Everyone told me the jet lag is worse coming
back to Turkey. I think they are sooo right. The kids and I managed to stay up until about 7pm last night (Friday). JB let me sleep through the night on Ambien. I only got up one time to help him when all three kids were wide awake at the same time. Poor JB said he only managed a few hours otherwise. Someone was always wide awake. Including Isaac who needed cereal at 2am.
Seven hours is a lot of time change!
All three kids slept in (ranging from 8am until 10!) and we are all pushing through today with as few naps as possible. Abigail and I have both taken one but our poor little boys are trudging through the mud without one -- all in the hopes that we sleep through the night as soon as possible.
Not sure what I would do right now without my caffeine of choice: Mountain Dew. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
So backing up a bit. The trip home.
Amanda dropped us off at the airport around 2pm, and I immediately got
zero (aka ... none, zilch, nada) encouragement from the check-in-people as to whether or not I would get on the flight. I started fretting. I admit it. Immediately. Some people fret the night before. I didn't. But once there, waiting for the 3:30pm roll call, I started freaking out a bit.
Space A is interesting. Their first priority is obviously to get all the deployed troops to their location and to get all PCS'ing people
(of which we were ones two years ago) to their new homes. They also get people who are attending military-related-events (like meetings) or storknesting mothers back to their families. That sort of thing.
Then, whatever space they have left, is given to people who
want to travel. You are given a seat based on your category. There are five categories. I was Category 4 because I took a special once-a-year leave (EML) that we get because we live in a remote location. If JB was with us, I'd have been in Category 2. But without him, we are 4. I was about halfway down the list -- which they post on a bulletin board.
I was told by nearly everyone ahead of time that if I picked a time to go when school was in session and flew on EML, I would definitely get seats for the four of us. You get there. You mark yourself present on a list you have been on for days, weeks, or months. And you wait.
And you wait. And you wait. And you wait.
The people who work the desk often give you NO clue as to whether you will get on. Nothing. So I waited with about fifty other people to see if I got a seat. We were informed that there were a lot of people deploying this day. That the next flight (on Saturday -- which didn't continue on to Turkey) had tons of extra seats. But that today was quite full.
Three names were called. Just the top of the list. And then they said that the flight was full.
I started crying. I tried not to. I just couldn't help it.
They did say that we could sit and wait and see if some people who had been given seats didn't show. Some people left. But of course I stayed. I didn't really have a lot of other places to go. And despite knowing inside that there was still a chance, I lost my cool.
One of my weaknesses, I admit, is staying calm when things don't go as I had planned. I hadn't planned, at all, to have to stay in D.C. for another week. Or for going to Germany on Saturday and finding another way home to Turkey. I had mailed all our luggage. We each had one change of clothes. I didn't have formula or diapers or anything for more than a few days.
I called Amanda. Crying. She told me that we were welcome to stay with her until Saturday. Her mother came in after that. Sweet Amanda. I called JB. The call didn't go through. (He told me he was waiting, awake, to hear from me, but that he never got the call.)
A rumor started swirling amongst my fellow calmer-than-me-waiters. There were fifty-some-seats. Minus the people who were waiting in line. I had made friends with a bunch of people waiting. We started counting. Estimating. Twenty-some people in line. I seemed to be, if I counted right, numbers 18-22 for my four seats. Maybe I'd get a seat.
I made alternate plans. A woman with two kids was going to try and get on a flight out of Dover. I contemplated going with her. I thought about a hotel. Amanda said she'd get me to a grocery store. I paced. I told Elijah, multiple times, that no, we could not go poopy while I waited to hear if my name was called. When I finally did decide to run and let him go, I had to leave Isaac with a fellow waiter, and cut Elijah off before he thought he was done.
Another family, there to see a new mom's husband off, stayed and waited long after their husband left, to see if I got on. They were Christians. They figured out I was one to due to my kids' names. "Bible names," the new mom said when she saw my tears. "You must be a praying Momma." I nodded. "So am I," she said. "I'll go pray for you. So will my mom."
We prayed. Names started getting called. Mine was one of the last. But it did get called. We were on! Praise the Lord.
We boarded the plane. I think we were the last to board after getting through security by myself with the kiddos.
(Although they had four seats reserved for us, which meant, someone probably knew a lot earlier that we had a chance of getting on?)
At this point I was told there was no overhead storage left, and I would have to check all of our luggage. Now this won't work with my three kids. I had everything perfectly piled in and the extra changes of clothes, formula, diapers, etc. were in that one piece of luggage.
People were incredibly accommodating. Most everyone was in uniform -- heading to Afghanistan or somewhere else remote. And most are leaving wife and children. I had many soldiers and airman and sailors tell me, "My wife and two kids are going to be doing this next month. You are amazing for doing this with three. I will help you in any way I can." One airman offered to put his overhead luggage under my seat so that I could fit my too-big bag-for-under-the-seat in the overhead compartment.
The first flight was eight hours. And about two hours in, all three kiddos fell asleep. Elijah was back on the floor. I figured I'd try it again, even though the previous flight I had been told he wasn't allowed. I realize that there a lot of rules (like where Abigail's seat was allowed to go) that varied from flight to flight. So I decided to see if anyone told me he had to move. They didn't! (Although I didn't try to make it obvious what I was doing either.) He slept on the floor, Abigail slept in her chair, and Isaac, who is one of those can-scrunch-himself-up-and-fall-asleep-so-easily-kids slept in his chair.
Unfortunately Elijah and Abigail took turns waking up just enough that I never even had a chance to doze on the flight. This proved to be the hardest part for me. Since we were flying overnight (on the way there we flew during the day), I found myself so incredibly tired with no way to even
rest. I thus decided to drink coke nearly the entire way. This worked, but left me climbing over the car seat nearly every hour to go to the bathroom.
We stopped in Germany. I was then told that I had to take
all of our stuff off the plane so they could clean it. Seriously?! Could I have my stroller? Yes, if I went through security to get it. I had decided ahead of time not to fight through security in and out this time. They only give you about fifteen minutes. It just isn't worth it. (The only people who do are smokers who need to get outside.) If I didn't have a stroller, how could I get all of my stuff out without having someone or multiple people help me the whole time?
I waited until the plane emptied and then went and asked a cleaner person if I could leave my stuff. He said no. A flight attendant stepped in and came to my rescue, arguing my case. "She has three little kids all by herself," she said -- which she knew because the attendants had been SO helpful on the flight bringing me water and snacks and holding Abigail whenever I needed them to. The man caved. He let me leave our stuff on.
Another small miracle.
So we found a spot on the floor in Germany in the waiting room before security and customs and just hung out until they reboarded us for our three hour flight. Just three hours to go!
Here we are on take-off for our final flight from Germany to the U-S-A. We are so close. I can taste it. I've almost made it.
I was so tired. That was the worst part. Going on thirty hours. No sleep at all.
We got off the flight in Adana to see that they had let JB come onto the tarmac! There he was. Elijah dropped all his stuff and backed up to do his "running hug." So happy! John had also made arrangements with someone (nearly everyone who works there is his patient) to get us through the passport line off to the side. Such a blessing.
But we made it. We are home. This is truly home. I'm so glad to be here.
And so glad to have Mountain Dew.
