Somehow, in the course of our big move, I managed to
misplace two of my family members in public places, resulting in overwhelming
panic, tears and a handful of laughs.
The first was Lily.
For the Friday and Saturday before we
left, we stayed at a hotel very close to Darling Harbour. Bob had to work
Saturday and as we’d sold our beds, it seemed to make a bit of sense.
On the Saturday, I decided to take the children to the playground at Darling Harbour by myself. This might not sound like a significant feat, but if you’ve ever seen that particular park, you’ll know that it’s quite the nerve-wracking place for a mother with an active preschooler and toddler. Almost everywhere you stand, about half the playground is obscured from vision by equipment. The slide is a two story hill of cement, just to begin with, and it is always crowded. I had already taken the children for lunch, and on the merry-go-round so, sufficiently fortified, I set them loose. After several heart pounding moments where Archer was out of sight, I decided to follow him exclusively as Lily was happy going up and down the slide. I took a moment to text Bob, “This playground sucks. I cannot see both the children no matter where I stand. If I wanted to kidnap a child, I’d go to Darling Harbour playground.”
And so we hopped from the big slide, to the little slides, to the sand pit and finally to the fabulous, but extremely crowded, splash pad. Lily was happy walking up and down the hill, opening and closing the gates that change the direction of the water, so I decided to stick by Archer, who was happily splashing in a little pond area. Every now and again, I’d check to make sure Lily could see and hear me by calling her name and waving. She’d grin and wave back. She was maybe 20 metres away the whole time.
After one such moment, I turned to find Archer engulfed by a huge family. I turned my back on Lily, seeking out his little blond head, and when I found him, in what must have been a less than 30 seconds, I turned back around to find Lily gone. I looked and called and waved, waiting for her hand to wave back, or her grinning face to pop up from one of the streams, but it didn’t.
I had the pram, our camera and a significant amount of cash. So, with Archer trailing behind me, I did two laps of the pad, calling, and calling. Panic rose up inside me like bile. I took about 15 precious seconds to decide between leaving the pram and carrying Archer, or clipping him in, as he was slowing me down significantly walking. I decided I’d be slower carrying him, and clipped him in, losing another precious 30 seconds, and did one last frantic lap of the pad, making desperate eye contact with each mother and father, hoping they’d offer to help me. No one did, so I decided to ask for help. I it was then I realized not a single person around me was speaking English. I desperately didn’t want to get lost in translation, so I sought out some people speaking English. Another precious 30 seconds gone. Another 30 seconds of terrible, panicked thoughts running through my head. I admit I gave little Maddie McCann more than a few seconds thought.
It was two mothers, blessedly chatting away in English, that I decided to ask to help me. Tears welling up in my eyes I said “Can you please help me, I’ve lost my little girl.” Immediately they wanted to help, one offered to watch Archer while myself and the other lady looked. As we split up I heard the sweetest thing I’d ever heard above din of the crowd, “Can you see your Mummy here?” and sure enough, there was Lily, holding the hand of mother with a son, looking around for me. I ran and scooped her up, tears streaming down my face and kissing her all over. “Stop crying Mummy,” she pleaded, but the relief washed over me and I couldn’t hold it back.
On the Saturday, I decided to take the children to the playground at Darling Harbour by myself. This might not sound like a significant feat, but if you’ve ever seen that particular park, you’ll know that it’s quite the nerve-wracking place for a mother with an active preschooler and toddler. Almost everywhere you stand, about half the playground is obscured from vision by equipment. The slide is a two story hill of cement, just to begin with, and it is always crowded. I had already taken the children for lunch, and on the merry-go-round so, sufficiently fortified, I set them loose. After several heart pounding moments where Archer was out of sight, I decided to follow him exclusively as Lily was happy going up and down the slide. I took a moment to text Bob, “This playground sucks. I cannot see both the children no matter where I stand. If I wanted to kidnap a child, I’d go to Darling Harbour playground.”
And so we hopped from the big slide, to the little slides, to the sand pit and finally to the fabulous, but extremely crowded, splash pad. Lily was happy walking up and down the hill, opening and closing the gates that change the direction of the water, so I decided to stick by Archer, who was happily splashing in a little pond area. Every now and again, I’d check to make sure Lily could see and hear me by calling her name and waving. She’d grin and wave back. She was maybe 20 metres away the whole time.
After one such moment, I turned to find Archer engulfed by a huge family. I turned my back on Lily, seeking out his little blond head, and when I found him, in what must have been a less than 30 seconds, I turned back around to find Lily gone. I looked and called and waved, waiting for her hand to wave back, or her grinning face to pop up from one of the streams, but it didn’t.
I had the pram, our camera and a significant amount of cash. So, with Archer trailing behind me, I did two laps of the pad, calling, and calling. Panic rose up inside me like bile. I took about 15 precious seconds to decide between leaving the pram and carrying Archer, or clipping him in, as he was slowing me down significantly walking. I decided I’d be slower carrying him, and clipped him in, losing another precious 30 seconds, and did one last frantic lap of the pad, making desperate eye contact with each mother and father, hoping they’d offer to help me. No one did, so I decided to ask for help. I it was then I realized not a single person around me was speaking English. I desperately didn’t want to get lost in translation, so I sought out some people speaking English. Another precious 30 seconds gone. Another 30 seconds of terrible, panicked thoughts running through my head. I admit I gave little Maddie McCann more than a few seconds thought.
It was two mothers, blessedly chatting away in English, that I decided to ask to help me. Tears welling up in my eyes I said “Can you please help me, I’ve lost my little girl.” Immediately they wanted to help, one offered to watch Archer while myself and the other lady looked. As we split up I heard the sweetest thing I’d ever heard above din of the crowd, “Can you see your Mummy here?” and sure enough, there was Lily, holding the hand of mother with a son, looking around for me. I ran and scooped her up, tears streaming down my face and kissing her all over. “Stop crying Mummy,” she pleaded, but the relief washed over me and I couldn’t hold it back.
I thanked everyone over and over
and took Lily back to our hotel room, where I lay on the bed for a quite a long
time willing my heart to beat normally.
The second was Bob. I managed to lose him at Dallas
International Airport.
After our 15 hour flight from Sydney to Dallas, we had a minuscule 2 hour change over to get on our flight to Charlotte. Much to our bad luck, the plane was already running over 20 minutes late. We disembarked as quickly as we could, and were ushered through customs at what I’m sure was record pace, but we had a lot of luggage and the children had to walk as the luggage trolleys had no seat for them (they do in Sydney) and we had no pram, or hands to push it even if we did. And they did not want to. Crying, foot stomping and lying down in the middle of the airport ensued, and that was just me and Bob.
After all but throwing our luggage onto the check in carousel, we realized we had just 4 short minutes until our flight closed. Bob said, and I think ominous music should play here, “I’ll run ahead and ask if they can hold the plane, you bring the kids.”
Now, we were in Terminal D, and our flight left from Terminal A, gate 38, to be precise. So off Bob ran and I begged, and pleaded and bribed and threatened and even pushed the children through Terminal D, in the direction of Terminal A.
And then I found IT out. The horrifying thing about Dallas Airport. It is so big you need a train to get between terminals. A FUCKING TRAIN! I knew hope of making the plane was lost, but boarded the train, confident that Bob would wait at the gate, and that our travel insurance would cover the second flight.
I arrived at Gate A38, noting that gates 30 – 38 were in one direction, and the remainder were in the other, and Bob was not there. I spoke to the staff at Gate A37, as our gate was completely closed, and they asked me for me ID and boarding passes. Bob had them, along with our money, and my phone, which was useless anyway as we don’t have international roaming. They looked me up anyway, and Bob, confirmed I was already booked on the next flight in two hours and that Bob hadn’t boarded the first plane (I should bloody well hope not). The kicker was that our next plane left from Terminal C.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I had them page Bob not once, not twice, but three times, until the staff said, “Go to Terminal C, or you’ll miss your flight again.” More begging, pleading, threatening, bribing and foot stomping and another train trip, and we arrived at Terminal C only to see one gate over from ours had a small playground, I let the children loose and spoke to the staff on the not our gate. They paged Bob three times, and when, tears pricking my eyes, trying to harness my mounting panic, I explained he had our everything, one of the ladies gave me a look that clearly said “He’s done a runner.” I then gathered up the children, who were pleading for food and drinks and went to our gate, who paged Bob again. Then over the pager came a call for me to pick up one of the customer service phones. It didn’t work, so I rang through a page for Bob (we were up to eight by now) The customer service guy said “Oh, Mrs Maidens! Your husband’s looking for you, he’s in Terminal D.”
WHAT?
As I gathered up the children, the staff at our gate, who had already boarded everyone else, said “Don’t you go anywhere, Ma’am, we’re getting you on this flight.” And after about two more minutes of tearful, fruitless searching in the crowd, there came Bob, running up with our carry-on luggage in the biggest wheelchair I’ve ever seen, apologizing profusely. It turns out, we had lost each other when he had mistakenly gone to gate A23, which, remember, was in the other direction to our actual gate.
And we boarded the plane, completely free (Thank you American Airlines!). The children passed out before we even finished take off and we were given free food and drink and had a very good laugh.
After our 15 hour flight from Sydney to Dallas, we had a minuscule 2 hour change over to get on our flight to Charlotte. Much to our bad luck, the plane was already running over 20 minutes late. We disembarked as quickly as we could, and were ushered through customs at what I’m sure was record pace, but we had a lot of luggage and the children had to walk as the luggage trolleys had no seat for them (they do in Sydney) and we had no pram, or hands to push it even if we did. And they did not want to. Crying, foot stomping and lying down in the middle of the airport ensued, and that was just me and Bob.
After all but throwing our luggage onto the check in carousel, we realized we had just 4 short minutes until our flight closed. Bob said, and I think ominous music should play here, “I’ll run ahead and ask if they can hold the plane, you bring the kids.”
Now, we were in Terminal D, and our flight left from Terminal A, gate 38, to be precise. So off Bob ran and I begged, and pleaded and bribed and threatened and even pushed the children through Terminal D, in the direction of Terminal A.
And then I found IT out. The horrifying thing about Dallas Airport. It is so big you need a train to get between terminals. A FUCKING TRAIN! I knew hope of making the plane was lost, but boarded the train, confident that Bob would wait at the gate, and that our travel insurance would cover the second flight.
I arrived at Gate A38, noting that gates 30 – 38 were in one direction, and the remainder were in the other, and Bob was not there. I spoke to the staff at Gate A37, as our gate was completely closed, and they asked me for me ID and boarding passes. Bob had them, along with our money, and my phone, which was useless anyway as we don’t have international roaming. They looked me up anyway, and Bob, confirmed I was already booked on the next flight in two hours and that Bob hadn’t boarded the first plane (I should bloody well hope not). The kicker was that our next plane left from Terminal C.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I had them page Bob not once, not twice, but three times, until the staff said, “Go to Terminal C, or you’ll miss your flight again.” More begging, pleading, threatening, bribing and foot stomping and another train trip, and we arrived at Terminal C only to see one gate over from ours had a small playground, I let the children loose and spoke to the staff on the not our gate. They paged Bob three times, and when, tears pricking my eyes, trying to harness my mounting panic, I explained he had our everything, one of the ladies gave me a look that clearly said “He’s done a runner.” I then gathered up the children, who were pleading for food and drinks and went to our gate, who paged Bob again. Then over the pager came a call for me to pick up one of the customer service phones. It didn’t work, so I rang through a page for Bob (we were up to eight by now) The customer service guy said “Oh, Mrs Maidens! Your husband’s looking for you, he’s in Terminal D.”
WHAT?
As I gathered up the children, the staff at our gate, who had already boarded everyone else, said “Don’t you go anywhere, Ma’am, we’re getting you on this flight.” And after about two more minutes of tearful, fruitless searching in the crowd, there came Bob, running up with our carry-on luggage in the biggest wheelchair I’ve ever seen, apologizing profusely. It turns out, we had lost each other when he had mistakenly gone to gate A23, which, remember, was in the other direction to our actual gate.
And we boarded the plane, completely free (Thank you American Airlines!). The children passed out before we even finished take off and we were given free food and drink and had a very good laugh.
