Once, twice, three times a parking garage

We’re back from our weeklong trip to Maryland, and I need to return to work just to get some rest. It was the first time we took an extended trip with Ladybug, and it was every bit the hassle I expected – all 16 hours of it.

I had a brief moment of hope that the travel would be smooth sailing. I had our suitcases packed the night before, my husband’s mother had cleaned the house, the cats had a week’s worth of food and water, and we were actually a little ahead of schedule. All I needed to do in the morning was grab my mug of coffee for the drive to Houston, where my mother-in-law was catching her flight to Paris and we were taking ours to Washington.

The four-hour drive to the airport passed without problem, unlike our journey six weeks earlier to pick up my mother-in-law. A train blocking our path and an inconsolable Ladybug combined to turn that trip into an eight-hour one-way ordeal.

So when we got to Houston this time several hours in advance of our scheduled departures, I had another brief moment of hope. Maybe my worries were unfounded after all, I thought.

Not.

We went to our terminal first to get our boarding passes and drop off our luggage curbside. That part was easy, but it meant circling the airport again to get back to my mother-in-law’s terminal.

So down the ramp, into the left lane, through the traffic light and back to the international terminal we went.

We dropped off her bags, got her boarding pass and figured we’d park the car there. No such luck. There was no entry into the parking garage.

So down the ramp, into the left lane, through the traffic light and back to the domestic terminal we went.

I saw the sign pointing to the parking garage but it had a low-hanging bar that warned of the low clearance. From a distance the bar looked really, really low and I wasn’t sure we’d be able to pass under it. I just figured that I’d grab the next entrance into the garage … if only there had been one.

So into the left lane, through the traffic light and back around we went again.

This time around, I planned to follow the signs to the parking garage and if the low-hanging bar scraped all the paint off the roof of the car, so be it. The clock was ticking and was beginning to eat into the cushion of extra time we had allowed.

We got into the parking garage, roof intact, and followed the arrows to the parking levels. First level full. Second level full. Third level full. Fourth level 80 spaces. For the next 22 minutes I drove up and down every row and couldn’t find a single parking space. So I figured I’d go up to the next level, only there was no way to go up.

Back down the ramp, through the tollbooth, into the left lane, through the traffic light, back to the domestic terminal, under the low-hanging bar we went.

First level full. Second level full. Third level full. Fourth level 76 spaces – yeah, right -- fifth level 150 spaces.

Another 20 minutes of back and forth and still no sign of an open space. Then miracle of all miracles, an SUV pulled out in front of us.

We pulled all of our gear out of the car – Ladybug’s stroller, her car seat, my backpack full of diapers and munchies and toys for the plane, my purse, my husband’s backpack – and started the long trek to the elevator on the opposite side of the parking garage.

Oh, the fun was just beginning.