flying across the Atlantic Ocean with children are in his top 10 hardest days ever. I whole heartedly agreed. And we've done some hard crap. 

Fourteen days later we walked back into the Salt Lake Airport, bought hamburgers, fries, and a strawberry milkshake and tried not to feel really overwhelmed by what was about to happen. We boarded and Ben and I got busy setting up car seats, strategically placing water bottles, snacks, gum, head phones, diapers and wipes. Ben, Otto, and Aksel sat in the row behind me and Ingrid. I stashed away pillows and blankets for later that night and we settled in for the transatlantic flight. 

We took off at 5 pm. Somehow the little munchkins stayed awake until nearly 11 pm. That's 6 hours. That's a long time. That's like two churches. In a row. 

I hooked Ingrid up and nursed her to sleep. A few minutes later, Ingrid started vomiting. Oh boy. This time, a flight attendant was kind enough to lend me a shirt while I washed mine in the small sink, stuffed it with Delta pillows and draped it across Ingrid's empty seat with the air on high so it would hopefully be dry by the time we landed and I could return the shirt. It was. But it still smelled. Not a big deal. Not compared to getting through the Paris airport after being awake for 24 hours with a sick baby, exhausted children, and a two-hour layover. 

We de-planed, rallied Otto and Aksel through the terminal, through customs, through monster fits in a store over a car and a motorcycle, tried to convince Aksel he couldn't lay in the middle of the walkway, said hello, again, to the Colombian colleague of Ben's, back through another terminal, onto a tarmac, and onto our last plane. 

Aksel melted down again about having to get buckled and this time I didn't even bother trying to buckle him or trying to hide it from the flight attendant. Otto was a dream. Ingrid was an 11-month old baby. 

I was a little worried Aksel would get knocked around, but he was too busy playing and trying not to cry about everything that he didn't notice the turbulence. And then we landed in Luxembourg.

Five of our seven bags (including a car seat) didn't arrive. Aksel kept climbing onto the luggage claim conveyor belt and going nuclear every time we pulled him off. Ingrid was crying and wanted out of the bjørn. And Otto thought everything was hilarious. 

We waited for a LONG time in a LONG line to get our missing bags and car seat registered and hopefully delivered to us. 

Otto and Aksel ran around like crazy, banged metal things, cried, fought, tried to get on escalators, and then our ride finally arrived. 

Yudri Rodriguez drove our sad, weary bodies home and then came back 20 minutes later with lamb chops, salad, bread, and rice. 

We put everyone to bed and a short three hours later, my alarm went off, and the task of getting our family back onto Luxembourg time has waiting. We forced ourselves to get up, wake up our children, eat dinner, take baths and pretend like it was just another normal evening in Luxembourg.  

Until next time, avions.

*I always kick myself for not taking any/better/non-crappy photos of our journey. I'm so focused on surviving, it usually doesn't occur to me.