And that’s the last we ever saw of our island home. We watched as it disappeared in to the distance, the city lights in Waikiki becoming nothing more than another shinning spec in the sea. That’s when it hit me, it’s over. It’s really over. How fast three years can go, you blink and they’re gone. Older people are especially fond of relaying advice such as this to me. Perhaps they see me struggling with the day to day reality of raising two kids who are 20 months apart in a military environment. “Days are long and years are short” they all echo, I ponder the truth of this sentiment as I recline my seat on the off chance that I’m actually able to get some shut eye.
Eight hours of flight time and a rushed connection later and we’re in Nebraska. This is no longer my homeland. I have adjusted to the tropics quite nicely and my little brood agree, we were not created for this breath-viewing cold. Breath in, breath out, rub hands, do a “chilly dance,” repeat. Time passes, more snow falls, repeat again even though it’s “spring” now.
Six weeks we’ll spend on the great white, frozen plains of Nebraska… at least the company is good. Currently homeless, my mother and father in law have taken us weary refugees in, and thank goodness, I couldn’t have asked for a better place to rest up for the journey ahead. My parents live in the same city as well, so there are lots of grandmas, grandpas, aunts and uncles for the kids and I to visit, though unfortunately, no Daddy. We miss him terribly. Thirty six days until we’re reunited in the Denver International Airport, and what a reunion that will be amidst trying to catch our flight with two kids, a stroller, a couple of carseats and about 46 odd checked bags and carry ons. Adventure is out there, I just wish I didn’t have to survive the plane ride to it. Perhaps that in itself is the adventure though… at least that’s how, I’m fairly sure, an older, wiser mother would advise me to look at it.