fast moving pendulum

We are all okay.

But last night we had some firefighters over.

But we are all okay. And really, if you have to have a story about calling firefighters to your house at 11 pm on Thanksgiving night--this is the story to have!

Hamdillah.

So last night I was at the computer and everyone else was asleep. And I smell this foul, plastic burning smell. So I look around and can't find anything. But the smell gets worse and then a foggy, kind of smoky haze fills the living room, kitchen and study.


I look harder.

Nothing.

I wake Scully up. We both smell and see it. We cannot find anything. Basement is clear. Christmas tree lights are off. All the nightlights get unplugged. Everything looks clear. And the burning stench endures. The haze is getting worse.

Forget it.

Get the kids. Get out.

911.

Firetruck.

Siren.

Police car.


Sobbing Khubz in her jammies in the truck.


Wake up the neighbors.

Firemen come in. Boots. Hats. One guy had an axe. I am not kidding.

And they smell nothing. And see nothing.

I come back in the house with them. You don't smell that? It stinks but it is not as heavy.


"Smells like burned food." one says. Thanks but I haven't been cooking.


"Smells like potpourri to me." another says. We don't even have candles. We have kids.


"I smell it." Thank you. "It smells like there's a burned transformer outside. I think that smell must have come in."

I opened the door when I smelled it to see if the smell was coming from outside. It wasn't. But they couldn't find anything. The smoke alarms hadn't gone off. They found nothing.

They were very nice. I couldn't believe I called the fire department out for nothing. But that's what they found. Nothing. Nothing hot. Nothing smoky. Nothing.
"I am not crazy!" I tell Scully as we bring our children back in our house.

She thought it had smelled like an electrical fire.

Thumper, bless him, is asleep. He was asleep in his crib when I first smelled it. Fell back asleep in the truck after being evacuated. Slept through the lights and sirens. Fell back asleep once back in the house. And blissfully slept in his crib until six this morning.

Khubz was upset. She clung to Scully, crying in her arms because she was scared. They cuddled on the couch for an hour after the all-clear.

And then Scully and I sat on the couch. Clinging to each other with all of the "what-ifs" racing around us. And then what we need to do differently.

For example, no more sleeping naked. Or at least, I need to have some clothes handy. :(
We need to know where our keys are and make sure they are put in the same spot, easy to dash out of the house with.
Scully needs to save her dissertation work online as well as on flashdrives and our computer.
You know how this list goes.

And then we walked around the house catching faint glimpses of the previous smell.

And then. . .wait. . . the dishwasher. . .


Oh My F*ng G.

Unbelievable.

Since then I have been on a fast moving pendulum that swings back and forth between vomiting with fear that there could have been a fire in my house where my babies and my partner live--and vomiting from embarrassment for calling the fire department to my house because a goddamn tupperware lid melted against the heating element in the dishwasher. Not even a tupperware! Fucking GLADWARE!

Unbefuckinglivable.

At least the dildos weren't out.

Immigration raids in my home state

First off: pop quiz.
What percent of the world's immigrant population is in the united states?
Fifteen? Seven? Five?

Less than one percent.

Solidarity Statement Concerning Guatemalans in Detention after ICE Raid in
Postville, Iowa
May 14, 2008
The following can be attributed to: amalia anderson, Carlos Ariel, Axel Fuentes, Reginaldo Haslett Marroquín, and Ana Nájera Mendoza,

"No one should be subjected to arbitrary arrests, detention or exile".
Article 9, Universal Declaration of Human Rights
“ Everyone has the right to liberty and security of person. No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest or detention. No one shall be deprived of his liberty except on such grounds and in accordance with such procedure as are established by law.”
Article 9, International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights

As Guatemalans (by birth and by family origin) living in the United States we strongly condemn the Postville, Iowa raid--the largest single-site enforcement operation of its kind in the history of the United States. Of the 390 workers reportedly detained, nearly three hundred are from Guatemala.

According to statistics from the United Nations, over 125 million people throughout the world live and work outside their countries of origin. Human migration is a global phenomenon fueled by war, persecution, economic and social inequality, environmental disaster, and poverty. International migration will continue until the underlying causes forcing people from their homelands are eliminated. As Guatemalans, we are too familiar with Human Rights violations and their lasting effects. During our country’s 36-year long civil war: 200,000 people were killed or disappeared and as many as 1.5 million people were displaced internally or forced to flee the country. U.S. funding and training underwrote the war – leaving the country in shambles and forcing many to leave. Those of us able to publicly sign this letter and our brothers and sisters sitting now in detention centers and unable to sign this letter, came to this country fleeing the effects of the U.S. funded, civil war. As over three hundred Guatemalans now sit in detention in Iowa, we ask you to grieve with us and protest the obvious irony.

According to the U.S. Constitution, all people residing in the United States, regardless of their immigration status, are entitled to due process of law. The United States is committed to principles of democracy and fairness, yet hundreds of people are detained--frequently without access to counsel and without contact from their families. Many are terrified at the possibility of being returned to a home they may no longer know, or where they will be unable to earn a living wage. In the case of Guatemala, we mustn’t forget the additional challenges of returning to a country devastated by decades of civil war. The U.S. policy of detaining and deporting people does not address these realities.

The recent Postville Raids raises questions about the continued role the United States government plays in the lives of Guatemalans. Unlike the war years, however, we now have the opportunity to ensure that core U.S. values of democracy and fairness prevail! On behalf of our brothers and sisters in detention—we call for transparent, fair and humane treatment in accordance with our U.S. constitutional norms of due process and equal protection. We believe that all human beings in this country have a right to be treated with dignity and respect, even in situations of detention and arrest. Though nothing can undo the destruction caused by the civil war in Guatemala, we are currently presented with an opportunity to stand up and not allow the legacy of our government’s past to continue in the present and the future. Fellow Guatemalans, join us!

For more information, or to add your name please contact:
Regi Marroquín: regimarroquin@hotmail.com
amalia anderson: amalia1609@gmail.com


from the dsm register
Concern rises over welfare of detainees' children
BY NIGEL DUARAnduara@dmreg.com
Postville, Ia. – Children of detainees might not be cared for if the detainees were afraid to tell immigration officials that they have children, said Sister Mary McCauley of St. Bridget’s Catholic Church.McCauley said she’s concerned that those who were detained after the Monday morning raid at the Agriprocessors Inc. plant were afraid their children would be arrested.

“Some could still be in an apartment, maybe with an aunt or older brother or sister,” McCauley said. “How would they get food if they’re afraid to go outside?”McCauley said her concerns were echoed by many inside the church, where illegal immigrants have gathered since after the raid, seeking sanctuary. “How do we get into the houses to find out when they’re afraid to open the door?” McCauley said. Trevor Seibert, who owns 20 apartments in Postville that he said are mostly rented by Hispanics, said he went door-to-door on Monday to check if any children were left unsupervised. He found all children with an adult, but now fears that many apartments are left unoccupied by Agriprocessors workers who fled Postville after the raid. Seibert owns a Laundromat, café, a construction company, the rental units and said he has about $2 million in loans. “If the bank didn’t work with me and the plant doesn’t stay open, I stand to lose everything,” Seibert said. “That said, I’m lucky the bank is working with me. I hate to say it, but do they have a choice?“Do they want to own millions of dollars worth of real estate in this town? I don’t want to own millions of dollars worth of real estate in this town.”Seibert said he didn’t issue rental applications to his tenants, and each of them was on a month-to-month lease. When he began to rent apartments to tenants who worked at Agriprocessors about 10 years ago, they were young single men, “a little wild for our community.”Since then, he said, there have been more families moving into the area and into his apartments.
“We liked our families,” he said. “Those were our friends and neighbors. You didn’t come into town and roust out a bunch of illegal immigrants. You came into town and rousted out our neighbors, our friends.”“I don’t feel safer today than before.”

The Kelly story

Thanks for the many fertile thoughts/blessings coming my way.

We are heading to texas in the morning and I've promised to catch up on some stories before gallivanting off to the land of meat eaters and mega churches (okay, scully, so it is also the land of mesquite trees and tamales, so there.)

Kelly goes furniture shopping, takes a bath & does some laundry.

Kelly has five kids and a dog. Not just a dog but a lab. And not just five kids but five kids under the age of 9. And not just under the age of 9 but an 8 year old, a 6 year old, a 3 year old and 1 1/2 year old twins.

She's my sister (Kelly). That's a whole other complicated story, but just, for now, accept it. Kelly recently moved her five kids and her dog into a new house. Her husband is great and I love him except when he's acting like a schmuck (like during this move) but I don't have permission to tell that story.

So 2 days after moving her five kids and her dog and her husband into their new house they decide to go get beds for the twins. Previously, the kids all slept with kelly. They wanted to change that pattern and thought moving into the new house would be a good time to make the change. So, the last few nights Kelly has been sleeping on the floor in the twins' room with the twins and her 3 year old. On the floor. Um, yeah, let's go get beds.

And how do they shop for furniture? Okay, kids, everyone pile into the van! (This is how my parents used to go furniture shopping with the 5 of us. I still think they took us all along just to leverage some sympathy for a better deal on a recliner.) They all go furniture shopping. They drive across the city where they live and it takes an hour to get anywhere so it's already been an hour before they get there and then. . . the van breaks down. Her husband manages to get to a parts store where he's sure he can fix it. Eventually with borrowed tools because they'd taken the tools out of the van for the move, he gets it fixed. They're up against an icestorm now, though, the kids are done being patient and they decide to just head home. Enough shit for one day. Then they hit traffic going home and just 15 minutes away from home. . .fzzzzzz. . . .the van breaks down again. He gets it to another parts store where he assures Kelly he can fix it in half the time if only she'll take all 5 kids out of the van. So she does. She takes five kids including a 3 year old and two 1 1/2 year olds into a auto parts store where they can touch nothing, everything is either poisonous or a choking hazard or, in fact, a poisonous choking hazard. She does this. Let me say that again. She does this. He gets the van fixed. They load everyone up all over again and the van limps home. It has been four hours since they left and they have accomplished nothing. I could been in iowa by now, Kelly tells me over the phone.

Instead she is in her new house with her new whirlpool tub which all of the kids are dying to try. The icestorm moves in, the whole house is still in boxes so sure! Let the kids frolic in the whirlpool tub. And they do. And there is much rejoicing.

Finally the kids are all asleep and it is Mommy's turn in the whirlpool tub. And the water is hot and the jets are running and there really is much rejoicing.

Schhhkkkk!

A washcloth gets sucked in to the whirlpool intake.
Broken.
It is broken.
They just moved in and now the whirlpool tub is broken.
And mommy broke it.

fuuuuuck.

But she is unstoppable, my sister kelly. She finishes her bath and gets up to go unpack some more boxes. Before doing that she needs to start some laundry which means tracking down the laundry detergent. Bargain shoppers that they are (they are also a one-income family) they have the mammoth 5-billion-loads-of-laundry-in-one-bucket-of-soap container from the giant discount store. And it's laundry liquid so it weighs 5 billion pounds as well.

But Kelly really is built for birthing and hauling and accomplishing tasks and getting things done and always, always for perseverance. I know that entire description is actually just the trap of womanhood glued neatly together with the flypaper of motherhood. Just work with me.

She gets everything to the washing machine and she's hooked it up--correctly, thank you--and pours the detergent in.

What the fu--???

MOTOR OIL.

It was motor oil! Her husband had used an old detergent container when he changed the car oil. And in her exhausted, near comatose state, she has just poured motor oil into her brand new washing machine. It was time for bed. Way, way past time for bed. Lucky for her, the floor of the twins' room was looking very comfortable.

Unreal. I don't know how you keep breathing, I say to her. I don't know why you keep breathing, says another sister. Kelly laughs, secure in the knowledge that if it were any of us-sisters, we'd just never make it.

I am the man

Please note, I am not the man as in "I am the MAN".
I am the man as in "yes, yes it is true." (sigh) "I am the man."

Did I confess to you that on our anniversary we said to one another "no presents." And we both followed the rules and didn't get each other presents. But Scully painstakingly cut out pictures of Iowa wildflowers and pasted them on to a handmade card that read, "until I can go outside and pick these for you for real" It also had little drawings of our family and future family (inshallah.)

And what did I do for her? I smiled. I thanked her. I gave her a kiss. And I told everyone about the wonderful card she'd made for me.

And later that night she mentioned that she really likes getting cards. . . or at least something. Even a can of soda with a "happy anniversary!" would have been nice. And I apologized for being an oaf and promised to do better and she said not to worry. She'd happily accept a belated anniversary gift.

So I tuck this piece of information away, fantasizing about the "absolutely perfect" thing to do for a belated anniversary gift which (of course) never materializes.

Fast forward to a few days ago.
Scully is setting out our altar for day of the dead. As she is doing this she reminds me that Nov. 1st is All Saints Day.

All Saints Day is her saints day. I can't tell you why because that would reveal too much about her secret identity. Just take my word for it & don't go nosing around asking any Latinos.

And yesterday, another reminder: tomorrow is All Saints Day.

Please know that in the past (we have been together for 7 years) she has told me that all she wants is for me to acknowledge that it is her saint's day by saying "Happy Saints day, honey!"

And what do I do this morning? Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Shower. Get Khubz dressed. Complain about the mess in the kitchen from my kamikaze-style cooking the night before. Remind Scully that I will be unavailable in the afternoon if anything comes up for Khubz. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Kiss Khubz and Scully good-bye. Leave for my meeting.

(it gets worse)

Half-way through the day I send a text message, "Just wanting to say hi!"

Not, "Just wanting to say happy saints day!" or even "Wow. . . I blew it this a.m. Happy St's Day!"

And worse, I sent a message 'just saying hi' so it was pretty clear that I had a moment of opportunity.

I wasn't too busy. I had even been reminded. I am, simply, a douche or a schmuck or "the man."

My phone quickly beeped back with a message: No one remembered my saints day. :(

To prove that I am "the man" in the relationship I responded to her text message (sent in response to my "just hi") by freaking the fuck out and immediately deciding the way to fix my asshole-ism was to purchase some, um, say, FLOWERS for her.

Because that's what women everywhere have always said. Sure, he might be a total schmoe, inconsiderate and self-centered but at least he brought me flowers and a lame apology!

It's true. In my defense, another motivator was that I knew she wanted flowers for the altar.

And I clearly offer this up as a public apology. The best demonstration of how contrite I am is to simply say (sigh): It is true that sometimes femmes are the man. (additional sigh) I wish I didn't prove this fact quite so often.

What a putz I am.

p.s. At least I've improved at her birthday. It's Dec. 2nd and I used to spend her birthday crying because I couldn't budget to save my life and therefore I never had a birthday present for her on her birthday because that was always the same paycheck period that rent was due. So for a good 4 years she spent her birthday consoling me and letting me know that she didn't care about getting her birthday present two weeks late if only I would stop CRYING so we could at least enjoy the day together.

UnFingBelievable

Are you watching this?



I am left without words. And I also know that sputtering has become so commonplace that it is banal. Isn't this all a really bad script by Oliver Stone?

Mama goes boomp-d-boom-boom-boomp!

Ah, the sounds of peaceful morning in our home. Khubz did not want to quit nursing this morning but I had to get up & get going for work. Scully was already done getting ready and was heading downstairs. She got Khubz dressed while I got dressed and then Scully headed downstairs with our sleepy, crabby daughter.

Say it out loud with me: Boomp-d-boom-boom-boomp!

Yes, Scully missed a step towards the bottom of the stairs
Yes, she and Khubz rolled and pitched forward down the last few steps
Yes, Scully's fall was broken (not softly) by the wooden baby gate at the bottom of the stairs
Yes, I ran to them both
Yes, Scully had cradled Khubz with her arms and body, keeping Khubz from any harm
Yes, Khubz thought the amusement park ride was a blast and wanted to do it again. She had not a single scratch.

The mommy? She's not so anxious to have another go around.

This fall warranted one of the precious prescription-strength ibuprofen saved from after Khubz's birth.

What a good Mommy.
She is totally at the top of my gratitude list.

(sigh)

(sigh)

Lots to catch up on. Let's start with my friend Dory. You know her. Teal colored, foreigner, old girl, been around the block and most of the midwest as well. Does not enjoy swimming at all. She's just a bit late in telling me.

Khubz & I came back from iowa on monday. We drove up to iowa (and back down) with my "check engine" light on. (scoff) Takes more than that to scare me off a trip with my only offspring in pouring rain. We got back fine but did make one emergency call to Scully. I asked her to raise the getting to our home/land security alert level to orange because several other alert lights were flickering--namely the emergency brake light (no, I did not have the brake on as we were coasting at 80 mph) and another light which currently escapes me (you can see i was very alarmed) That's fine. Coming back from work the lights stayed on permanently. Bring it on! (uh, okay)

Before I continue, you should know that Scully has become something of a tyrant with her "gentle suggestions" like, let's take turns putting Khubz to bed so the other mommy can go to the gym while she's going to sleep? Grrrr. . . . I finally decided that arguing with Scully was ultimately less energy-consuming than actually going to the gym. So I did. (yea me!)

On the way back I realize that the instrument panel in Dory is dimming. Um, and so are my headlights. Oh, and the power locks stop working but begin making a whirring sound. I have already forsaken the windows for fear that they may roll down and refuse to roll back up. So my headlights are going out and this is quite clear because I can see from the car behind me that my shadow is greater than my headlights.


This is what hazards are for, right? Only if they work! They work sporadically as well. This is where i draw the line. We're taking Dory to our awesome mechanic tomorrow night and my lovely friend is taking me to work tomorrow day so I don't have to risk her on the interstate. And either our mechanic will again work miracles or else we are taking dory to the morgue.


All because we crave another massive monthly payment. We crave it.


There's actually a lot going on in life, none of which I'll post here now (that would be substantive) Instead, time to get my list posted.

N es por Nadar

to propel oneself through water by moving the arms and legs or (in fish) the tail and fins.



(or by slowly, steadily pressing on the gas pedal while throwing your considerable weight from side to side in your chair to influence the angle of the car)

This is a picture of the actual flood we drove through. I can only thank the goddess that my travel companion was so calm, that Scully was my own personal fear/panic/tornado hotline, and that my body inspired my car to hold on to the earth, enough to keep the car from being swept away in the rush of water!

Apologies to the woman on the right for the unflattering picture but it an excellent demonstration of what kind of water we're talking about. (Just in case anyone were to accuse me of employing hyperbole.)

Jesus

Now, nobody go getting uptight. "Jesus" is a very acceptable word to demonstrate the letter "J" It can be said in multiple contexts, not just J*!, but also like, "Thank You J*!" or "Be With Me J*! I'll let the reader choose the inflection.

Our trip to Providence. J*!

So there are multiple people to whom I owe my life:

• My coworkers/travel companions--aka Khubz's playmates & my guardians (Thanks for taking care of the girl and also for taking care of me)
• Two Shews, Our personal baby gear & flying advice shop (The carseat was perfect. So much better than lugging the carseat + base. As for the stroller. . . more on that later
• My sister, K, who took a personal crisis call in the midst of a larger family-wide crisis
• My sister, Chiquita, who (though she needs to update her blog) also took a personal crisis call in the midst of that same family-wide crisis
• My sister, SaBdM, ever ready with her working credit card number and flower-ordering husband
• Sommosa (also needing to update her blog) who called and let me rehearse, ahem, excuse me, relay the whole terrible tale
• And, last but not least, Scully. (the votes have been counted--you can relax tinkerbell) My daring partner in this parenting and life adventure who, amazingly, still trusts me to be alone with our daughter.
  

If that doesn't scare you off then read on, gentle reader, read on

Khubz did great, so great, so great, on the plane. She slept through most of staff meeting on Tuesday morning. Slept in the car to the airport. Slept in the stroller at the airport. This was all before the first dose of benadryl.

The KC airport was uneventful. I nearly crapped my pants when the TSA security guy grinned at me and waved at Khubz. "Um, did you really look at my ID? Did you see my last name? You're smiling at us?" Our first plane boarding was unorganized but ultimately fine (with the help of benadryl) In the Detroit airport she got a little more benadryl. All clear to Providence.

Checking in to the hotel I start to pull out my purse. Unhappily I realize I've become that woman that must dump everything, everything out of a massive diaper bag to find what I'm looking for. It's been a long day. I have a half sedated baby, a milk stain from where I leaked out on the plane and I'm pulling out diapers, a baby sling, toys, a onsie, everything really. No purse. Let's say that again. We have arrived in Providence. I have my infant daughter and no purse. NO PURSE.

No ID. No credit cards. No phone with everybody's number in it. No ID. No ID.

I'm on the east coast with my infant daughter, $80 in cash (stashed in my suitcase) and no ID with a Saudi name. I am freaking out. My coworkers get me checked in, loan me a cell phone and call the Providence airport to go search the bathroom where I stopped and last saw my purse. I have images of some random person listening to my ipod (named Zora, which I never should have bought in the first place but LOVE) spending my $100 in cash, charging to my credit cards and making calls on MY cell phone while handling MY daughter's birth certificate and throwing away MY keys. Disaster!

Scully is calming and wonderful. "It's not like you lost the baby!" It was a loving and wonderful response but anytime you're reassuring someone by saying, "at least you didn't lose your baby" you're setting the bar kind of low. Okay, okay, okay. I'm just going to go up to my room, feed Khubz and try to calm down. That was the plan. In practice, I decided since I was alone in my room with my baby it was okay to openly sob. And I mean SOB! On the phone with Scully I am gasping for breath between wrenching tears and anxious cries. "You have GOT to calm down! FRUITFEMME! Calm DOWN! Where's Khubz?" "She's fine" SOB, SOB "She's on the bed" SOB SOB. "What am I going to DO?" SOB SOB

WHUMP!

"Oh my GOD!!"

"What's wrong?! What happened?!" Khubz begins wailing and screaming

"Um, nothing! She's fine! I gotta go!!"

"Fruitfemme, what happened?! Did she fall off the bed?!"

"No. She, um, she fell backwards!!" In fact, my infant daughter has for the first time rolled off a bed. The bed she chose for her first adventure was one of those hotel beds that, by regulation, are at least 3 feet high off the ground. And she was mad. Gravity had never done wrong by her like that. And she wanted to know how I could allow such a thing. She was hollering. Screaming like I wished I could have screamed when I realized I had lost my purse.

Mother is a verb, remember. And sometimes the accompanying adverb is "badly."

The girl has been betrayed but was otherwise fine. I didn't have the guts to call Scully back and confess the truth. Apparently she was on the phone with her sister saying, "I don't know! I don't know what to do! They were both crying!" Horrible. Next call? Um, no one. I don't know anyone's number. Then I remember K & J's home number. Talk with her for a little while. Get Joe's number. Retell the whole horrible tale.

Then, in the midst of the darkness i saw a soft small light. Call the cab company. Know the cab number? No, but the driver was a grandma with a granddaughter a little older than Khubz, she get's off at one in the morning. . .

They got it.

They've got it!

Unbelievable relief. Unbelievable relief.

Thank you J*! (and isis, and gaia and others. I just couldn't find any graphics for the goddess is my homegirl)

The most wonderful cab driver in the world.

That kind of start to the trip made the actual meeting seem wonderfully uneventful. It was a great meeting, though. One of the best I've ever been to in terms of speakers, relevance and material.

Khubz did great with her N/Annie. They took tons of walks, got in & out of a very cold pool, played in the grass by the capitol, ate peaches, took some good naps, did not roll off the bed and sang endless rounds of itsy bitsy spider. Good, good times. She was completely tuckered out in the evenings when I got her and slept hard.

Providence was beautiful. There's a lot more to say about the actual trip but I've got to get on with the travels story because there's more.

The trip home:

Khubz and I were traveling home on our own. I roped a good woman from the same meeting on the same plane into being our travel companion and she was marvelous! Really, really saved us.
Because. . .

We had some problems at the Providence airport. Got the bags checked. Khubz was in the carseat in the stroller and didn't like being strapped down. She also saw some white, starched shirt business men (the men were white--not the shirts, though, they probably were as well) talking on their cell phones and decided to test her lung capacity. We snake our way through the security line. We send all our earthly belongings through the x-ray machine, the carseat and the stroller. The stroller.
It comes out the other side and the TSA staff asks me to step to one side and not touch anything. Uh. . .Okay. What's wrong exactly?
Supposedly the stroller is coming back dirty. It is testing positive for:

• Methamphetamines?
• Narcotics?
• Possible smuggling of undocumented migrants?
• Items looted from a museum?
  

No. . . We're Arabs! Explosives.

They say the stroller is testing positive for explosives.

Great. We're all suspect at this point, including my baby.
They pulled everything out of my diaper bag (which had been packed with the expectation that at any time a catastrophe could leave us stranded in the Detroit airport for 3 days), swabbing down the carseat, swabbing down the stroller, patting me down and wanting to pat down my baby. Luckily, my travel companion said she would hold Khubz because anything I was touching they'd have to pat down and it is not okay for them to pat down my baby.

45 minutes later they let us through, explosive stroller and all. One screaming baby and one pissed off mommy.

This post is unbearably long at this point so I'll conclude as I started.

J* or thank you J* as you prefer.

We made it back home and were greeted by Mama at the gate. Thank J*.

Then at 8 pm we got in the car and headed up to iowa. (that'll have to wait for a different post)