Before every trip back to visit family, I always find myself saying the same things to my husband: “I can’t wait to get home and just relax.” “I’ll be able to get so much work done when I’m at home and have extra help with the baby!” “Honey, we’ll be able to go see a movie or go to dinner together.” He always smiles and nods in agreement, but he knows better. Being honest, none of those things ever actually happen, but I can’t be the only military spouse who has these lofty dreams, can I?
I should have recognized the foreshadowing in the most recent plane ride home to Illinois: my busy daughter turning into a raging…toddler, jumping up and down on her airplane seat, screaming along to “Let it Go,” and my husband looking up from his tablet long enough to ask, “Should we do something about that?” as I riffle through my bag, looking for something to bribe her down from the peaks of Arendale.
My parents are fantastic, and are always waiting just past security for us. My daughter squeals with glee and my husband and I no longer exist, as we struggle to drag all the necessary bags through the throngs of people: carry-on backpack stuffed with activity books, games, three different electronic sources of entertainment (kindle, ipad, and dvd player), and all the junk food she’s never allowed to eat except when on a plane and I need to keep her occupied; giant suitcases stuffed with everything we could ever possibly need, and rarely ever use; car seats and strollers: check, check, check.
My husband’s family lives just under an hour away, and we’re always working hard to ensure that both families get enough time while we’re in. This summer my better half, ever the Marine, put together a daily schedule (which I highly recommend to anyone in a similar situation) and we had the trip jam packed with excitement: trips to the zoo, aquarium, waterpark, and everything else we’re lacking in our sweet little Southern military town. The days are long and exhausting, there is never relaxation or rest, but I don’t think I’d have it any other way.
Of course there are horror stories of stolen suitcases (it even had white dog hair on it like ours! I can’t be held responsible for that!), car sick children, and Chicago traffic, and yet, I can never wait to do it all over again.
©Bridget Platt, 2014, Do not use without permission.