What I Didn't Mention on Facebook or How to Get a Head in Lice

Whenever we move (by choice or not), I wash all of the bedding.
I like the new place to smell fresh and clean.

So, I washed all of the bedding and we began moving into this lovely little farm house.

The house sits in the middle of fields of sheep, corn and cows (yes, they're growing cows in the field).
The idyllic country setting brings sometimes easily forgotten pleasantries like biting flies, mosquitos and "thunder bugs". Yay.

Day two of the move, the daughter begins scratching a vicious attack upon her scalp...

(oh dear, not a good sign with our school's lice problem)

While the husband carries furniture up the stairs, I begin the comb-through on the child's hair to discover many black pterodactyls and tiny black dots. The friend helping with the move assures me the black dots are "Thunder bugs" "...and they really bite, no wonder she's scratching".

Oh, ok. I know lice look like small grains of rice, so I'm not worried now, but just for good measure, I wash her bedding and then request everyone's bedding that she has cuddled with- which ends up being everyone. Five beds worth of bedding. Again.

A couple of days pass, and everyone is scratching.  

Ripping my scalp off is sounding more and more appealing since it's got to be more comfortable than what we're going through at the moment.
That's when my good friend exclaims, "Oh, didn't you know? There was a terrible case of lice going about that last week of school and I found loads on my children's heads".

You know, her children's heads that my child's head spent the night with.

Further checking verifies that the infected daughter's other close friend (who also spent the night there) was also blessed with it. "...and the strangest thing, they're black!" They say.

Thanks for the heads up (no pun, really) ladies. I can imagine that prevention would have been a little easier than what we face now.

Everyone gets deloused.

Everyone's stuffed toys, pillows, outside gear etc... get smashed into air-free bags and thrown into the freezer. Everything else gets washed. Again.

Moving sucks.

Oh, yay, we just got an invitation to camp!
"Brilliant!" we say, and off we go to the coast for four days. Really needed that break from the stress.

Six people, four days. One always forgets that unpacking and washing bit that comes with traveling or camping don't they...
I begin the laundry when we get home. Nearly finish when the itching begins again...

Not joking.

Everyone is deloused. No need to worry about the pillows (etc) since they never made it out of the freezer, but a LOT of clothing and bedding has been by these six heads in the last week. So I wash. Again.

The people who live near us must think I'm a compulsive clothes-washer trying to single-handedly deprive Great Britain of it's water resources.

And for some reason, I chose to leave all of that interesting information off of the social networks.




What are you not saying on Facebook these days?



 

“Life is either a daring adventure...

 or nothing.” – Helen Keller


My adventurous spirit is hiding under the covers in a quivering mess.

When did this happen?

Where is the woman who would jump on a plane, last minute to travel to a foreign country-with a three-month old baby, no grasp of the language whatsoever and no reservations?

Where's the woman who decided that no transportation wouldn't deter her from walking around the Italian countryside alone at night in a downpour?

The shell left behind from her sudden departure had a mini meltdown a few months back. "I've lost the person I used to be!" She wailed. "My free spirit has died!" She bemoaned.

”Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” – Mark Twain

So the Sexy Guy decided he must fix it. Because that's what men do when the little woman is a hot mess of blubbering nonsense, they fix it.

And fix it he did. So he thinks.

He booked an international flight for one scared-of-her-own-passport wife and said, "There. All better?"

"NO I AM NOT ALL BETTER. I can't drive your car, the shift is on the wrong side. And parking at the airport is insane and I'll be doing it while trying to shift with my left hand. And what if I get there late and my rental car (which also shifts on the wrong side) is a problem or I drive around in the dark for so long that I miss my B&B check in?"
"WHAT IF MISS KY HAS A BAD FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL?"

Yes, I will miss the first day of school.

Every confirmation that comes through my email box reignites the anxiety. "You must check in online and print your boarding pass..." Where's the paper bag, I need to breathe! "Print your airport parking confirmation to show..." in and out, in and out...

I miss my 34-year old self. But I'm not sure if throwing the older, scared version into the deep end is the best way to teach her how to swim on her own again.

Just sayin'.



“Remember what Bilbo used to say: It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” – JRR Tolkien

Our New, Last, House

Well we're in.


If one could see how loaded that statement is...

This was not one of my favorite moves, and it certainly wasn't the smoothest. If one were to go back and read all of the fears I had of what would happen when we vacated our last house (with the shady landlord), one would discover that landlords shouldn't be prejudged.  The recent landlord, who I (wrongly) thought "also being military would understand the stresses and paperwork involved to extricate our lives from this country" bit us in the backside BIG TIME... and is still biting. I see all of the red flags now. The ones I didn't pay attention to as I moved us while the husband was deployed.

Our new landlords (a couple), are every bit as lovely as the other was conniving. Having known them for the last 6 years, and know of the reputation they have in our village and schools, I feel safe. An additional assurance is that the people who share the other buildings associated with this farm (there's a bungalow overlooking our farmhouse and two barn conversions adjacent to it), all love Mr and Mrs C.

My kids are so joy-filled I often find myself standing at the window watching them laugh and play. The little ones have two new friends their age to ride bikes with, the two older ones-who were without internet for a week- joined in for the first time in ages. My garden has been filled with kids of all ages from the minute we moved in.

I could quite happily lie down and die in my new kitchen. There is a cupboard for everything.

The house has a great "feel" to it.  It's been filled with happy families for decades (Mr. C was born and reared in this house).



So why am I depressed?

I think the stress of it all has hit and it's everything I can do to keep plodding through the unpacking stage.
I'll survive.

Would you like a tour? Pre-my clutter added photos perhaps?

 This is the room I am writing from and yes, it IS really that small.

 The kitchen- before I covered the work tops with boxes

 From J2's bedroom window. To the left is the bungalow, straight ahead the 

barn conversion they hope to have finished by Christmas.

 Our front door -which is silly really, as we park and enter from the back.

The "front" of the house.

It would make a perfect haunted house, don't you think? 

our driveway.

See? It's all good. What was all the fuss about getting the shock that we'd have to move a few weeks back?

Whoever Said, "Change is Good" Deserves a Punch in the Eye

A simple week, broken down:

Monday:

Maybe I'll blog today. It'll be a retrospective post about contentment. I'll reflect on the dour state I was in when I began blogging and how I have found peace and acceptance for my life. Very self-indulgent, but hey, it's my blog! Ahhh, ran out of time. Maybe tomorrow?

Tuesday:

Sexy Guy comes home with news. Apparently they've just lifted the "7-Year Max" restriction for military to be stationed in England. After all of the agony making the decision to return to the states rather than take any other over-seas base (since staying here was NOT an option). My poor brain can NOT focus on anything!

Wednesday:

Sexy Guy still has the paperwork that's supposed to be turned in because we are now wracked with indecision.

• My mother is not in good health, we should go back to the states. 
• Oldest son and wife could possibly have a baby within the next three years and I need to be close to them! 
• Oldest son is not well and may have to accept a Medical Discharge from the Air Force-we could end up in Idaho while he goes back to Arizona. 
• Four other kids leave the only friends and schools they've known. 
• Older of the four boys will have an opportunity to salvage some American schooling if we return now-he'll have two years of High School. AAAAAAAGHHHHHH!!
• Cost of Visas and car tax if we stay!
• Everything we will miss if we leave.

Thursday:

We have dinner guests coming at 5pm. I wake up with a chesty cold and am a miserable sod. I have a good shout at a child or two who are pushing all of my wrong buttons. I get the two youngest to the school and realize it's "move up" day.
THE day they look forward to.
THE day where everyone moves up into the class they will have next year.
Remorse hits for the terrible start and I hug them, tell them I love them and to enjoy their day. Luckily, kids are extremely forgiving and they leave me with smiles.

An hour later the phone rings, "Your daughter pinched her hand in a basketball goal and is ok but will have a nasty blood blister when she gets home".
Of course it's my fault! Don't you know that I know that already?  I sent her off to school distracted! Never mind that it was her excessive distraction that had caused the Mum meltdown in the first place.

I begin cooking the dinner and cleaning the house. My kitchen looks like a bomb went off in the produce section of a grocery store. I also have not tidied up along the way as it's pointless with this meal really...and there's a rap at the door.

Rap rap.

It's a timid rap, so I'm not even sure I heard it.

There's a tiny, well-dressed woman there. She introduces herself as a member of our Estate Agency.

My Mind: "Oh no you don't, you will NOT conduct our August inspection right now, no warning, when my kitchen is turned upside down!" The sound of three different kinds of expensive meats  sizzling on the stove top pull me from the panicked conversation in my own mind.

"I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news," she says...

...and everything goes fuzzy from there.
Something about, "Landlord's personal circumstances have changed" and "...need to vacate the property by September".

I remember numbly mumbling something about "...having just passed our 1-year-left mark" and "...the bad timing of trying to find a new place", and hearing her say, "Oh sh**".
Beautifully put, bless her.

Visions of first and last months rent, deposits and agent fees dance in my head.


Yeah.

Contentment is not all it's cracked up to be. Peace and joy and butterflies are fleeting and may just be the precursor from impending life implosions. 

Maybe I'm being dramatic, but it's my blog, I can do that here.

In real life, I'm packing. And looking for a house that will accept a 10-month lease while still falling into our school catchment so the kids don't have to changes schools their last year here.

Who hoot! Yahoo! 

“Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.” 
JD Salinger--The Catcher in the Rye 

Friday:

On the bright side (yes, there is one), there is ONE house within 5 miles of our village. It's a farmhouse with the right amount of space and rooms. It's out in the country again which means more driving to get kids where they need to be, but the nearest farmhouse to it is Son # 3's best friend. 
We booked a viewing (for tonight). All Thursday evening I was tempted to text the BF's mum to say, "What do you know about that house????", but I didn't. When we drove out to confirm where it was, we saw her husband and fought the urge to ask him about the house.


And then my cell phone rings. It's her. Son # 3's best friend's mum. "Hiya J, I have a question that's a little awkward to ask..."

My mind: Well, the word is out, Son #3 must've Facebooked his friend. Just don't cry, just don't cry, just don't cry...

"...are you viewing a house to let tomorrow?"

"Yes..."

"That's MY house! It's our farmhouse!"

After I explained our situation, she said, "We'll work with you, don't worry about the deposits, we'll work something out".

My mind: "just don't cry, just don't cry, just don't cry..." 


I'll post pictures soon. If you don't mind, I wouldn't refuse prayers that the base will approve the house (they would have failed the one we're currently in if I hadn't had a friend who swore he'd fix all of the "dangerous" things they found), and it will fit our needs.


Other than that, life is good. Change is good for you, right?




“Sometimes," Jem said, "our lives can change so fast that the change outpaces our minds and hearts. It's those times, I think, when our lives have altered but we still long for the time before everything was altered-- that is when we feel the greatest pain. I can tell you, though, from experience, you grow accustomed to it. You learn to live your new life, and you can't imagine, or even really remember, how things were before.”
―Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Angel

A Picture of Me Without You, or, There's a Tear in My Beer

Times like these make me wish I drank. Or liked country music. Or both. Because today is a cry-in-your-beer kinda day.

One child went off on a school trip today. That didn't make me cry, I'm quite happy for him as he was so excited.

Three kids and I went out to McDonalds. That didn't make me cry because it is SUCH A RARE EVENT, you would've thought I had taken them to Disneyland. They were very excited and thanked me several times. And amazingly, no one cried when I rolled the window down and one balloon (from said fine dining establishment) flew out of the car.

Same three kids and I rented a movie DESPITE the poor reviews. I didn't cry over that either. In fact, I learned that people who do reviews are idiots. Mirror Mirror was fun. The kids laughed and my artsy brain was drunk on gorgeous images. And what can I say? Julia Roberts, in a movie where she doesn't drop the F-bomb, is a lovable villain.

Today it rains...again.
I don't cry over rain.

Ok, I did get frustrated when it rained EVERY SINGLE DAY that the son and DIL were here (and most days were all-day rain), but I always give thanks for rain.
Growing up in Arizona will do that to you.

Today marks the one year countdown to our leaving England. There's so much I haven't seen yet! There's so much I know I will miss. I believe this tiny little island is going to leave a massive-sized hole in my heart. I imagine myself, sitting in a barren, pub-less desert, with skin as brown as Earl Grey tea, singing:

"Like a treasure that travels with me down every road
There's this longing lonesome and deep
Kind of bitter, kind of sweet
There's a hole in my heart
There's a hole in my heart
There's a hole in my heart in the shape of you (, Britain)"-Jewel, with a little help from me.

I know. Sad sack. Glass half empty. Or Glass nearly dry with hard water stains. I can hear you non-country music lovers (and people who know that there are real problems in the world and I'm whinging about having to move in a year):

"Pull yourself up by yer bootstraps!"

Yeah. I've always hated that expression too.

Come on, cry with me.

  Poppies, Lawn bowls, Autumn hay stacks and Cricket

Castles, churches and the Queen's Calvary

Hairy Coos, windmills and clotted cream

History, history, and more history.

Don't worry. 

I have begun to make another list. One of all of the things that we can look forward to back in the states as well. I'm thinking with 365 days to write, I should be able to come up with a pretty impressive list.  Anyone want to contribute?