Yesterday on the way to Gram's house, I ran into many fellow members of my secret society, BODCCATA [aka Brotherhood of Dads Carrying Carseats At The Airport]. We didn't talk to each other, of course, not in public [It's part of the oath.], but we would throw each other The Sign which, to the unitiated, looks like a quick glance at the carseat followed by a "'sup?" head nod, but naturally, it's much more elaborate than that. [Sorry, can't go into details.]
Here's a photo of our stripped down carry-on set-up, which worked out fine. [We've crossed into the crayon-and-sticker zone, where tiny, compact playthings burn up more than an hour on the plane. Amazing.] The Volo [did see one Bugaboo with full street-trim--all those toys clipped on the bar, footmuff. underseat bag stuffed full--at CVG, but I can't imagine what a gatechecking pain all that stuff'd be.]
The Graco workhorse carseat [light, cheap, narrow, only somewhat ugly, and--best of all--drops right into the Volo for easy airport transport.
Computer bag [Jack Spade, if you care, but it had all the adult stuff we couldn't check. One book, one Vogue (heavy, but also dense, unlike most mags these days.) one laptop.
Diaper bag [Mum, a gift. stuffed solid, blanket, change of clothes, diapers, little books (including this Japanese flashcard book-on-a-ring that's worked out really well) a couple of snacks (cranberry/raisins and Newman alphabet cookies)one sippy cup, and four pacifiers, just in case.
Anyway, happy Thanksgiving to everyone out there, be safe, happy, and when you see a Brother in the airport, you know what to do.