Boyertown and Beyond

Over the New Year, we took a trip to Philadelphia to visit Jason's family. The locals were so excited to have us all there that they named a town after us (see above). Okay, okay... Jason's brother and his family actually live about 30 minutes from Boyertown, where the Boyer ancestors settled in the 1800s. I have to admit it was a pretty cool town though.

The flight there was about as good as a flight with a 14-month-old can get. Although the flight was full, there happened to be an empty window spot next to us, so Gabby got a little space to move around and to lounge:

Gabby met her cousins for the first time. She LOVED them. And luckily they got a kick out of her, too. They made each other giggle constantly and Gabby was giving out kisses and hugs left and right. She also finally learned to do stairs, after taking many a fearless cliff dive off the entryway steps.

The family recently discovered more of the Boyer lineage, so we visited some very old churches and graveyards, where we located many Boyer headstones. It was so freezing, I was almost buried there myself.

Our oldest niece, Katelyn, was baptized while we were there. It was wonderful to be part of that special occasion.

Eventually, we made it home. And I do mean eventually. When we made it to the airport, we discovered that our flight was delayed 3 hours, then 4, then 5.... The plane had some mechanical problems and they could not use it at all, so they finally decided to wait for another plane to come from Amsterdam that we could use. Of course, it was already impossible to catch our connecting flight in Phoenix. The airline at least was willing to offer food vouchers and a hotel. However, when Jason made it though the long line to speak with them about our arrangements, he discovered that the earliest they would be able to get us out of Phoenix was two days later! Um, no. It was time to use the Gabby card. After they realized what we were dealing with, somehow they magically got us onto a direct flight to Seattle that night. Hallelujah!

But we still had to survive that 6 hour flight with Grumpy Gabbers. Remember the photo at the beginning of this post, where Gabby was chillin' in her seat on the airplane? Picture the complete opposite for our return trip. After 7 hours in the airport, and departing at what should have been her bed time, she was not a model child. I am going to leave out the details of that horrible flight, in hopes that I might eventually forget the torture. However, I do want to remember this: long international flights with a 1-year-old are now out of the question.