You know how when you watch the news and start to lose all hope that there are any kind hearted people in this world? It's not true; it's just what the media wants you to believe.
The truth is, the good people just hardly ever make it on the news, but they're out there.
Everything about our boarding to go home went exponentially smoother than anything that happened to us previously (minus the fact that when we tried to check in with the machine, it directed to to the counter, and the guy behind the counter tried to tell us that we didn't actually have tickets!.......geez!)
We beat traffic and got to the terminal with plenty of time to chillax, have a coffee, feed the babe, and pump. Oh yes, I pumped in the middle of the airport like a total rockstar!
If I flew the coachiest of coach on the way to Denver, then I definitely stepped it up a few notches for the ride home when the nicest stranger on our Frontier flight made me an offer I couldn't refuse (and I didn't even look nearly as pitiful as I did when stepping onto the Spirit plane).
"You've got your hands full," the complete stranger sitting in the front row of first class said to me as I turned the corner from the tunnel to walk down the isle.
"Oh yes," I replied, smiling and nodding.
"You want my seat so you can have more room?"
I just laughed and kept nodding my head, assuming he was kidding.
"Do you?" he repeated.
"Wait.....Are you serious?!?!?"
"Yes. You can have my seat if you like, so you can have more room."
I looked back at Patrick, "Do you mind?" But I didn't really mean it. I WAS GOING TO SIT IN FIRST CLASS, BITHCES! I looked back at the nicest stranger ever, "This is my husband, Patrick. He'll be your partner in the back of the plane!" (I'm sure he wasn't at all expecting us to be sitting in the very back row of the plane, but the retarded attendant who checked us in moved us to the back, insisting we'd like it better there.)
I didn't quite know how to act, or what the etiquette was for first class. I accepted the warm nuts and ice water in a real glass by the flight attendant who even pulled my tray out for me.
I declined dinner and wine, partially because Dillon was wide awake and keeping me busy, partially because I didn't know what was already paid for and what went on a tab and if I should ask the attendant to send it all back to the person it all belonged to. When she insisted on me eating a warm fresh sough dough roll, I accepted, and she unfolded my real cloth napkin, put it in my lap, unwrapped my butter and helped me reach my butter knife. "Would you like me to get your diaper bag out for you?" she asked.
Holy crap. No wonder people pay for these seats......
I thoroughly enjoyed the shortest flight ever (after I got over my fear of being sent back to my real seat), and reminensed over the great time we had as a family earlier that day, eating at a fantastic little Italian joint on a patio under a shade tree in Morrison, and taking some pictures of Dillon on the trails of Red Rocks. We wanted to sing to him on stage for the first time, but didn't make it out there soon enough for a concert to start gearing up.
And as fun as that day was, there's no place like home.......especially when totting around a bunch of baby supplies can be a real beat down after a while!
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