Growing to Seven: Part 6...

The alarm clock went off first, the phone never did, and the hotel wake up call came when I was in the shower. I answered the phone while in the shower. I am not sure why they have a phone in the bathroom and if you think about what is probably on that phone you may actually throw up a bit in your mouth. YUCK. I don't even sit on the top cover of the hotel beds and here I am putting this thing against my face....ok, moving on.

I must have been enjoying that shower a bit too much because when I got out I realized I needed to hustle to get downstairs in time for my first flight. I attempted to beautify myself knowing there would be many pictures taken that day once we got home. My hair had become the texture of a brilo pad and since I had no flat iron I tried to blow dry it and brush it out. Well that didn't work so well since the hair dryer didn't actually ever get warm. Oh well, I tried. Once Wil and were dressed, teeth brushed and out the door we headed down to find out where we checked in. We were flying to Toronto first and then home to Calgary. I am not sure why but there are about five counters for each airline and by some miraculous turn of events I found the right one on the first try. It was weird. The woman behind the counter kept smiling at me. I wasn't sure why but she did. She would look at Wil and then at me and give me this weird soap opera smile. At one point she said to me "God will bless you for this". What do you say to that? Uh, thanks? It took her forever to get the boarding passes printed mainly because every two freaking seconds she would gaze at me and smile. I swear in some cultures that would make us married...

We grabbed our boarding passes and moved on to my favorite part of the airport-security. I immediately find myself behind some uptight idiot who is obviously a moron in a hurry. He is taking his stuff and literally throwing it on the belt, nothing in a basket just loose on the belt. The security people tell him to redo it and put everything in a basket and then push it through. That was obviously a big inconvenience to him because he starts swearing and yelling and acting like he is related to salami man. I edge by him since I am not a moron and know the rules. He shoots me a dirty look and mumbles something about me not having any manners. Whatever. Dork. I am now officially starving. I managed to eat almost nothing in Haiti but since arriving in Miami I have become a ravenous hog. I scope out my options and settle on a muffin and of course, a diet coke. Wil has decided that he is on a hunger strike at this point. He wants nothing to do with any of the food I have brought him and just clamps his mouth shut when I offer it to him. I am not sure how smart he is but I assume he is bright enough to not starve himself. I give him the food and let him do with it as he so pleases. I then, gorge myself with ooey gooey muffiny goodness.

The woman across from me where we are sitting is another loon. She looks at me then at Wil and then does a "tsk tsk". What does that mean? The plane ride to Toronto was easy. Wil fell asleep and I think may have as well. It was a bit bumpy at the end but I managed to keep that muffin where it belongs, in my small intestine. I am one of those people who loves to look out the window when we land. I love seeing all the little buildings, the cars driving by, the people, etc. This was no exception. I sat there with my face pressed up against the plane window like a complete a dork with this big goofy smile on my face. There is something about arriving back home in Canada, it just feels different. The greenness, the cleanliness, the quality of the air...it just feels right. Since this was our point of entry into Canada we had to do our immigration papers here. We lined up in the normal immigration line and were then taken to a different office to get Wil's permanent residency forms done. The officer was very nice and took us into his office. He asked me the standard questions like "does your son have any children?" or "has your son been to jail?"...after he was done he stood up and came out from behind his desk. He shook Wil's hand and said "Welcome to Canada buddy, Welcome home." It was very sweet.

Before you can leave the immigration area and move on to your connector flight they feed all new Canadians through this area that is lined with pamphlets and brochures and a crazy woman with way too much eye make-up. She asks where Wil is from and what language he speaks and makes note of it in her little ledger book. She then starts handing me all sorts of brochures, these were a few of my favorites..."How to use a newspaper in Canada" (I guess ours are different than in other parts of the world), "How to catch the bus", and another beauty and totally age appropriate for a two year old, "How to get a job". I told her that I was Canadian, had been my entire life and that we didn't need these useless wastes of paper. We had a car, Wil can't read, and he isn't planning on getting a job until he is at least four....she would have nothing to do with it and just kept piling them in my hands. After her a guy comes up with a big nylon bag full of more crap to give me. I told him I didn't want it, he told me I had to take it. I have a two year old, a diaper bag, my laptop, and a carry-on, like I need another freakin bag! We walk towards the door and just to be a complete hag I make a deliberate big deal out of throwing it all in the garbage can by the door...

Being the complete hog that I am I am hungry again. We have to change terminals to get to our final flight which involves miles of walking, several moving sidewalks, and a tram ride. By the time we get there I am sweating and need a nap. I stuff my face full of sushi and Wil continues to play the role of Gandhi. It isn't long before we get on the plane, the final plane!!!

It was about an hour into the flight when sleeping Wil decided to release the fury of his bowels. It would have been a gross tale of Haiti baby poop, an airplane washroom, and turbulence if it wasn't for the humor of watching the woman across the aisle almost barf from the smell. She was obviously getting wafts of the fury because I looked over at her and saw her sniffing the air and then making an awful face. She would then get out a magazine and start fanning it in front of her face. She had no idea where the smell was coming from and just to not clue her in it was from us I too would pretend to smell the air and scrunch up my face in disgust. The thing that always gets me is if you know something smells why do you keep trying to smell it? Every few seconds she would stop fanning herself with her US weekly and deeply inhale the aroma of what was my son's poop. Then she would act shocked and disgusted to find that it still smelled. Thankfully we had no leaks and other than loud screams of fear from being changed at 35 000 feet Wil was fine. I did notice though after our first poop explosion that the next time we went to the washroom there was a bag of coffee in the washroom left to absorb the questionable odor leaking from that little lavatory garbage can.

The plane landed on time and since I had already cleared customs and this was now a domestic flight we were able to get out of the terminal quickly. For some reason I felt strangely nervous. I knew in a matter of minutes I was going to see my friends and family...we walked to the frosted doors and they opened and there they were!! Phil, the kids, my sister and brother in law, my niece and nephew, grandparents, neighbors, friends, it was great!