As the waiter arrived at my table carrying my 14oz ribeye with the spicy lemon salad and unlimited fries, I wanted to cry. My son sat next to me, chomping down his parmesan garlic fries, perfectly content. Yes, my tears were happy tears. We were at the Radisson Edwardian in London–an evening I had never seen coming two days earlier as I sat waiting for my very delayed flight with a screaming toddler in the Penang airport.

You might have read my post about my trip to Malaysia in July. It was the trip that genuinely made me reconsider if travel with a toddler is worth it because out of our 40 hour trip, my son slept for 6 hours and screamed/wriggled for 34 hours. Counting down the weeks to our return trip to the US, I was dreading the flight. I wanted to be home with my husband, I wanted to return to my friends and our own space, but I did not want to do what we needed to do to get there.

Monday evening arrived and my dad and I packed up the bags, jumped in the car, and headed to the airport. Our normally half hour drive to the airport took over an hour, but we arrived with 9 minutes to spare. I ran up to check my bags at the counter and was informed the plane that would take me from Penang, Malaysia to Kuala Lumpur hadn’t even left Kuala Lumpur. Obviously, there had been no reason to stress about time.

Two hours after our scheduled departure time–10:10pm–we were finally in the air. Because there were five people connected from Kuala Lumpur to London at 11:15pm, we were assured that once we landed there would be a team at the gate ready to whisk us away to our connecting flight, and when we finally pulled into the gate at 11pm, we knew the 15 minute layover would be extremely close. We exited the plane and…nothing. Nobody. A flight attendant told us to go to the transfer counter and rebook our trip as the flight to London had already closed. Some people ran in hopes they would make it anyway. The rest of us stayed behind, and thus began the longest trip of my life.

Midnight came and went and customer service still hadn’t been able to help us. They were in and out of their office, assuring us they were trying, but nobody with authority was around to help. Finally at 2am I was informed that there were no flights that would get me to London in time for me to make my connection to the US and they wouldn’t be able to put me on a flight until the morning. I would be stuck in the airport overnight and I wouldn’t make it home for almost another three days–and I was alone. With a toddler, which is actually worse than just being alone.

Then came the best news of the whole entire trip.

“We’ve booked a hotel for you tonight. When you arrive in London, we’ll have someone there to meet you and help you work out your accommodation there.”

So, at 2am, I trekked through the deserted airport by myself with my hyper toddler and too many carry-on bags, trying to find our hotel. I had no idea where I was going and after many wrong turns and nobody around to point me in the right direction, I found the buggy service to the hotel. A few minutes later, we pulled up to the lobby and I embarrassingly probably audibly gasped. This was not the budget airport hotel I was expecting–this was five stars, 50ft floor to ceiling windows, plush tufted furniture everywhere, crystals dripping from every surface. I’ve traveled all over the world and can count the number of hotel rooms on one hand that have matched the one we were given. After a glorious four hours of sleep, we headed down to the huge buffet for a fantastic breakfast. I was ready to conquer the 14 hour flight to London ahead.

When I arrived at my gate, I was informed there were no bassinets left so I tentatively asked a flight attendant if there were any extra seats on the flight. The trip to Malaysia was an absolutely nightmare because my son doesn’t want to be held and he throws a fit when he’s stuck on my lap, but in the car seat he knows he can’t escape. We boarded the flight carrying three bags and a car seat and I prayed fervently there would be an extra seat. Oh, praise the Lord there was! My son slept half the flight (half!) and for the other seven hours he clambered over me and we walked the plane aisles 4,728 times. He played upstairs on the extra deck and the flight attendants entertained him and I bribed him with food. Goodness gracious, it was long, but there was no screaming. None. Friends, God knows how much I can handle and He knew I needed that extra seat.

Fourteen long, long hours later, our flight landed and as promised, someone was there to help. She fast-passed us through customs so we bypassed the hour-long line, she pushed my stroller, booked my shuttle tickets to the hotel, and took me straight to where the shuttle would pick us up. Perhaps it’s worth requesting special help more often because alone with a toddler on an international trip with multiple carry ons, I really do need it. Less than an hour after stepping foot off the plane, we were walking through the golden doors into the Radisson Edwardian. Check in was a breeze, there was an all-you-can-eat candy bar to stop the toddler from melting down in the lobby, and we were given vouchers for the steak and lobster in-hotel restaurant. There were two of us and my son was given a full meal voucher, so even at a five star steak and lobster restaurant, we had far more credit than we could eat in food–and after a day of airplane food, my 14oz steak was perfect.

To finish up our never-ending day, my uncle and two cousins who live half an hour from Heathrow came to the hotel to meet my little boy, and he showed his appreciation by throwing up all over them and the padded seat after choking on an almond at a hotel bar. Oops.

We had another few hours of sleep before jet lag woke us up at 3:30am and we sat in bed watching the news and eating granola until breakfast opened. The hotel spared no expense in anything, including the superb breakfast buffet, and a night of rest plus a blustery early morning walk through the local London neighborhoods was enough to prepare us for that last leg of the trip.

By the grace of God, our final flight from London to Raleigh was half empty, leaving us with an entire row to ourselves. My son slept for a few hours, watched Boss Baby three times, and endlessly wandered the plane aisles. Eight hours passed as quickly as eight hours on an airplane can go, and finally we were back in the US.

Oh, but the trip wasn’t over yet. I tried to call my friend who was picking me up and driving me two and a half hours back to our house and her phone wouldn’t ring. Maybe she forgot; maybe she had mixed up the time. I tried to hold it together for those last few hours as I picked up my bags and amazingly, once I reached arrivals, she and her husband were there waiting for me. I have fantastic friends.

Hallelujah, we were going to make it home.

At 6pm, more than 60 hours after leaving my parent’s home in Malaysia three days before, the blue minivan pulled into our driveway. My husband was waiting for us and I could have collapsed with relief.

When our first flight was delayed and we missed all our connections, I couldn’t believe somehow the trip was actually going to be worse than it had been on the way to Malaysia, but God always knows. He turned the nightmare trip from hell into a restful trip full of fantastic food, seeing London, visiting family, and the reminder that people want to help. It might have taken three days, but we did it and even enjoyed the trip. 

I have never been happier to be home.