Thomas on his way to England

I can't believe Thomas is leaving home already! It seems like he just pulled in the driveway after his Thodessey. It was a perfect day for flight: clear and sunny, not too hot, not too cold. Also perfect was Thomas's departure time, 10:36 pm, which means we didn't have to leave home until after 6:30, so we missed the rush hour traffic. Thomas started packing 10 or 15 minutes before we had to leave, finished within a few minutes, and then stood in the kitchen with his arms akimbo, chanting, "So are we going to leave? Are we leaving now? Can we go now? Is it time to leave?" Unable to take it any longer, he and I set off. We listened to a Bach and The High Baroque educational cd in the car (all about Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor--really interesting). As we neared the airport, coming at it from the south side for a change, Thomas suddenly panicked and accused me of taking him to the wrong airport. "It's too small! You took me to the wrong airport!" he yelled. I knew I hadn't, yet I always get a bit freaked out near airports and hospitals and start to doubt my own judgments. So I started panicking--then I saw the exit for the McNamara Terminal, which I knew was his--it's the big international terminal we always fly out of--so I knew I was right. Thomas then suggested that EVERY airport had a McNamara terminal, and so it could STILL be the wrong one. I told him to shut it, while I tried to find the right place to park. (I don't go to the Detroit Airport often and every time I do, they have changed the way you enter the parking structure, and the lay of the lanes inside the parking structure. It's weird. Like the way grocery stores move things every once in a while to "change things up", I suppose.) So as I circled around, trying to find the way into the damn colossus parking structure, Thomas started up with his running commentary, "So are you going to park or just circle around?" I told him I was damned tempted to skip the parking and just kick him to the curb and save myself the trouble. I don't think he believed me as he didn't let up his litany of questions. Finally we found the parking structure entrance, found a place to park and headed to the terminal. So far so good. Once inside, we found the Delta International check in (right in front of us), and there was no line at all. Whooop! But, before you are allowed to go to the counter to hand over your suitcase, you have to check yourself in. Why? Because watching rattled people try to manage their passports, stacks of luggage and bored toddlers who keep taking off like a shot amuses airport employees, I think. Thomas and I fumbled around with the machine for 10 minutes, arguing the whole time. I messed it up (I panicked) and entered the "YES" option when asked "No luggage?" So Thomas got a boarding pass printed up that said he had no luggage to check in--which caused him to rip into me mercilessly. So I suggested we go up to the counter and get a live human to straighten things out. Thomas refused, pointing out that you had to bring your CORRECT boarding pass to the counter. So, we went back to the machine and he entered in his information and got new boarding passes (given how easy it was, I think messing them up must be a common event). I started to reach for the YES butting at one point and he slapped my hand away. I had to stand with my hands behind my back before he would proceed. Armed with a corrected boarding pass, we made our way to the counter. Thomas got there, tossed his suitcase onto the scale and, when the woman working there asked, "Where are you flying to today?" He said, "London, England." She looked at his passport and said, "Not with this passport, you aren't!" Both of us froze. My stomach dropped and--as memories of last year's fiasco flooded through me--I felt a headache start to pound. She smiled happily, handed Thomas his passport and said, "You forgot to sign it!" Thomas laughed hollowly and signed it. And that was that. (I later told Simon this as he said, "It's comments like that that get airport workers stabbed in the neck!" referencing our most recent adventure at Flint Bishop airport when someone stabbed a security guard in the next, probably for giving the passenger grief about his passport.) So, we then walked about 50 yards to where Thomas entered the nearly empty security area and I said goodbye. I made him promise to be a good boy, so English relatives will have to let me know if he keeps his word. There he goes:

So, we've done our part. Now Thomas has to get himself from Heathrow Airport to Sheffield train station tomorrow, and then Granny and Peter have to pick him up. Then the fun can begin.