Monday, September 27, 2010
The Last Flight Out
I was tired and cranky. I was determined. And I knew I had to make the last flight out.
The only problem? There aren’t that many direct flights to my home town of Columbus, Ohio on a Saturday evening. In fact, the only non-direct flight would get me home at 1:00 a.m. Sunday morning. Assuming no airport delays, canceled flights, or late connections.
My husband, Doug, told me just to leave on Sunday morning. “We’ll be fine without you. What’s another night? Why do you always have to kill yourself?”
Maybe he was right. If I left Sunday, I could still be home by lunch. I could even get some sleep. And I wouldn’t be hanging out in connecting airports on a Saturday evening.
But I couldn’t do it. I needed to get home.
Why was I so determined?
Well, there are a couple of reasons. First and foremost, I’m a mom. I hadn’t seen my kids in five days, and I missed them. Terribly. I missed my philosophical discussions with Nick (right before bed, of course) and I missed Anna’s constant hugs and affection. And, yes, I even missed Abby’s booming voice and her favorite words, “Daddy can do it.”
And while I know the kids are “fine” without me, I still couldn’t wait to see them. Plus, I missed Doug and knew he needed a break from full-time daddy duty.
The other reason I needed to get home? Twelve preschoolers were expecting me on Sunday morning. Sure, I could have arranged a substitute for my Sunday school class, but I wanted to be there. Plus, some of these kids are just getting over their own separation anxiety. They’re just getting to know me. So the last thing they need is another new face on Sunday morning.
Have you ever just known you needed to get home?
It’s Monday. And I’m back to work.
But I’m so glad to be home.