Looking back I remember feeling that it was a long way off, but suddenly our last night has reached us. In twenty-four hours we will be in the air over the Atlantic.When you look at it on the map, it seems kind of far-ish. We have just finished the last should-it-go-in-the-duffel-or-the-suitcase argument and laid out tomorrow’s clothes. We’ve said all of our goodbyes except two of the hardest (Alex’s mom and dad). We keep telling ourselves to go to bed, but Alex is working and I’m sitting here digging up maps of the Atlantic on Google. We’ve both been feeling sort of wound up and restless all day.
Something that I know will be funny to me someday: (1) I will be carrying 11 pounds of food for Norah to somehow consume between Sunday night and whenever we arrive and find a market on Monday. It’s true. I just weighed it. This amounts to half of her body weight. And she hasn’t been eating much anyway, because she’s sick. But, I keep thinking, what if we somehow can’t change over our money and can’t buy her anything to eat for 24 hours? Or 48? Never fear, Mommy is here with 11 pounds of assorted delicacies to tempt even the most jet-lagged little miss. (“Norah, would you like some oatmeal? Raisins? Applesauce? Granola bars? If you eat your canned green beans Mommy has some fruit snacks for you!”)
I know, I’m so melodramatic! I can’t seem to be able to help myself. I just know tomorrow I’ll be trudging through that airport with the immortal words of John Denver sounding in my brain…”I’m leavin’ on a jet plane…” and feeling like a pioneer because I’m going to England. Then I’ll remember Ann Judson, who left for BURMA and couldn’t even hear from her family for the rest of her life, and remember that I am a total wuss. And then bringing 11 pounds of food for Norah will start to be funny.