Noah flew to Boston this morning on his way to the Russian immersion program at Middlebury College in Vermont. It was a nerve-wracking two flights. For Mommy. Here’s how my morning went:


Noah off to Boston and Middlebury

It is 4:30 a.m. and King Daddy and I are dropping Noah off at Nashville International Airport. I can barely believe this is happening. How can I possibly put a 3-year-old child on a plane by himself? Oh, I’m sorry. He’s 23. I am only behaving as though he’s 3 years old. What is my issue?

Noah has never flown alone. And he’s only been in a plane three times. What if he gets lost? What if he misses his flight? What if I just shut up?

I walk into the terminal with him, leaving King Daddy to guard the car from the airport police. I sense that Noah doesn’t want me to leave, at least in my own addled imagination. But I give him a big hug; tell him I love him and to stay safe. And to text me every five minutes. I am not kidding.

And then I walk away. Kind of. I walk towards the door and find a safe spot behind a pillar to watch over him. To protect him in the treacherous check-in line. But I sense King Daddy is growing weary of this kind of behavior, and I don’t want Noah to see me, so I reluctantly exit.

Maybe we should go back to the airport.

I actually  blurt this out halfway home. King Daddy gives me an exasperated look. Seriously, what is my issue?

King Daddy goes back to bed. I sit at my computer, thinking I will just stay awake long enough to make sure he’s on the plane to Washington where he’ll connect to a flight to Boston. His layover is just 36 minutes. I already feel as though I’m having a heart attack. At 5:45 a.m. he texts me that he’s on the plane. And that should have been the end of it. But, no. I have issues.

I think, the flight’s only two hours. I’ll just stay awake in case he doesn’t make his connection. I have a Plan B. Friends in Washington.

Maybe I’ll just have a wee bit of wine and check the airline arrival schedule repeatedly.

The sun is now coming up. And I get a text at 8:34 a.m. Eastern time. Noah is in Washington. Text me when you’re on the plane to Boston I text him. The flight leaves at 9:30 a.m.

I don’t hear from him. I imagine him frantically running down a concourse trying to find his gate.

Maybe that’s why he isn’t texting me. He’s panicked and running and scared. I could drive to Washington. It will only take nine hours.

I have a little more wine, a lovely Chardonnay. And then, at 9:24, just six minutes before the plane is due to take off, he texts me that he’s on board.

Noah on board

He looks haggard and spent. Or maybe he’s just tipsy. He texted me that he had some “anxiety vodka.”

So he’s safe in Boston now with two of his friends and will board a bus to Middlebury tomorrow. I have to say I have been impressed with his planning for this trip, even if a bit excessive. He created a binder with all his Middlebury information, his airline and bus tickets, and schematics of Reagan International Airport to map his journey from one gate to the other during his layover.

And he’s been more than a little anxious about the flights. He asked King Daddy I repeatedly for advice. He called his grandmother, the sainted Bunny, for more advice. He asked his friends for advice. I believe he asked the drive-through clerk at McDonald’s for advice. He measured his backpack to make sure it qualified as a carry on bag. He packed a week’s worth of snacks and a Cuban sandwich lest he starve.

Clearly, he had worked himself into what King Daddy calls “a state” over this trip. He’s such a worrier. I don’t know where he gets it from.


One Comment

  1. Mary
    MaryReply
    June 19, 2015 at 7:10 pm

    You always give me a laugh when I need one…Thanks!

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