Planes, Ferries, and Tiny Dictators

We finally made it to Sam and Mary Jo’s for a quick overnight before heading out to the islands. Getting there, however, felt less like travel and more like a reality TV challenge called “How Many Things Can Go Wrong Before Lunch?”

The first lesson of the trip: airlines apparently frown upon putting two lap infants in the same row. Something about oxygen masks and wanting everyone to survive an emergency. Details. So after carefully booking our seats together, we were scattered throughout the plane like contestants in a very stressful game of hide-and-seek.

Then, after successfully navigating airport security with two children, mountains of gear, and our collective sanity hanging by a thread, we discovered Alaska Airlines had somehow canceled Vidah’s ticket. Naturally, this revelation came after security. As we frantically tried to figure out how to keep our childcare provider from being stranded in Juneau, Alaska offered us the generous opportunity to buy a new ticket for the low, low price of $1,600.

Thankfully, a cheaper option emerged via points and a later flight. Crisis temporarily averted.

We boarded. We buckled. We settled the kids. We started to believe we might actually leave on time.

Then the captain announced that the previous night’s crew had failed to properly secure the aircraft.

Which meant every single passenger had to get off the plane.

Yes. All of us.

Back through the jet bridge. Back through security. Back through the entire process. Hundreds of people collectively questioning their life choices. Missed connections everywhere. Our simple two-hour flight magically transformed into a four-hour adventure.

And somehow, against all laws of parenting and aviation, the girls were absolute superstars.

No meltdowns.

No disasters.

They made it all the way to Seattle like seasoned travelers. Joni then immediately switched into cousin mode, playing for hours before crashing harder than I’ve seen in months. 

The next morning, we packed our SUV to absolute maximum capacity. If we’d brought one more granola bar, we’d have needed a roof rack. We pointed ourselves toward the Anacortes ferry terminal and set off for our first extended stay in Friday Harbor.

Boarding the ferry was smooth.

Getting out of the SUV once parked was not.

The ferry attendants packed vehicles with such impressive efficiency that opening the doors became more of a theoretical possibility than a practical one. Our exit from the vehicle involved twisting, crawling, and squeezing through impossibly small gaps like a family auditioning for a circus act.

Once free, Joni spent most of the ferry ride running herself ragged while the adults enjoyed spectacular views of the San Juan Islands. Sunshine. Blue water. Forested shorelines. The kind of Pacific Northwest scenery that makes you wonder why anyone lives anywhere else. 

By late afternoon we arrived at our Airbnb, which turned out to be quaint, comfortable, and exactly what we needed.

We enjoyed a calm dinner.

The children were tired.

The adults were tired.

The house was quiet.

Surely everyone would sleep.

Evie, unfortunately, had not been consulted on this plan.

She spent the night reminding us that she is, in fact, an infant and therefore immune to logic, reason, and vacation schedules.

So while it wasn’t exactly the restful evening we’d imagined, we’re finally here. The travel chaos is behind us, the islands are beautiful, and with any luck the next few days will involve more ferries and sunsets, and fewer canceled tickets, surprise deplanings, and midnight baby conferences.

Stay tuned.