Eight hours ago, my alarm went off, not that I really slept much.
Waking up at 2:30 in the morning is quite different than going to sleep at 2:30 in the morning.
Six hours ago, the (previously mentioned in other posts) teenager and I were in the car, on the road to the airport. He was amazed that:
a) No one else was on the road
b) that his old mother can actually drive faster than he ever thought she could. (HA!)
He talked about his favorite cities, being out late (fascinated by not seeing anyone except us out on the road) and his plans for his trip. So worth leaving the radio off to gain the extra time in conversation with my boy.
Plus, I didn’t get the “BUT MOM, I NEED TO LISTEN TO MY MUSIC” headache for the trip home. Definitely win win.
His annual visit with his father was delayed a day due to the tropical storm in Texas, and what would have been an afternoon/evening flight turned into this early morning expedition. Grateful, though, because knowing for sure that my child wouldn’t be wandering around the Dallas/Fort Worth airport alone was the kind of peace of mind that makes a 2:30 a.m. wake up call worthwhile.
This is the first time my son is flying on his own. It’s nerve wracking, even with the extra security and identification they’ve given him. He’s calm, wondering why I would be anxious, even though he’s annoyed with the extra identification they’ve given him in a clear plastic envelope to wear around his neck.
It’s hard to explain what’s causing the anxiety without sounding overly sentimental, so I leave it with “Because I am, okay?” How do you tell a teenage boy that what you’re doing is sending your whole heart flying hundreds of miles up into the sky and living without it for two weeks?
It’s a concept they won’t understand until they’re standing in an airport with their own children at 5:30 in the morning, listening to them complain about the large luggage label around their neck and why they aren’t babies and don’t need their parents waiting at the gate with them.
All at once, they call his name and he’s out of my sight, down the gangway and on the plane. He only flinched a little when I called “Bye, honey! Make good choices!” after him, which amused several other passengers in ear shot. I stayed long enough to watch the plane take off, knowing full well that if he realized I was there, staring at the jet as it taxied down the runway, he’d be mortified.
My maternal weirdness and need to embarrass him is never ending.
Let the waiting begin.