There's No Place Like Home ... There's No Place Like Home!

If only it had been as easy as donning a pair of ruby slippers and clicking our heels together.

We started our journey in Moscow. After going to three different Aeroflot counters with our escort trying to work through having paper tickets for a week earlier but having reservations for that day, we were finally told that we could go straight to the check-in counter. At the check-in counter (we flew LOT Polish Airlines business class), after weighing my first bag, the clerk informed me that my bag weighed 26. I'm sure my expression was something like 'that's nice' to which the agent informed me that it needed to be 23. Having been in Russia for way too long and having absorbed the culture well, I responded, "We'll pay for it. How much?" The lady, seeing that we weren't planning on dumping stuff onto the airport floor finally yielded and checked our bags through.

Russian immigration went smoothly. We showed our original Russian documents and were allowed through. Since Aeroflot's ticket counter only opened an hour prior to departure (there's no reason to rush these things), we didn't get to enjoy our normal pre-departure celebratory beverage in the business lounge. We again thanked God that we had purchased a cheapie umbrella stroller to haul Sasha around in. Have I mentioned before how heavy he is? And, he's getting heavier by the day let me tell you!

The flight from Moscow to Warsaw was good. I should have known that it was too good to last.

We deboarded our plane onto the hot Warsaw tarmac. We were the last to deplane which left little room aboard the shuttle for us, a baby, our diaper bag, a stroller and two pieces of carry on luggage. An attendent helped us onto the shuttle forcing the other passengers to open a little space for us. Once aboard, I must have been suffering from a combination of heat stroke and sleep deprivation as I forgot to grab hold of something with my free hand. I went sailing into the arms of some young Russian man who was kind enough and sure-footed enough to remain stable for the three of us. This was lucky as we could've been witness to a large demo of human dominoes. Another older Russian gentleman proceeded to hold my diaper bag and purse to allow me to be able to grab hold of something other than the young Russian man. After all the stone faced Russian moments, I'll tell you that the kindness that these two men showed us was surprising.

The older Russian man helped us get our stuff off the tram and pointed out the way to passport control. Mom zipped through passport control while my agent asked, "are you planning to stay in Poland?" Was this a trick question?? Hadn't we stayed in Russia long enough?? "No, sir, " was my quick reply. He explained that we needed to go upstairs to transfers and speak with the LOT staff there. I was able to signal for Mom to come back through the gates and we proceeded upstairs. We went through the LOT transfer desk without issue and proceeded to the business lounge.

We met another couple traveling with a little boy, Jacob, who was 14 months old. They had traveled to Poland for a family get together and were returning to Chicago. Woo hoo - we wouldn't be the only screaming baby on the flight. At this point, Sasha was almost to 'done'. He had only four hours of sleep the night before, hadn't appreciated us changing his gross diaper in the bathroom and had missed his morning nap. He started to wail. A Polish Air staffer came over to inform us that children were not allowed in the business lounge. Now, I have a bit of a problem with this. If we paid for our three tickets in business class then we should be able to use the lounge. While Sasha was crying (we eventually got him quieted down), he wasn't running around or doing any damage to anyone or anything. My vote on Polish air is that it's probably not the right airline to travel with kids. The other couple in the lounge had two very bad experiences in flight - one with an attendent grabbing their child (they were walking just behind him) and pulling him back so hard that he cried and the other verbally accousting them for something related to their little boy.

Our flight was late. We had heard that the Wednesday flight was delayed by 8 hours (I guess God had a plan in mind when our fingerprints didn't come in time to take that flight). I can't imagine how impossible that would've been with Sasha. Eventually we made our way to our gate.

Describing gate boarding practices in Europe is challenging. Instead of a line there is a mass of pushing, surly people. We followed our new found friends to the middle of the 'mass' as babies and business class are allowed to board first. After standing in line for a while, the supervisor of the transfer desk saw us and asked for everyone to let us through as we had an infant. Very nice. We wheeled a sleeping Sasha down to the gate to part with our stroller. Lesson One: Don't EVER (as in NEVER EVER) wake Sasha when he's sleeping. He is the absolute grumpiest child on Earth when he's overtired and sleepy. He started to wail (and I mean WAIL. At many times during the 1 1/2 hours that he wailed, I thought my ear drums would burst). I have since decided that Sasha's next plane ride will be when he's 18. The flight attendents came over one by one to ask if they could help. They took him on tours of the cabin where he was presented with LOT wings. I was hoping that they wouldn't just leave him at the Warsaw gate and I took the opportunity to apologize profusely to the other business class passengers. Once he came back to us, he was disgruntled that he had to be restrained for take off which led to more wailing at even higher volumes. At one point I actually started tearing up. I felt totally useless not being able to come up with one thing (and yes, I gave him a big dose of Benadryl at the beginning of the episode per our pediatrician's instructions) to calm him down.

I have always believed that you can really get to know someone well on a road trip. I assure you that a nine hour plane ride from Warsaw to Chicago counts. Mom and I now have a bond that must be like what people feel towards their fellow prisoners. We took advantage of the opportunity to have a few cocktails, our nerves beyond repair.

After the initial long wailing session, we were able to create a bed for Sasha on the floor where he conked out for four hours (trust me, we were hoping for 7 1/2 hours but alas ...). Once awake, we fed him but once the need to restrain him occured, he was inconsolable again. He screamed from the initial descent until we de-boarded the plane (we were the last passenger off as we had to totally change his outfit, diaper, etc. and were assisted by the cleaning team). I'm sure the flight attendents were never so happy as when they got rid of us.

The walk from the airplane to passport control is a lengthy hike. Sasha was quiet (he'd probably gone horse at this point) but Mom and I felt like we had been dragged behind the plane the whole way (and I think when you see the photos of us, you'll agree that we look like we had been dragged behind the plane from Warsaw to Chicago and let's not talk about what we smelled like after two massive, full wardrobe / diaper changes).

At passport control, we queued up in one of the longest lines I've ever seen. Yes, Disney World lines can be longer but they are so creatively done that you really never know how much of a line there is. No such luck at the O'Hare passport control. Fortunately, a nice agent came over to us and asked us to move to line 38. She must have seen what a mess we were and had pity on us. Line 38 was a speedy line usually reserved for handicapped people. Mom and I admitted that we felt handicapped on many levels at this point. Mom sped through passport control while I gave Sasha's secret, sealed envelope to Officer Lucera. He looked things over and said I was good to go. Wow, that was fast! I had been told it would be about 1 1/2 hours to get through this process. I told him how fast this was and he laughed. This was only the beginning. I was to claim my bags and then go to the Red line where they would review Sasha's documents. I knew it had seemed too good to be true.

International baggage claim late afternoon at O'Hare is quite chaotic. Our bags were at the furthest point from our original entry point (part of the Hallmark of my travels). We got two baggage trolleys and awaited our luggage arrival. It finally came and wheeling a baby stroller (still thanking God that we brought it) and a luggage trolley put me in a special class of seasoned traveler that I hadn't been in before. Mom proceeded to the green line while I was banished to the red line. As I awaited our turn with the agent, I must admit to being on the verge of tears again. I was so tired. Having brought what I thought must be the crabbiest child alive half way around the world, having stayed in a country twice as long as anyone would want or expect and looking (and smelling) so bad and knowing that I would be a videographed extensively on the other side of customs - I was three clicks past 'Done'.

A quick note on my fellow red line - new immigrants. There was what looked like a Hispanic family and a young woman in what I would call a 'hootchie mama' outfit. She had been on our flight and wore very tight jeans that she had cut the waste band off of. She had a short top so you could see her tum-tum and other 'attributes' if she bent over or moved in any other direction but straight walking. I had bet that she would be the first called, however, I was wrong. The officer must have sensed an impending break down as he called us first. This process took about 15 minutes thankfully and we were off to clear customs.

Customs was a short process as well. It would have been shorter if a man with matching royal blue luggage hadn't started arguing with the customs official. At one point, they were yelling at each other, the customs agent informing the man that, "No, you've never brought this into our airport. This is absolutely forbidden." I leaned closer to see what the forbidden items were but never could get close enough. I realized too late that my form didn't match the bags that I had on my trolley but it didn't matter, we cleared without issue.

I must've looked beyond pathetic as an agent came over to assist wheeling the luggage trolley out so I could wheel the stroller. I've never had so much help and realized that being exhausted and smelly must be working for me. We immediately saw the welcome home, Sasha banner with our family waiting. My Dad had just driven up to meet us at the airport and the Christensen grandparents had made a spectacular banner for Sasha's arrival. And, yes, on the darkest recesses of a videotape, there is footage of me and Toni G. at our very worse. Glad to be home, glad to have more hands on deck to help with Sasha and looking forward to a good night's sleep, a shower and a glass of celebratory champagne (not necessarily in that order).

It's good to be home.