Yet another travel story—just as you wanted!

On an unseasonably cold, blistery Manhattan morning… ❄️🌬️ I wake up at 3:58 AM—two minutes before my alarm chimes. ⏰ We have to catch a 7 AM flight from JFK to Fort Lauderdale for a conference, and we’re scheduled to be on stage in five and a half hours. 🎤🎭

We were in NY for a not-to-be-missed special family event—a Moroccan-style celebration of a 13-year-old’s coming-of-age party. 🎉🇲🇦 The dancing, singing, and food were soul-inebriating 🍽️🕺—but we’re feeling it a bit more now than desired. No time to wallow, though! We have 30 minutes to shower, dress, and get our 18-month-old ready in our shoebox-sized hotel room. 🏨👶

Flipping over and pirouetting around, we tag each other in, passing the baby back and forth as we navigate showering, brushing teeth, and getting dressed—each always with one hand and one eye on the baby, moving with orchestrated precision. “The Incredibles” comes to mind. 🦸‍♂️🦸‍♀️

As usual, we are running late… unless, of course, we go by our South American clock, which is always on time. ⏳🇪🇨 But have no fear—we are pros. In under 35 minutes, we bundle Mateo up, pack six suitcases, and wrestle with one monstrous car seat that always seems to be at the center of trouble. (Nobel Prize for whoever figures out how to make a travel-friendly car seat! 🏆🚗)

Unfortunately, no bellman at 4:30 AM, so we start pushing our caravan of bags—dragging the ball-and-chain car seat behind us toward the front door. 🚶‍♂️🚶‍♀️ Thankfully, our pre-arranged car is ready—we’re only 10 minutes behind schedule. Not bad. As the car gets loaded Tetris-style, 🎮 we wrestle with the dreaded car seat, trying to slip the seatbelt buckle through its impossibly narrow slot. Hands frozen, sprawled across the back seat, we struggle as the cars behind us honk angrily. 🚗📢 The car seat strikes again.

Finally, we’re off! 🚙💨 But not so fast…

There’s unusually heavy 5 AM traffic to JFK. 😩⏳ I start worrying about timing. Then, as we approach the Terminal 2 off-ramp, we witness a turbulent, raging sea of kids and suitcases bobbing and tossing in the howling wind. 🌊🎒💨 Luggage carts shake, tempers flare—the airport is getting hit by a Category 5 holiday hurricane of families escaping the cold. 🌪️❄️

Traffic control cops bark orders, but we’re getting nowhere near the drop zone. So, with Navy SEAL efficiency, we deploy early—unlocking, unloading, and dragging our cargo 200 yards to curbside check-in. 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♀️💼

The line is brutal—everyone is budging ahead. 🤦‍♂️ It’s 5:40 AM—we have an hour and 20 minutes, right? When we finally reach the front, the attendant apologizes but says we must check in inside at the Delta counter. No explanation. “Ugh!” 😤

We’ve already waited 20 minutes in the freezing cold, and now we have to start over?! No time to sulk. Plus, we’re SkyPriority—the line shouldn’t be too bad, right? Wrong. 😱 The “priority” line is 200 people deep.

"There must be another line!" Sabrina gasps. I run off to check. She holds our spot. Nope. No options. We must wait—anxiously—with the others in the Exodus, racing against the crashing sea of time. ⏳🏃‍♀️🏃‍♂️

Should we find another flight? What do we tell those expecting us? 40 minutes later—after failed meditation attempts and rising tension—we finally reach the counter. With ninja speed, the Delta agent slaps our boarding passes into our hands. “Go fast,” she warns. “Your flight is boarding.”

Luckily, we have Clear TSA PreCheck, so we should be fine, right? Nope. As we turn the corner, we crash into a sea of people. 🌊🤯 And then—Mateo starts crying. 😭 He needs a diaper change. “He’s going to have to wait,” I declare.

We scuba-dive into the crowd, hunting for the Clear PreCheck line, only to find… the chip-on-her-shoulder TSA screener. 🙄 Scanning Sabrina’s boarding pass, she smugly tells us, “You’re not PreCheck.” WHAT?! 😤

We split up. I take the stroller, pillowcase, toy bag, diaper bag, milk bag, suitcase, and laptop bag through PreCheck. Sabrina, carrying Mateo—now 38 pounds with a full diaper—heads for regular security. ⏳

The plane is boarding. 20 minutes left. 😬

I pull out my license—only to realize I HAVE SABRINA’S TOO. 😨 I try calling—no answer.

Meanwhile, the 4’7” power-tripping TSA agent tells me, “Computers are down. We’re checking manually.” Of course. 🤦‍♂️

My bags go through the scanner, but as I try to collapse the stroller, it jams. Why? A water bottle is stuck. Oh no. 🚰 The TSA agent gleefully declares, “No water allowed!” Ma’am, I’m a Million Miler… I mutter.

Just as I clear security, I get four missed calls from Sabrina. Where is she?! My heart pounds. Then—I see her. She bursts out of the elevator, running—Mateo hanging off her hip, his diaper pendulum swinging.

"Where’s the diaper bag?!" she yells. Oh. Shit. 😳

I LEFT IT AT TSA. We split up again. 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♀️

I race back—just as the TSA agent from hell smugly informs me, “The bag has liquids. Extra screening.” 🧃🔍 “Lady, my plane leaves in THREE MINUTES!” She. Does. Not. Care. 😑

Finally—after painstaking milk bottle scans—I snatch the bag and SPRINT to the gate. 🏃‍♂️💨 Sabrina holds the jet bridge open like a superhero. 🦸‍♀️

"Are you Dayan?" the agent asks. “YES!” I wheeze. “You’re the last one.” The door SLAMS shut behind me.

“No overhead space left,” she adds. My carry-ons are gone. 😫 Fine. Take it.

We collapse into our seats—exhausted, tense, sweating. 💦 Sabrina’s legs cramp. I can’t stop coughing. Mateo soaked through his clothes. Even for two pros, this is A LOT.

Flight smooth. ✈️ We land in FLL. Rush to the Turnberry Resort.

Sabrina has 23 minutes until she’s on stage. We tag-team getting ready, throw the baby back and forth, and dash to the conference center. 🎤💼

Fifteen minutes later, I peek inside—packed room. SRO. 🔥

A colleague tells me, “Sabrina looks so poised, so calm.” Another adds, “You both make it look so easy.”

I smile. If only they knew… 🥵