As professionals, we attend conferences. Businessmen, salespeople, educators; attorneys, therapists, and home-based business folks; they all go to conferences. And so do trauma surgeons. Turns out, we aren’t as dumb as we look: one national trauma organization has it’s conference each year in January in a warm locale, usually Florida or Texas, and another major group meets out West at a ski resort. These conferences are equal parts learning, networking, and, I’ll admit it, playing!
Travel from Ohio to…well, anywhere…can be challenging in January. From CMH, one can get anywhere…via DTW, ATL, ORD or CLT. Hoping it was a sign of a good karma flying day, I arrived at the airport and made it through security and to my gate in exactly six minutes (thank you TSA PreCheck.) We pushed back from the gate on time to the de-icing area. Where we waited. And waited. Cause apparently it was the first time in the history of ever that a plane from Columbus, OH, would have to de-ice and no one knew how long that would take. Well, it takes a long time. It became evident that my connection in Atlanta was slowly slipping from my grasp. We landed about 40 minutes late. And this runner girl took off!! Purse under one arm. Computer bag under the other. Run DOWN the escalator. On the little tram thingy. Run UP the escalator. And because good karma flying day was over before it had even really started, the gate I needed was at the VERY end of the concourse. And like a scene from a movie, I run up to the gate to see the plane had just pulled back. I missed it by 10 minutes. Awesome. In the end, the standby situation works out fine and I make it to my destination only about 3 hours late, albeit without my checked bag. Whatever. I recover. Fine.
The conference is great! Meet up with old friends, current co-workers. Great sessions where I learned a lot. And got really excited and challenged about my own research. Meet a lot of new people. And, oh, by the way, it was 65 degrees where I was. It was 3 degrees back home. Win.
Another airport snafu on the way home, this time mechanical. Delayed three hours and another connecting flight eludes me. C’mon! Just get me to DTW…I’ll drive home from there! We finally take off, but as if to pour some lemon juice on my flying wounds, I sit next to an adorable and jolly looking guy who distinctly reminds me of Santa Claus, both in his body habitus and his friendly desire to chit-chat. I don’t chit-chat on the plane. I read. And while he was friendly, he clearly hadn’t read the rules of flying. He was a space invader. Like, I mean, not virtually, but actually. The armrest? That’s not actually for resting your arm there. It’s the divider between you and me. You tuck your arm in on your side, I’ll tuck mine in on mine. Nope. He actually let his arm go past the armrest. Gasp! And then, the foot. Yeah, same rules. Draw an imaginary line from the armrest down onto the floor. Now keep your feet on your side. Again. He missed this rule. So here I am in the fetal position against the window for the three-hour flight. Oh, how I just want to get home to my husband and kids!
Finally home, and this vaguely OCD mom comes home to find a Lego explosion in the basement. Several months ago, I would have just completely lost it! I mean, anxiety would course through me until I was short of breath and I would panic and yell, “Oh my gosh! Clean this up right now!!” But I have a little more composure these days. I am able to step back for a second. Take it in. You see, there they are…my 15-, 13- and 6-year-old, sitting on the floor. Playing. Together. And there is their father. Right there with them. Cause the rules are mostly the same when mom is gone, but not exactly. Daddy gets to press his mark into the running of the household. And his way is a little more engaged. A little more down on the floor. A little less bothered with some chaos. And it is beautiful! The kids need his flavor of parenting. And dare I say, they need it completely separate from mine. They need to see that Daddy does it different, and (maybe) even better.
Suddenly, the airport frustrations melted away. The mini-marathon in ATL. The missing bag in SAT. The space invader in the (overly) friendly skies over the Midwest. I am home. With my family. Who did just fine without me. And had some special moments that they can only have when I am away.
Disclaimer: My viewpoints are not necessarily reflective of my employer, or any local, regional or national organization that I belong to. As a matter of fact, I pretty much just speak for myself. Please keep that in mind.
