Our US Airways flight didn’t go anywhere near the Hudson, so A+ flight.

Our return flight attendants were about 3000 percent nicer than the outbound flights.

When *someone* forgot to leave us the car keys and *someone else* later left the car seat in the rental car and then thanked *their* lucky stars that the flight was late and *someone* noted to another passenger that a connection in Phoenix is always easy because it’s a relatively small airport and then, later, that same *someone* had exactly 19 minutes from wheelsdown to haul ass from the absolute farthest gate in one terminal to the absolute farthest gate in another terminal (on crutches and cheering on a three-year-old functioning on vapors a full three hours past bedtime and with no food in him to run at full tilt with his frog backpack [I know it’s heavy baby, and I know you don’t like running encumbered, but you’re doing a heckuva job!] and trying not to laugh at the hilarity of a three-year-old let loose in an aiport and told to run as fast as he can, wobbling a bit when the crutches hit the moving walkway and when the three-year-old stopped dead in front of her to ask if this was an escalator or something different, and just a little after she smacked the kiosk toadie upside the head with her crutch when he asked her, as she all but ran a three-legged race with the aforementioned toddler and packmule Spouse who carried everyone’s carry-on and personal item and carseat while running at helf-tilt, whether she could spare 30 seconds to hear about a special deal with MasterFuckingCard) made it with, no joke, two minutes to spare only to find that that *someone* had lost our boarding passes but that a certain airlines that can land on water or tamac can also replace a lost boarding pass with, like, no problemo, well then *all* those someones relaxed into their seats with a sigh and forgot even to bemoan the fact that you don’t even get pretzels anymore, let alone beverages on these flights home. Or that airport freaking restaurants close at freaking 9:00 pm when your flight is scheduled to land at 8:55pm and your three-year-old and your crutches conspire to keep you away from a different burrito—not the burrito they refused to serve you at 8:55am, noting that they didn’t serve bean and cheese burritos until after 9:00 am, and yes they’re sorry that your flight leaves at 9:06, but that they can’t make a burrito so early unless it’s a breakfast burrito, yes, ma’am, even if you’re willing to eat it cold andyes, ma’aam, even if you’re willing to order a breakfast burrito without the filling and substitute rice and beans, sorry ma’am; or the burrito that the wonderful airline who replaced your boarding passes refused to let your husband dash and purchase because even though their plane was late and even though they don’t have food on the plane and even though your three-year-old will probably lose it if he has to subsist on clementines and raw almond slices for *another* flight after being promised a burrito, they have a firm four minutes before takeoff door policy, and you’ll just have to eat at your destination. That’s three burritos denied, just this trip. If I weren’t still achy from the hilarity of  watching the three-year-old drop to his hands and knees in the airport, pretending to eat the floor, I might write a strongly worded letter.

It’s good to be home.