The Gingerbreads on the Move

Mammy and Daddy Gingerbread are, as we speak, preparing to visit their pregnant daughter (me). As faithful readers know, they live in Ireland and I live in Germany, so this trip will involve the girding of loins, the gnashing of teeth, at least one marital spat and an indignant sulk. At least, this is what happens when they're forced to leave the confines of our small rural town and travel to Dublin, just an hour away; a trip to a foreign country that involves not one but two plane journeys will be even more exciting (or traumatic, depending on how you see it.)

It started with my mother announcing her intention to come to visit, with my father and youngest brother in tow. (My youngest brother is nearly twenty and in the past has been responsible for getting them through international airports unscathed. He is of the iPhone generation: international travel doesn't faze him - once he has the appropriate apps, he's good to go.)
"We're coming to visit," she said, in the tight, grim voice she usually reserves for periods of great stress.
"Fine," I said. "I'll look up some flights for you."

And I did. However, two stumbling blocks cropped up: my little brother, the navigator, pulled out of the trip, and the best flights that I found involve a stopover in Amsterdam. This latter piece of information caused my mother to suppress a shriek - yes, I heard the quick intake of breath.
"Fine," she said weakly. "Is Amsterdam airport ...safe?"
"You won't be met by drug dealers and hookers," I said crossly. "The red light district is far, far away from the airport."
"But this airline - KLM - is it safe?" she asked.
"Well, it's the Royal Dutch Airlines: it's safe enough for the Queen of the Netherlands, so the Gingerbreads should be fine as well."
"Hmmm." She's not convinced.
My father, on the other hand, would probably view a delegation of Amsterdam's most colourful with great interest; I think he'd secretly like to pop into the city centre for a while, to look at the canals and quaint little houses. Sadly, there won't be time for that: all of their energy will be spent on getting from Hall A to Hall B, a journey of epic proportions and riddled with danger (they think.)

So keep your fingers crossed that their trip is uneventful - that the people in Amsterdam are as helpful and friendly as I've always found them, that Schiphol Airport is as straightforward as I last found it, that the flights to and from Ireland are smooth and punctual.
Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it.