Today marks the two-month anniversary of the day we arrived in England. I feel like we lost August in a haze of boxes, car buying, and trying to make sure our children had school places for September. There were a lot of phone calls and a lot of tears, for many, many reasons.
We’ve had doubts about this move, before, during, and after; those doubts are especially strong right now as we were sure my husband would have a job within a month of our move–he did months of legwork before the move and many people reassured him that this would be the case, but two months in . . . nothing. There are some promising leads, but he is more than ready to get back to work now.
The adjustment has been more-or-less as I expected it: the children are mostly ok, especially as our next-door neighbors happen to be their grandparents. School is a challenge for both of them, and my son was only this morning saying he wants to go back to his old school (I wouldn’t mind that either). We miss our house, we miss our friends, we miss our cats, we want to feel we are “home” again, in a place that is ours, with our furniture, our curtains, our things, not a mish-mash of stuff belonging to us and the rest belonging to the people who own the house we are in now.
I don’t know what the rest of the year will bring, but I’m ready for it to get a move-on. In another year, will we be glad we’re here? Where will we be? All I can say is . . . stay tuned.