I love my mother.

I love my mother. But....

Because my mother would have had to wait at the airport for over 2 hours to catch the shuttle to my house I agreed to drive the 2:45ish minutes to O'hare to pick her up for her month long visit with us.

Her flight originated in Frankfurt, Germany. She had a layover in Detriot before catching her last leg to Chicago. Unfortunately, I had to leave my house before her flight from Detroit left for Chicago. Even on the best of days there's a better than 50/50 chance that her flight could be or would be delayed for some reason.

Armed with my handy dandy cell phone I called the airline to get a flight status and sure enough there was a 30 minute delay. Greaaaaaaaat. So much for my planned drive-by pick. Now I'm pretty much committed to parking and collecting her at baggage claim. So I set the cruise control for 65 instead of the usual 78 and took my time hoping to save some unneccessary ass time at the airport.

Just a few minutes after getting the flight status my handy dandy cell phone rings with a number that I don't recognize at all but I answer it anyway. It's my mother sounding strangly "cheerful" informing me that her flight was delayed and that a nice woman at the bar was letting my mother use her cell phone to call me. Greaaaaaaaaat. I tell her I already knew her flight was delayed and that I would park and collect her at baggage claim.

After we hung up I noticed that her flight ought to be boarding soon and I hoped she was getting her butt outta that bar soon.

I arrive just in time to see all the Detroit passengers claiming their bags. I look around intently but don't see my mother. Figuring her for a nicotine fit I went outside to look. Hmmm, no mother. After doing this circuit twice, maybe three times, I break down and go to ticket counter to have her paged.

The lovely counter agent informs me that my mother did not make her scheduled flight but would be arriving on the NEXT FLIGHT landing in and HOUR! Greaaaaaat.

I trot my ass back to the car to retrieve my latest J.A. Jance novel. On the way back I attempt to locate one of the ubiquitous Starbucks that seems to multiply at aiports. But, no o o o o oo, they are all ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE SECURITY CHECKPOINT. And, one must possess a boarding pass to go through said checkpoint.

I stroll around and determine there is exactly NOTHING to eat or drink in the baggage claim area of Terminal 2 at O'Hare airport. Greaaaaaaat.

Finally 6:00 approaches. I park myself near the escalator dispatching newly arrived passengers. Oddly, no passengers seem interested in the NW carousel. About 6:15 I finally approach the lost/missing luggage counter and ask when the next Detriot flight will be arriving. Oh, that flight was delayed until 6:30. Greaaaaaat.

Finally, at 6:45 my mother strolls down the escalator and claims her luggage which had managed to wait for her to arrive WITHOUT festering resentment, unlike me.

Needless to say it was one very quiet ride home. Mostly because she SLEPT most of the way. Good thing she's staying for 4 weeks. There's some hope I may have forgiven her for this before she leaves.