Waiting for that call...

My family is waiting. Simply waiting. We're waiting for that call. The phone will ring, clearly as a director calling action in a studio, and my family, the actors in this play, will spring into motion.



Chris or I will quietly remind his mother to call the Red Cross to send an emergency message to the ship. He'll meet that message at the ship and type up his emergency leave request.

I'll pull the last clean load of laundry out of the dryer and quickly find whatever is in it that I need to pack in the almost full bags that wait by the front door.

Chris and I will visit with the Navy and Marine Relief Society, while kids crawl all over us as we try to explain why we have to get to Texas, that day. Hopefully we'll leave there with the funds to make it all the way.

I'll rush through the house when we get back to pack up the car. I'll be washing the last dirty dishes as quickly as I can. I'll scrub the bathroom that the cat's litter box is in and quickly throw every toy I can find into toy boxes.

Chris will begin loading bags into the car, trying to make sure that there is enough room for Tiger to lay down in the back. She'll be traveling with us.

I'll make the phone calls I need to make here in Florida. Someone to feed the cat and the fish. Make sure that the fish food is somewhere they can find it. Put the key in the lock box.

And then we'll load up the car. I'm sure that Alex will be fussing about having to sit in the car seat. Kairi will cheer "Tes-es! Tes-es!" not comprehending how long the trip to Texas will really take.

14-20 hours later (you never know how long when you travel with kids...), we'll be there. We'll get to Chris' parents' house, and collapse in the guest bed. I'm sure once we're there, or maybe on the way there, we'll remember all the things we didn't get packed. Kairi's "princess" shoes? Her dress? Maybe the pack'n'play? Or perhaps Alex's favorite blanket and horse? I know we won't forget Day because we wouldn't make it out of Jax before Kairi would be crying for Day and her pink (pink fuzzy blanket).

During our trip, Chris' mother and I will trade phone calls, trying to make sure that someone can take care of the kids. Or at least, Kairi. Alex is too young to ask questions or understand. But Kairi would shout her questions and understand just enough to scare her. Can you imagine during the service, Kairi shouting "Hey guy! What you doing?!?" to the preacher? Or her yelling "Fruffar! Let's crawl!" and then shooting under the pews to the front. She would crawl from one loving lap to another, and ask them why they were crying. She would wipe at the tears on Nana's, Papa's, and Pop-pop's faces and tell them to smile. She would never understand why they didn't obey. I don't want her to look into the casket and then look at me and ask "Mommy, Why Grandma sleeping? Tell her to wake up! WAKE UP GRANDMA! WAKE UP!" And most of all, I don't want one of her first memories to be her great-grandmother's face in a casket. That's a scary memory to have -- I know it dearly.


Throughout the entire trip, the trip to the funeral, the trip to Midland (maybe?), and the trip back to Jax, I know that I'll be anxious for the director to finally call cut. And it will happen, the phone will ring, this time on my mil's end, and when she picks up the phone to hear me say that we're home, I'll hear it whispered in my ear "Cut -- You're home Stephanie. Now, get those babies to bed."