Wait! Was it while I was drowning in packing peanuts and cardboard or having my fifth anxiety attack over the logistics of our trans-Atlantic/cross-country move…
It’s funny to think back to my New Year’s resolution for 2008…
LOSE THE BABY WEIGHT ALL READY!
Little did I know at the time that all it would take was a few simple changes to my daily routine… drinking more water, fitness boot camp, moving to London, giving up my car, moving back from London…
All in all, I really can’t complain about 2008. Employment uncertainty, worldwide economic collapse, and threats of deportation aside, it truly has been great year for us.
I know, I use the word “adventure” a lot, but there’s no better way to describe our past year. Okay, so we didn’t exactly give it all up to help feed orphans in a third world country, but we took a risk nonetheless and are all the better for it.
We’ve learned a lot… and not just how to pack up and move overseas in 30 days or less. We’ve grown a lot and have memories that we will cherish for a lifetime, provided our family and friends won’t be too sick of our “Well, in LONDON…” stories.
Thanks for everything 2008. It’s been fun while it lasted, but it looks as if 2009 is already giving you a run for your (bailout) money with Baby #2 on the way, a new American city ahead of us, and an OBAMA PRESIDENCY. Whew- Hew!
So, I have another very good reason for quasi-abandoning my blog lately.
(Besides playing Santa AND holiday hostess this past week…)
The last few weeks, my laptop has been infected with a heinous virus and it’s called…
MIKE.
The power supply on his computer fizzled out or some such and now, he’s on my “evil Microsoft” laptop no less than every second of every day since.
Apparently, my Linux-loving hubby will and HAS set aside his lofty morals in the name of FAIL blog and/or Digg…
With my family in town and only ONE working computer among us, I’ve been sharing my laptop with SIX Internet addicted people.
Last week, Mike called around town for the replacement part for his computer. Only one of the bi-zillion techie shops off Tottenham Court claimed to have it stock and even called back to double confirm the serial number.
Of course, when Mike arrived pick it up the next day, they didn’t have it. They never did. Apparently, the sales guy only PRETENDED to know what Mike was asking for…
Uhhh, I guess, they didn’t think he would actually show up for the exact item he specifically requested to be set aside…
Thank goodness Mike is a much better person than me. MUCH BETTER. If I had been the one to make the 45 minute commute in early morning rush hour to be there as soon as the store opened for business only to be denied, I would have been beyond “call security”…
Meanwhile, Avery and I were running late for his appointment with the asthma specialist. We’ve waited over THREE months for this appointment, ever since his first asthma attack in August, and there was no way we were going to miss it.
I called the hospital to inform them that we may be a few minutes behind for our 9:05 appointment with Dr. S. The nurse or whoever answered said it was perfectly fine and just come in when we were ready.
We actually weren’t late at all, but it didn’t matter since Dr. S was NOT even there that day!
“What? Why were we not told this when we called earlier? I had specifically stated that we’re coming to see Dr. S? I even asked about him BY NAME,” I asked
After several rounds with the useless drones in the ironically named “patient services” department, their best explanation for the “mix up” was that I had only asked if it was okay to be late, NOT if the doctor was in today….
Oh, and they had moved our appointment to the day before when Dr. S was in, but didn’t bother to tell US about it. I guess I was supposed to just know that…Lovely!
Whether it’s dealing with National Healthcare or a total lack of common sense customer service, I find myself less and less tolerant of these daily frustrations as our departure date looms closer.
12 days and counting!
Sure, when I thought we’d be here for a while, I was willing to put up with it… slightly. Just another quirky adventure from our life in London — good for a blog post, great for a laugh… HA! HA! HA!
Obviously turning into a loud angry American doesn’t help matters. Apparently, my accent is hard to follow… or perhaps it’s the high-pitched, inaudible rants of frustration. Hmm…
What does seem to help, however, is my fake British accent. Bust it out and only then do I finally get somewhere.
(That is, if you call rounds of NHS Twenty Questions “getting somewhere”…)
Yes. You read that correctly. Fake. British. Accent.
It’s not even a good one like… say, Gwyneth Paltrow’s. It’s more like… well, the puppets from CBeebies’ “The Shiny Show“…
It was never even intended for public consumption, but one day it just came out during another (yet unblogged about ) incident with National Healthcare (there are lots of them) and it worked brilliantly in getting to a speedy resolution!
In fact, it even prompted some rare compassion.
“Oh my, I do understand. You poor dear. You must be so upset. Let’s get this sorted for you right away… will this afternoon work for you?”
For some reason, fake British accent works every single time. Strange, I know, but it makes me laugh so much that I totally forget how much angrier (and rantier) I would be otherwise.
There’s been some debate at my house over what the heck is Boxing Day, which just so happens to be TODAY!
My sister says it’s the day we’re supposed to box up all of the Christmas decorations. I say it’s the day you give the servants gifts and the day off.
Since I neither have servants nor the inclination to pack up our (sad) little Christmas tree, we settled for sleeping late, flying the London Eye, and taking a boat ride on the Thames with my family!
Not a bad Boxing Day if you ask me… whatever it is.
Boxing Day is a public holiday in the United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, New Zealand and countries in the Commonwealth of Nations with a mainly Christian population… It is based on the tradition of giving gifts to the less fortunate members of society. Contemporary Boxing Day in many countries is now a “shopping holiday” associated with after-Christmas sales.
Boxing Day dates back to past centuries when it was the custom for the wealthy to give gifts to employees or to people in a lower social class, most especially to household servants and other service personnel.
Four days ago, my parents, my two younger sisters, and one sister’s boyfriend flew in from Texas to celebrate our first (and presumably LAST) London Christmas with us.
The past few days have been a whirlwind of eating, sightseeing, eating, laughing. eating, shopping, eating… and well, more eating… and it has been FAN-TASTIC!
Of course, when my family planned their trip to London back in September, we were still expecting (hoping for) a much, much, MUCH longer stay abroad…
“Who knows when we’ll get to see one another again. Come on over, Mom and Dad!”
HA!
It cracks me up that I’m actually going to see them again in two weeks. At least, I’ve managed to convince each of them to take home an extra suitcase filled with our stuff.
Favors aside, it really has been so much fun to have my family here, which explains the total abandonment of my blog.
Don’t worry. There’s more fodder being generated every single day…
But while we’re in the holiday spirit… here are the Christmas cards (yes, multiple cards) that I designed in OCTOBER, but no one, not friends, not family, will ever see them (in print) all because I couldn’t FIND a decent photo developer.
Yes, I’m sure London, of ALL places, has them.
Yes, I could have searched further… asked around more… shlepped myself all over town…
I think it’s so obnoxious strange when people ask if a pregnancy was “planned” or “expected”, especially since we all know where babies come from… ahem! ahem!
Oh no! How ever could this have happened… eek!
Planned or unplanned, we are no less THRILLED about the it and that’s all there is to know.
However, it did take a few weeks for the news to sink in. I still have moments of denial now and again, but I still managed to book an appointment with my GP (i.e. general care family doc) nonetheless…
In the UK, you go to your GP for everything from a heart attack to the flu to wart removal…
He or she then grants you access to a specialist, but only if you really, really need it and ONLY after the proper paperwork has been filled out, faxed, and you wait the 8-12 weeks for someone to ring you (you do NOT call them) for an appointment…
Oh and by the way, OB/GYNs and pediatricians are considered specialists rather than primary care in the UK, so my appointment with the GP was merely a formality.
Granted we’re only four weeks and counting away from moving back to the US , but I thought I’d try for a referral to a “specialist” anyway. You never know, right?
Still, I was very excited about my appointment. Surely there would be another test to confirm the pregnancy, a prescription for some prenatal vitamins, an official DUE DATE…
Nope!
Upon telling the doctor my very good reason for walking 30 minutes in the London winter followed by another 30 minutes of sitting in the nasty waiting room, her first question was, “Are you okay with that? I mean, are you happy about it?”
Stunned, I said, “Of course I am.”
“Well, you don’t seem very happy. Are you sure you’re not wanting to terminate the pregnancy?”
“Uhhh….NO! We very much want this baby.”
“Okay. Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Really?”
“YES!”
I’m not exactly sure what level of enthusiasm I wasn’t registering here. I’m generally a happy person anyway, but not exactly prone to cartwheels and high kicks…
Perhaps it’s because I knew this appointment was a TOTAL waste of my time… hmmm.
Next, she guessed at my due date by counting to nine on her fingers, which I could have done (and HAD done) only a million times on my own.
After several tries, she figured that I was seven weeks along at that point, even though I was only about five based on an actual calendar…
When I asked about prenatal vitamins, she told me I would only need them in the first trimester and since I was already halfway though it (which I wasn’t), I really shouldn’t worry about it anymore… Eh! who cares?!
Oh and I saved the BEST part for last…
While discussing my medical history, I mentioned that I already have son and added that he’ll be three years old when the baby is born.
She looked up, tilted her head “compassionately” and said, “Well… you know, you can’t always plan these things. Sometimes we just get surprised, but I’m sure you’ll do fine. At least you still have your options.”
I’m a big believer that there’s a reason for everything. God has a larger plan for all of us and the like, but I just could not understand the reason for sending us back to the States so soon.
I mean, the “bigger” reason… beyond visas and global economic collapses.
Sure, Mike has a great job waiting for him in the US, but he already had a great job… in London.
Yes, we’re moving back the States, but it’s not as if we’re going “home” to our family and friends in Texas. California may be closer, but it’s still going to be miles and miles away. What difference did it make?
We just got settled in London. Our expat life may entail a LOT of compromises, but we have friends, daily routines, bank accounts…
Avery is finally sleeping at night again! Do you know how long it took him to recover from the “time change”? Do you know how much I’m dreading going through that AGAIN?
Why, God, why would you send us back now?
Well, a few days ago, I got my answer.
Life just got 150% more crazy and we couldn’t be happier!
If I’m approximately four weeks away from moving overseas, why am I at Ikea?
I’ll tell you.
I’m a neglectful mommy and my child has the power to bend solid wood. You see this cutting board?
It used to lie flat against the counter until it tangled with Avery…
I left him in front of the TV for about…umm, TWO minutes while I selfishly took a shower after a morning of scrubbing, mopping, and polishing the kitchen.
When I came back, Avery was standing over a teeny tiny cup with an empty Brita pitcher in his hands…
He missed the cup and there were puddles everywhere- on the counter, on the floor…
His simple response to my pained expression was, “Avery thirsty. Drink water, Mommy?” as if his every whim isn’t already catered to…
Furthermore, how DARE I shower when he was clearly suffering from dehydration…
I screamedranted sent Avery to his room and cleaned up quickly, then I went up stairs to talk to him.
I got down to his level and coolly and calmly explained that if Mommy has to spend her ENTIRE day cleaning… and, then cleaning again… that doesn’t leave much time to do fun things together like play or go outside.
I thought it was a very “SuperNanny” approach. Just as I was about to pat myself on the back, Avery responded with, “But Mommy made mess too…”
“Huh?”
“In bathroom. Mommy made mess. Water spill out of tub!”
I should note here that there is NO way to get out of our tub without getting water on the floor. There just isn’t…
(Especially when you have to hop out quickly to respond to a loud clatter in the kitchen…)
…and of course, when Avery went to his room, he walked past the bathroom and saw the water on the floor.
How else could I respond except with a stunned, “Ummm, yeeeeessss…. and that was… wrong. Okay, you’re not in trouble. Just… Just go play.”
Yes, out-maneuvered and out-argued by my two-year-old son. Brilliant.
I’ve never been so proud, but how does that all relate to the cutting board?
Well, it seems in my haste, I failed to mop up the water UNDER it and by the next day, it had taken on a decidedly “artistic temperament”…
…and since it came with the house, I’m obligated to replace it. So, that is why I’m at Ikea in the midst of selling, disposing, and giving away.
********************************************
By the way, if any of you are ever tempted to remodel with a kitchen from Ikea, I must warn you. It may seem all sleek, modern, innovative, and CHEAP, but don’t.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
Our landlords did and there are ways in which it sucks that violates our lease agreement and therefore I will not disclose it until after we move.
Basically, if you plan to LOOK at your kitchen, it’s good. Planning to use your kitchen, however… not so good.
We have certain household items that need to be sold. We don’t want to do without them until the very last minute, but that doesn’t leave much time to haggle.
Giving it all away is NOT an option.
This proves problematic when up against variables such a market saturation, demand, and other nifty things I learned in business school…
One afternoon, I popped into a pawn shop by our house to inquire how much the second-hand market could bare such items. After giving the clerk a quick description, I asked what he’d be able to offer for them… just a ballpark figure.
The clerk refused, insisting that I first bring in the items before we discuss pricing.
I quickly explained my situation– moving back to American right away, don’t have much time, need to know the best way to sell this stuff, I just live around the corner, blah, blah, blah.
They were still, “No. No. No.”
“Look,” I said, “I’m not going to hold you to the price. If I come back and you don’t think it’s worth the higher end, I won’t make a fuss. I just need a ballpark figure to work with… an idea of what this stuff is worth used.”
Then it dawned on me…
“Wait. Do you even know what I mean when I say ‘ballpark figure’?”
The clerk smiled meekly and shook his head.
“OH! I’m so sorry (thunk!) It’s just an American phrase. Ballparks are… Okay, nevermind. Look, again this is our situation… I just want to get your opinion on what you think these items are worth should I try to sell them.”
“So you want a range, like an estimate?”
“YES! Exactly. A RANGE! An ESTIMATE! Can you give me a range?”
“No”
(grumble, grumble)
By the way, there was a time in my life when I would have been absolutely appalled to be living so near to a pawn shop. Like… six months ago when I lived in the suburbs.
American Mom In London 