I took Tre to buy
I went to the eye

Here’s my trip, the condensed

Here’s my trip, the condensed version. Waaaaay too early Friday morning I dragged myself out of bed and away from my home. As Dad pulled out of the driveway I waved frantically at my boys, who were waving back from the front window. Max was sleepy and a little fuzzy on what was happening. Tre was crying, but trying not to. Raphael was still asleep.
No sooner were we out of the driveway then the cell phone rang. I answered and Tre’s voice piped, “Hi, Mama! How’s your trip?” I laughed and talked to both of them for a few minutes. That was good.
The rest of the morning passed in the usual airport blur of ticketing agents and security officers and Starbucks. I was fine. I settled in at my gate and read my book. Finally it was time to board. I found my seat, stashed my carry on luggage under the seat in front of me as instructed, and clicked my seatbelt low around my waist.
And burst into tears.
What was I doing? I didn’t want to leave my boys! I like my boys. I didn’t want to go play and go out to dinners and go to a spa. I wanted to go home.
Well, I didn’t go home. I went to California. I met up with Amy and we were off for San Diego. Amy’s employers opt to take their employees on a weekend retreat of sorts in lieu of a Christmas office party. Everyone’s allowed to take a friend, and I was lucky enough to be Amy’s guest this year.
Let me tell you, these people know how to treat their employees. Very nice. We stayed in the Hyatt overlooking the San Diego Bay. We ate fabulous food at gorgeous restaurants. We went to the San Diego Zoo, and got a behind-the-scenes tour. We were so close to a giraffe at one point, Amy nearly got giraffe drool on her head. It was amazing. Fabulous. I went to a spa and was scrubbed with sugar and coconut oil. Oh my. I’ve never been to a spa, but that day I decided the hype was true. Spas are very good things.
I dressed like a grown up, I ate meals without interruption, I had long conversations with Amy and other intelligent people. I laughed, I wore high heels until my feet screamed. And you know what? I enjoyed myself.
I may have talked about the boys a tad more than was necessary…but everyone was very kind about it. Amy works with the nicest people. And the boys would call me several times a day, which was great. I’d be sitting in some fancy restaurant, nibbling on my appetizer, and the cell phone would ring and I’d leap up and dash for a quiet spot like some rabid poodle. I’d leave people hanging mid-sentence. And for a few minutes I’d press that phone to my ear like life itself depended on the goofy conversation I was having. Max would blow me kisses and make noises into the phone, asking me to guess what they were. Tre would finish every conversation with, “Have a fun trip and a safe trip, Mama.” Raphael would babble incoherently, totally unconcerned with whether or not I was understanding him. Mom or Dad would get on the line for just a moment, to reassure me that everything was fine.
Then I’d hang up and go back to acting like an adult. I was relaxed and confident that the boys were ok, all was well and I could enjoy myself.
Until it was time for the flight home. Ok, truth be told, I woke up Sunday a bit anxious. Time to pack. Time to go. Home. Boys. Now.
By the time I got to the airport I could barely form sentences. I hugged Amy goodbye and I hope she knows that just because I sprinted away, into the airport, doesn’t mean I don’t love her and appreciate her including me on her weekend. Smooches, Amy. But…well, you know. Home. Boys.
Then, heaven help me, they delayed my flight. They pushed it back by five minutes, then ten, then twenty. By this point I was pacing and muttering. People were casually moving to stand between me and their children. It was bad.
After an eternity, we boarded. Those damn flight attendants insisted upon reading about the freakin’ seat cushions and showing us those oxygen masks. I was fairly sure they could be doing something to make the plane get moving.
Eventually it did move. I tried to read, but I ended up staring out the window, willing time to pass. As we approached Denver, the sparse dusting of lights on the ground below slowly morphed into the unmistakable smear of light that is a city. My city. Home. Boys.
I cried again.
And soon they were in my arms and all was well.
They were fine. They aren’t traumatized and Mom and Dad seem to have weathered the weekend well too. All told, it went just as well as could be hoped. I’m grateful to everyone who pulled it off. What a gift.


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