Stuck Inside of Hungary with the Small Town Blues Again

Dear Icelandic Volcano With the Ridiculous Name,

Back the eff off. I would like my husband to come home now.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Sincerely,

Ms Picket

PS: If this is some kind of prank on your part to make us all think that Nostradamus and the Mayans were correct, I do not appreciate it one bit.

****

Uh-huh, the Kid's been held hostage in Budapest for 11 days thanks to pesky volcanic ash. I think he might be in a car now crossing through Serbia to get to Istanbul to get to maybe Dubai or maybe New York or maybe Vienna. I have learned more lately about the geography of Eastern Europe than I ever did in high school, which is disturbing on an entirely other level.

And it's vacation week -- woohoo! -- so my kids are determined to make me less their mom and chauffeur and cook and tutor and more their camp counselor and clown and granter of wonderful wishes like new toys every day and cookies for dinner. Um, what Short Drunk People? Are you drunk or something? I mean, I might take you out to dinner and make some cool stuff happen (a trapeze flight! sleepovers galore! overnight visits to besties towns away!) but you still have to brush your teeth and clear the table and OMFG! I will not be buying you a ripstick because it is a "beautiful day."

Nice try though.

The Kid, meanwhile, has needed to buy new pants and a shirt because while he was able to clean his clothes, I think he just got bored with the ones he had. Or all his clothes were being washed at once and I'm pretty sure his Hungarian host would prefer he keep his bits covered at all times. I think that's how they do things in Europe: no nudity around your co-workers. Prudes.

When my mother had little kids, my dad would travel for months at a time. This makes me feel like a whiner, but honestly, it's not the time away, it's the lack of knowing when the time away will end. It's the planning for his re-entry, changing that plan, the kids getting psyched that Daddy might be home, letting them down, that makes me sick and sad and self-pitying. And the same is true for the Kid: in the last five days, he's been booked on more cancelled flights from more parts of the world than most people will ever experience in a lifetime.

We've only spoken once on the phone throughout all of this. When we did, I told him that someday he'll tell a great story about being part of a hugely significant world event. He was very tired, so maybe he didn't hear me. There's a delay on the cell phone, so maybe that's why he didn't respond. But who's kidding who? I'm pretty sure I know what he was thinking and didn't have the heart or the time to say: "Listen, Picket: historical event my ass. If I could, I would plug up that volcano with my bear hands. I need a decent burger and my own bed and I need to hug my kids and kiss you. Screw this. I wanna come home."

And I would have said, yes, yes, me too. And also: who names a volcano hjwgehtuagjgjsdkull?