Christmas Miracle

Because there is something seriously wrong with us, every Christmas the Canuck and I travel to both Chicago and Toronto to visit with our families. You might think that having a child would make us rethink that plan, but we are pretty thick that way. I hate the idea of not seeing my niece and my nephew (and oh yeah, my parents and siblings too, of course!). Muffin is the only grandchild on the Canuck's side, and I don't think the Canadian postal system could handle the delivery of all the gifts she gets from her grandma, uncle, great aunts and cousins. Although I fantasize about a holiday that does not involve packing, security lines or turbulence, a Christmas without family wouldn't be much of a Christmas at all.

We planned to fly out the evening of the 21st. When we got to the aiport and tried to check in at skycap, the man in charge informed us casually that all flights to Chicago had been cancelled. His delivery was so deadpan that I thought for sure he must be pulling our leg, which was not very Christmasy. We went inside, and were informed that there would be no flights to Chicago that evening, and the best thing to do was to call the reservations line. We did just that and were informed by the airline that they could not get us there until the evening of Dec. 24 -- and that was with a stopover in Raleigh. We were planning to fly to Toronto on Christmas Day, so obviously this was not going to work.

Christmas Miracle Part One: Despite the fact that far less trying situations have completely undone us, neither the Canuck or I combusted upon hearing about this snafu. I don't think I even smoked. We simply took another cab home (now $70 poorer), and then hopped in our car. We drove 14 hours to Chicago over Thursday and Friday, then 10 hours to Toronto on Christmas Day, and then 11 hours home to New York on Saturday. It all went very smoothly, aside from the fact that there were no rest stops in Michigan, and all the restaurants off the highway were closed on Christmas. The Canuck peed behind a 7-Eleven. I ducked into a dodgy donut shop near Detroit, where I had to be buzzed into the blood-spattered bathroom.

Christmas Miracle Part Two: Despite 35 hours in the car over the course of a little more than a week, Muffin was a joy. I'm not saying it was easy to keep her occupied, and my back is still sore from twisting back to attend to her. We spent much of the time playing eye-spy with Christmas lights and trucks; every time she'd see one, she'd ask me for more, which -- well, thank you for seeing me as that all powerful. On the last leg of the trip we had a portable DVD player, and I believe she watched Baby Einstein seven times. She now imitates the puppet characters, which I'm sure will prove embarrassing in my crunchy, never-let-my-kids-watch-TV neighborhood sometime soon. I felt awful to keep her immobile for so many hours when she's so anxious to explore, but she didn't cry or even whimper at all. She was as merry as I could have asked her to be, and that was a merry enough Christmas for me.