Flying as a family of six has always been an adventure that bordered on the macabre. When the kids were little, we could dictate everything but control nothing. Now we don’t even have the power to dictate. They are grown. We have improved our system of traveling but not our results. Something always happens. Either we get flagged for a fishing knife in a backpack or wanded for metal hidden in someone’s unmentionables. Though most of the traveler-error incidents that have occurred are because they are related to me, I have learned not to make eye contact with other travelers and have mastered the “whose kids are THOSE?” look, which is a mixture of shock and disdain when I do it right. 

We did everything right yesterday. And yet, I wouldn’t be writing if that had rendered the intended results. Instead, I found myself sitting on a plane with a full bladder and no dinner, stewing over both. We had been notified earlier in the afternoon that our flight was delayed. I have no idea why. But the messages kept changing, so we went on to the airport with plenty of time. Time to kill. Time to set up shop and charge devices. Time enough to be super annoyed by the strangest music blasting from speakers 2 tables away. Time to split off and scope out food and stagger our food orders.

Brady and Jenna and I had decided that we would walk to the hamburger place at 5. It was a little early for dinner, but we hadn’t eaten lunch. We were hungry. The others had already consumed some pizza and were holding down a pretty cozy fort next to the terrible music. After we ordered the burgers, Brady planned to hit an airport newsstand so they could “pound the snacks” on the flight. 

Because the schedule had been a little erratic all afternoon, I called Todd before I ordered and asked him if we had time to wait on the burgers. We did. We weren’t boarding for another hour. I ordered two meals and a side of fries and spent $57. They sent us across the main walkway to wait for our food. We chatted for 4 minutes before my cell phone rang. It was Todd. He didn’t wait for me to even say hello.

“Hey, the story changed. They are boarding us right now!” He said.

“What? Why? What happened?” 

“I don’t know. I’m walking over there now to find out.”

I scrambled to think through my options. I was still waiting on 3 meals. The kids were wearing their confusion on their faces. 

“I’ll send Brady and Jenna back and I’ll wait here for the food. Call me back if it becomes desperate.” With that, I sent Brady and Jenna back to our belongings. Two minutes later, Todd called me back.

“They want us on the plane now. Ditch the food and come.”

Without a word to the hostess, I took off running like I was on the chalk-lined field of my elementary school again. As I picture this scene in my mind—me running in a full sprint, wearing my jeans and Birkenstocks—I picture Chariots of Fire or Rocky. Reality probably looked more like the McAllisters in Home Alone. Either way, I found Todd and Andrew inching forward in a line, babysitting 6 people’s luggage. The others were in the bathroom, lucky ducks.

We weren’t the only people on our flight that were baffled by the delays and boarding process. After I buckled in, I looked over at the younger three across the aisle. Brady looked shell-shocked. I knew he was thinking about the turkey club that we’d left behind. Once I got past my stomach rumblings, I was able to relax into my memories of our week with family. When we travel to Texas, I always share a room with Jenna. Todd bunks with Andrew. Brady and Lucy bunk together in the office. It has been this way as far back as I can remember, because of beds and back pain and toddler needs that no longer exist. Sharing a room with Jenna this week was one of the highlights of my summer. Every time one of them chooses me or seeks me out or invites me into a group chat called Demon Hours or asks me to take a walk, I realize that I’m standing with these kids in a sweet threshold between childhood and adulthood. They have one foot on each side of the line. On a tube in Lake Travis, they flop and laugh like children. When a car needs to be loaded or unloaded, they help like adults. At 2 a.m. over a baggie of Golden Grahams, they munch like kids and converse like adults. I’m writing these things down because I know I will forget. I don’t want to forget.

During the “flight delayed” portion of our travel day—before leaving for the airport—Todd’s mom popped in some old home movies. The first three we watched were compilations of former trips like this one, showing young kids doing the same things we did this week with less skill and more baby fat. When we ran out of kid montages, Carol popped in our wedding video from 1993. I’m not sure I’ve seen any part of it since the day we said our vows. If anyone had asked me if I wanted to watch it, I’d have said no. I didn’t think I wanted to see it. I most certainly didn’t think the kids would want to see it. It didn’t take me 90 seconds to hunker down on the couch and watch like it was Season 6 of Stranger Things. There were people no longer living. People I miss terribly. People I wished hadn’t cornered me at the reception for an awkwardly long time. People who still had hair. People who now have multiple children of their own. My mother. Jennifer. And bridesmaids dresses from the 90s.

The biggest surprise was the two fresh faced babies getting married. Our kids kept a running commentary as they neglected the packing we all needed to finish. 

Dad sounds the same. Your voice is higher. Y’all sound like children. You look terrified. Aww, look at Grandmama’s dress. Granddaddy walks the same. Why do you look so terrified?

“Probably because we were terrified. At least I was,” I said. 

If I could have seen 30 years into a future where 4 kids were scattered like marbles in the Southwest Terminal of the Austin airport, would I have been less scared? If I could have seen a future with late night CVS runs and Wordle competitions that I win without effort, would I have run toward it all like I ran away from my hamburgers last night?

I closed my eyes and thought about the answers to those questions for the rest of the flight. My entertainment was limited. My Netflix downloads had expired. When we finally walked in our back door, we ate lukewarm, mediocre Taco Bell for our long-delayed dinner. It was so lukewarm and so mediocre that I decided to change my fate.

“I’m going to make an announcement to the group here and I don’t want a single word of dissension,” I said, wagging my finger at faces that froze in alarm at what my announcement might be.

“Okayyyyy,” Brady said. “What is it?”

“Today was supposed to be my treat day. All day long I’ve been thinking about a 3 Musketeers Bar and I didn’t get to buy one because the flight got wonky.”

“What are you going to do about that?” Todd asked.

“I’m going to CVS to get one. No judgment,” I said to no one in particular. I really expected a tiny bit of judgment, if not a lapful. Instead, Brady and Jenna swiveled to face each other and lit up wearing the same expression.

“Joint CVS run?” Brady said to Jenna, snapping his fingers. 

“Joint CVS run!” She answered. 

Jenna tried to cut me out, but Brady wouldn’t allow it. The three of us piled in my car in pursuit of candy. They took the front. I sat in the back seat and soaked it all in. I got a king sized 3 Musketeers and ate half of it before we were out of the parking lot. 

And Billy Joel sang us all the way home.