Donn comes back tonight—in about an hour, to be precise. It’s currently 1:33 a.m. Elliot is in the kitchen making chocolate chip cookies—he wanted them to still be warm when Daddy got home. The twins wanted to stay up too but didn’t make it—they’re passed out, books sprawled across their chests, mouths open. I’m supposed to wake them up when Elliot and I  leave for the airport. They expect that they will stay awake so that they can surprise Daddy when he comes in. They are planning to turn out all the lights, and wait on either side of the door with their light sabers. Then, as the door opens, they will turn on the light sabers, clash them together, and shout SURPRISE. I don’t see this happening, but didn’t bother break their hearts by pointing out that fact.

Also, the door has been decorated with a red Christmas bow, with a message tucked into it. Ilsa has instructed me to say casually to Donn, “Oh look at this! There’s a note. It’s probably for you.” I’ll try to remember.

We have spent the day getting ready. Awaiting him is a veritable feast–not that he’ll want one this time of night. There are 2 apple pies, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, and popsicles made from the local kool-aid equivalent. Apparently our love language round here is food. I learned about love languages in childhood. We had 2 main ones in my family; food and guilt manipulation. What are the others?

The plane is supposed to arrive at 2:30 a.m. Elliot will ensure we are there on time—he’s already watching the clock and fussing at me. He can’t stand to be late. (Sometimes we wonder whose child he really is and what the fairies did with ours.) I’m bringing a book. They don’t let you in the airport at all anymore—you have to wait outside—and sometimes it takes a while to get through, especially with the Mauritanians’ curiously fluid views on waiting in lines. The only carts available have a porter that comes with them, and Donn won’t have Mauritanian money and I forgot to get change. I only have 1000UM bills, and that’s waaay too much to tip a porter. I hope it doesn’t get nasty.

We’ve been apart a long time—far too long. We’re all looking forward to this reunion very, very much.

Time to go. Elliot is dancing with impatience. The plane should be landing soon!!

Advertisements