Monday, August 06, 2007

Indeed, the Location of Thine Deep-Fried Potato Products Is in Question

On Thursday morning we loaded up the children and about 800 lbs. of luggage and drove to the airport. We use “off-site satellite” parking, which is to say: I drop Bump off at the airport with the luggage, drive to my office and park the car, then take the metro to the airport. It takes extra time, but costs 100% less than parking at the airport.

I took Lula with me, leaving Bump and Lumpyhead to run around the Wyman Terminal (that would be Terminal A, the old, forgotten terminal - the only nod we make to National Airport’s new name), and got in a wreck on the way to my office.


It was a minor fender bender, and no one was hurt. It was not a great way to start the trip. (Maybe “got in a wreck” is too melodramatic, but “had an accident” didn’t sound right either. It’s not like I peed in my pants or anything.)

We made our flight, but just barely. Bump convinced security to let us through the first-class line and we were the last people to board. About halfway through the flight, Lumpyhead announced that he was “All done.”

When we didn’t respond appropriately, which is to say we did not promptly remove him from his seat and let him run shrieking down the aisle, he made his announcement again. Louder. And again.

So he spent the rest of the flight squealing about his “All Done!”-ness and being a writhing, whining pain in the ass. Bump announced that on the way home, I was going to be the one who had to sit next to Lumpyhead, and he would hold the baby. In the Grass Is Always Greener Department, I spent most of the flight standing in the Attendants' Galley trying to convince Lula that she was, in fact, sleepy, and the best way to remedy that problem was to just go the hell to sleep already, damn.

But! Did you know that there is a play area in the C concourse of the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport? There is! It is across from Gate C12 and contains things to climb on and places to run and, if you’re very lucky, four older boys playing tag. Delight!

We had lunch in the airport, during which Lumpyhead swept everything within arm’s reach onto the ground. I responded by complaining “Aw, man!”

Lumpyhead immediately parroted, “Aw maaaaan!” and the combination of his rendition of “aw man” and the fact that he was flinging everything in Bump’s direction instead of mine made me laugh very hard.

Bump, who was quickly tiring of picking everything up off the floor and hoped the arrival of food would give Lumpyhead something else to do, wondered aloud for Lumpyhead, “Where my french fries at?” which a punchy Lumpyhead found very funny. Lumpyhead spent the next several hours saying, “Aw maaaan! Where my french fries at?” then giggling at himself.

When my Aunt Linda met Lula the next day, she exclaimed, “Oh, man, is she cute!” Lumpyhead, who was playing nearby with his toys, heard “oh man” and quickly added, “Where my french fries at?”


julie said...

When Raisin was about Lumpyhead's age, I taught her to say "Honky-tonk Badonkadonk" (sp?).

Because if you can't confuse the hell out of your older relatives, there is no joy in toddlerhood.

Em said...

There really is nothing quite like traveling with small children.

Sorry about the car, glad it wasn't worse!

Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah said...

I love that kid.

merseydotes said...

You should shoot a movie and post it on Funny or Die. Lumpyhead may just be the next Pearl the Landlord.