I’ve walked these streets before, only I didn’t know how I’d missed them. The crunching pebbles, the bricks, the stone. The rolling hills, the endless clouds, the circling gulls.
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| All photos credit to Ashlee Wells |
Travel here was almost peaceful. Our first flight was short enough to be exciting, and thank the Lord for spinach puffs. The Children’s Museum exhibit in the Chicago airport may be one of the greatest things we have ever experienced. Who thought to put a large play area in an airport? A brilliant mother, I’m sure.
The flight we dreaded-- all the way across the Atlantic, and then up and over some more-- took us by surprise. The woman to my left talked to Sebastian as we ascended. He reached for her, and she held him on her lap and played with his hands and glowed. Bottles, chamomile, kisses and prayers. It’s incredible how the normal routine can keep a child so comforted, no matter where.
We flew on an over-booked Boeing 777, and once the doors were shut and sealed, our cabin crew informed us only one cot was allocated to the small[er] plane. Peter, “Maybe they can share?” and then, “I guess I’ll stay up all night with one. You sleep.”
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Katharina claimed the lone cot. I rocked her in my seat for several minutes, sang her favourite songs, and laid her to bed; out like a light. Sebastian fell fast asleep buried deep in his Papa’s arms. Not even a fuss or whimper from either. It seemed too good to be true.
We were provided a quilt from First Class, two small pillows and several fleece blankets to make Sebastian a bed by my feet. He slept through the night, well into the morning, and woke just in time to hear the announcement that we were descending into London. Katharina slept on. And on and on. Once I rubbed her little head and she stirred and we thought she’d be waking. She drifted off again. First down, last up- as usual.
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We fed them during the descent and showed them the Thames and picked up rice cake crumbs off the floor as we taxied. I slept 3 broken hours, alternating between my seat and Peter’s-- hoping one would provide more comfort than the other to my aching back.
Breathless, we ran to our gate in Heathrow. Our layover: -2 hours. My mind was fogged; vision blurred, I continued seeing “Gate Closes: 13:00” written on the boarding passes in my hand. I glanced at my phone and we ran. There was no need counting on fingers, trying to calculate the time difference. We were counting minutes. Now seconds.
Peter’s heavy eyes didn’t rest a wink those 30-plus hours. He was the one to fill my water bottle -- half ice, half water; he knows-- 37 times in that 8 hour flight and wrap me in his jacket when the air conditioning came on full-blast. He loved us all truly, tenderly. He rubbed my weary legs, rocked a tired child. He never showed he’d been awake for 30 hours and had been refreshed by only a cold croissant and frozen cup of orange juice. He hired a cab. Was he even frustrated when our bags never circled the carousel?
I could never battle life without him alongside me. This man is God’s goodness poured out on me.
When we first arrived sleep was calling us all, and the cry seemed endless, and unpredictable. Our children often tired early. Their droopy, tear-filled eyes cried for a third rest. At 22:00 they would wake for a second dinner, at 09:00 they were anxious for a nap.
After several days, we're starting to think we are feeling the swing of things; we seem to be recovering faster than we expected.
Our new home is lovely. One day, I hope to post photos. It's fresh and clean and cozy; we were far from disappointed upon arrival.
There is a giant pigeon that visits our apple tree several times a day. His call reminds me of Tigger’s purr and the blowing wind. He’s fatter than Harold, the pigeon we somehow began to have affection for at our house last year, and startled Sebastian when he flew right in front of his face.
We've spent some time exploring the town together, because there’s always more to see. Sebastian and Katharina were content and happy, as if they remembered everything we passed. Sebastian lets out a continued “ahh” every time we walk along the cobblestones, fascinated by the rumbling in his voice. Katharina sits and sings and stares. She’s quiet and drinks everything in.
And our little one is just fine. My belly is round and hard; breathing through a contraction, she’s reminding me she is here, and her day to arrive is nearer and nearer. They’re becoming stronger and more frequent, these contractions, and I’m thankful we are busy and settling and she will be here soon.
