Home again, home again, jiggety jig

I got to the airport on time. I got on my plane on time. We took off on time. We made good time. We were even going to be early.

I could all but see the white spires of DIA when the pilot announced that we would have to circle Kansas for a few minutes as we waited for weather to clear. About half a circle in, he announced we'd been diverted to Colorado Springs. I already knew the maddening answer, but I asked a stewardess any way: Was there any way I could get off? Of course the answer was no.

My husband was at the Springs airport waving at our parked plane, one of about 20. He suggested I fake a heart attack. I pondered the long term effects of getting arrested on an airplane simply to save myself an hour-and-a-half of driving home. Common sense and pride over my blank rap sheet prevailed.

I eventually got home two hours later than I should've. But my mother and husband had managed to keep Riley up for a quick and cheerful greeting before I took her upstairs to settle in for the night. It had been a long, hard, fantastic week away. But Dorothy's cliche rings true: There's no place like home.