"Mommy, what IS a home?"

The Dawlish Warren Red Rock

The theme of the past two months is simple: WE DO CRAZY S#!T. Sorry for the profanity, but I don’t think “STUFF” works in this case. We’ve tried to live the last year to the utmost and in the process, have tried out, agreed to, failed and occasionally succeeded at so many new experiences.

We’ve realized that most people who decide to live abroad do so when they are single, when both spouses are teachers and can find employment easily, or when one spouse or both has a profession that facilitates (and pays for) this transition. We don’t fall into any of those categories and it was painfully obvious throughout the year.

The fact that we moved here with only what we could carry was, in itself, a bit insane. I didn’t meet one family the entire year that attempted the same feat. If a family moved, they had a shipment. Of course singles just moved with a few bags, that’s understandable. But, I don’t think we realized the importance of establishing a “home” in a new place so quickly.

One or all of us flew or drove to/from another country every single month except for September. June had international travel for Dave while the rest of us concentrated on finishing up school and packing our bags once again. The countries we hit (in order) during our one year abroad: Germany (Dave), U.S. (the VISA debacle), France (Amanda), France, Belgium, Wales, Spain, France (Amanda), Malta, France, Belgium, Holland, Czech Republic, Wales, Greece (Dave), France, Belgium, Spain (Balearic Islands). You can see we had some favorites.

I’m leaving out the trips Dave took back to the U.S. for work and the 16 hr. trip I took back to check out our new house.

That makes three new countries for Amanda, seven new countries for Dave, six for K1, and eight for K2 since he gets to count England.

What other crazy $#!T have we done?

Well, we bought a house on-line. I’m serious. Dave and I had a few beers on Friday night, checked Trulia for the millionth time, and low and behold a brand new listing caught us by surprise. We knew instantly it was the place for us and the six-hour time difference worked in our favor. Within 24 hours, our realtor had done a walk-through, we got pre-approved, submitted an offer with a very well-written letter (by me), and had Dave’s family take time to visit the property as well. The offer was submitted on a Saturday morning and it was accepted first thing on Sunday. Seriously. Dave’s parents were nervous and didn’t want us to go through with the deal…but it was too late…we were in too deep. I enjoyed Mother’s Day in the air so I could see the property for 1 hour after the inspection was completed to verify that this was indeed the home for us. We closed on June 29^th and now own a home that Dave and I have been in a total of 2 hours between the two of us. Yep, that’s crazy.

What else? Oh yeah, we became reality TV stars by filming our very own episode of House Hunters International. 5 days straight of filming and it was definitely an experience we’ll never forget even if we wanted to. I can’t say much more than that because I signed a non-disclosure, but stay tuned. I’ll let you know when it will air.

Palmanova, Majorca (Mallorca)

For our finale, we decided to forgo the escape to Mexico that we had originally planned for July and, instead, shore up our tricky tax status (we basically needed to stay out of the US for the month of July) in Europe instead. We realized that we can visit Mexico easily from the States, but exploring Great Britain and Europe as a family won’t be possible again for a very, very long time.  Our lease was up at the end of June and we became homeless. Travellers. Gypsies. Call it what you will, but for some reason it sounded okay. Crazy, but okay. We often didn’t know where we would be staying just a few nights before, but we have managed.

  

We spent a week in Majorca where the kids improved their swimming skills, a few nights here and there at random hotels near the Luton Airport and Legoland, Windsor, and five nights in a trailer park on the South shores of Devon, often called the English Riviera.

Dartmouth, UK

Caravan Park, Dawlish

Coleton Fishacre, Devon

First Aid, Legoland, Windsor (but a flesh wound)

And now we are living in a stranger’s big and beautiful Surrey house for two weeks. We can’t believe our luck. We get to hang out with an awesome German Short-haired Pointer named Otis, water some plants, and still explore the area. This was a win-win.

Or at least I thought it was a win until last night after reading Paddington for the 100^th time, K2 responded to the last line by asking, “Mommy, what IS a home?”

Ouch.

We’ve got a day in Iceland planned at the Blue Lagoon during our layover, and then we hope to be settling into our new home the first week in August which is almost exactly one year from the day we left the U.S. Ooooh…I just realized that Iceland adds another country for all of us. We’ve flown through several times, but this will be the first time out and about. Another win!

We’ve made a million mistakes this year, but with each mistake comes a lesson and even better than learning from mistakes is the learning that came from our willingness to try new things. Our kids are amazing and have weathered the changes like pros. It was the most challenging year we’ve ever had in regards to our marriage, our personal and professional goals and routines, and working through changes as a family. No regrets though. I would make the same decision all over again.

We’re definitely ready to settle down and stop living out of suitcases, but that doesn’t mean we’ll stop doing crazy $#!T.

Coleton Fishacre, Devon, U.K.

My Love Affair with Letter Writing

There’s something about being in an airport and then on a plane that allows me to open up. To think and feel again in ways I sometimes shut off. I breathe in the smells: perfumes from Fragonard or body odor from those of us who have been in transit for far too long. I watch the couples, new and old, walk hand in hand and bicker in the terminal; the young travelers who are drinking beer at 9am, and the super littles who just can’t leave the duty-free shop without one more softie. I love hearing the hushed tones of languages I can’t understand and pretend I can. I think about my kids still sleeping in their beds and the fact that I haven’t seen my husband for almost a week. I love it all. I love being alone.

Of course I always love going back to my life. My family, friends, my people. But I love being in my own head. I can listen to myself without any interruptions. For months I have felt blocked. Like I am unable to take the time or energy to sit down and journal, something I absolutely love to do. And yet, I step into the airport by myself and feel as if I could write page after page of musings.

My niece manages a coffee shop in the airport and I wonder if these are some of the same reason she loves working there. Certainly her commute isn’t keeping her there. It must be the energy.

Many of the things that pop into my head are letters. I used to write a lot of letters, both on paper and in my head. Letters to my husband, my kids, aunts I rarely get to see, letters to friends, letters to my nieces and nephews, letters to my siblings, letters to ex-boyfriends, letters to people I just met but have a desire to tell them what they’ve taught me or made me think about. I love writing letters. I rarely get a chance to actually type them and send them, but when I do I feel great.

One of my best friends is not fond of the post office. In fact, she rarely goes and when she does, she doesn’t enjoy her experience. Meanwhile, I love the post office. I love the idea of people sending letters, postcards, and parcels all over the world just to tell another person you are thinking about them. In some ways, it’s a selfish act. I feel good making someone else know that I’ve been thinking about them. But the emotions and thoughts aren’t contrived. The sentiment is genuine.

My father and I have always communicated best through writing. Even to this day. When we fight and need to explain ourselves, we both turn to letters. I cherish the letters I’ve received from my dad because I know that for the time it took him to write that letter, I had his undivided attention. I know that his words come with conviction, passion, and love. Whether I agree with them or not, letters from my dad always bring tears to my eyes for this is often how we show our love.

Dave and I started our courtship through postcards. Did you know that? Back in the day, I used to send a lot of those free postcards that you can pick up at bars and restaurants to friends and family. It was a cheap way of staying in touch when Wi-Fi wasn’t really in the picture yet and emailing from anywhere and everywhere wasn’t always so easy. So Dave and I met at a bar during our “Beer Appreciation Club” meeting and had an amazing conversation, but we didn’t exchange any information. We just said our good-byes. But the next time we met, I had postcards in my bag. He wrote his address on one and likely assumed he’d never see it in his mailbox. But I sent one off right away and included one of those free address stickers that you get from non-profits on it so he’d know how to reach me. No phone number, just a return address. You know the ending. He sent a postcard right back and there we went. It wasn’t the end of our mail to one another, but it has been for quite a while. I suppose it shouldn’t be that way. I suppose we could continue this practice of sending each other a special postcard or note in the mail. We do have a tradition of writing our own cards for Valentine’s Day that often include poems, raps, or silly songs. Okay, I guess that means we’re still writing to each other. Phew.

And so here was a blog about my musings and nothing more. Just one more letter that I write in my head. I’m just allowing you to read it.

One idea for today: Write a letter to someone you love.  Not an email, a letter. Good luck!