I’m waiting—we’re waiting that is—for a flight to take off in Denver so that we can head to the airport to pick up one of the flight’s passengers. You see, my time as a foster mom is quickly coming to an end as my lovely foster daughter prepares to move with family back east. And on that flight is her big sister, who is coming out to pick up the kid.

The kid was so excited when she woke up this morning and even had the hours down before we’d be picking up Big Sis. And when I dropped her off at day care she let everyone know just how many hours it would be until I was back to pick her up so that we could pick up Big Sis.

But sometime around noon I got word that the flight was delayed by an hour. So I didn’t rush to the day care because time was no longer tight. However, when I got there at 3:15, the kid instantly jumped up (she had her jacket on and belongings in her bag around her shoulder) and started heading to the door. I had to remind her that she needed to say goodbye because she wouldn’t be back on Monday. And she did—with smiles from ear-to-ear.

It broke my heart to tell her at that time that the flight was delayed an hour and that we’d be going home to relax for a bit before making the drive to the airport more than an hour north. But then I got another text from Big Sis—with news of further delays.

So now we’re at the house and I’m checking flight details to get the latest updates. The flight is now about 2½ hours delayed which means a later night than imagined. And a kid with anxiety issues wearing ruts in the floor with her back-and-forth pacing.

(There is a reason I will not fly into Denver for connecting flights, you know!)

Anyhow, we’re waiting for Big Sis. And I’m waiting for the tearful goodbyes. It’s such a happy-sad time for both of us right now, and I sometimes I can’t figure out which of us is doing the best job at pretending to be all cool and nonchalant about the whole thing.