I woke all three kids up at six, prying the two little ones from their beds/cribs as they cried and begged to go back to sleep. But we had a flight to catch.
Or rather, number one son had a flight to catch. And since the husband is working today, I was on my own with three kids at O’Hare.
It’s quite beautiful driving up to O’Hare International Airport as the sun comes up. Decorated for the holiday season in blues, silver, reds, and greens, the airport grounds welcomed us as the kids finally woke up.
Going through security proved a little challenging as the two-year-old refused to budge from his stroller. Removing his jacket was another tantrum trigger. But we made it with fifteen minutes to spare, which was 14 minutes more than when we did this last winter.
We grabbed a bite to go from Rick Bayless’s Frontera Grill O’Hare outpost, then headed to the gate. Number one son snarfed down his bacon and queso tortas while the little ones were pacified by Frontera’s fresh lime and mango juice, all before the two-year-old dropped his yogurt parfait all over the carpet.
Then it was time to board. Black cowboy hat stationed in place, number one son bid us farewell and flew into the fog reminiscent of his birth city of San Francisco.
An hour ago I received a call from him. He’d landed safely in Phoenix and was making his way toward my mom, who was waiting for him in arrivals.