Missing flights

It was the thing that just wasn't suppose to happen in our crazy traveling life. As I left security control on my way to the gate, about to board the plane back to Copenhagen after a 48 hour visit to see the new very-important-person in my life, I got a call from from the babysitter. "They didn't let Zoe board because we didn't have the UM papers printed", she said in a cheerful voice, and it took me all of three seconds to realize this was a tone chosen not to worry Zoe who was right next to her. "But we are good, we will figure something out". A cold chill ran down my spine as I went into physical robot mode walking straight to my gate at the far end were they were now boarding. In a clear couple of sentences, almost faster than I could think, I told her that she needed to get to Copenhagen that evening, No. Matter. What. Even if the babysitter had to take her herself. Her dad was on a plane to Japan, our only other friend who can really look after her overnight was already in Japan and I could not imagine not seeing Zoe tonight. Especially now. "Find a way", I finished and hung up, trying not to panic, as I texted my mom letting her know that she didn't have to pick her up at the arranged time. I would land just 20 minutes later, not enough to meet Zoe at the exit as required for unaccompanied minors. Just before entering my own plane I received a text from the babysitter informing me that they had been able to buy a new ticket for the next flight and Zoe had been allowed to fly UM. I guess suddenly they did have papers to fill in at the airport*. I turned off my phone knowing that Zoe would be arriving in Copenhagen 20 minutes after me and I would be able to greet her at the gate. And that I would be writing the harshest complaint letter to SAS in the morning demanding an apology for the stress and worry inflicted on my daughter, as well as a refund for the extra ticket.

*I know for sure that they are able to do this because she arrived with these papers once, after being dropped off by her dad, who apparently had forgotten the pre-printed papers.

Time to board

My office neighbor had wished me a good trip three times before I almost snapped. "It's not a big deal, I'm just going to see my daughter, then I'm back Friday for the meetings. It's like you working from home for one day!" It wasn't even like working from home because I had a three hour meeting with one of my closest colleagues where we managed to write a workshop proposal and discuss a couple of papers that each of us had read recently. But yes, I did have a four hour commute 'home' to Stockholm Wednesday afternoon, just in time to pick up Zoe from school on the later side of 5pm and I did not work on the plane but instead took a nap because I was exhausted from a week-long cold on top of regular work. After a day in school for Zoe, me working 'from home', I picked her up at a regular hour and we headed to the airport. We ate a bit of dinner in the lounge while watching Dumbo together, Zoe crying her eyes out at always, during the scene where the mother is locked up but still manages to sing a lullaby for her cub, rocking the little elephant with her trunk. I comforted Zoe, well-knowing that this scene perfectly illustrates our life and that this is why we watch it and this is why we cry. We arrived at my parents' house past 9pm where my mother was waiting with tea and cookies, but Zoe fell asleep on the couch.

Zoe eating chocolate strawberries in Copenhagen

It is not the actual flying, I explained to my friend, it is the shifting of context that I have to do constantly. I wake up and for a couple of seconds I have to try to figure out where I am. I have to remind myself where I have my things. I have double of everything (well triple if counting my parents' place) but there are just some tings you can't have double of. And shifting context in terms of language and places, makes it hard shifting context when it comes to work. My type of work is already very diverse, I spend one hour preparing teaching, then another writing on a paper and a third in a meeting with colleagues in relation to a new research collaboration, not to mention the hour working on travel claims and planning. This is standard work structure for my kind of position, nothing new there, nothing special about that. But combined with me shifting between three different apartments, two lounges, airplanes and my office actually being the place I spend the most time in total, it is difficult to focus. To retain some sort of structure I go to the same coffee shop in Stockholm every morning after dropping Zoe off, sitting at the very same table, drinking the same type of coffee. It helps a bit. But then I get a notification from my SAS app telling me that I can now check in and I realize that in 24 hours it is time to board again.

Fly party

I told my friend that I had probably never flown as much in one week as I did this past week. Last Monday I flew back to New York from Stockholm and Friday I flew to California to attend a party. This was of course not just any party but a dear friend's yearly highlight of a party that I have flown over/up to many times. This year there were at least five reasons for me to go (including but not limited to racking up miles, hanging out with a guy I really like and seeing other friends) and I even managed to mix a bit of business into the pleasure. One thing I have realized with work is that if you are there, people think of you. If you are not there, people don't think of you.

Zoe's first latte, February 2013

As much as I hate flying (I know it's contradictory but I really hate the actual being in the air), the trip was still fairly painless, my jetlag made it easy to get up at 3am in the morning to catch a 5am flight and the lounge provided me with food and drinks. I managed to work on the flight out (remaking the syllabus for the class I'm teaching this semester) and sleep on the way back (because sleep was not something I got much of those two days). I nostalgically walked through SFO thinking back to the many times I had traveled there with Zoe, it was as if the places in the airport had her imprints. That was the sushi place where we had dinner, that was the bathroom where I had changed her when she was a baby. That was the moving walkway where she lost her balance while pulling her too big suitcase and that was the Starbucks where she had drunk her first vanilla latte, literally taking it out of my hands. The memories were sweet perhaps also because I know it is only a bit more than a month until her and I will pass through that airport again, together.

Flying again

I told Zoe we were going to San Francisco for a couple of days and her reaction was priceless: "Great, I haven't been flying in a long time, and I feel like getting off the ground". I dried the smirk of my face before answering her, that it was actually really less than two months since she had flown over here. A few days later as we were walking home to pick up our suitcases and head to the airport, she said a similar thing: "I don't actually fly very often, but when I do I fly really far". I told her that was slightly incorrect, she flew both often and far but it is all about comparison.

This evening we are on our way to San Francisco after a compact week where I'm more shocked than impressed with how much I have fitted in. I have been a teacher putting together a study with some undergraduate students, I was a good mom, taking Zoe and her new best friend from school to a ceramics painting shop where they painted figurines and had a small playdate after. I managed a series of other studies at my other job and was home before the babysitter put Zoe to bed. I then went to three meetings in one day and gave a talk next day on a topic I had just started delving into this past weekend. But the most crazy thing this week is not that I still have two full day meetings in San Francicso while Zoe is with some good friends, I managed to get a manicure and order a few Christmas presents online. Yep, on top of all that craziness, I managed to be nice to myself and others.

Now flybaby is off with her usual kit of iPad and headphones, she has raided the lounge for chips and pretzels while her mom raided it for white wine. Ready for takeoff.

Don't cry over spilled jam

I was browsing the new delicatessen shop in Copenhagen airport, set on bringing back some nice Scandinavian food. My choice landed on elderflower syrup (good for pancakes) and a specialty jam with chili that tasted really good. I chit-chatted to the Swedish sales person in a mix of Danish/Swedish which she seemed to enjoy. I then left to get a spot of breakfast in the lounge before I had to run and catch my plane. I was flying back to New York via Paris, which I have not done in years, in fact I don't remember ever having a layover there; I have been to Paris many times, but not as layover. So although I had checked that my next flight left from the same terminal ("Yeah, I don't have to go through security again"), I had not remembered the completely insane layout of the CDG terminals. Each little finger of 5-8 gates has their own security. So as I walked through the kilometer long wavy rolling pavements, I somehow exited the security limit, ending up at the baggage claim with my two new-found girlfriends. We had all sat on the same row on the plane and they were both starting university in Paris, very excited to do so. I advised on everything from picking classes that were diverse to making sure they didn't study too hard as we walked out of the plane. When I realized my mistake I promptly went back to the one girl who was still waiting for her luggage and gave her the syrup. "A moving present", I told her and she laughed when I told her I had no choice. I still naively believed they would let me bring the jam.

At the security control they found the jam and the security lady explained to me very elaborately that I had needed to get it wrapped with a receipt inside the bag (just as the lipstick that I had just bought). I nodded obligingly but as soon as I realized that there was no way they they would let me have it back (obviously jam is liquid and very dangerous) I said to her "This is nice special jam. Promise me you will take it home with you and enjoy it". I walked away annoyed but also just in the need of not thinking about it anymore. Wasted jam was the least of my problems anyway.

I'm back in New York and as the avid reader will realize, that was not part of my initial plan back in January. Or that is, of course it was. I'm trying to build my life here now and so far I'm not doing too bad. I'll have a new job by September and I'm able to stay in my little West Village apartment with the view of the Empire State Building. Zoe will hopefully come over in October for a couple of months and things will be good. Where in Stockholm the only thing I liked was my apartment, here I like everything and my apartment.

New York - Stockholm

I love you mommy

A couple of days ago, Zoe and I flew to Stockholm via Copenhagen. As usual (I can't believe I can write that) we got upgraded to economy plus, which meant absolutely nothing because the online entertainment system was broken anyway and our legs are so short that we don't really need the extra legroom. In fact, Zoe tends to just place her feet across my lap, put her pillow on the armrest by the window and fall asleep. Being stuck under her, I had a restless sleep but it didn't matter. I was with her and she held my hand when the plane shook as we descended. In Copenhagen she told me that now we did not have a secret language anymore and I had to continuously remind her when she talked too loud in the lounge. In Stockholm I handed her over to her dad, whom she hugged tightly and told she had missed. I missed her the second they turned the corner leaving for the bus and had an even more restless sleep that night.

Child delivery service for New York

I answered the phone as I exited the train at Newark airport station having a slight fear of what was hiding behind the six digit phone number. "Good evening, is this xxx?" I confirmed. "This is xxx with immigration services, are you expecting someone this evening?" I confirmed, providing him with Zoe's full name. Then I told him who she was traveling with. "Did you provide them with a notarized letter?". I confirmed explaining that I provided a letter stating that my friends were allowed to travel with Zoe. At this point I was running up the escalator heading for the air train that could take me to terminal B. The voice on the phone asked again. I realized my mistake. "I gave them a letter, but no, it was not notarized", I confessed. The officer explained to me that this letter was worth nothing and that I needed to have a notarized letter to confirm that they were allowed to travel with my daughter. My heart was now somewhere between my upper lungs and my throat and I was short of breath from running. "I'm right here in the airport to pick her up", I said. "Please, sir." As I entered the air train compartment he finally took to a nicer tone, telling me that next time I needed a notarized letter and I repeatedly apologized and said I would make sure of that. He hung up. I burst into tears and as the air train came to a stop in terminal B, I ran as fast as I could towards International Arrival. I saw them from afar, recognizing Zoe instantly. When she realized it was me she started running too and we met and hugged until Zoe said "Mommy you are squeezing me too tight", and I cried a bit more and she looked puzzled at me. "I was so scared they wouldn't let you in", I told her, but it seemed that she had never understod that part of the situation. She had happily explained exactly who she was traveling with, exactly who she was going to see and why she was traveling with them. And now she was just happy to be back with her mom. And so is her mom. Who will remember to get a notarized letter next time.

Jumping on hotel beds

"You are my favorite travel buddy", I whispered into Zoe's ear after we had settled into the shared ride at exactly 2:50am, taking off for Newark airport. She had woken up immediately as I gently touched her, put on her skirt and sweater herself (she had slept in the rest of her clothes to make this easier), and taken down her little owl suitcase from 4th floor herself. Without as much as a whinge. We chatted about houses and cars and lights as the driver took us to our way-too-early-but-cheap flight.

Zoe and I are off to a conference in Vancouver where I have a paper, and a workshop to attend. Since I'm alone with her in New York, I have no option but to bring her, which is also my preference. There are two simple reasons for why I like to take her 4000 miles across the country and pay close to a 1000 dollars for her to be with me: Firstly, I don't want to lose out on any time with her these days. With her dad wanting her 50% of the time, I am making the most of it, even if it means having to go home early from the conference dinner and see few actual research presentations. The other reason is that not only is she easy to travel with, she is simply a delight (to paraphrase my 90 year old aunt) to travel with. She hardly ever complains and sees everything as fun exploration and reminiscing with me because we have most likely been on that type of plane, in that specific airport and bought that type of airplane snack before. She cried exactly twice, once when she squeezed her finger in-between her suitcase handle and the suitcase, and once when I interrupted her and asked the shop assistant if they had a different type of sushi rolls. Zoe wanted to explain to me exactly what she wanted and I just overruled her, leading to her frustration. I apologized and we were good again. She got the sushi she wanted (we flew via SFO, which has a great sushi place where I have been many times) and we ran to the gate, boarding as the last people.

Onboard the first flight, she quickly fell asleep together with me, her cuddling up on my lap, me nodding most of the way. When we woke up the plane was shaking from turbulence and I hate that. The big secret about me, (and yes, I recognize the irony) is that I actually *hate* flying [blush]. I am just plain scared to fall down. This also feeds into the desire for me to always fly with Zoe because the thought becomes slightly more bearable that we should both fall down together. But Zoe held my hand and comforted me. She suggested we watch some tv on the iPad because that usually helped her, she said and we did. I was very relieved when we hit the ground safely.

On the second flight we reached a milestone. Normally, my attention has to be devoted mostly to her, even if she is watching cartoons or playing on her iPad, and if she is sleeping it is mostly on my lap, limiting my movement. This time, however, she watched cartoons (with my noise canceling headphones) so focused that I pulled out my computer and proceeded to write on a journal article that I'm working on at the moment. I managed to write almost a page, something I have never done on a plane with Zoe before.

We landed and walked the kilometer and a half from the gate to immigration where we had to take the non-resident queue. It took us 30-40 minutes to reach the front, which Zoe patiently waited out with only a bit of complaints. I cursed the officers and fellow passengers for not pulling out the mom traveling with two kids, one 1 1/2 year old who did NOT have 30 minute's patience. But obviously everyone in front of her felt it was more appropriate to listen to the little one crying for most of the time. Finally, it was our turn and I proudly walked up with our rainbow passports. "Where is her father", the young attractive officer asked. "New York", I answered shortly. "Do you have a letter from him?" I froze for a bit. I normally always travel with a letter, I make sure other people traveling with Zoe have a letter but this was just a short trip within the same continent and I had not even thought about bringing passports until two days before. I sighed. "You are actually the first one ever asking for that", I replied honestly and received the obvious "you should always travel with a letter" but after a few more questions he let us through. I joked with a friend later that I was now the child-smuggler.

Zoe jumped eagerly on the hotel bed as we finally got in and we both went to bed early after a long successful travel day.

The glamour of flying

Sitting in Tampere airport waiting an hour and a half for my 1/2 hour hop back to Stockholm. The giant factory lights in the ceiling are blinding me, the security is not open yet and the woman at the check-in counter is surfing the internet. There are five strings of holiday lights in the window to push the Christmas spirit and illustrate that someone in the airport cares. The airport has four luggage carts that are probably used once per day. The machine that produces coffee from powder charges 2 euro coins, but I only have cards. Not that I want any coffee anyway at this time of night. I wear my big coat and woolen scarf indoor but my feet are still freezing. The last flight to Stockholm on a propeller Embrayer leaves at 9:35pm and arrives half an hour earlier due to the time difference. Flying is indeed glamorous.

Meanwhile I wonder why guys are such jerks. I mean really. I wish I could do all the things to them that they have done to me. I wish I could break all their hearts, expose their weaknesses, make them cry and feel undermined and worthless. I wish I could get revenge and just laugh at it all. The day I left for Finland I talked to a colleague of mine who I'm trying to be friendly with and told him I don't have the best perception of people like him at the moment. He surprised me by saying it was okay. I was entitled to feel that way right now. I wondered how he of all people had the sensitivity to think that and say it too. I decided that I hated all guys except him. Then he blew me off the next day and we are back to square one.

The airport gets more crowded with business people speaking Swedish, typing away on their phones, talking into thin air with white cords running out of their ears and people using the single check-in machine. It reminds me that back at the lounge in Stockholm they have taken the consequence of most travelers being men: the three bathrooms are distributed accordingly with one for women and two for men. Out of the 14 passengers now, four of us are women. I realize I can't buy the Mumin book I promised Zoe the morning I left because there are no shops here. Luckily I bought an advents calendar earlier today. We are working on numbers at the moment so that's at least relevant. At 9:05pm they announce that the plane is 2 hours delayed. I hate guys and I hate airports. 

Frequent flyer

Last time I checked into the lounge they cut my gold card in two. Not because I am not gold anymore but because it had expired. Since I now have a combined credit/frequent flyer card I'm supposed to use that. Except I don't like running around with a credit card in my hand when I rush to a plane and I often let Zoe hold the 'tickets' too, which in my case is the card, in her case mostly a paper boarding pass (why they can't also put her boarding pass on her card is beyond me but it's probably because she flies on a child ticket). I grumpily went to the website and ordered new cards for both Zoe and me. When I got them it turned out she has been downgraded from silver to basic, mainly because I tend to buy her tickets on my miles so she doesn't earn nearly as many as me. But it did get me thinking of her amazing skills as a frequent flyer. Here is a list of her coolness when it comes to flying:

1. Zoe has security down. She walks up to the conveyer belt as a pro, takes off her jacket without being asked and guides the process of what goes in which box. She always insists on taking off her shoes and in the US I have to explain this to the officers who always point out that she doesn't have to because she is a child. These days she goes through the metal detector first but when she was little I would go through first before turning around and call her to come through. When she is through she asks me if I can ask the officer to 'touch' her. In Europe they always do it, very smilingly because she is so serious about it. In Stockholm where they have the shoe tester, she asks to use that too. So much for not letting strangers touch your child, but Zoe thinks this is an integrated part of security control. Oh and last time, I walked away and she was the one reminding me that we forgot our carryon suitcase.

2. Zoe enters the plane with a nice 'hello' to the flight attendants and asks how far down we are going. Then she counts the rows to the number I tell her, for example row 12, and hops in by the window. She buckles up herself and her doll and tells the doll not to be scared even though it is going to say 'boom' when we take off. She picks out the menu and tells me what we should get (most of the time she orders a small bag of chips). Recently she has realized that we fly through the clouds and is very fascinated by it. She wonders how soft they are and why the sun is always above them.

3. She still likes to take naps during the flight and fall asleep immediately with her head on my lap. But mostly she watches a video or play a game on her iPad.

4. Upon exit she says goodbye to the flight attendants again.

5. Zoe is now able to exit the airport by herself! A couple of weeks ago I had to drop her off with my mom in Copenhagen and continue to another city myself, but I only had 40 minutes between planes and didn't have time to go out and back through security again. We have been in this situation before: once I bought my mom a cheap ticket so she could go through and pick Zoe up airside, another time a friend of a friend who worked in the airport helped her out. This time I asked her if she thought she was big enough to go through herself and she proudly agreed. Luckily I was changing to domestic and it turned out that the exit at that part of the airport is much shorter than the international main exit. I had told her that if she didn't want to, of course I would exit with her and simply just risk missing my plane (Zoe's sense of safety is after all more important to me than any business meeting or lecture I might be doing) but when we got to the doors, she could see her grandmother on the other side through many layers of glass. She lightened up and ran off, forgetting to hug me goodbye.

All in all, she behaves like the frequent flyer she is. 4 years old and everything. 

No charge, no power

On Sunday (3 days ago) evening I was slowly getting things together, cleaning up my apartment, packing clothes for Zoe and me, carefully selecting what we needed for four weeks in the US. Luckily it is summer and we mainly need dresses and sandals. I also needed a suit jacket for my talks and a couple of books for reading. I still had an article to revise, which I planed to do on the plane while Zoe would be watching newly downloaded cartoons on the iPad, so I figured I might as well charge my computer. Except the charger was not in my bag. In fact it was nowhere in my apartment and I concluded that I had to have left it in the office on Friday. I called my friend and colleague praying that he was also still on an old macbook and could lend me his charger but he had upgraded to the new one with the new charger plug. I cursed. With a 10 am flight the next morning and a sleepy 4 year old there was no chance that I could make the 45 minute trip to the office and back with her. It would mean a very delayed bedtime and a cranky girl the next morning. Besides, we hadn't had dinner.

The big wonder (and annoyance) of my situation was how I had gotten to Sunday night before noticing. But then I remembered a busy weekend starting with me rushing out of the office because I had a date Friday evening. An actual real date. I had chores to do before getting home, a dress to put on and lipstick to apply and rushed out around 5:30 pm. Saturday I spend most of the day out with Zoe and my friend who babysat her the night before and Sunday I packed my big suitcase and helped Zoe sort her toys. I guess I should be happy that I hadn't felt the need to work on a Saturday evening but still now I cursed myself for charging it last minute. I could even have run over to get a new charger before 4pm on Sunday.

But even more, it made me reflect on how this is exactly the type of situation I run in to all the time being a single parent. There is simply no buffer for mistakes. There is nobody to send down for milk when you realize you are out at 7pm and the child is screaming because that is the only thing she wants (and she doesn't want to go with you). I can't just leave the suitcase outside the bathroom in the airport with someone else while taking her inside.  And she is not old enough to go on her own. I can't run down for a workout for just an hour while she is playing at home (which is part of the reason I haven't been to the gym more than twice for 2-3 months, and part of the reason I have gained %$^&*@$ 3 kg in the same time span, the SATS mini is closed over the summer). And I can't just carve out two hours to work on a paper while someone else is looking after her. Well, I could and sometimes do get a babysitter in for a couple of hours on a sunday (however both my regular ones are on holiday), but this is July and July is very special in Sweden. It is sacred in terms of holiday and it is slowly getting to me.

I feel guilty that I don't think I can take a full month off to be with Zoe (technically I have that much vacation, career wise that would be academic suicide). I try to take a week off and work a week, while mixing the things the other weeks. Except I have no daycare because I refuse to put Zoe into a new Swedish daycare for 3 days when she will also be in a new daycare for 2 weeks in the US so I tell myself that I can just work a bit in the evenings. But the bright summer nights means she sleeps at 10pm and I'm exhausted and feel I deserve a glass of rose which makes it impossible to have a coherent thought around 11pm when I have cleared the toys and done the dishes. The end result is that I find myself with a research paper that still needs hours of revision by the end of this week, another paper that needs to be written before the end of the summer and two talks to be prepared for my US trip, just to mention the really important stuff. And a 4 year old to take care of 24/7 (her dad is already in California). All due to bad decisions and bad planning on my part.

Going to California and New York for a month

On the bright side I'm really proud of myself as a mom. I actually spent a lot of quality time with Zoe already this summer. From our weekend trip to the summerhouse and the week-long holiday in Copenhagen where we rented a bike and rode around to all the playgrounds, all the paddling pools and ate sushi too many evenings. I have been attentive to her and listened, we have played and danced around the living room and hotel rooms. And I know what old wrinkly Louise will tell young Louise in 20-30 years time: Those times you spent with Zoe were way more important than your research papers and what you have given her of your time will come back 1000-fold. But who am I kidding? The same wrinkly Louise will also add wryly: But if you had just slept just a little less, drunk a little less rose, you would have finished those paper earlier, written your book before you applied for that job and gotten promoted to professor just a bit earlier. And that ambitious part of you would have been happier.

I packed up my laptop without my charger. On the plane I watched a movie, read the Economist and 4 pages in a book. When I got to NY I couldn't drag Zoe out to buy a charger but got one the next day. Instead of revising my paper, the first thing I did with my newly charged computer was writing this blogpost. Bad decisions and everything.

Chickenpox panic

I usually get a bit emotional when taking off on a plane, either because I'm going somewhere I long to go or leaving a place where there are people I love. Today was no exception but my emotions were just a bit more of relief. The past two days have been taxing on my usually calm travel heart. But now things seemed to be solved and I was about to be reunited with Zoe again in 4 hours.

Two days ago I got a video call from my flybaby in Scotland, who as the first thing asked me "Mommy, are you on an airplane?". No Zoe I'm on the subway to work. "Are you in Stockholm or another country?", she continued like this would be normal. I looked at her. She had spots in her face. "Mommy, I'm sick" she finally said and I immediately knew she had the chickenpox. Her dad confirmed in the background and tried to hug her over the choppy video. She had been sick since Saturday and spotty since the day after. Their holiday had been slightly derailed but at least they were staying with his sister and could snuggle up in bed. I said goodbye and went on to work, not realizing that the consequences of this.

I got a text message a couple of hours later, slightly panicky, saying that she would not be allowed to fly now, until Thursday. Her dad had taken her to the doctor and although she was not contagious any longer by Wednesday the doctor could not clear her for flying before Thursday. And as things go in our crazy travel life, we had left absolutely no margin for anything like this. Zoe's dad was leaving for California, one hour before his girlfriend would be taking off with Zoe, bringing her to Copenhagen via London. She had to be back in London that night as well, for work.

We don't have a big network but the few people we do have around us are extremely kind and willing to go far in terms of helping hands; like my mom who flies to Paris to pick her up, and Zoe's dad's sister who is willing to look after Zoe for several days. But for some reasons things didn't work here. I was ready to jump on a plane to go stay with Zoe, but I had to be in Copenhagen Thursday for an important medical thing. I couldn't ask my mom since she would not be comfortable being in an unknown city with a sick child. Other family members were away on vacation. I finally asked my close friend and colleague who knows Zoe very well and he agreed to go if we got stuck. I sighed in relief and can still not imagine that I am this lucky to have such friend. It would cost me app. 8000 Skr/1100 USD for plane tickets and we concluded that no medical insurance would cover anything as crazy as this situation. But it would work. He had family in Scotland where he could stay with her. We even looked at a way for me and  Zoe to get to Copenhagen via land but I still wouldn't make it back for Thursday.

After several text-messages throughout the day and me not being able to focus on my article at all, we decided to give it a day and a half. Tuesday evening we decided to coach Zoe into *not* revealing that she had chickenpox to any airline staff whatsoever and since she had been fever free for more than 24 hours by now, we would take the chance. "It's just a skin rash", the girlfriend would claim and just before I took off in Stockholm to go to Copenhagen to pick up Zoe at the gate, I got the much awaited text message: Boarded, everything is okay. There must be a special travel angel looking over Zoe, my not so small any longer FlyBaby.

ETA: Zoe and I reunited inside the air-bridge right as she deplaned to her astonishment: "MOMMY, How did you know I would come out here?" she asked sweetly. Well Zoe, I have my ways and if you look determined enough, nobody stops you from walking onto a deplaning air-bridge. 

Welcome to America

When I arrived in Shanghai, China three years ago with a 10 month old Zoe strapped to my chest, I didn't stand in the immigration queue for more than a couple of minutes before a uniformed woman came to pick me up and wave me to the front. Zoe was not upset at this point (after having cried every 20th minute for the full duration of the 13 hour flight, even with the nice flight attendants had been carrying her around to calm her down) but the Chinese bureaucracy clearly didn't think it was nice for a mom with a baby to wait in line. China is unfortunately the only place where I have seen this happen so swiftly and so undramatic.

When I was standing in the visitor's immigration line (Zoe was not with me to let me go through the citizen line) the other day, on my way into New York, I watched a mirror image of myself two years ago: A mom traveling on her own had an overtired, crying 2-year old boy at her feet, trying to shuffle hand luggage and making sure he was moving with her. He was at that stage where he could only cry and scream because everything is wrong. According to his body it was 8:30pm, probably way past his bedtime. His mom tried everything but was clearly also frustrated, particularly because of all the eyes on her. The queue bent five times as a snake and moved very slowly. I could hear them coming towards me, I was one snake-line ahead. The more I listened to his tired screaming and obvious torment the more furious I grew that nobody let them in the front. When they were almost leveled with me, I pulled up the black belt divider and motioned to her: "Come in front of me", I said firmly but she hesitated. "But won't people say something?", she asked but I said in a slightly louder voice: "Nobody will say anything". She walked under, pulling her still screaming boy and thanked me. I said hello to the boy who stopped for a moment while being scared of this strange women before going back to screaming again. We were now in the front snake line, which finally resulted in a guard picking her out. "32" he said and she was whisked away to the final part of the queue. She gave me one of this looks of gratitude that means she was going to remember me forever as the one who made her immigration experience just a little less hellish. I know, because I remember every single person who has done the same for me.

As the wailing sound gradually moved away from our earshot, I overheard another mother telling her 8 year old daughter, in a joking voice "honey, can't you scream a little too?" The father chuckled and they clearly thought it was all fund and games. I wanted to scream at her, asking if she had amnesia? Did she really forget how that is like in a few 6 years time? Did she have no compassion? Did she not realize that the mother would gladly have waited another 35 minutes if her son hadn't been crying? And then I promised myself that forgetting is fine, but compassion is something you should carry with you always.