Super Hero for a Day...

Not to toot my own horn or anything... but today I was SUPER MOM! A pretty fancy feat for a single chick with no kids, dontcha think?

I was woman on a mission. I was a hero on the move. I was lookin' good in my leopard print shades (yes... every hero has their vice and mine is accessories... hey, if I'm gonna save the world I might as well look good doin' it!). My super-hero-dom even came with it's own sweet ride, a hunter green Chevy Venture. I mean really... what good would Super Mom be without a rockin' mini-van? It's just the way it had to be.

My mission (and I chose to accept it): To pick up the McEwen family of five from JFK terminal one and transport to Newark International Airport hotel.

I arrived at JFK at 2:05, precisely the time of arrival of Lufthansa flight 410 from Munich, Germany. Excellent. The McEwen family hit the ground as I hit the bathroom (vice #2 for this super hero... Coke Light).

I found myself a comfy spot perched on an oversized planter and awaited the arrival of my people as I nibbled on overpriced pretzels and hummus.

First, let me mention that super heroes rarely blend in with the crowd. Whether we are incognito or dressed in our wackiest super hero apparel, we are hard to miss. Maybe it's the aura of helpfulness... or perhaps the persona of power... whatever the draw may be people tend to find us. “Excuse me,” a tiny Asian woman approaches me. “I lost my fa-der and I am so solly to bod-der you but would you call and talk to him for me?”

Being the good hero that I am I decide I should just let her use my phone. Maybe not the smartest idea in a crowded New York airport... but seriously, what is she going to do? Run away? I'm a GIANT compared to her. If worse comes to worst... I'll just sit on her. So with my plan of action in place I hand over my super cellular device. The woman reaches her father, speaks to him in a language I don't understand, and hands back my phone. Catastrophe number one averted.

Two minutes later I am approached again. This time by a twenty some year old male. “Excuse me... but are you Romanian?” He asks looking like he expects me to say yes.

“Say what?”

“Are you Romanian?”

“Um no. Do I look Romanian?”

Now that may sound a bit harsh for a Super Mom like me... but I did say it with nicest of tones AND he did take me slightly off guard (just sayin'). However, I suppose my answer didn't suit him because he just rolled his eyes and walked away. Totally unfair tactic avoiding my question when I took the time to answer his but whatever. Strange occurrence number one diverted.

The McEwen family arrived shortly after that so we got them all packed into the mom-mobile and were soon on our way. Now everyone knows that any super hero worth talking about has a trusty sidekick and mine was Gabby, my slightly misguided yet oft useful GPS.

Gabby (like all good sidekicks) has a knack for making my life more interesting and today was no exception. Instead of guiding me back down through Staten Island and over to Newark, Gabby decided to take me on a “shortcut” through Manhattan. HAH... HAH... HAH (note sarcasm). Shortcut indeed. Our 30 minute ride took TWO HOURS! The poor kids were sitting in the back of the car begging for something to drink and crying about wanting to “go home” to the hotel.

Of course... being the super hero that I was for the day... I decided that no child should be thirsty after having flown across the ocean and plopped into NYC for the first time ever. So... gauging the distance between me and the next street vendor and calculating the estimated time of each red light, I unbuckled my seat belt, put the van in park, jumped out and ran down the street. Isn't it fun being a super hero??? Granted I left Cristi with strict instructions to drive on if the light changed (no matter how far they got I knew I could catch up with them before the Holland tunnel). So five minutes and five bottles of soda later I caught up with the van and jumped back in. Thankfully, in New York City no one seems to notice anything as common place as people jumping in and out of cars to go shopping at red lights. Check one for crying children appeased.

Two blocks later... “Momma! I need to PEE!!!!” Ut oh... this was NOT a job for super mom! This is definitely a job for real mom. Cristi seems unfazed by a three year old needing to relieve himself in the middle of bumper to bumper NYC rush hour traffic and she whips out an old McDonald's cup. Being that this super hero was raised in a family of girls... I was a little taken aback by this approach but it seemed to work. The three year old was happier and so were we. Until Cristi was stuck holding a cup full of urine and her side of the van was blocked in by miles of traffic. That was when she politely mentioned that my unhindered side of the van was stopped right over a drainage grate... great. Taking a super hero sized sigh I gritted my teeth and held out my hand for the potty cup. Yes ladies and gentleman... I threw the pee down the drain. If that isn't a super feat I don't know what is. Catastrophe number two totally shut down!

I wove in and out of automobiles for the next hour until we finally reached our destination. After helping to unload the car and carrying one totally zonked out child up to bed I exchanged my hugs and goodbyes. And that my friends is where this Super Mom checked out. I hung up my cape and called it a day... because even a well accessorized super hero like me needs to go back to reality sometime.

Frankfurt Airport...

Welcome to the world of me... it wouldn't be a trip across the ocean with Heather if it wasn't eventful. In fact as I sit here typing (and of course waiting) in the Frankfurt airport, I am listening to two little boys discuss what they would like to be when they grow up. The younger of the two (who is perhaps 6) insists he would like to grow up to be a bus driver. His older and more practical brother is telling him that bus drivers get nowhere in life and that he would do much better as a doctor.

However, the little guy isn't easily persuaded and is avidly arguing in favor of the bus driver plan. After all he points out... “doctors have to deal with blood and guts and are always getting germs and sickness.” Bus drivers on the other hand are “cool” and get to have lots of power “cuz they control the bus”.

But I digress. Back to the story. Was everyone but me aware that the only place in the world you are required to take your shoes off for security checks was the U.S.? They gave me the craziest look in Italy when I took off my shoes.
Wait... back to the boys for a sec... the younger has now informed his big bro that his butt is “waaaaay bigger than his.” Big brother's response? “Well I am older than you and that means that my cheeks are bigger cuz they have had longer to grow”. Interesting. But again I digress.

Soooo... being the smart cookie that I am I asked the man in Germany if I should take off my shoes or no. And he just kind of shrugged and bit and said sure. So I did. Then I took off my coat... my scarf... my watch... my belt. You know the normal. The poor man got a horrified look on his face, held his hands in the air and said, “Now you stop!”

Of course in the not so distant past I would have been mortified... but not now. Now it's just another normal day in the life of me. I walk through the metal detector and all of the security people start chuckling. “Oh look potatoes!” they say. Potatoes? What potatoes? They're still snickering and now they are pointing at my feet.

I look down. The big toe on my right foot is sticking out of an enormous hole in my sock. Potatoes? Toes? Maybe this could make sense but... mmmm... not really.

“I think you have a problem with your sock.” One particularly exuberant guard points out.

“Yes... well...” I shrug as if it's nothing. “These things happen.” The guard continues to make “polite” conversation with me as I re-garb. I'm trying to converse as normally as possible given the interesting circumstance. “Well,” I say as I wrap my scarf around my neck, “thanks and have a great day!” I try for a charming smile but I think it comes out more like an embarrassed grimace (whatever, at least I'm making an effort here). As I walk away he turns to the other guards and I hear him say something about the “American,” who, “took off her shoes!” Thankfully he slips back into German and I am spared the brunt of his comments as they all break into uproarious laughter.

Is your life boring? Just take a trip with me... you're sure to have an “interesting” time.

Sigh. So things have calmed down a bit now. I found my gate, spent some time walking around looking in shops, and finally settled down in my terminal with an “Italian-style” salami sandwich and a German Coke Light. Though I have to say... I was slightly shocked and appalled when I bit into my sandwich and discovered it was full of some type of mayo/cheese spread. Weird... I've been in Italy so long (where sandwiches NEVER have condiments) that having something wet and slimy in my sandwich thoroughly disgusted me. However, after a few bites it started to grow on me... and now I think I may actually like it (in it's own strange German trying to be Italian way).

Well... that's all for now.

Heather

P.S. The boys have settled down for a riveting game of Nintendo D.S. Just in case you were wondering.