Home and away

I can't complain because I probably brought it upon myself. I jinxed myself. I gave myself the evil eye. Yes, I did it again.

I should know better than to brag about my good fortune. I should have just kept my big mouth shut about how easy the flight to San Antonio was, because Someone had a good chuckle at my expense on the way back.

To start with, our flight was cancelled.

We were scheduled to fly back to Chicago on Monday afternoon. I had forgotten to check the departure times before we left, so it was no surprise to find the flight had been delayed. My ticket agent was a cheerful young man who reassured me, "I'm almost positive the flight won't be cancelled!" Cancelled? I thought, Who mentioned cancelling the flight? But he seemed confident the delays wouldn't be too bad. He even put us in "executive coach", ignoring my blank stare of cluelessness. Is that good? I whispered to my dad. The boyish ticket agent obligingly handed my parents their security passes, and we marched off through layers of security, removing shoes, emptying pockets, and carrying the baby through the scanner, to the gate.

Two hours later, my sneaking suspicion turned into annoyance, as the gate agent announced the flight had been cancelled. That twerp lied to me! So, we packed up the three kids and the stroller, and trudged back to the ticket counter where a slight, efficient looking man was making vague announcements. "We may re-route a plane from Denver", "We may have more information for you soon", "We may keep you in limbo for the next few hours".

In a few minutes he came back to announce that there would be no plane from Denver. The flight was cancelled. Period. End of story. Tough luck. He then proceeded to make the young woman standing in line behind us, traveling alone with a child, cry. Aaaw! I whispered to my Dad, that wasn't nice. Dad wouldn't hear of it. "People are frustrated" he explained, "tempers are flaring. If you keep your cool, and speak calmly, people will respond in kind. You just have to give them a smile. They're under a lot of pressure right now." Uh huh, I thought.

We got re-ticketed for a flight the next day with no problem. You expect me to travel alone with three small kids through Denver?! So much for calm and smiling. But I got us seats on a direct flight, anyway.

Then we headed down to the baggage claim to pick up our suitcases and car seats, but two of our car seats were missing. What do you mean they're missing? They didn't even make it on the plane!

We went home with a rental.

That evening, it was hard to be grumpy. I got an extra night with my parents, my Abuela, and my way-cool niece and nephew, who were getting ready to go off to college.

I even got my chance to record my grandmother's recollections of Turkey as a young girl.

The next day, I washed a couple more loads of laundry, packed up stuff we'd forgotten, and gave another round of hugs, kisses, and goodbyes.


We went back to the airplane, and stood face-to-face with the ticket agent who the day before made the single mom cry. "Well," he looked suspiciously at my parents' day-old security passes. "I don't normally hand these out, except under extreme circumstances."

I'm traveling alone with three small children. That's pretty extreme. Although I could tell immediately this was something he had never, nor would he ever, experience himself. "Well, he drawled efficiently, I'll go ahead and do it this time, since you already had the passes from yesterday, but I'll need that one," He said, snapping the pass from my mother's hand. "It won't do you any good today."

As he sorted out the passes, I asked him to call downstairs to see if our car seats had shown up. "No." He said, after hanging up with the baggage claim office. "You'll have to keep the loaner. We'll give you a $50 travel certificate." I nodded and rolled my eyes, thinking how useless that would be for me. Then he took a closer look at my tickets. "I see these were purchased with mileage points!" He then proceeded to interrogate me. "Who purchased these tickets for you? What city did they come from? How much did you pay for these tickets?" He demanded.

I stood with my mouth gaping. My sisters and their husbands had pitched in to use their frequent flyer miles to buy the tickets for me and my kids. I didn't know exactly which sibling or brother-in-law had contributed, so I stammered a list of names, where they lived, how we were all related, and the reason for the trip under the glaring eyes of the small, psychotic ticket agent.

In the end he gave me the same, "I'll let it go this time," that he gave my parents about their security passes, "You have to admit it's a bit suspicious" he declared, and waved us off.

My father's ears were steaming. "If I didn't have my grandchildren here, I'd...I'd...that man has issues! He's got a Napoleon Complex!" He sputtered in fury.

So much for just giving him a smile, eh, Dad?


Our trip home was glorious. I love going home. I never feel so loved or appreciated as when I'm seeing my old friends and colleagues. My children feel the same way. We had a birthday party for my son and his old friends.

We invited some of my daughter's friends along, too.

My mom decked out her house in Harry Potter stuff, and I rented a great big castle moonwalk. My son's friends bounced, played, watched some Prisoner of Azkaban and ate birthday cake together, as if no time apart had passed at all.

Unlike Chicago, parents stick around at birthday parties in San Antonio, and for this I am supremely thankful! While my kids reconnected with their dearest friends, I got to reconnect with mine.

Maybe it's just a case of absence making the heart grow fonder, but I really feel like I left the most wonderful place on Earth. Time and time again I heard the same thing. "We really miss you." And I really felt missed. The warmth and love in each greeting filled my soul to the brim.

On the day that was supposed to be our last, I rushed the kids to my old office and to their Dad's to say a quick hello. My former colleagues all asked me when I was coming back, and told me how much I was needed. The kids and I received a special greeting from a woman I consider to be my fairy godmother. I miss your wisdom and advice! I told her. "You can always call me!" She lovingly admonished. And I will.

My visit home to San Antonio was like a visit to a gas station: a fill-up for the soul. I pray the love and warmth that has saturated me will sustain us all through the winter.

We came home to a worn out law school student. He had spent the two weeks interviewing for next summer's internships. The most disconcerting thing about law school is that after your first year you essentially have to know where you're going to be for the next five. During the first summer, law students interview with law firms for the second summer internships. The firms they work for during their second summer are usually the firms they'll work for after graduation.

My hubby has been turning on the charm offensive to full-throttle, and dazzling them with his brilliance and affability. This, of course, means even more interviews and the preparation that goes along with it. Before he's even done with the first round of screening interviews, he's already begun his second round. But he graciously took time to take clean up the apartment, and take me on a date.

There's no light at the end of his tunnel. Classes and his fall externship with the City of Chicago legal department will begin before he's finished with his interviews.

It's hard being back. Being back in Chicago means I'm on my own again with the kids and the apartment. It means getting ready for my new job and my children's school year. It means getting the Hogwarts party in order. I wish I could tell my friends and my family and my colleagues, I really miss you. I really need you, too.

Sometimes, Dad, a smile alone won't do.