We're Not In Kansas.....

Well, I never was in Kansas, but Ohio is pretty close. 

Our journey to Scotland was one we won't soon forget.  After we finally got on our flight to Newark from Cleveland after delays, we were informed by the captain that due to weather, we were in an indefinite holding pattern.  David was in the row behind me, and because we had already been passing Madison back and forth (neither of us wanted a fussy, kicking two-year old, I guess), we could only just peek at each other through the crack in the seats and mouth, "Oh, God, no." 

After an hour and a half of the plane circling (and circling), we were told that we would be landing in Buffalo to refuel.  At this point, we had been on the plane for over two hours, less than the length the original flight was supposed to be, and I was beginning to worry about the girls not having anything to eat.  Their last meal had been lunch, and aside from snacks, they were running on empty.  The flight attendant offered us a granola bar.  Thanks.

In the end, we landed in Newark at about 9 pm, three hours later than it was supposed to arrive.  Needless to say, we missed our Scotland flight by an hour.  The silver lining was that there was another leaving at 10:20, so we would get on that flight and have something to eat in the meantime.

I must rewind here and say that Cameron fell asleep on the Newark flight.  Highly unusual, and very suspect for either of my children to fall asleep unexpectedly.  Madison had been sick earlier in the week, and I had my fingers crossed that it would skip Cameron....

However, when David was in line with Madison to get food, I looked over and Cameron was puking all over the food court in Newark airport.  I mean, it was everywhere.  All I could do was helplessly cup my hands together and catch some of it.  Not too sure why, but I guess that's just what Mommies do.  We catch puke.

The day had been incredibly long already, and included difficult goodbyes, long waits, missed flights, and restless kids.  But I must say, I felt so confident in my decision to move that nothing was going to faze me.  Until Cameron threw up.

David ran over and I looked up at him, hands filled, tears in my eyes, and said, "David, heeelllppp!"  After that moment, I pulled myself together and busied myself with the task of discreetly cleaning up my mess without fellow eaters noticing (luckily it was quiet that night).  David immediately marched over to the gate and cancelled the flight that we had just booked several minutes prior, and like a sign sent from God, happened to speak to a sympathetic employee who booked us into a Ramada Inn that night for free.  After ensuring we would be on the Edinburgh flight the next evening, she wished us luck and we were on our way.

We had to wait about 45 minutes for a shuttle from the hotel to arrive, and much to my dismay, Madison was still wired for sound.  After about two minutes on the bus, however, I looked over at my little trooper sleeping soundly on my arm.  We arrived around 11 pm, sleepy and a bit smelly.  We put the girls to bed, cleaned ourselves up, and I headed down to the store in the hotel to bring back some well-deserved alcohol for my love and I.

The next day, we killed as much time as we could at the hotel, but checkout was at 12.  Our flight wasn't until 8pm. 

Do I need to repeat myself?  We had eight hours before our flight, two toddlers, and nowhere else to go but the airport.  I was still feeling quite emotionally strong, though, so I put on a smile and we headed out.

The girls were amazing.  I'm not sure when I've been so proud of them, but I will stick to my belief that "as long as I'm okay, they're okay."  We walked around, looked at the shops, had snacks, ate lunch, played games, watched movies on David's computer, and took lots of rides on those cool escalators that make it seem like you're walking on air.  David wasn't sure if we should risk putting Cameron on the plane with her still not feeling 100%, but the thought of another night in a hotel was less than appealing, and I was ready to go.  Aside from a moment before boarding when we thought there could be more puke, we confidently got on the flight and said our last goodbyes to America.

The girls fell asleep quickly, but I don't know how.  It was probably the bumpiest flight I'd ever experienced, and I wasn't a happy camper.  All my emotions came flooding in...the stress, the reality of leaving the life I have known for so long, a deep need to protect my children from harm....all topped with this shitty flight.  I happened to have Rescue Remedy in my bag, and trust me, I was putting drop after drop under my tongue, waiting patiently to be rescued.  Although the whole flight was bumpy, I managed to relax enough to get there (again, with the help of some wine).

I hadn't slept the entire flight, but that wasn't unusual for me.  I don't sleep on airplanes.  This flight, however, I had my babies with me, and I was in Mama Bear mode for the entire six-and-a-half hours.  It was an emotional journey.

When the sun peeked through the shades of the plane, I knew we would be there soon.  It was a new beginning, a new day, and the light coming through the clouds was breathtaking.  We would be landing soon, and the girls woke up with the commotion.  When Scotland came into view, I marveled at its beauty...the deep green, the mountains, the lakes (or lochs, I should say)....all becoming clearer the further we descended.  It's so different here, I thought, and different is good. 

Our wheels touched down, and we were home.  For now.  Until life takes us in another direction, on a different journey somewhere else we're meant to be. 

Until then....Scotland it is.