Leavin'...on a jet plane

M and I have been married almost nine years (our anniversary is next month!), and for a good portion of that time, he was a true road warrior. In and out of airports and hotels...too many to remember. He knows what the best seats are on which airplanes (exit row, two-seat side, aisle), and he knows where to find outlets for his computer and phone chargers in all the major hubs. He calls flights "segments" and he even had a waiter he knew by name at the Chili's in Chicago. He woke up once in our bedroom and wondered briefly what city he was in. One week he had something like six or eight segments.

So, you would think that I would be used to saying good-bye to him when he leaves on another business trip. You would think.

Reality is that when I send him out the door, in his crisp dry-cleaned shirt and freshly laundered black pants (looking very handsome, I might add), towing his wheelie luggage with his laptop bag perched on top, cell phone clipped smartly to his belt...I still tear up.

This morning I didn't have to send him off alone, though. Zozo and I kissed him good-bye together and waved to him all the way down the street, until we couldn't see his little blue sports car any more. And yes, I cried. Even though he'll be back Wednesday. Zozo waved, and then stuck her fingers in her mouth to feel her new tooth for the umpteenth time.