They Say Reentry Is The Tricky Part...

The whole time we were in London, I kept thinking of the experience as an extended stay in Oz. This week has shown me, however, that I was thinking incorrectly. We were not in Oz; we were in outer space. I know this because we didn't tap our shoes together to get home; instead we plummeted back into the U.S. atmosphere at much too steep of an angle!

The first item of our bumpy reentry is that Kyle got sick a few days before we left London and has been unable to shake it--hacking up a lung and feeling totally crummy for almost two weeks now. I feel so badly for him! It sure makes moving less than pleasant...

Then the moving-related fun began late last Saturday night when Kyle found that the only passport not in my purse was mine. (We had gone down into London the week before to take an open-top bus tour and had forgotten to get the passport back out of the jacket pocket--you know, the place it would be safe all day--at the end of the day.) So, my passport had been packed neatly and carted away with our household goods on the slow boat back to Texas two days before we discovered it missing and three days before I needed it to leave the U.K. The fact that the U.S. embassy is only open for passport problems on weekdays and that we were flying out the next day made for a rather sleepless last night in London. We did have a photo copy of it on our computer, so we printed it out, prayed really hard, and headed to the airport Sunday morning, hoping for much border-security mercy. After several phone calls, I was granted a stay of execution and allowed to get on the plane and come home with my family. The flight itself was pretty uneventful, but I was again investigated on this end, but the U.S. border people also pardoned me. I had successfully come home with my family without my passport. YEAH! Let me tell you, the feeling of gratitude has still not worn off!!! Being stuck in London, probably until after Christmas, when my family was in the states would have been terrible.

So we got back to Texas late Sunday night and checked into our corporate apartment, my sweet brother-in-law Dustin meeting us at the airport and then spending the next couple of days with us. They were a whirlwind of activity, too--signing up for mobile phone service, having work done on our pickup truck, getting food in the house, etc. Then Christmas eve morning, Dustin flew back to Idaho and I flew to Tulsa to pick up our new van, almost missing my flight and running through the airport like a mad woman only to end up switching planes and getting delayed by mechanical problems for the next two hours. (We drive up into the North enough during the winter months that we really wanted a four-wheel drive minivan, and Tulsa was the closest place I could find one.) The drive back from Tulsa was uneventful, and I actually got to spend a relaxing Christmas eve with my wonderfully jet-lagged family.

Christmas morning was as wonderful as ever, remembering the Savior together, opening a few gifts, and enjoying being together, but things changed around noon when I started having chest pains, TERRIBLE chest pains. They got progressively worse until I had Kyle take me to the emergency room. After running tests all afternoon at the E.R., the attending physician said he couldn't find anything wrong, would be uncomfortable sending me home, would rather be safe than sorry (or have me dead--spoilsport), and checked me into the cardiac wing of Richardson Regional Hospital. So, I got to spend all Christmas afternoon and night in the hospital--excitement I could have done without, by the way.

Kyle and the kids sprung me from the hospital Friday around noon, and we vegged the rest of the day, me groggy from medication, Kyle groggy from being sick, and the kids bored to tears because both of their parents were comatose. (They never found a cause for my chest pains, by the way, which the doctor says is the case in %80 of the people they see.) We did go to dinner at the home of some of our friends from London who also recently moved back, the Zentners, and the non-hospital part of the day was delightful.

Saturday, however, brought even more fun as I woke up having an allergic reaction to who knows what and looking much like my face had been terribly over-inflated by a sadistic balloon sculptor. I spent the rest of the day taking Benedryl, trying not to scratch my skin off, and wondering when the flies and locusts would arrive. Thankfully, they never did, and the allergic reaction was the last of the plagues.

So today, one week after leaving London, we were too sick to even go to church, but we're all safe and relatively happy. It sure has been a wild week, though! Kyle and I are looking forward to eventually not feeling/looking like the living dead, and the kids are looking forward to having their parents not being so sick. I hope that happens by tomorrow because we're supposed to go looking at houses early tomorrow morning... Yes, Mr. and Mrs. homeowner, Mr. Phlegm and Mrs. Puff would like to make you an offer on your house, just try not to look at them...

You want to know the saddest part of it all? Today is our anniversary! Seventeen years. Happy sickiversary, Kyle--I sure love you! Bet you didn't know you were marrying the elephant girl...