55 minutes

Imagine this:

You arrive to the airport fifty-five minutes before your flight is scheduled to leave.

No stress, no worries, no rushed feelings.

You're the only adult in your party...the rest of it consists of three young children, three carry-on roller bags, three backpacks, one large camera case, one uncooperative stroller and three carseats. God blessed you with two hands, but you feel that they are quite insufficient when compared to the load before you, so you graciously accept an offer of help from the nice man standing on the curb waiting for his ride.

45 minutes before your flight is scheduled to leave, you discover that you cannot check in using the automatic kiosk provided since you are traveling with young children (what? tell me why that matters...!). You must go stand in that line. Way. over. there.

You successfully move your oversized load to the back of that line by coaxing the stubborn stroller forward with the infant inside it, pulling a bag behind you, carrying your backpack on your back and your camera case around your shoulder, encouraging the kids to keep their roller bags on the wheels (repeating over and over that if they'd leave their backpacks on with both straps, they wouldn't keep falling off), and kicking the three carseats along with your feet. One....... Two....... Three.......... One........... Two........... Three.........

20 minutes before your flight is scheduled to leave, you find yourself standing in a stagnant line after the series of events has raised your stress level from zero to one-hundred. Still not checked in for your flight. You begin to have nightmares of spending the night in the airport with your children.

15 minutes before your flight is scheduled to leave, it's your turn. You rush up to the agent and plead with her to be quick. Be quick. Be quick. This is where you learn that they will not be able to check your carseats, there is not enough time - - - you will have to carry them through the airport. Or kick them. Or throw them.

Time stops for a moment in your brain and it seems like hope is lost. You're thinking about the five full minutes it took you to cross this one room with your load. There is no way you can make it to your gate in 15. Remember, you still have to get through security. Suddenly, your brain snaps back into action as you decide that missing your flight is not an option. You turn to the black man in a yellow shirt towering next to you (the same one that your 3-year-old unabashedly kept calling a girl the whole time you were in line because he has a huge diamond stud in his right earlobe) and boldly ask him to carry your carseats for you. (So way, way, way out of your comfort zone, by the way.) He hesitantly agrees, but that's good enough for you.

You charge with your crew to security where blessings of no lines and angels in the form of security guards help you unload your baggage onto the security belts. The guards ignore the four bags of liquids you had zipped up somewhere in your luggage, and the full sippy-cup of milk and carton of yogurt you were carrying. Bless them. Bless them all.

5 minutes before your plane is scheduled to leave. Your heart sinks a bit as your hesitant helper dumps his whole entire backpack out into the tray to go through security. Books, notebooks, pens, random scraps of paper, erasers, headphones, CD's, little pieces of candy and who knows what else now fill the gray tray. You can't wait for him to get it all back together, so you give your 6-year-old two roller bags to take charge of, stack all three carseats on top of each other and in one swooping motion, pick them up, prop them on your left hip and force the wheels of the stroller in the direction you need them to go. "Run to the elevator!" you yell to your kids. You know it's unfair to expect your 6-year-old to take charge of two roller bags, but you have no other choice, and after you exit the elevator at full speed, it's all you can do to keep the tears back as you watch her very best effort result in little frustrated cries, and big roller bags flopping all around behind her. Her little frustrated cries soon turn to large tears. You can't stop to help her...you don't have any extra hands anyway...so you throw words of encouragement over your shoulder, "You are doing so great, McKenzie! I know this isn't fair, and I love you so much!"

Over the loud speakers you hear, "Delta Airlines paging Alder, party of three, the gate is closing. Alder, party of three..." You feel like yelling back at them that you're coming, but logically, you know that would be stupid. So you turn around again to encourage your kids to go just a little faster. You see McKenzie pulling both suitcases with her whole weight, but they're not moving very fast. "I'm so sorry, McKenzie. You're doing awesome!"

Just then, a man in a suit approaches you and asks if he can help. You look into his kind face and burst into tears. "Yes! Here!" You practically throw your carseats at him, grab one of the rollers from your 6-year-old with your free hand and start charging through the airport as fast as your legs will go. "We're going to C7!" you yell to him over your shoulder. You catch a glimpse of him running after you, his suit jacket and dark hair flying behind him, his extra-shiny shoes keeping up with the pace. C2.....C3.....C4.... Your heart fills with gratitude and a little embarrassment as you hope he's not on his way to an important business meeting where a tousled look would not be suitable.

You turn around the corner of your gate and notice right away that the workers are all waiting for you. They check your carseats and two of your bags "Would you like them to go all the way to Salt Lake, or do you want them at your next layover?" they ask. "All the way to Salt Lake," you say without hesitation, "I don't want to see them again."

You turn to the man in the suit and thank him sincerely for his help, then enter the walkway with your kids as they shut the doors behind you.

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And, if that wasn't enough. . .

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Your layover is in Detroit. You have just under an hour scheduled there, but since the plane didn't leave on time (ahem...) (we actually had to wait on the tarmac for over 20 minutes until a spot opened up for us to take off), you pull into your terminal exactly 20 minutes before your next flight is scheduled to depart. You deplane with 10 minutes to spare and are grieved to see all three of your carseats waiting in the pick-up area with your stroller. You can't help it...the exasperated grunt escapes from you without you even noticing it. Thankfully, the worker standing next to you notices it and asks you if you're missing something. "No," you say, "I asked for these carseats to go all the way to Salt Lake - - - my next flight leaves in 10 minutes, and I can't carry them all the way through the airport."
"Let me see what I can do. Stay here."
"But my flight! It's leaving in 10 minutes!"
He raises his hands in a reassuring manner and says, "I will be so fast."
You stand in the pick-up area for two minutes...every second feels like a minute...before he returns with fire under his heals, scoops up the carseats and says, "I'll take care of these. Run!" You're not sure you'll ever see the carseats again, but you turn quickly and start running through the tunnel. Your kids are awesome.

You emerge at gate A34 and soon find out that your flight is leaving from gate A4. So you run. And run. And run. Your stroller is just as stubborn as ever, and quite impossible to steer with one hand, so you run into three different people on the way. You try to sound excited for your kids and turn the burning muscles into a game. "Oooooh, do you feel your legs burning?! I sure feel mine! Let's pretend it's a fire-breathing dragon that's chasing us and we have to get to our plane fast before he burns us all up!" A26...A24...A22 "Oh, excuse me. Sorry I just ran into your leg with my big monster stroller." A18...A16...A14 "I'm tired of wunning, Mom." "I know, bud. Pretend you're flying instead." A10...A8...A6 "Look! There's our plane!"

You turn around the corner of your gate and notice right away that the workers are all waiting for you.

You turn to your kids and thank them sincerely for being so strong and brave, then enter the walkway as, for the second time that day, they shut the doors behind you.

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And, miraculously, everything is waiting for you when you reach Salt Lake. Your family, your luggage, your carseats. Now there are ears to complain to, and hugs to reassure you, and everything seems right again. You can focus more on all the great people who helped you along your way.

You're home.