Hai Romania!

Since coming down the mountain from my parent's house en route to Bucharest, my ears remain clogged, inhibiting my ability to pretty much hear anything other than the sound of gnashing as I eat my pasta and my own internal dialogue that sounds nothing like Daniel Stern. Can you imagine my disappointment? On top of that, Joe Cocker isn't helping me out either. Instead, it's Thomas the Train theme song stuck on repeat.

Aside from this congested deafness, the trip home went so well, I might even dare do it again. Mom-in-Law (aka Mil) arrived at the airport with great timing, just as I stood in line to check bags. After getting away 100 bucks richer, when Lufthansa didn't charge me with extra baggage fees, we clomped on down to security. All of us ladies verklempt, a cascade of tears as I said my goodbyes to my own sweet beautiful mom. I underestimated how much I'd instantly miss her.

At least I had plenty of distraction: busting out the electronics and 3 oz. containers of k-rap, dismantling the two car seats, slipping off shoes and herding Deets, Margo, and Mil through the metal detector was enough activity to cause a back-up in security. TSA was quite patient with us, they even acted kindly which I appreciated. 

Hauling approx 105 pounds worth
of equipment/goods/people. No sweat.

We timed ourselves well, providing 45 minutes of pre-plane prep time before boarded onto the vintage 747. No back-seat TV screens or self-serve galleys, but the hospitality was great. I enjoyed one attendant who looked like Amelia Pond, another who was perplexed by Deet's love of ice. But in particular I enjoyed an interesting gent who claimed to be one of Mitt's best friends and another man in emo skinny jeans and leather who watched copious amounts of Daria on his '98 MAC.  He also routinely rifled through his Tory Burch handbag, pulling out oddities like this mask:

Oh, he also had several
Where's Waldo books.

Nine hours of flying went by quickly with the tag-team help of Nancy, and I couldn't have asked for better behaved children. With one flight down another to go, I was prepared for the vastness of Frankfurt's airport and requested (twice confirmed too) for golf-cart assistance since we had only one hour between connections. Of course, no one knew nothin' so Mil and I were left to hustle our asses (and car seats, and carry ons, and children) from terminal Z to terminal B which included security screening. I had to privilege of getting felt up not once, but twice. Deets too! Poor kid didn't know what to think.  Glad the Germans are so thorough with their screening, but next time dinner and a drink would be nice.

From FRA to OTP we arrived to a happy Mark. We gathered our bags, smashed into our car for an exhilarating ride home, as is the usual for Bucharest traffic. Back at the apartment Deets promptly exploded his toys all over the living room, reacquainted himself with Jim and aside from jet lag, seems quite happy to have his whole family again. I feel the same too. Now if I can just get a hold of one of these, I'd be set...

Eh?