There were lots of “lasts” before we left Ann Arbor for Sweden. Last bagel at Zingerman’s (pepper parmesan). Last movie at the Quality 16 (Toy Story 3). Last soup from Le Dog (chicken chili). Last curse word on Stadium Boulevard (bleep).

First time in the cockpit. My son has really long eyelashes. This was not the first time he’s blinked them fetchingly. But, it was the first time he’s blinked his way to a bunch of airline perks.

Right after takeoff, he told our flight attendant, “We’re moving to Sweden.” (Blink.) “So, we had to say goodbye to all our friends.” (Blink, blink.) “And our dog.” (Blink, blink, blink.)

After that, every time I came back from the lavatory, he’d have a pile of fresh Twix bars. Later, he got to meet the pilot. And when we de-boarded, someone gave him nine packages of airplane headphones.

First time to stay up all night. My son passed out at midnight, but my daughter and I were too excited to sleep. We watched the sky go from blue to red to black, then back to blue. When we landed in Stockholm, it was 3:30 a.m. Michigan time, 9:30 a.m. Sweden time.

First time to speak in tongues. I woke my son and herded him off the plane. He was so tired that he kept banging into things, even after I remembered to take off his sleep mask. He tried to thank the flight attendant for all the free headphones, but what he said was just gibberish, with lots of tongue and a few big “K” sounds. Had he magically learned to speak Swedish somewhere over the Atlantic?

Unfortunately, no. (That actually would have been pretty handy.) He was just sleepy to the point of incapacitated. It was like having an 11th piece of luggage.

First time I’ve missed a flight. We had an hour to claim our bags, check in at a new airline, and make our next plane.

After I loaded the bags (and my son) onto a cart, we got so lost we ended up in a wing of the Stockholm airport that was under construction. The only other person there was a teenager with a tattoo. The only sign we understood was one that said, “Beware.”

So it was me, two kids, 310 pounds of luggage, and an ambiguous sense of danger. At one point, we thought we were stuck in a service elevator (we were just pushing the wrong button). And right around that time, our flight to Umea left without us.

First “Sleep and Fly.” So, we had five hours to kill before the next flight. A ticket agent directed me to a little kiosk—the “Sleep and Fly.” We paid for and received a key to room number 29, which turned out to be a poorly lit closet that smelled like feet, with one big bunk bed.

“I’d rather go back to the service elevator,” my daughter said.

“Come on. We need sleep,” I said. I nudged my son. “Right, dude?”

His response was something like, “Klugen.”

I was the only one who slept, and only for a little while. Mostly, we spent our time giggling, and wondering what our new home would be like. Me and two kids, in a feet-smelling closet, laughing our heads off with fatigue-induced delirium.

Our first day in Sweden.

Heather Heath Chapman is on sabbatical with her family in Umea, Sweden. You may reach her at heatherchapman1@me.com.