You certainly cannot dash or rush anywhere with 2 kids, 5 cases, 4 bags and a buggy. The cases and bags kept falling over, we couldn’t manage them ourselves and couldn’t locate a trolley.  The promised liason with our son-in-law at this location was yet to materialise. Tick, tick, tick time was marching on..

We finally  made it to the lift.  While the benefit of  this airport was the proximity of the rental car drop to the main terminal, it also meant the only available lift was busy.  Most people waiting for the lift were in the same boat as us, but had way  more help than we did.   In fairness one glance in our direction and they could smell the panic. They allowed us into the first available lift and we made our way to the check in desk in double quick time.

There was an emotional reunion between the parents and their kids, but icy cool stares guided me directly  to the check-in desk. Our flight was at 5.15pm and it was now 4.38pm.   My daughter had done a great job preparing the check-in staff for our tardiness.  The next flight was also checking in but as it was full we had no chance of getting on that if we missed ours.   If that happened we were looking at tomorrow and another 5k for tickets.

“Passports please”.  I turned to my husband to ask for the satchel with the passports (all six of them), but a frantic scattering and searching among the assembled bags suggested it was not there.   I knew it was there, it just hadn’t jumped out at them yet. So  frustrated I stomped over to my family, fuming  that I was the only one capable of locating  it. No-one dared say what they were thinking as I checked among the various bags, in the buggy, under the baby until I finally accepted it wasnt there.  Tick, tick, tick.

I hoped it would be in the car, back at the rental centre. I  suddenly felt as if I had been squeezed into a glass bottle that was quickly filling up with washing up liquid, it’s viscous slimy, green liquid frothing up my legs, belching into my stomach and now engulfing my throat. Everyone was looking at me, a mixture of disgust and disappointment all over their faces. I made a bolt for the lift. My son-in-law, caught my eye,  much like a whippet out of the stocks after the hare, he vaulted  the bags and hurtled toward the car rental centre. I got into an empty lift, (maybe I could beat him) but instantly collapsed to my knees and screamed.  I knew now  it was futile,  our flight was boarding in 20 minutes and we hadn’t even cleared security or checked in yet.

As the lift docked I met my son-in-law hurtling toward me with the missing bag and sat nav both which had been languishing  in the passenger seat in the car. ( yes my seat, my fault).  I tried to catch him but he was on a mission and it was all I could do to keep up with him. By the time I arrived back I was thrust to the front of the queue ignoring the irate passengers waiting to book in for the later flight. I snarled at them trying to avoid the gaze of my family as they waited with bated breath to find out if we were going home. I glanced at the clock it was 4.55pm. 

The check-in assistant  typed in the information, she seemed oblivious to me, refusing to acknowledge me as I constantly sought answers to my question “Will we make the flight?” A supervisor was summoned, they chatted off stage left. Perspiration was  flooding down my neck, I was flushing, I needed a shower, I wanted to cry. I glanced back at the kids their little faces watching me hopefully. The adults in the group  eyed me with great contempt. Finally the supervisor came forward advising that we could proceed  but had 15 minutes to make it to the flight.

I let out a howl of relief, then joined the others as we grabbed the  remaining luggage and bolted into the security hall.  We had no special treatment, no access to express security and we hadn’t packed with security regulations in mind. No-one knew what was in any of the bags. The line for security was 10 lanes deep, for a nano second we breathed out despondently,  then in my loudest voice  I said our flight was leaving in 10 minutes. People turned to stare; we were  dishevelled,   inappropriately dressed and, all too apparent, in a total state of panic. 

I felt like Moses at the Red Sea; the line parted without a word allowing us to pass through.  We flung our bags onto the trays, but that same panic only drew attention to us in security, and sure enough bags were removed for further inspection.  I could feel my heart thumping in my chest as I had no idea what might be in the bags. I heard a final call for our family booming down the corridor as I watched and prayed that  the searches would prove fruitless.  Minutes felt like hours, I needed to pee, finally we were all re-assembled and ran like a herd of bison onto the gate and into the plane.

The doors closed behind us as we found our seat and sat down. There were sighs of relief, there was even laughter,  my husband suggested this was much more preferable to waiting around in departures and me? I burst into tears………………

My oasis of calm  descended into instant chaos.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew what to expect from my husband. However,  I had to suck it up and allow the anxiety levels to escalate and subside in their own time.  After all we had to get to the airport and catch that flight home.   We had just over 2 hours till departure  with  nothing packed, a fridge full of food and toys everywhere.  We were the only 2 adults here with so much to do……….so  he  went for a shower.

My wee mermaid was in tears,  so sad to be leaving Disney but after a brief  cuddle (it was all I could do) she complied with  my request to get ready to leave immediately. Less than a minute later she was back in the room dressed, wearing her backpack and hat,  smiling and ready to go, totally over the shock of leaving. More than I could say for her Papa, I could still hear him cursing me from the shower. I tasked her with looking under every bed and  in  every drawer putting everything she found into the middle of the floor. She set off on this task with fervour. (She was only 7).  I also sent a text to my daughter to call us urgently.

I was on hold to British Airways on the landline,  I’m not sure why but it seemed to be the most obvious thing to suggest “Hold the flight! we were coming”.  I checked us all in on the mobile then, while still on hold,  frantically trawled the room pulling everything into one place making it easier to pack it when my hands were free.

As you would expect on any two week holiday  order and organisation had not had time to materialise in our villa.    Clothes  were scattered between 4 bedrooms or in the washing machine, nothing  was in drawers, toys were  strewn around the floor. All our purchases were  stowed in cupboards still in bags, odd shoes and socks were  secreted in corners and toiletries  dispersed  between each of the 3 bathrooms.

5 suitcases yawned hungrily in the centre of the room, the little mermaid filling them slowly;  every discovery was studied closely and  prompted a story. I was throwing things haphazardly into any case, nothing was folded, everything ownerless.  While this mayhem unfolded  little T was sound asleep blissfully unaware in his cot (best left there meantime).   I hung up my unanswered call to BA when my daughter finally found WiFi and called us from the park.

She was so calm when I relayed the facts and she realised that her date day was over.  (I think she was relieved there was nothing up with the kids). We advised that we would pick them up on the way to the airport. I lost the call as my better half emerged from his shower smelling fresh as a daisy and smartly dressed.  Meanwhile I was bedraggled; my wet bikini soaking through my t-shirt and jeans,  still being berated for this latest faux pas. Finally it was time to waken wee T . He immediately reacted to the stress levels by screaming every time I tried to put him on the ground. So while I continued to sweep the villa for remaining items I had to carry and reassure him.

In a frenzy of disjointed activity we  finally threw the last bag in the car and  like a scene from fast and furious wheel-spun out of our gated community heading for the I4 on a busy Friday afternoon. We now  had 38 minutes to get to the airport usually more than an hour away. My daughter had the wherewithal to head direct to the airport with a plan to keep the check-in staff on side  and allow us as much time as possible to make it there. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

The journey was peppered with expletives, thankfully drowned out by the radio which the kids were enjoying in the back, I wished I was sat with them.  There were 7 toll booths between us and the airport, and for the first 4 we tossed in our change grateful to by-pass the queues.  However for  the remaining 3 we had to stew, waiting behind tourists with questions or looking for directions, watching our precious minutes dissolve along with our hopes of making the flight.

We had to arrive at the gate by 4.30pm and pulled into the airport at exactly 4.29. Instead of the orderly rental handover , we bailed  as fast as 5 cases, 4 bits of hand luggage, a buggy and two kids would allow. With five minutes to go we set off to find check-in ………………………