Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Home Again, Home Again

When we were talking about travel plans for next winter break, Allan said to me, we can’t stop over on the way home. We have to just go straight home, even if it means 10 hours on planes.

I know he’s right.

I am waiting to fly home right now. I wish I had taken the 8am flight. I want to get home, read my mail, pet the cat and dog. Sit in my favorite chair for a few minutes before the kids get home. I can’t wait.

I’m a terrible traveler. Not that I don’t like to go places- I do. I loved seeing Baltimore, my first time in the city. I love seeing new places, favorite old ones. I love flying, even with the horrible security nonsense we have to go through. I prefer a window seat because like a child, I watch the clouds and the ground get smaller as the plane takes off.

My sister is terrified of planes. Brings out an anxiety response more about posttraumatic stress syndrome than it is about the actual flying. I feel terrible for her because I cannot imagine having something I love so much be painful.

But on the way home? I only want to get home. Now. Fast. Forget hanging out for one last day, I want to be on the plane first thing in the morning so there will be no delays. And then I want to be there as quickly as possible. It’s as if a switch is pulled and all my energy is focused on home.

Jeanine is the same way. While our boys are great on planes- the last time we landed, Ben and Zachary held their hands over their heads, as if on a rollercoaster, and enjoyed the G-force, yelling “weeeeeee!”- When the last day comes? They melt. Home. Now. If we say we’ve changed the flight to leave a little earlier? All three nod in agreement.

Even the time we left Disney Land.

Allan is right. We will book the flight for our trip with a few stops on the way. Non-stop on the way home.

I don’t care if there’s snow and ice. Or if there is no food in the refrigerator. Or if the dog wags her tail so much she knocks over everything in its path. Or when- not if- the cat howls at me, refusing to let me pick her up until she feels I completely understand her displeasure over my disappearance.

I can’t wait to get home.


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