I arrived home late last night, after 16 hours of travel, from a last minute trip to New York. An important audition came up, and given our current circumstances, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for possible employment. I bought a last minute ticket on Friday, and was airborne on Monday…hubby home with the kids, pumped breast milk in the freezer.
There are literally 8 different topics I could write about, spurred on by last few days. Do I write about Isabelle’s refusal to take my milk from anything but body parts attached to me, therefore getting zero nutrients from milk for 2 and a half days? Or, my amazing spouse who dropped everything to do what I myself have not yet done…caring for both kids for 3 days and 2 nights, unassisted? Do I write about the crazy, scary, invigorating culture shock I felt, as I was catapulted back into Times Square, an area that a lifetime ago felt as much like home as my own backyard? How about the silly awkwardness I embody when sitting amongst fellow auditioners? Or, the cancellation of my 3rd connecting flight, that left me pleading with a ticketing agent to get me home to my starving daughter? I could also write a couple of pages depicting my mission to find airport locations in which to pump milk in private. And then, there was the fallen soldier transported on that final flight home. As I watched the cardboard coffin, decorated in red, white and blue, slide from underneath my window, his family and military escorts standing with somber solutes, I realized that nothing I could write about mattered very much at all.
Today, I am abundantly thankful for all of our men and women overseas, and that my babies are close to me at home. God Bless all of you.