Today we took Tim to the airport so he can start back to work and earn money to keep a roof over our heads.
In thinking it over last night it amazed me that with so many flights with babies and toddlers under my belt, 3 of the kids have never set foot on one. As I heard some childless career woman yammering about how awful her last flight was last week because a family with 3 small children were aboard, I whispered, "I'm so grateful it wasn't me she was complaining about." I have been there too many times to count, including when 6 month old Will suddenly developed a fever post take-off. I recall trying to cool him off with damp papertowels while staring out the window at the snow-capped Alps. Luckily a nice doctor at the Gatwick airport walked me to Boots, where I purchased a bottle of Panadol. Sufficed to say, I was a worn-out wreck of a woman by the time I reached the Norfolk airport.
Tim has had a lovely time the last few weeks mowing with his new tractor. He will fly back up in late September to fetch us when we will return to suburban life. In the meantime, I will be grateful for the help from our new babysitter Maggie who is coming every day so I can get in my run. I will also be appreciative of my helper Mary who has taken over the bedtime rituals for Charlie. He actually has said, "I like Mary doing it better." A woman I encountered a few years back told me, "the whole dynamic changes for the better once the oldest girl turns 9." I have to say that I see the light at the end of the Mommy-having-to-do-everything-tunnel.