Jet planes are stupid

Sometimes it feels like my life is just one big mix tape.

Yesterday we took the big man to the airport for five plus weeks of training that may or may not bring him home in time to witness the birth of our last child. Let’s face it, I’m way too big and emotional to handle anything with dignity right now, but I made a very valiant effort anway.

So we were driving along with the kids, listening to music and visiting, and I suddenly realized just how well I was doing. I felt good, everyone was relatively happy, we’d only had to pull the car over to beat the children twice–who could ask for more?

At that exact moment the radio caught my attention. Listening to the short intro, I couldn’t quite place the song, but I knew it was familiar. That’s when the vocals started up.

“All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go…”

“Leaving on a Jet Plane”. Every military wife’s least favorite song in the entire universe. And that’s when I lost it. Completely. Totally. Irrevocably. It was the beginning of the end.

I cried the ugliest, most silent, wracking sobs through every single note of that song, and then continued on for a few moments after. But knowing how upsetting it is for the family when I cry, I managed to pull it off without a single whimper. I was so clandestine in my crying, I really thought I’d succeeded in fooling the whole lot of them. Sunglasses are a beautiful thing.

We got to the airport and walked him through to the security check point where we made our farewells. It hadn’t hit Rex until we actually pulled up at the airport that Jason was leaving, and he didn’t take it well. Walking out, it about killed me to watch Harrison with his arm around his little brother, kissing his head and telling him it was going to be okay.

I managed to get a grip long enough to buckle everyone in and climb behind the steering wheel, when my phone beeped with a text. It was from Jason. It said,

“I’m leaving on a jet plane. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back again…”

And even though I knew it was supposed to make me smile, all could do was blow snot bubbles all over the steering wheel.


  1. Annie,

    I was just like your little ones. My dad is military and was gone for long periods when I was a kid. It was awful, as I’m sure you’re well aware, and much of my childhood was spent counting down the days until dad came home.

    But in the end we never doubted that our father loved us, wanted to provide for us the very best for us he could, and truly and absolutely loved his country. He has raised 9 mostly normal and capable kids who love our land, love the Lord and without a doubt love our daddy.

    I feel for you guys! I wish I could sweep you all up in a big hug and tell you, “I know it sucks. But it’ll turn out okay.” So here’s a virtual hug: (squeeze)

    Good luck!

  2. I sincerely hope the next five weeks pass quickly for you. And even though I never thought I’d ever wish a completely full term pregnancy on anyone, I hope you make it the whole way so Jason can be there when baby comes. Hang in there!

  3. I say that phrase to Jefe all the time when I call him to ask about his ETA.

    You’ve got your Mamma to pamper you now! Just keep those legs crossed ’til the big man comes home!


  4. Stupid songs. Who needs music that makes us tap into our emotions anyway?! Though the thought of your oldest comforting his little brother about did me in.

    Good luck, lady. xo

  5. Oh, I am so sorry. My husband was in the Military too and I know how that feels. I am hoping that he will be back for that baby! You are amazing and don’t feel badly that you had a meltdown. All of us do at one time or another, and I can’t think of a better reason!

  6. I just blew snot bubbles all over the computer screen, as I was half crying (okay, more than that) and half laughing over your delightful writing and your heart wrenching situation. I’d say one good remedy would be a quick stop at the doughnut shop–with taxes, as usual? Good luck, and thanks for all the laughs.

  7. It will pass more quickly than you think, my darling friend. Don’t brood. Give me a call if you need someone to talk you off the ledge from time to time!

  8. =( So sad. You are amazing. I hope I hope I hope that Baby waits for your hubby to return!

  9. Oh, I hope the next weeks go fast, for you and your babies. NOT FUN!

  10. Oh ma gosh, sounds soooo like me. This time last year: 4th baby, hubby out of town for a month straight, due right.after. he comes home. You’re a great sport. And I wasn’t, ’cause I was not amused when he said “man that would kinda suck if I missed the birth of the baby.” It wouldn’t just suck, bro-chacho.

  11. Nothing says “I love my man” like snot bubbles while driving.

    (And if it gets too rough, come meet me at The Chocolate in Orem and we’ll share a piece of their Hello Dolly cake…)

  12. Feet in the air. Legs crossed. Netflix all the Phineas and Ferb. Eat much sorbet. And salami. Five weeks will fly by.

  13. You know I hate to cry. I cry so ugly.

    Girl I’m sorry you have to go through all of that.

    But I did think while I was reading this that you are such a great person to support him in continuing to do what he loves to do.

    Love ya girl.

  14. That was really bad timing for that song to be played. That sounds like the story of my life though. Sorry that he is gone and I do hope it will pass by quickly and that he makes it home for the baby’s arrival. Good Luck!