Feeling a little overzealous showing up here two days in a row, but while I'm on the subject of life handing you lessons unexpectedly - let’s recap last night.
In what feels like direct opposition to what I wrote yesterday, something I am terrible at is asking for anything - especially any kind of help. Even in the most ridiculous situations (i.e. carrying a screen door two miles on foot) all the way to the mundane (asking for a glass of water from someone already standing at the sink, with a glass), I don't know how to ask for help and certainly refuse to admit defeat (torn ACL excluded). I’m stubborn as hell, and when it comes to needing things, I expect mind reading (which is totally and completely unfair, especially for my partner in crime in life).
So, here I was, waiting at baggage claim solo with the peppers - whom while delightful in so many ways, still lack many qualities that I happened to require last night, like being able to not get kidnapped, roll a 50 pound suitcase (or two), etc. The wifey had gone to get the car from Arctic tundra know as Pikes Peak parking lot, and there we sat awaiting our bags.
The two car seats came first. Let me be clear, whoever designed car seats and car seat bags are no friends of mine.
Baggage claim. More specifically, baggage claim carousels. If I could screen friends, I’d start with, “where do you stand when waiting for a checked bags at the carousel?” If it’s anything less than 5 feet from the belt. Just stop. I cannot.
Not only was there the usual tools lined up RIGHT along the carousel belt, it was packed 4-5 layers deep. Insanity. People couldn’t walk. Anywhere.
Now, if you know anything about car seats and car seat bags, you know my problems are starting to reveal themselves.
I spot a lady backed all the way up to the wall (as far as possible from the carousel), and I dropped the two unwieldy car seat bags a few feet in front of her, and began chatting with the girls about what I needed them to do when our bags came (which turned out to be extremely preemptive given our 5 other bags - not including the two I was carrying - didn’t actually come for another 15-20 minutes). I talk to them like real humans as often as possible, especially in public, which usually results in pretty entertaining conversation to eavesdrop on. The lady behind me, who I already had a strong affinity for given her location choice for posting up, started chuckling now and then, and I knew I had an ally should need be (and need certainly did be).
Shortly after we set up camp she began talking to the girls (who were making eyes and pulling out all the stops they learned from god knows where - not sure it was because she was clearly part of the family and they sensed she was good people, or if they were just bored... I used to ask myself that a lot). A few minutes later her partner strolled up and asked the girls their names - and when they turned shy and didn’t answer, she told them her name was Ellen... so one can only imagine the bonds forming here.
Ellen (the grown up) soon left again, and a within 5 minutes they were tickling, snuggling, and basically smitten with this woman (Kristy, if it matters). While I constantly apologized for their forwardness (again, no idea where they get this from...), and tried to claim it was extremely unusual (which is 100% true, they are not kids who quickly warm up to new people, but it seemed like all lies given how they were acting), the bags finally started rolling. Kristy had started inquiring about Christmas and what mom and dad got them (apparently I can still play my straight card just fine), at which point I corrected her to mommy and momma - and as you might be able to guess, her eyes lit up and this woman was officially waist dip and hooked into this situation.
Kristy offered to stay with them while I got bags, which was a godsend because fighting your way through a crowd of people 5 lines deep with giant 50lb suitcases is a disaster in and of itself, and I can’t imagine doing it with two people who run into walls (without crowds around), while trying to keep an eye on bags across the room so airport security didn't come and grab them, assuming them abandoned and containing explosives. After bag four of five, I came back to the girls on her lap while she showed them pictures of her dogs, shortly after which Ellen (the girl) managed to call Ellen (the grown woman) from this woman’s phone and talk to her briefly. Seriously. You can’t make this stuff up.
After checked bag number five, two car seats, and the two bags I was still carrying from the plane, I quickly realized there was no way in hell I could go anywhere. Naturally I tried though, anyway, which included asking Ellen (the 3 year old) to try and push a 47lb large suitcase all by herself. Not surprisingly, that didn’t pan out.
This woman, Kristy, looks at me at tells me I need to get a cart, in a tone that makes it clear she realizes I am extremely stubborn and not likely to make that choice on my own. She offers to watch the bags while I take the girls and grab a cart.
As she helps me load the bags she thanks me for letting her hang out with the girls, interrupting my never-ending and constant mix of thank yous and profuse apologies for taking her time/attention for the last 25 minutes of chaos. She then shared that she and her wife really wanted to foster - that they’d love to have kids the age of the girls, but they were a little old for that. I eagerly shared my wife was 50 and she paused, looked at the girls, and smiled. Thanking me again.We all said goodbye (me clearly still vomiting gratitude and apologies without cease, trying to keep all sorts of pride and ego issues in check), and we made it about 30 feet, through the dense (magnificent-mile the week before Christmas) crowds, and a middle-aged man approached me and takes the car seat bag I was dragging (one was on my back, somehow), while trying to pull this cart and not run over the girls who were insisting on helping pull (but really just injuring their achilles). He says, “can I help?” Of course I flat out refuse, grabbing the bag back and insisting I’m fine. No more than thirty seconds later a woman comes over as a bag is actually falling off my cart (I ran into Ellen’s heel again), and says, “no really, what bag can I take?” I see the guy looking over, and turns out they were in cahoots, and the wife refused to let him take no for answer.
“We’ve been watching you and there’s just no way you’re going to make it. Which elevator are you going to?” The husband takes the car seat bag (back, again) and we follow them to the elevator, at which point they were going down, but he rode up with us and brought the bag all the way to the curb - at which point he made me convince him I actually had someone coming to pick me up.
More thank yous. More apologies. More pride swallowing.It was 8 degrees outside. When is it EVER 8 degrees in Denver?! I send the girls back into the vestibule where I can (kind of?) see them, and hope the nice looking flight attendant also waiting inside is as harmless as she looks. Clearly the girls don't any jackets because who expects it to be 8 degrees in Denver? Certainly not me.
As Taylor pulls up, and I start to try and load up the truck while the girls run and jump into their seats. From out of nowhere a guy goes, “can I help you?” He starts lugging two giant suitcases to the truck (he was apparently very strong), arranging them so everything will fit, and then wishes me a happy new year once he empties my cart and the back of the truck closes.
More gratitude.
At thus point, however, there is no pride left to swallow. Reflections on my privilege as a white female solo with two small children are racing through my head, along with everything else. I am deeply humbled and exhausted. My tolerance for accepting any kind of help was beyond maxed out, but I was filled with nothing but gratitude for a world full of beautiful humans - even in some dark, dark times for this country. We buckled the girls in, I hopped up into the passenger seat, and I started to cry as I explained the last 40 minutes of my day to the wifey, which felt like a whole week’s worth of social interaction and emotional drain for me.
Today I’m using my rather honed internet stalking skills to try and track down Kristy and Ellen and send a thank you note. Hopefully a lovely middle aged gay couple named Kristy and Ellen won’t be too hard to find, right? Given I have zero info besides that on them, finding them would be a miracle of sorts. But fingers crossed.
Cheers to weird, challenging, exhausting, and humbling life lessons. It takes a village, and if anything, I only feel stronger as a human in this world for having accepted a years worth of help (in my book, by my measure) from total strangers last night.