The house is quiet, and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself (hence the blog post). After flying from Vancouver to Delhi via London I am in a jet-lagged fog. Should I be sleeping or staying awake? eating breakfast or dinner?  I compromised and ate dessert, gobbling up two pieces of pie and swearing that I’ll wake up early and jog tomorrow. 

Every time I’ve flown with the kids I’ve dreamed of what flying used to be like.  No juggling passports and bottles, babies and ipads going through security; having enough hands to grab a coffee and read a book; closing my eyes and catching a few hours of sleep and browsing the way too expensive duty free shops; the freedom of going to the washroom without juggling a baby and a backpack, not having the look  from my fellow passengers as they see us hobbling down the too narrow aisle bumping into knees and elbows, their eyes pleading “please don’t let that baby and toddler sit anywhere near me” and their disappointment when we do.  

A month ago if you’d asked me what I wanted more than anything I would have said a full night sleep and a day to myself.  Without the kids, the house is eerily quiet, my clothes stay too clean, and I am missing sweet snuggles. 

Rob is flying back later this week with both kids. I wonder if he realizes how lucky he is…

 

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