I think this whole idea is never as evident as it is when it comes to travel. I just stood in a security line at the airport, watching a woman, also flying alone, get increasingly more and more irritated at having to wait to be screened. She had (inadvertently, I suppose) stepped into the line that merged with the ‘family line.’ The folks in front of her had a child (one child) who was strapped into to a carseat that had one of those detachable handle thingys on it. They were fumbling for their boarding passes that were buried deeply within their overstuffed diaper bag, and the screener was making small talk with their little girl. None of this seemed out of the ordinary to me, yet this woman continued to get irritated, even glancing at me (I was in another line) and smugly saying, ‘Looks like a chose the wrong line!’ It was then that I realized: she so. doesn’t. get it. As I was waiting just feet away from her in the parallel security line, I already felt like I was on vacation!
{Perhaps the Zoo Pals sippy cup of vino that I sipped slurped
in the taxi en route to the airport helped aid the onset of my overly relaxed state.}
But, truly, I began to feel vacation-y even as I was packing! I mean, I only had to pack for one person, ONE! I did not have to think of diapers or bottles or sippy cups. No need to remember lovies or ponies or tutus or high heels (well, I actually did pack several pairs of high heels, but this time they were not made of plastic or purchased at Target!). I gave no thought to in-flight entertainment; my carry on contains no coloring books, no extra sets of clothes, no baggies of snacks, and no wipes.When the taxi arrived to pick me up, I only had to think of carrying my own bags outside. I had no concern for folding strollers or installing car seats. I gave no thought to the traffic that surrounded the taxi during the drive. I hopped out of the taxi with a spring in my step, realizing that I had only to get myself through security and to my gate. The only potty breaks would be ones that I needed. As I navigated security, I did not have to keep my eyes constantly moving in different directions to be sure that none of my children had disappeared beneath the skirt of an unsuspecting traveler. When I popped into the ridiculously overpriced airport convenience store, I gave no thought as to whether or not my snack of choice would be sharable or just a mean temptation for my littles.
And now, here I sit at my gate, waiting for my plane which is, apparently, ten minutes or so late. And, what am I doing? Well, I’m blogging of course! Despite the hustle and bustle going on all around me, I haven’t felt this alone in weeks. The sense of serenity that comes with solitude is amazing. And that, my friends, is the most freeing feeling imaginable. I realize that I’m about to board a plane where I will sit for two hours, and I CAN READ A BOOK! Or not. I can watch a movie, a real movie with naughty words and everything! I can do WHATEVER I WANT. I can order a drink, any kind I want!, and not have to weigh the risk ratio of the girls possibly flipping my tray-table and spilling it all over us all.
When the flight touches down in NYC, I will be reunited with my hubby who is meeting me after his flight from his work week in Oklahoma. This will be our first real getaway in over two years (and I’m definitely not counting the single night away in February of 2012 that may or may not produced the cutest little OOPS! you’ve ever seen...). I’m so looking forward to us just being together, alone. We will be able to finish sentences, participate in conversations, and relish in silence. I can’t wait to sleep in, to eat an entire meal in a single setting while it's still hot, to drink (and drink) and maybe drink some more.
What’s funny is that, as much as my non-parent friends couldn’t possibly understand why a musky taxi cab and a busy airport can feel as much like a vacation as a lounge chair by clear blue waters, it’d be equally impossible for them to get that after a few days of this actual getaway, I’ll wish sticky hands were pulling on my skirt as I get ready for dinner. I’ll flip through the stations on the TV in our swanky hotel room, stop on Disney Junior, and quietly hope a new episode of Sofia the First is playing. I’ll notice that I'm choosing my outfits based on what my two and three quarters year old stylist would suggest. I’ll find myself looking at the sites and thinking of how much my biggest girl would love to be here. I’ll miss waking up to the increasingly loud sounds of squealing and jabbering and early morning baby snuggles.
Before I know it, I’ll be missing the chaotic place
that we fondly call ‘home’ more than I can explain.
But, until then, I'll just sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight...