A Jen Too Many

Someday, my adult children will get together and laugh at me, the way my siblings and I laugh at our parents' foibles. "Remember how Mom used to panic if we were late getting home," one of us will say to another, " and then she'd call the police?"

"Do you remember how she never picked us up on time," will come the reply, "and we had to wait forever, sitting on the curb?"

"Oh, yeah. That's how I learned to always carry a book with me!"

My children will say to each other, "Do you remember how Mom always got lost coming out of the airport?"

"And then she'd panic, and yell at us to be quiet, when we weren't talking, and it would take her half an hour to find her way out of the bad part of the very large city we were in?"

"Yeah! Wasn't that hilarious? At least in retrospect?"

I drove The Boy Child to the airport today. He is visiting his mother for the next week. Getting there was no problem; it never is a problem. We have three major international airports near us, however, and not one of them uses the same road leaving the airport that you take going in. I get lost every time, no matter how careful I am. The worst experience was the time I wound up in rush hour traffic, which took us two hours to get out of - and the first landmark we recognized was the airport, which meant we still had to find our way out. It was very late by the time we got home.

Today, a three hour round trip took over five hours. Less than 10 minutes of that was spent actually dropping TBC off. About 45 minutes was spent on rest breaks for the little ones. The rest of the extra time I spent trying to get away from the airport.

I kept Oldest Girl Child home from school today* because she was complaining all yesterday evening that her throat hurt, then woke up with it still hurting. Also, she said her tummy hurt, although she swore she didn't have to throw up. So she had to come with us, which had me on edge the whole time, waiting for the vomiting to start.

Coming back, I started worrying about whether or not TBC remembered to take his ID with him. At first I comforted myself with the thought that if something went wrong, he was an adult and could take of himself. And then I comforted myself with the thought that if something went wrong he could call me and I could turn around and go rescue him. And then I realized I left my cell phone plugged into the charger at home. And then I just chewed my nails and tried to breathe slowly and calmly. Also to stop speeding up as I panicked.

All of which didn't help me keep my mind on the exit signs as I drove around (and in and out of) that airport's Big City. I refrained from pointing out the drawbridge when we drove over it (twice) since I didn't think I could panic and provide chirpy explanations at the same time. I narrowly avoided the toll road I didn't know was coming up until the big sign announcing "TOLL PLAZA AHEAD". And I managed to turn around every time without too much trouble, although I never did find the original road on which I'd gotten lost.

The last hour of the drive Youngest Girl Child upped the stakes by crying continuously that she was on the verge of throwing up. Every so often she'd make abortive retching noises into the plastic garbage bag I stuck in her lap. (I might have nudged the speedometer a bit at that point.)

I was so frazzled when I got home, that my husband suggested pizza instead of me cooking. Which was just hunky-dory with me.
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*Which led to much crying and sobbing.