Good morning, Amsterdam, one last time!
Even under the best of circumstances, the trip home, with a one year old in tow, cannot be easy. For me, there are additional layers of complication. At the end of last week, Ed had a death in his family and he is, as of this morning, on a flight to New York for the funeral. His phone stopped working and so I have no way of communicating with him. And communicate I must, because he is to receive the schedule for his eye surgery, to take place tomorrow. It'll take place in Janesville (slightly under an hour south of Madison) and I'm to take him there and back. Somehow this is to fit in to the otherwise more predictable schedule -- Snowdrop's first day of school, my pick up of the little girl, etc. Ed's to go back to the hospital for a follow up the next day. The idea was floated that he and I simply overnight in Janesville, depending on the scheduling of it all. Which we don't know and wont know because I am over the Atlantic and he is in New York, without a phone.
But all this has to be put aside for now, because we have the big job of getting ourselves home today.
Travel over the Atlantic requires either nervous rushing (will we make it?) or big blocks of waiting. Both kids are, for their ages, great at coping. And as I look at the handful of photos, I see that they were asked to wait quite a bit.
Breakfast. Snowdrop peels her egg, Sparrow simply stuffs Dutch cheese in his little mouth.
(My own breakfasts have varied here. Today's picks...)
On this last day of the trip, I should include a Goggie photo (I've been renamed) with the kids. Because of course, on this trip, they are so much my focus!
And now we're rushing and waiting.
Get the bags down, leave the hotel, check in with the airline, argue but without hope about the disappearance of our bulkhead seats, file tax rebate forms, go through security check (such friendly agents!), passport control, find out about flight delay, ride the moving sidewalk, and wait some more.
The flight today is unusually long: about 9 hours in the air. We take a very northern route, right over the belly of Greenland. Has the hurricane pushed all air traffic upwards?
And here's perhaps the biggest surprise of the trip: both kids were angelic during the entire long day of travel. Snowdrop lost herself in videos, asking nothing more of us then help finding the restroom. Sparrow? He was all smiles all the time. He napped for maybe 40 minutes. During the entire flight he was on a lap, mostly mommy's (though twice I took him for a run down the aisles) and he chortled and cooed and endlessly pressed the TV screen in front of him. Of all my travels with the little guy, this was (shockingly) his best performance ever.
And finally we are in Chicago, and my son-in-law picks up the car and drives us all home.
Reflections? Not tonight. It's late and Ed should be flying in soon and of course, we must be up and tending to medical stuff at day break.
I'll say this much: travel, especially to distant places is intensely memorable. True, you can insulate yourself from most hassles by spending a fortune on smoothing wrinkles, by having others step in and solve your problems, but even if I had the financial resources, I wouldn't spend them in this way. Facing the headaches, figuring out ways to cope -- that's all part of the glory of being in strange places. Using your inner strength to help your little one overcome a rising meltdown in a Parisian restaurant is gratifying, for both of you! You learn and with little ones, you teach.
At home, the kittens come running. Cheepers too. They haven't seen food for a whole 12 hours! The littlest cats climb all over me, the adolescent six are also much easier to get close to. I can tell Ed's been spending a lot of time with these cats in my absence.
It's late. I'm terribly tired. And happy.
Even under the best of circumstances, the trip home, with a one year old in tow, cannot be easy. For me, there are additional layers of complication. At the end of last week, Ed had a death in his family and he is, as of this morning, on a flight to New York for the funeral. His phone stopped working and so I have no way of communicating with him. And communicate I must, because he is to receive the schedule for his eye surgery, to take place tomorrow. It'll take place in Janesville (slightly under an hour south of Madison) and I'm to take him there and back. Somehow this is to fit in to the otherwise more predictable schedule -- Snowdrop's first day of school, my pick up of the little girl, etc. Ed's to go back to the hospital for a follow up the next day. The idea was floated that he and I simply overnight in Janesville, depending on the scheduling of it all. Which we don't know and wont know because I am over the Atlantic and he is in New York, without a phone.
But all this has to be put aside for now, because we have the big job of getting ourselves home today.
Travel over the Atlantic requires either nervous rushing (will we make it?) or big blocks of waiting. Both kids are, for their ages, great at coping. And as I look at the handful of photos, I see that they were asked to wait quite a bit.
Breakfast. Snowdrop peels her egg, Sparrow simply stuffs Dutch cheese in his little mouth.
(My own breakfasts have varied here. Today's picks...)
On this last day of the trip, I should include a Goggie photo (I've been renamed) with the kids. Because of course, on this trip, they are so much my focus!
And now we're rushing and waiting.
Get the bags down, leave the hotel, check in with the airline, argue but without hope about the disappearance of our bulkhead seats, file tax rebate forms, go through security check (such friendly agents!), passport control, find out about flight delay, ride the moving sidewalk, and wait some more.
The flight today is unusually long: about 9 hours in the air. We take a very northern route, right over the belly of Greenland. Has the hurricane pushed all air traffic upwards?
And here's perhaps the biggest surprise of the trip: both kids were angelic during the entire long day of travel. Snowdrop lost herself in videos, asking nothing more of us then help finding the restroom. Sparrow? He was all smiles all the time. He napped for maybe 40 minutes. During the entire flight he was on a lap, mostly mommy's (though twice I took him for a run down the aisles) and he chortled and cooed and endlessly pressed the TV screen in front of him. Of all my travels with the little guy, this was (shockingly) his best performance ever.
And finally we are in Chicago, and my son-in-law picks up the car and drives us all home.
Reflections? Not tonight. It's late and Ed should be flying in soon and of course, we must be up and tending to medical stuff at day break.
I'll say this much: travel, especially to distant places is intensely memorable. True, you can insulate yourself from most hassles by spending a fortune on smoothing wrinkles, by having others step in and solve your problems, but even if I had the financial resources, I wouldn't spend them in this way. Facing the headaches, figuring out ways to cope -- that's all part of the glory of being in strange places. Using your inner strength to help your little one overcome a rising meltdown in a Parisian restaurant is gratifying, for both of you! You learn and with little ones, you teach.
At home, the kittens come running. Cheepers too. They haven't seen food for a whole 12 hours! The littlest cats climb all over me, the adolescent six are also much easier to get close to. I can tell Ed's been spending a lot of time with these cats in my absence.
It's late. I'm terribly tired. And happy.
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