We’re on our way back to Vienna now, somewhere over the Atlantic (in the vicinity of Newfoundland, according to the map display on channel 63). I miss everyone at home already. I was just getting in to a rhythm there — just becoming pleasantly accustomed to visiting with my family and catching up with friends. I’m not ready to go back, and it’s only our upcoming return trip home that keeps me from being even sadder about our departure.
But although I wish I was still at home, I can’t get back to Vienna fast enough. My kids should be nominated for some kind of award for how well they weather whatever journey we ask them to undertake, but 9+ hours on a plane is a long trip for ANYONE, myself included. Liam is sleeping, Dan is resting, and Benjamin is sitting beside me, vowing not to sleep at all. For now, we are uncomfortably cramped (really, Guy Behind Me, is it required that you press your knees into the seat?), surprisingly warm, and holding our noses (forget security screening, they should screen people for body odor before allowing them to board).
Whatever happens with our sleep and our travels, it’s only 9 hours out of our lives, and tomorrow will come with opportunities for rest. It’s going to be a long night, though, and it’s less fun because we’re flying AWAY from where I’d like to be headed.