Meg and I made it back home yesterday evening and had the joy of my mom's welcome at the airport. To me, at least, there's really nothing like having my own mommy there to greet me after I've been traveling.
Another blessed flight: for the most part, Meg hung in there, although a few wiggly moments turned into thrashing, whining moments when she realized Mommy wasn't going to let her down. Where was there to go? It was my lap or nothin'! Of course, as one of the check-in ladies at the Southwest desk observed, my lap is shrinking rapidly these days! Baby Brother is asserting his existence, feeling free to take up more space just as he pleases. I don't know that I would have wanted to sit on the remainder of my lap for an hour and-a-half if I was Meg!
For all of us, I think, the period when we were circling BWI, waiting to land, seemed eternal. Normally I would enjoy flying just a few thousand feet over the Chesapeake Bay on a gorgeous day when the sailboats are out in force. But. With an understandably antsy toddler on the edge of my knees and an unborn baby exerting enormous pressure on my extremely full bladder, all I wanted was to feel the jolt of those giant wheels touching down on the tarmac. And, praise the Lord, it finally happened.
Reading back through my Louisville Zoo post made me remember an "overheard" moment from that day that cracked me up. We were getting ready to leave the zoo, passing back by an animal called the addax. I don't know if you've ever seen these addaxes (addaxi?)--they are evidently a type of gazelle. They look rather like very skinny, white cows with gigantic, curvy, black antlers. So we're walking by this thing, and a little boy near us stops and leans over the fence to call to it, as it is facing away from him. "Adddddax!" he hollers. "Addddddddddddddddax!" Observing no response from the addax, the little boy wheels around and stalks away from the fence. "Dumb animal," he mutters disgustedly.
My David is still in Louisville, plugging away at finding the perfect audio mix at New Attitude. They are in a new room this year--a room that presents some acoustical difficulties. But my hubby is the right man for the job! I know that he won't rest on his laurels until he has exhausted all his options for making it sound just right. Darlin' Man, if you are reading this, know how much I love and miss you. I am counting the hours until you arrive back at home safe and sound.
Today is Memorial Day. I would wish all of you a "happy Memorial Day," but I'm not totally sure whether or not that makes sense. I know that we Americans like our holidays happy, but is Memorial Day really supposed to be? A grateful day, yes. A sober day? Perhaps.
I saw a young man at the airport yesterday. He had a close-cropped, military haircut and wore military fatigues and boots. He seemed to be coming home rather than shipping out, as he was waiting in the baggage claim. For whatever reason, there was no one there to welcome him, and he was standing all alone, unnoticed by the crowds all around. Then an elderly couple walked by, arm in arm, and as they passed him, the old lady turned to the young man and said respectfully, quietly, "Thank you."
I don't know exactly what the appropriate emotions for Memorial Day might be and, especially in a time of war, Americans may disagree on this point. But I know that this day is reserved for saying, "Thank you"--to those who have given their lives and to those who have lost their lives. I never want to forget how many have sacrificed to make this country a place where I can live and worship with freedom.