Let me be honest, I don’t look like one of those moms who has her act together at the airport. You know who I mean: That woman strutting through B terminal with a fresh blow-out, pulling a roller suitcase that works, while two well-behaved children walk swiftly behind her, each carrying his or her own Trunki without complaint. Yeah, I’m the frizzy-haired one in sneakers, yelling…
