The Final Countdown

As a pediatric anesthesiologist, Mom administers anesthesia to young children by placing a fruit-scented mask over their noses and mouths and progressively increasing the concentration of the “stinky gas.” To distract from this scary process, she often tells a story of an astronaut going to space for the first time.

First they handed him a space suit to put on, which was heavy and smelled kind of weird. Then they gave him an oxygen mask to wear over his nose and mouth like this. After his helmet and seatbelt were on, they started the engine. VROOOM! And boy was it stinky. The other astronauts told him to just take a deep breath in and blow it away, as it would get better.

As the engine warmed up, they turned on all the gauges, checked the windshield wipers (windshield wipers?!), and started the countdown. <Insert blowing rocket engine sound here>

10, 9, 8…. Guys, I’ve never done this before… 7, 6, 5… <vibrate the bed a little to stimulate the building pressure>… 4, 3, 2… Blast Off!

And then if the child is still slightly awake, she describes flying up over the trees, past their school, through the clouds, and up to the moon for a cheese plate.

Photo by NASA on Unsplash

The counting gives them something to focus on, rather than the stinky smell of the anesthesia vapors, and a predictable goal. In our home, our countdown numbers are getting VERY small, helping us focus on the final steps needed to complete the American part of our big adventure (and perhaps distracting us from the larger emotions that come with living in a house that echoes.)

Movers have come and gone, leaving us with some staging furniture and a beanbag on which to sit. Our mattresses are on the floor, and we begrudgingly use plasticware for our final few meals at home. There are no more wheeled toys for our boys to use, leaving them to <gasp> WALK around the neighborhood. Facebook Marketplace is on fire with buyers of our last table, our last desk, our last lamps, our last dresser.

Our final countdown, as of this morning:

• 12 — bags to pack to take on the airplane

• 8 — new light fixtures to install (to make our house more attractive in this dismal housing market)

• 6 — nights left in America

• 4 — days until the hardwood floor resurfacers arrive

• 2 — work shifts for Mom (Wednesday and Friday, for those work friends on here!)

• 1-2 — nights left in our home (we have an Airbnb reserved for the remainder of the week)

• 1 — farewell party to attend (there have been so many!)

Counting down to Blast Off feels a little bit like stepping to the edge of the bungee jump platform and wondering why you decided to leap. Dad is the king of Type II Fun and has instilled a love for such character-building activities in our family. Big Brother still remembers the hike when his shoes were repeatedly sucked off by the deep mud in Hawaii, and Little Brother brags about being airborne in an accidental Class IV rapid, saved only by his monkey-tight grip on a nylon rope. This is another one of those adventures: stressful and hard in the moment, but something we will fondly remember for the rest of our lives.