As our airplane made its final descent into LaGuardia, I sang T. Swift to Simon.  “Welcome to New York, it’s been waiting for you…”

He responded “That’s the perfect song because our plane is so late.”

Welcome to New York seems to be our new catch phrase.  It always feels like the only thing to say.

When we walked out of the airport terminal into the hot and thick humidity,

“Welcome to New York.”

When it’s 11:45 on a Wednesday night and Borough Pizza is hopping,

“Welcome to New York.”

When it’s gridlock all over Manhatten and there is a chorus of car horns,

“Welcome to New York.”

When Richard warns me that the little market outside the apartment building is really expensive,

“Welcome to New York.”

I would say it all feels like a dream, but having five kids keeps you in touch with reality.  The other night, as we drove to our temporary apartment I gawked up at the sheer awesomeness of the Freedom Tower.  But my reverie was short-lived because sweet Amirah was screaming in the backseat, probably ravenous, but we couldn’t stop to feed her because our flight that was supposed to land at 7:12 actually landed at 10:55 and the parking garage at the apartment building closes at midnight and after loading our suitcases and strapping in all the car seats, we had to make the drive from LaGuardia to Battery Park in 36 minutes. 

Welcome to New York.  

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I still have so much to write about our last couple months in London, but I’m feeling a little nervous about being overcome with nostalgia for our life there.  On the other hand, it will be wonderful to re-live it.  

Also, I accidentally packed my camera charging cord in the boxes that are somewhere out on the ocean, so I’m taking photos with just my phone.  If you don’t notice a difference, don’t mention it, because that was an expensive camera.