The Airport Mommy

I'm on let you in on a little secret.

(I'm reading The Help, and yes, Aibilene speak has taken over my brain.  Sorry fo' that.)

When I prep to fly, I don't think, "what is the cutest thing for me to wear on the plane?"

I think, "what items do I NOT want to make room for in my suitcase, but I most definitely want on vacation?"

Which means I end up dressed like this:

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Because one never knows when I may need those jeans, flannel shirt and a pair of combat boots on my trip.

Did I mention, I tend to not fix my hair to fly, either?

Ponytails are my flight 'DO.  PERIOD.

BUT.

It's inevitable.

I'm running around the airport dressed in the oldest hoodie and sneaks I own, and I pass HER.

You know who I mean, right?

HER...

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The Jackie O of airport mommies.

Hair perfectly groomed.

Clothes perfectly starched.

And fresh as a dew kissed lily on an Easter morning.

Her perfectly groomed children don't hang on her hip.

They don't cry.

They barely make a sound.

They hold her hand and walk next to her as though the airport, full of hustle and bustle, is their second home.

And there I stand, with pizza stains on my hoodie, my once neat ponytail now frizzed to the max, with a fussy and extremely clingy toddler wailing that he doesn't want his diaper changed, he wants to play with "CAR, MOMMY!"

And inside, I cry a little.

Because despite the fact that I want to be HER....

There's no way I'm ever going to make room in my suitcase for my combat boots, when I could just as easily wear them on the plane.

And there's no way I'm ever going to talk myself out of the fact that I could possibly remotely need or want them on my trip.

Just don't make good sense.