Leaving on a Jet Plane

While we were in Scotland during the third week of June, seeing things like this:
this:
and this:
and doing things like this:
this:
and this:
PapaRuss (Henry), Pooh (Lynn), and Boo (Mom) were here in Charleston, suited up and ready with their A-game to provide nourishment, entertainment, supervision, and boatloads of affection to our two most precious creatures.

This one:
and this one:(The two creature photos were taken by PapaRuss.)

Pooh and PapaRuss came from Kansas and stayed at our house for over a week. Boo subbed in regularly to give them time off.

We were across the Atlantic Ocean having the time of our lives, traveling old-school style: walking for miles, staying up until 3 in the morning, taking spontaneous hikes, and eating whatever and whenever we wanted. The days seemed to have a dozen more hours. But by night #5, I missed Owen so much, I felt physically ill. I lay there in bed one night (Bill had fallen asleep already) calming plotting to wake up the next morning, call the airlines, and change our flight to the next available departure.

The next day, we drove down to the Scottish Borders to meet up with a dozen other friends at the magnificent Linthill manor house, which provided much-needed 24-hour distraction and fun. We continued our glorious week, although a big part of my heart was back in Charleston. (No one tells you that having babies somewhat compromises your vacations.)

On all of our past trips, we've spent at least some portion of our time fantasizing about living wherever we were forever and staying on permanent vacation. But this time, for the first time ever, by the end of our trip I was ready to go home.

Having survived 30+ hours of travel (driving from Melrose to Edinburgh, flying to London, Flying to RDU, driving to Charleston), we walked in the door a few hours after Owen had gone to bed. After putting our things down and greeting Henry and Lynn, I made my way into Owen's room and softly touched his back. He woke up immediately, looked at me, and whispered, "MAMA." Then he sat up in his crib and looked at me and I looked at him and he smiled and I smiled and then he started laughing and I started laughing. And we sat there quietly giggling, me leaning over his crib, rubbing his cheeks and arms and legs, and trying to remain calm and quiet and resist the urge to shriek and pick him up and squeeze him and jump up and down and go up on top of the roof and announce so everyone could hear, "MY BABY!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!! AND I'LL NEVER LEAVE YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

But I know I will and we will, and I know it will be good for him, just like it was this time. And it will be good for us, too, just like it was this time.

Thank you, Pooh and Papa Russ. And thank you, Boo. That was a gift we will never forget.

Love,

Us