Heathrow airport was jam-packed with people going to India and to the Middle East. I already felt like a foreigner. When a woman in a full black Burka passed, Taj’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Her veil was mask-like and adorned with silver jewels. To him she looked like a Ninja. To me, she looked like yet another person in a faster line than ours.
In total, we had eight very heavy suitcases, three carry-ons, one car seat, two rolling backpacks and one regular backpack. There was also a rolling cooler which contained my medication, a ham sandwich, cold cuts, two kinds of cheese and an Elmo “booboo” pack. Not to mention three grouchy kids, a leather cowboy hat, one guitar and me.
I was in my new teal, floor length cotton Target dress. My mother-in-law washed and pressed for it me before we left as an act of love and perhaps a peace offering. Both of us were too stubborn to apologize for the God-awful fight we’d had a few days back so we were making small gestures to try and repair the damage.