We're in San Francisco ("Frisco" is not appreciated by the locals)!!!

Traveling with four children is everything one might expect it to be: exciting, tiresome, stressful, fun... It is fun at times. Really. It was a blast riding in the limo to the airport and hanging out in line eating Billy Goat Tavern Polish sausage & drinking a Budweiser while waiting for seating assignments. The kids were in good moods, for the most part, and so were Karen and I. All we wanted was two sets of three seats together. We figured that Karen could sit with one boy and one girl, and I could sit with the other combo, and if they couldn't do that on paper, that people one the plane wouldn't mind moving their seats to help out a large family. Heh. We are so stupid.

Turns out the airplane was overbooked. The ticket agent, who looked like an overworked, overweight Donald Sutherland with the charm of Rosie O'Donnel, couldn't get us seats anywhere near each other, but he assured us that the flight attendants would help us find at least two sets of three seats somewhere on the plane. Fine. As it was, we were already holding up the take off.

So, the flight attendants asked someone to move, and he wouldn't. Then, asked another... and she only wanted to be by the window. They asked another, but he wouldn't move. Finally, one did move, but they were having trouble finding another person to move. Clusterfudge central. I can't say I can blame the passengers, but, the flight was overbooked, they airline was already asking for volunteers to get on the next flight, and we're a large family with young children, two of them (the youngest!) who had never flown before - all of which we explained to Donald as he brow-beat us for making him do his job.

All of a sudden this curmudgeonly ticket agent stormed onto the plane and ordered me into a seat, sputtering about how the plane is late for take-off as it is... Then, told Karen that he had the perfect solution for our situation: that we get off the plane and TRY to find seats together on the next flight (which, sounded like it was near-capacity booked from what they were and weren't able to offer those passengers who chose to give up their seat on this one!). Karen flat-out refused this offer, which evoked some eye-rolls - by some of the very same people who would not leave their seats - but by this point the irony was not funny. We were forced into seats very quickly: Karen and Isabel together, Aidan and I a few rows in front of them and across the aisle, and Jacob and Caitlin in the very back of the plane. We were not given a chance to argue, or figure out a more suitable combination of seating arrangements, and the spitting, walking jowls exited the plane.

The flight attendants immediately went into crisis management mode, and in less than three minutes, Karen was sitting next to both Caitlin and Isabel, Jacob had a single seat behind them, and Aidan and I had our seats. We could at least see each other. It wasn't the ideal situation, but it was a hell of a lot better than what the Blue Meanie came up with a few minutes before.

The plane ride was uneventful, really. There was discussion surrounding ears and pressure and the affects of this on the brain... Multiple requests for gum, gummie bears, licorice, etc. We watched an excruciatingly horrid movie with Ewan MacGregor and Pierce Brosnan and Kim Cattrel (mouthing the worst "British" accent I've ever heard), drew pictures, colored various animals dressed in firefighter attire in Caitlin's Safety Town coloring book, and accompanied our children on approximately 224 trips to the washroom - for each child.

We arrived in San Francisco, procured our rental mini van, and headed towards our extended-stay room at the Residential Inn in Oyster Point. We arrived, checked in, and ordered what-turned-out-to-be-below-mediocre Italian food, and fell into deep, but fitful, sleep, lamenting the fact that the hotel's pool is out of order until Wednesday.

Sunday was a much better day. We got up and helped ourselves to the complimentary breakfast in the lobby of the hotel, which is quite the lesson in moderation with four children. Then, we piled into the van and headed into San Francisco to see the sights at Fisherman's Wharf. We visited the sea lions and Aidan gazed wistfully towards Alcatraz Island, watched a magician who told worse jokes than I tell, grabbed lunch at the In-and-Out Burger, and ate it outside watching the Mexico vs. Argentina match through the window of the Hooters next door. It was a good day.

On the way back to the car, the family was able to catch a really cool breakdance troop who do their thing for the D.A.R.E. program. Caity, who doesn't like loud music or crowds but DOES like cotton candy... a lot, persuaded me to take her to find some while her mother and the rest of her siblings watched the show. She ate most of the bag by the time we returned to the family, but begrudgingly shared the remaining hunk. On the way home, we were diverted from turning back onto the freeway and were forced into the heart of where the day's Pride Parade festivities took place. It was great to see. The kids liked the spectacle. It's definitely not something they see in Lisle. It was 1:45 in the afternoon, so the spectacle was not as racy as it could get a few more hours into the day, which was fine by me.

I took the kids to the pool at the Courtyard after we ventured to the local mall area for dinner and groceries. We, then, returned to the room and crashed.

Today, I dragged the kids on the BArt, back to the Target store at the mall more as a fact-finding assignment about public transportation than an actual shopping trip. The kids traveled relatively well. I think we'll head to Golden Gate Park on Wednesday. We have a lopsided soccer ball, now.