It's Only Thirty Hours, Right?

Saturday morning, as Dallas and I were lounging in bed with coffee and iPad in hand, my cell phone rang. "Unknown" popped up on the caller id and I let it go to voicemail figuring it was a telemarketer. They've become really ballsy lately, ringing at the oddest times but this one left a message. Odd.

Turns out, it wasn't some college kid trying to lower the interest rates on my credit cards after all. It was United Airlines calling to let us know that we had a change in our itinerary.

Well, crap.

Back in early June, we booked our flights to New Zealand in an effort to pay as little as possible while trying to maintain a reasonable schedule. Originally, we were going to take a late afternoon flight from Tulsa directly to LAX where we would have approximately two and a half hours to collect our luggage and get checked in with Virgin Australia Airlines. Then, we would spend a delightful fourteen hours and forty five minutes flying to Sydney, where we would experience a rather long layover (4 hours, 25 minutes), before boarding our final, three hour flight to Auckland. All told, it would take us TWENTY SEVEN HOURS AND SIX MINUTES.

With two children. (I'll give you a minute to let that gem sink in so you can get a clear understanding of my affinity for rum....)

Our return journey was even worse, clocking in at a mere twenty nine hours and eleven minutes but we comforted ourselves with the knowledge that at least we had a direct flight from LAX home to Tulsa. In early September, we got the first bit of bad news.

Virgin Australia called to tell us that the itinerary had changed. Our layover in Sydney increased to over six hours and the return trip now included a five hour pit stop in Melbourne. A journey that had once seemed to be manageable was quickly spiraling out of control so I booked a hotel in Sydney with the idea that a nap and a shower would help take the edge off the fatigue. I've traveled across the Pacific enough to understand the power of clean underwear.

My husband is not happy with this plan, however. He is loathe to leave the airport for fear that we will somehow miss our connecting flight. "Six hours is not a lot of time," he says. Really? My guess is that the second he lays his gorgeous head down on that hotel pillow, he will think six hours is an eternity.

What stuck in my craw was that Virgin really didn't give a hoot about the added inconvenience. They basically shrugged. No lounge passes, no free alcohol, NOTHING except for, "Sorry, mate", which was about as palatable as Vegemite. We saved about $6400 flying with them instead of Qantas or Air New Zealand Nightmare and that is the mantra I kept repeating to myself when I thought about it.

Then, United Airlines called.

Our direct flights were no more.

Just like that.

*Poof*

But they did give us four travel vouchers that we will be able to use within the next year, which goes a long way in helping to swallow the whole situation.

So as not to bore you with the crummy details, the summary is as follows:

Trip to New Zealand: 34 hours, 2 minutes
Trip home from New Zealand: 32 hours, 33 minutes
Cost: A boob job and some spot lipo or 7.25 years of Botox.

In spite of the fact that the travel piece will really, really suck.....

watching my kids play with their cousins, learning to make proper scones with Grandma Rhodie, eating my father in law's mussel fritters, meeting Gilly, waking up to share coffee with my equally hung over sister by a different mother, feeling the scratchy, impossibly fresh excellence of my mother's in law's towels, fishing off the Gay Gwen, navigating the roundabouts, BBQing with Mark, Claire, Rod and Lee, having tea with Grammy June, chatting with Lloydie and Lesie, taking pictures and making memories....

will make every second of it worthwhile.

Today marks 50 days until we go.

I cannot wait.