Airport Security

We are ten days out from our long journey back home. Another 13 hour trans-Atlantic flight to look forward to! I always wonder why I can't get my kids to sit still for more than 10 minutes at home, yet when we fly, they manage to stay in their seats pretty well. It could be the drugs I lace into their juice boxes. Oh, just kidding, I would never do that.
{Well, maybe I do.}
You will never know.


Memories of airports flash through my mind. And many adventures with airport security. Every traveler has their war stories. Ours involves a very innocent baby named See-Saw.


If you had the privilege of knowing my boy when he was a small one, you probably got to meet Baby See-Saw. Instead of a fuzzy blanket or stuffed bear, my small boy choose a small baby as his security item. We bought it at the grocery store. He picked it out that day - before he could even talk - he communicated to me so clearly as he saw the baby on the shelf that THAT was the item he wanted. We brought it home and as he learned to talk, he would always tell me adventures about See-Saw. I finally figured out this was the baby's name. Baby See-Saw. Here is a very fuzzy pre-digital camera shot of the sweet baby with his baby.




Fast forward a few years and little sister came on the scene. Our little boy insisted that his little sister have a baby See-Saw as well. This photo may explain why...the same woman who lets her babies play with guns may or may not be the same one that drugs them on airplanes.




So, then Baby See-Saw Sister came to join our family. We call her Sista' for short because we like to sound like gangsta's.

It was the Christmas of 2005 and we were travelling to the States for vacation. Airport security was tight. The hotel bombings had just happened and things were still a bit tense. We all shuffled through and to the total shock and dismay of our children, our daughters small pink backpack was tagged a pulled aside. It was hand searched. To the complete shock and dismay of our children Baby See-Saw Sister was pulled from the bag. She was handled by the security guard very cautiously. She was set carefully in a box and to the indescribable shock and dismay of our children, she was carried into a small room near the security post. That got the mama mad. Why were they torturing my children? Why Sista'? What did she ever do?
We waited.

And waited.
Many thoughts and questions swirled through my head.

How do I explain 'confiscation' to my daughter?
What was hidden in that thing?
Was my daughter going to forever be bitter toward the Arab world?
Are we going to miss our flight?
Will we get taken in and questioned?
Will I ever get to shop at Target again?

Then, Baby See-Saw Sister was carried back out of the room.
A very nice man handed her back to my small teary eyed daughter. He explained quietly to my husband that the baby was full of small beads. Apparently, the recent suicide bombers had been filling their vests with similar looking small beads that explode everywhere upon detonation. Who would have known? But Sista' was in the clear. All was well.

It was not until we traveled through two more airports and I was unpacking our bags at home that I discovered I had carried my Swiss-Army knife in my purse with me the entire way home.

Poetic Justice.