Me on a Plane :: A One Woman Show

31 May 2012

I should not be allowed to travel alone.

There was an incident with lotion (all over my shirt… at 5 am; commence silent wardrobe meltdown in the fickle darkness of an apartment filled with sleeping children), too many Entertainment Weeklys torn and stuffed into the carryon, a late night panic attack over a misplaced library book, and a showdown between the nook and three paperbacks I was highly unlikely to read. 

All that being said, this chaotic one-woman show is nothing compared to flying overseas with three children, the lotion was not baby vomit, and I don’t have to worry at all about packing an extra pair of trousers and underwear for myself (too much information? Have you ever been on a plane with a baby/toddler/older strong-willed child with a small bladder and a bottomless cup of sprite?). 

Today, the diaper bag has been replaced with the laptop bag, and I am spending the day in the city where I fell in love. 


Truth be told, I fell in love with both the city and the boy, and this is where we started our life together. It’s a strange thing to come back as visitor to the place you once called home. As we descended over a dizzying maze of suburbs and highways, I tried to think back before all the moves and all the babies and most of the heartache and a dozen years, when it was just us and an apartment in the city. 

And a cat. I forgot about the cat.
And a red Honda hatchback with a blue fender. We called her The Egg.
And a cell phone the size of an iPad.
And beautiful, impractical dreams.
And a lake the size of the Irish Sea.

It’s good to be home. Again.

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