At 2:08 SF time (which would be 5:08 in Atlanta, where he landed) he called to say he's in the US again. I sigh a huge sigh of relief; I have far too much imagination to be happy about a situation like this, even when I'm being soothing and reasonable to everyone else. Since I was just in the middle of driving YG home from school, I hang up the cel phone with a great sense of weights being off my back, and we proceed home. On Wednesdays, Sarcasm Girl gets out at 1:26, so she's usually home by the time her sister and I get in. We get in. No older child. I text her, in case a class ran long. No answer. So finally, feeling like I have just exchanged one Large Weight for another one, I call her. She's fine, at a meeting with friends in a political organization at school, forgot to call, so sorry. I hang up the phone. From the other room YG calls me: she's got a rash on her torso that looks like she's having an allergic reaction to something. I give her Benadryl. All is well.
Is this a test? And if so, have I passed? Jeez.
The guy's plane was two hours and forty five minutes late in leaving; he got in to SF around midnight. I went and picked him up (an easy 20 minute drive including airport congestion time) and he is home, home, home.