And Then It Just Clicked

People say it takes a good six to nine months to settle in and acclimate when you move to a new country. It doesn't matter how many times you've done it before; with each move comes the need to reestablish routines, find your way around, make new friends and generally figure out how to do things in this foreign place you call your new home. Experts call this the cross-cultural adjustment cycle. Having gone through it more than once I call it the roller coaster of hell. There are ups, downs and more ups (hopefully) before you level out and find your comfort zone.

The first phase of the cycle is the honeymoon period where the newness of everything is exciting; you may not understand how to go about daily life but since it is new, it is all an adventure. But soon the newness turns into cultural shock and adjustment as you struggle to figure out how to manage and live your life in your new environment. While acclimating even the most basic of tasks become chores and frankly, it is just plain exhausting. This phase is often accompanied by mental and physical isolation from the world that you know. (This is repeatedly my roller coaster of hell phase). But once you reach the other side, things are so much better. Here you find acceptance and integration into your new environment. The pieces begin to fall into place and your new world starts to make sense. It is the blissful place to be before the final stages of the cycle---return anxiety and reintegration to the place you call home--make their appearance. Fortunately for me, these final stages of my Belgian life are still several years away. Because right now I am focusing on my acceptance and integration phase of Belgian life, which is a place that I only reached within the past couple of weeks.

Frankly this past spring, and even a part of the summer, were a struggle. Between finding and moving into a house, receiving our household items from both Albania and long term storage in the United States and figuring out what we needed to buy to make our house a home, these past months were just frustrating and tiring. Add in the adjustment of a new school, new job and new routine and I feel like we had more downs than ups. We got a brief reprieve by spending a good chunk of the summer back in the U.S. but returning to Belgium and a new school year involved readjusting to our "real" life all over again.

But gradually things just fell into place. The daily and weekly schedule of school, work and activities started to make sense and feel comfortable. The new school year has brought about a new class for Sidney with a nicer teacher, better behaved classmates and more opportunities. Activities for the entire family have us getting out and enjoying our hobbies both as a family and individually. The quirkiness of Belgium that I spent months trying to figure out is suddenly making sense to me because I am simply accepting it for what it is: the Belgian way of doing things.

All of this dawned on me the other day as I was stuck in traffic. (Americans complain about the traffic in Belgium but after living in major metropolitan areas along the East Coast, even on the worst of days the traffic here is nothing). As I sat there taking in the long line of cars, cargo trailers and tractors vying for the same narrow lane, I suddenly felt at home. It helped that I knew which turn to make to avoid the worst of the traffic but it was more than that. I realized that our family routine is now smooth and when hiccups do occur, we take them in stride. We all have places to go each day and enjoy our time spent there. My French is still very shaky at best but I am comfortable enough to talk and ask my way around most situations. We're continuing to make more friends and now having been here since the beginning of the year, can offer assistance and advice to people who have only recently arrived. I've found my groove as has Glenn and Sidney. Belgium is suddenly feeling like home. And that is the most wonderful feeling of all.

In Search Of Community

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. You think you know what you want or what to expect but rarely do things turn out the way you imagined that they would. Sometimes they are better, other times worse, but more often than not they just turn out to be different. Not good or bad, just different.   But for us, with each new twist and turn in the road of life comes deeper insight into what we really want in life. What we thought was an ideal turns out to be less so while what we thought we didn't want we really ended up enjoying. All of these experiences build upon one another and help shape our future. But just when we think the future should be getting clearer it actually becomes more fuzzy. For all of the reasons I listed above.

As of late Glenn and I have been talking a lot about our future. First we were talking about our summer travel plans and our intent to spend a few days back in our old stomping grounds of southern Virginia. This inevitably raised the question of whether or not we would drive by our old house and neighborhood and how we would feel about what we saw. This segued into our talking about what we really liked and now miss about the Norfolk neighborhood. But the root of the conversations largely stem from the elephant in the room of where do we go next--as in after Belgium. We left Norfolk and headed to Albania via a short stint in Washington D.C. thinking Glenn would most likely retire out of that position. Instead we found ourselves (in a very good way) in Belgium for the next three years. But after that? Is the world our oyster? And if it is, what do we want and where do we want to go?

Some details are pretty clear. Although w don't know where it will be physically located, we think we've mentally designed our dream house. Over the past few years we've lived in houses that have been good, bad, and somewhere in between. We've figured out what is important to us in terms of space and design and where we would be willing to compromise. Some features that we had thought were really important we have since learned are no longer on the top of our must have list. A large kitchen is nice but layout is much more important. Green space is a must but too much of it simply results in a lot of yard work and we aren't gardening people. But what is really important is location and a sense of community. Ironically we had that when we lived in Norfolk yet at the time I didn't realize quite how special it really was. Our neighborhood had a true sense of community that we have been longing for ever since we left to go out and experience the world. In our old neighborhood we were surrounded by friends and neighbors; it was a place where we supported each other during difficult times and celebrated during the happy days. I always knew that if we ever needed something, anything, our neighbors would be there to help us out in a heartbeat. It was truly a special place yet we left, hoping to see and experience the larger world. Since then we've experienced communities where we heard but never saw our neighbors, where kids played amongst the speeding cars in the street yet everyone else stayed behind their tall walls, and now a cute neighborhood where we neither see nor hear any of our neighbors. These are all communities yet for us they lack that sense of community we are missing and longing for. I'm feeling as though the question of urban, suburban or rural isn't what is most relevant. What is important is the physical sense of community of the neighborhood.

Then there is the physical location- as in state and or country- of where we will land next and perhaps even settle for good. We are all over the map on this one. Playing the choose your own adventure game we concoct every scenario imaginable. No place is really entirely off of the table although so places are more desirable than others. But what we really want is that sense of community. Without being immersed in it, how do you know if a real sense of community exists? You can change a house (we've done that), but if the ideal house isn't in a great community is the house really that great? I'd argue no. So what do we want? Ironically, so much of what we think we now want we actually had back in Norfolk. We don't necessarily want this southern city per se but rather we want what it represented. Was our Belvedere neighborhood where it was at? Can you go back? Does life come full circle? Only time will tell........

At Last....(Sort Of)

As I write this I am sitting in one of our living room chairs. This usually wouldn't be an extraordinary occurrence except for the fact that this chair, along with all of our other furniture has been sitting in a long term storage facility in Maryland for the past three years. And yesterday, after months of waiting, our household goods finally arrived in Belgium. And because our things have finally arrived our house is feeling like our house instead of a temporary stop over in this crazy life of ours. But, as has been the case with most things involved in our recent move, it has been anything but easy.

We were lucky that we drove into Belgium with our own car meaning we had our own transportation from the moment we arrived. Most people aren't so lucky having to rely upon rental vehicles, public transportation, and the good will of others for their first few months here. We had our own car with its new temporary plates meaning we were good to go. But because this is Belgium, registering it wasn't the easy process we had assumed it would be. We had been told that all we had to do was fill out a bit of paperwork and two weeks later our permanent plates would arrive. We should have known better.

The first time we went to register the car we were told we couldn't even begin the process until we had a permanent address. No one had mentioned this small detail and at that point we hadn't even looked at any houses let alone signed a lease. Luckily in less than a week we had executed a lease and with address in hand we returned to the registry building. This time we found out we had the wrong paperwork so it was a no-go. Returning yet again we still were missing paperwork that somehow had never been mentioned to us on our previous visits. Finally we had the right forms completed but didn't have proof of having paid taxes on the car. Since we had purchased the Volvo through the diplomatic buyers program we were tax exempt and provided this paperwork. It wasn't good enough; we were told we needed a letter from the Volvo dealership. A few days later we returned with the said letter in hand only to be told that this time we needed documentation from our Embassy. Back to the drawing board we went. Finally after seven weeks of back and forth we somehow managed to have all of our papers in order and two weeks later actually received our new plates and registration.  It felt as though we were the very first people who bought a new car to Belgium and tried to register it. Somehow I seriously doubt that is the case. It worked out in the end, but it wasn't easy by any means.

And then there was our furniture, part of which I am now sitting on. It had been packed up from Washington D.C. during our worst pack out in history back in May of 2011. When we arrived here we immediately set to having it moved out of storage and shipped to Mons. But of course it wasn't that easy. Even though it would take six to eight weeks to get here we couldn't even request that it be released until we had a permanent address......and you guessed it, we didn't have one of those yet. But once we did have one, just a week later, we dutifully returned to the transportation office with our list of  items we wanted shipped in hand. Oh how naive I was when I thought we were good to go. This was the first week in February and when I didn't hear anything for a week I followed up only to find out that the shipping office back in the States hadn't responded to the email request. More emails followed and we were then into the second week of March and still there wasn't any response from the States. We were on the verge of giving a friend our power of attorney and having them go stand in the stateside transportation office when we finally received a notification that our items would be picked up from the warehouse the following week. Ten days later it actually happened so all we had to do was sit here in Belgium on our loaner furniture and wait.

But then my father-in-law informed us that he had received a letter from the warehouse where our furniture was stored informing us that we needed to remove it all within ten days since our contract with them had expired. Umm......excuse me. A new copy of our orders were sent directly to the company and we waited to see what would actually arrive in our shipment. Would it even be our things? Is the left hand communicating with the right? Talk about a lack of communication and poor customer service!

But our furniture did arrive. Most of it anyway. Somehow we are missing bed rails, a headboard and all of our hardware but we will figure out how to make do. We have lamp shades without their bases and I discovered that the packers packed my clothing inside of the dresser drawers. (This would explain why I had been unable to find a few of my sweaters over the past three years). The finish on one hand made end table is damaged beyond repair and most of the furniture has weird spots on it that with a little elbow grease, will be able to be removed. Two occasional pillows arrived covered in sticky mouse traps that the maintenance company at our apartment had used to try to quell our rodent infestation. Everything has that strange dank odor from sitting in storage for too long. 

But we have our furniture. At last, after three years of living on someone else's beds, couches, and tables, we have our very own items again. And now that they are in our house I dare say we are finally settled into our Belgian house. Well, kind of, sort of since we are still waiting for a few pieces of custom made furniture to be delivered. They are supposed to be here by July......we'll wait and see if that actually happens.

It's Just Hair

Forget packing, house hunting, then unpacking and settling. As any woman--any many men--will tell you, the hardest part of moving is finding a new hairdresser. Where does one even begin looking when it appears that there is a beauty salon on every corner? Recommendations from friends and even strangers might point you in the right direction but all too often finding the right stylist for you is a process of trial and error. And when it comes to one of your most prominent features, living with an error can be quite painful (and yes, I am speaking from experience here). On a daily basis I'm pretty low maintenance so finding a stylist who won't give me a cut that requires a bevy of styling products and tools is often an ordeal. Finding someone who can give me the right "natural" color is even more difficult. And unlike so many other experiences, it just doesn't get easier the more you do it.

I found my hairdresser in Norfolk because of Glenn. Well, actually following the recommendation of a friend of his, he gave me a gift certificate to a local spa and salon so by default, I ended up going there during all of our years in Norfolk. Don't get me wrong; I loved the spa and received more than my share of relaxing treatments there. It seemed to make sense that I would also get my hair done there. The first time I made an appointment I was randomly assigned a stylist who I ended up liking. However, when she abruptly left shortly after, I found myself back at square one. I soon found myself going to a different stylist at the same salon who while nice, just didn't have the cutting or coloring skills I was looking for. In fact, I was going through my redhead phase and during our first appointment together she informed me that she really didn't like working with red hair or red hair dyes. I should have fled immediately but instead I stuck it out for two more years. Why? Her skills weren't horrible, just not on par with the other stylists at the salon so I never walked out with a horrible haircut, just ones that I didn't love. A part of me stayed wanting to give her yet another chance but I also knew that we would be moving soon and I just didn't have the energy to find someone new for only a cut or two. But mostly I stayed because I am loyal. I didn't realize that at the time but two hairdressers later, I finally admitted this about myself.

We were in Washington for such a short period of time that I got my hair cut at one of those walk-in places in the mall and colored my own hair with Miss Clairol. Neither situation was ideal but I knew it was just a short term arrangement and it was so much cheaper than the alternative. Once in Albania I put off finding a new hairdresser for as long as possible until a home dying accident drove me to a local hairdresser. This recommendation came from colleagues at the Embassy, she was conveniently located, and the ultimate claim to fame of the stylist was that she "trained in London and spoke perfect English." This turned out to be true and my subsequent haircuts and colors were good and incredibly affordable by western standards. A going to a local beauty parlor gave me my fill of Albanian culture as women and children of all ages wandered in and out at liberty, eschewing appointments, and many times payments. Being a one woman operation her hours and availability were less than ideal but I made them work the best I could. Or at least I did for our first two years in Tirana until her lack of availability simply became too much to bear. It was at this point, however, that I realized just how loyal I was. I liked her and felt bad that I was even thinking of going elsewhere (and maybe or maybe not finding someone who could give me as decent of a cut and color). But with my roots threatening to take over the rest of my head and her not returning phone calls and never being open when I stopped by, feeling guilty I jumped ship for a new stylist. This one also spoke fluent English and apologized for being "more expensive" (we are talking just a few dollars here) but blamed her location inside a western branded business hotel. And do you know what? I walked out of there with the best cut and color I have ever had. It would have been a Eureka moment if it weren't for the fact that we were moving in six months and you guessed it, I would have to start my quest all over again.

This past week I steeled myself (and my roots) and headed out for my first Belgian hair experience. Having trolled the local Facebook page and received recommendations from several people, including a woman in the line at the grocery store who had great hair, I headed to a local salon where the stylists allegedly spoke English. Twice a week the salon offered half price cuts and colors but unfortunately operated on a walk-in basis only. Armed with a fully charged Kindle I patiently waited close to two hours to be seen. Their three stylists were busy, moving non-stop the entire time I was there. The salon was clean and modern so I was hopeful that my wait would be worth it.  When it was my turn the stylist did speak English and after scrutinizing my roots mixed together hair dye that she thought would blend with what was already on my head. While I waited for my color to process I sat under a heat lamp and sipped coffee. This experience was turning out to be completely different from both of my Albanian experiences since this salon actually the heat lamps I was accustomed to; in Albania I simply sat in a chair and waited for the color to do its thing all on its own. But the differences only continued. Not only did the shampoo chair recline but it massaged my back while my hair was rinsed with plenty of hot water. I can't remember the last time I my dye filled air was fully rinsed with temperature appropriate water. Norfolk maybe? The cut proved to be just as rewarding as the stylist snipped away offering suggestions about how short I should go. I felt as though I sat in that chair a long time but she was meticulous, snipping away the smallest stray hairs until she declared "voila" and I was released from my black cape.

Up until this point my eyes had been mostly closed so when I opened them I saw a slightly new, slightly blonder version of myself staring back at me in the mirror. And I think I liked what I saw. Actually, I now know I liked it and I will probably be returning. Maybe finding a hairdresser does get easier with time!

Something To Talk About

I've said it before and I'll say it again, parenting is difficult. Imagine how much easier it would all be if babies came with instruction manuals. But unfortunately they don't and all of the self-help books, parenting blogs, and "expert" advise doesn't always provide us with the answers. Usually we have to figure out what makes our children tick all on our own. And because kids are always changing, so is what they think, say, and do. As such, as parents we must change and adapt right along with them.

But much to my surprise (amazement? joy? satisfaction?) I recently unlocked one of the great mysteries about Sidney's current state of being. For Sidney, this move has been more difficult than I ever imaged it would be and he has been acting out in an aggressive manner than is unlike the little boy I know and love. He's also been loud-crying, shouting, and general whining- but most recently he has flat out been refusing to talk. That is, until I ask the right questions and provide the right prompts. Once I do, my little chatterbox starts talking, I listen and respond, and we are able to work our way through his frustrations and unhappiness.

When we first left Albania we made it a point of not talking about what we had left behind. I'm not sure if this was a conscious or subconscious decision on both of our parts but when Sidney would bring up Tirana we would quickly change the subject. In hindsight, I realize that this was a huge mistake. Now, we talk about it regularly and in doing so, Sidney is talking about both his old home and new one. I start the Albania-Belgium conversations as I call them when I see that Sidney is becoming sad, aggressive, or generally non-responsive. (This tends to happen when he is tired so this is a conversation that repeats itself most evenings). I ask the question opening question of "do you miss Tirana?". Tears immediately ensue followed by "yes" being said through blubbering sobs. With Sidney unable to really speak I ask yes or no questions starting out by asking if he misses his nanny. I always get a positive response but I quickly let him know that it is perfectly normal to miss people and things you have left behind and that there are things I also miss about our old home. I also counter his sadness by pointing out that here in Belgium, he attends school rather than staying home with his nanny. And Sidney loves school so the tears ease up a bit and he tells me that yes, he likes going to school and having lots of friends. Score one for Belgium while acknowledging his Albanian past! We go on and talk about the cool playgrounds and other children's amenities that are everywhere and slowly Sidney begins to shed his shell of unhappiness.

Then we talk about our house. I asked Sidney what he liked about the house in Tirana and he tells me that he liked his two rooms (one was a small bedroom and the other was a small play room). I counter by asking if he likes his one big room here and he now says he does. (At first he didn't because he said it was too big and too empty which it was before we had any furniture). And the furniture...shortly after moving into the house we bought Sidney his first bunk bed. But this isn't just any bunk bed; it is a bunk bed with stairs, or as Sidney says "an upstairs bed for Sidney and a downstairs bed for daddy with stairs." He loves his bed and admits that it is better than his two single beds he had in Tirana. By this point we move onto talking about the yard. Just the fact we have any grass is a big deal since in Tirana our yard consisted of a two foot patch of grass with fruit trees growing in it and lots of sharp edged tile. In Belgium, not only do we have a grassy yard but since it is completely walled in Sidney can come and go and play outside as he wishes. He can now freely play T ball or soccer in his own yard rather than in the hallway, or heaven forbid, the street. And I do think Sidney really does like this house. This past weekend while we were out and about Sidney asked to go home to his new house because he liked his new house. Score again!

By this point the tears have usually dried up, the sadness has dissipated, and Sidney has moved on to new thoughts. When it comes right down to it, it isn't Tirana itself that Sidney really misses but rather the way he was able to live there. He loved spending time with his nanny, a caring woman who waited on him hand and foot and never expected him to do anything from himself. (Remember the pasha incident?). He's told me as much himself. Life with just mom and dad is drastically different and I think that is what he is actually having the hardest time adjusting to. We have expectations of rules, responsibility, and growing independence that he just doesn't want to accept at all times. But we talk about this too. Sometimes those conversations go better than others but they are getting easier and less frequent so I count that as progress.

Once again, I'm realizing that talking about it is so much better than keeping it all inside. That is my most recent parenting discovery, it is my new mantra and we're going to keep talking all about it.

Of Course Not!

Everything about this move has been more difficult than it needs to be. Perhaps (Actually, yes, I know we were) we were spoiled by the “we will take care of everything for you” mentality of the Embassy community but trying to get what should be the simplest of tasks completed here in Belgium has been anything but easy. Hence the reason I am parked in a café with free Wi-Fi at the moment and will be for the foreseeable future whenever I want Internet access……….

The first thing we did once we had signed the lease on our new house was to march over to the local telecommunication office to set up installation of our telephone, cable, and Internet service. Despite their office only being open one day a week and with limited hours at that, I was able to walk right in and schedule an appointment for a technician to come out and get us connected. Much to my surprise the first available appointment was in one week, which was the day after we were to move into our house. After hear horror stories about lengthy waits and repeated appointments I felt as though we had finally lucked out.

Throughout the week I received periodic text messages reminding me of my designated appointment (within a five hour window of course) and I even received a text message the morning of alerting me to the fact that the technician was currently en route to my house. Score! Or so I thought. He promptly arrived, speaking not a word of English but set about wandering through our empty rooms looking for the necessary outlets. I stayed nearby not really knowing what I should do. When I heard him muttering under his breath in French I knew things didn’t look good. Then he was on the phone, again speaking in French. I was able to make out the basic gist of what was being said. Apparently there were problems and “Madame” didn’t speak any French.

Soon he pushed his phone towards me and I saw a message in English asking where the electrical wires came into the house. Ummm….I didn’t have a clue. We just moved in yesterday and even if we had been here for some time, I’m not the handiest of people so I still probably wouldn’t know. I shrugged but lead him to the creepy cellar and even creepier attic to take a look but we came up empty. Soon he was back on the phone again and I then found myself reading another message saying that I needed to have an electrician come out to resolve the wiring issues. Err……just what we didn’t need to deal with. Once that was taken care of I could call them again to schedule another appointment.

So we’re back to square one. Our property manager is scheduling an electrician but I have no idea when he will actually come out. Once that is done I have no idea how long it will be before the Internet company comes back out. One week? Two? Probably more.  And what’s to say that we will have success when they do come back? I had heard about these problems and been warned about them. And now we are experiencing them.  In the meantime we’re frugally relying on our pre-paid SIM cards (we have a permanent carrier lined up but we need Internet access to establish the account), which because this is Europe, doesn’t come with unlimited data plans. Welcome to Belgium!

Sidney Goes To School

Last week my little boy started school for the first time. I'll be honest; up until the moment when we dropped him off I wasn't sure how it was going to go. But in the end, Sidney was a rock star! At a little over four years old I know he is late by today's standards for starting pre-school but prior to arriving here in Belgium, I felt as though our options were limited. Yes there were pre-schools in Albania where other Americans sent their children but I felt as though the costs and benefits just weren't worth it. So we held off knowing that we would soon be heading to Belgium with the plan to enroll him in the Belgian operated French immersion pre-school, or kindergarten, at S.H.A.P.E. And that is just what we did.

Sidney was apprehensive about starting school. In all of our conversations leading up to his starting he expressed excitement at the idea of having new friends, trying new activities, and even learning French. We talked about how his school would be next door to daddy's job and Sidney's new job would be to go to school each day. He would nod with understanding but then he would turn around and say he wanted to move back to Albania and stay home with me all day. We gently told him that neither were possible options and he would nod sadly but soon we would start the whole conversation cycle over again. Needless to say, I wasn't sure how things were going to go.

The day we visited the school to enroll Sidney he went willingly and even enjoyed playing with a few new toys. The highlight of the trip was drinking out of the tot sized water fountain but once we left the campus Sidney informed us that he wasn't going to school the next morning. But the next morning he was awake before us and readily picked out his clothes for the day. He even helped pack up his new backpack and eagerly walked to the car. During the ride to school he was silent but as we pulled into the parking lot he again reaffirmed his decision that he would not be going to school. When we told him that he had to go I expected tears but at that moment, none were shed. Instead he silently held our hands as we walked to his classroom at met Madame Isabelle, his Chanel wearing, French speaking teacher. Looking between Madame Isabelle and us, Sidney asked if we were staying with him. When I told him no, but assured him that we would be back to pick him up, his big blue eyes welled with tears. Assuring us that Sidney would be OK and shooing us out of the classroom, Madame Isabelle scooped Sidney up and Glenn and I slunk out of the school to the sound of Sidney's plentiful wails for "Mamma."

Wednesday are a half day at the Belgian kindergarten so when Glenn and I returned a few hours later relieved that we hadn't received a phone call requesting us to pick Sidney up early. Because we found ourselves a few minutes early, we sat in the parking lot and watched Sidney's class play on the playground. There was our little red coated son playing alongside his classmates then clasping hands with one boy and walking back into the school alongside his class. It was at that moment that we both exhaled in a collective sigh of relief that things were working out. Madame Isabelle's only comment to us was that Sidney had lots of energy. Smelling like Madame Isabelle's perfume, Sidney's comment was that he "cried for a long time for Mamma" but upon further questioning he started talking about playing with Legos and jumping on the playground. When we asked if he liked school he said yes but then proceeded to inform us that he wasn't going back. These statements were repeated throughout the evening but overall we thought the day went well.

Thursday morning Sidney once again informed us that he wasn't going to school but quickly got dressed, ate breakfast and got in the car. At the school he repeated that he wasn't going but dutifully walked to his classroom. Once he was greeted by Madame Isabelle he quickly spotted a new toy and busied himself with discovering its ins and outs and ignored us. Yes, our little boy dismissed us by turning his back to us so we left, both relieved that we had escaped another round of tears and a bit hurt at being dismissed. Pick up that afternoon was much like the day before but since Sidney had been there all day we got an earful of even more activities. Sidney assured us that he had fun and liked school but once again informed us that he didn't want to go back. Friday was more of the same only at drop off he quickly gave me a kiss, Glenn a hug then ran to the waiting arms of Madame Isabelle. He even responded to her French greetings and didn't notice when we left the room.

So yes, I do believe my little boy is liking school. In the evenings, smelling of perfume, he is talking eagerly about what he did and saw during the day. He is talking about playing, sharing, and making friends; it makes a Mamma's heart swell to hear his happy chatter. He says he likes Madame Isabelle. I can only hope that his love of school continues. And someday, when he brings home a girl reeking of Chanel I'll know that these early school days were quite memorable.

Home.....Sweet Home?

Here are a few pictures of the place we will call home for the next few months:

Our "master" bedroom

My kitchen (sob, sob, sob)

and Sidney's bedroom/our living room/dining room/study

Yesterday we arrived at our temporary (for the next two to three months) home at Chievers Army Lodge in Belgium which, from what I've seen so far, is little more than a few buildings in the middle of a whole lot of fields. Because we have a child we are entitled to a family suite which is really just a hotel room with a microwave and two hot plates. It makes me shudder to think that this is considered a spacious room and I am wondering how the much larger families I've seen are packing into their compact spaces. But we were also fortunate enough to get the key to one of the few storage cages which is allowing us to store our suitcases and other items that don't fit in our room. (Apparently these storage cages are coveted so we are lucky to get one).

No sooner had we arrived and checked in then I set to work making our space "homey." Suitcases were unpacked and stowed in the a fore mentioned storage cage. Closet and dresser space was allotted and a home was found for Sidney's toys. We made a quick run to the nearby commissary to shop for a few essentials to get us started. It has been a long time since I was in an American grocery store and I found myself wandering the aisles in amazement at what I saw. Some items I didn't even recognize and other brands had introduced new flavors that were completely foreign to me. I felt like a fish out of water. Upon reaching the checkout I was greeted with sticker shock--yes Zosia you are no longer in Albania. Our few items cost more than a week's worth of groceries in Albania.

Back "home" life took on a very normal routine. Groceries were crammed into our one cabinet, the refrigerator was immediately overflowing, and two loads of laundry were done in the stackable washer and dryer at the end of the hallway. Once we mastered the microwave, dinner consisted of Stouffer's macaroni and cheese for the little one and Chinese rice bowls for the adults washed down with tepid German beer that hadn't yet had the chance to chill completely. Following dinner Glenn washed our three dishes one at a time filling both the sink and the drainer as he did so. The routine felt like home but with the added bonus of breakfast served to us buffet style downstairs each morning and daily maid service.

Obviously we are not living in the lap of luxury but we will survive. After all, this is a part of the fun and adventure of being a military family; every few years you pack up and relocate never being quite sure of what you will encounter. Sometimes it will be fancy and other times less so; some moves are a breeze while others are a struggle. If nothing else this experience will make us really appreciate our new house once we move in. But in reality, for me home is where the heart is so as long as I am with my family that is home enough for me. So yes, this is home sweet home (until we pick up and do it all over again).

Traveling Light?

I'm only joking here.  As anyone who has ever moved before knows, it is never easy.  And trust me when I tell you that when you are moving from one country to another and will be literally living out of your suitcases for several months, it is even more difficult.  Sure, thanks to the U.S. Navy we have packers who carefully wrapped every item in our old house and movers who will deliver the boxes (298 in all) to our next doorstep, but we still need to physically get ourselves from point A to point B.  And with limited space the most difficult decision we must make is what to carry with us on our journey.

Just the few bags we brought with us during our recent move

The predicament over what to pack in our suitcases is even difficult when you live in a place without any outgoing mail service.  When we moved to Albania we had the luxury of sending boxes of necessities to our new home ahead of time.  Not this time around. But despite that, we somehow carried half as many bags with us this time as we did when we first moved overseas.  Perhaps it is because we are moving to a place where we can easily buy any items we forgot.  However, we still required two vehicles to transport us and all of our luggage to the airport when we left Tirana.  And the driver who met us at the airport in Gothenburg arrived in a mini bus and laughed when he saw our collective luggage. In broken English he asked us how three people could have so many bags.  How?  We're Americans first of all and Americans just don't know how to pack lightly.  Add to that the fact that we are Americans who are moving and will be living out of our suitcases for the next few months. That's how!  Needless to say, we were a sight at baggage claim and an even bigger spectacle when we checked into the hotel we will only be staying at for two nights.  But in the end, it is just all a part of our big adventure.

Transiting Through Change

Explaining why the Cozy Coupe was covered
in bubble wrap was just the beginning.  

As I predicted, this has been a rough week for us.  With our long procession of farewells behind us, we have now left Albania and are in the midst of transitioning into our new life.  With a little over a week before Glenn needs to check in with his new command, we are taking time to travel a bit, relax a lot and most importantly, spend time together as a family.  We've ridden on airplanes and stayed in two different hotels leading Sidney to believe that we are in the middle of another family vacation.  But this isn't vacation, this is our new life and helping my little four year old understand this is proving to be harder than I imagined.

We've been talking to Sidney about the big move for some time with mixed results.  At first he was resistant, proclaiming that he didn't want to move and didn't want to go to school; at one point he even suggested that daddy move for his job and the two of us remain in Albania.  (Sorry son, but that just wasn't going to happen).  Gradually Sidney seemed to move towards acceptance and even showed a bit of excitement at the prospect of a new house, a new car, and new friends.  But I knew we weren't out of the woods just yet.

We tried to keep the house as normal as possible in the weeks leading up to the move by not removing pictures from the walls or stacking boxes in plain sight.  But when the movers arrived with their piles of boxes, bubble wrap, and packing tape, the reality began to sink it.  Simultaneously curious and angry, Sidney followed them from room to room, watching what they were doing and shyly asking a lot of "why" questions.  Being Albanians, they were wonderfully patient and answered each of his questions.  However, their answers didn't please Sidney any more than mine did.  And when it came time to actually pack up Sidney's playroom, it was just too much for my little boy to bear.  There were so many tears and fits of anger, denial that we were moving, and unwillingness to be a part of the process. Ever so patiently Glenn and I would try to redirect him, showing him how much fun the boxes could be to play with, explaining that opening them in our new home would be like opening presents (as someone who has unpacked too many times in my life, I can only dream that this will really be the case), and talking about all of the fun the three of us would have together.   We even talked about the number of plane rides we would take and how we would be able to ride trains all of the time when we reach our new destination.  These distractions would momentarily work but all too soon the tears would return.  For every two steps forward, there was one backwards.  Just when I thought he was OK with his items being packed up, a favorite bag of toy airplanes which were meant to be hand carried, got boxed up.  Fortunately the movers were quick to open the box and rescue them but the whole experience seemed to add to Sidney's anxiety.

A make-shift bed because if "Sidney is in
the suitcase mamma can't pack it."

And then there was the nanny factor.  Having watched Sidney since he was an infant, the nanny has an extremely strong attachment to our son.  That said, she has known from the  moment we arrived that we would be leaving but somehow this knowledge didn't make our impending departure any easier.  She had been crying on and off for the past month yet the tears seemed to become a daily occurrence this past week.  Tuesday morning it all came to a head with her continuously crying in Sidney's presence.  This only added to his distress and my own as well since I was trying to also deal with the movers while consoling my son all while operating on a few hours of sleep.  As a last resort Glenn and I brought her home early and let her know that we wouldn't be needing her services on Wednesday as we had originally planned.  This only added to her flood of tears but we simply couldn't take it any longer.  What we needed to do was focus on taking care of Sidney and helping him to understand what was going on and her tears were only making the situation worse.

He almost seemed relieved once we had dropped the nanny off at her home and we actually had an enjoyable Tuesday afternoon in our empty house.  Sidney explored newly emptied spaces, asked a few questions, and even talked excitedly about the plane ride he was going to take.  I naively thought we were out of the woods.  But Wednesday morning arrived with stories of mummies invading if we left the house, a new found fear of heights (i.e. not being able to ride in airplanes), and an unwillingness to leave the house.  Sidney persistently pulled the overfilled suitcases from the garage back into the house informing me that we couldn't move if we didn't have our suitcases so he was bringing them back inside.  When our driver arrived with the car Sidney all but lost it.  There were more painful tears and denials but eventually, after more coaxing and cajoling, we were able to get Sidney into the vehicle (sans suitcases--which were transported by the second driver after we left) with the promise of lunch.  All was well until after lunch when Sidney wanted to return home.  This time we distracted him with a promise of watching a movie in the hotel room.  It worked temporarily...... until the meltdown at the airport........

And so the pattern has been continuing.  Is there an end in sight?  Yes. Do I know when it is?  Absolutely not, although I hope it is sooner rather than later. It is so hard to watch my baby when he is sad and confused about what is happening around him.  I am assuring him that everything will be fine and talking about the great new adventures that await us.  He's taken to given me a look that makes him look wise behind his years when I tell him these things.  But everything will be fine and what doesn't destroy us will only make us stronger.  Sidney will be able to add a whole new set of memories to his Albanian ones and will hopefully soon forget about his anxiety surrounding this move.  That is until we get to do it all over again in three years.  Other parents have told me that moving is much easier when kids are younger so I can only imagine what I have to look forward to.

Bust

Early in our Albanian tenure; we were all younger, thinner, and
had more hair (I was even a red head)

Today, after 952 days, we are departing Albania for what is likely to be the last time. The past few years have been a wild ride filled with ups and downs, great joy and crushing heartbreak, adventure filled weekends and lazy days of doing nothing, long work hours and too many responsibilities.  We've made life long friends and met people we hope to never see again.  Our little boy arrived as a baby and is departing as a worldly, bilingual four year old.  We've visited twenty-three European countries (some multiple times) yet managed to explore Albania's natural beauty from north to south, east to west.  (In fact, we've probably seem more of Albania than many of our Albanian friends).  We've explored more castle ruins than I even thought was humanly possible and walked in places that seem trapped in a previous time. I quickly discovered the importance of investing in a good pair of shoes, always carrying my own toilet paper, and never leaving home without both a hand held fan and a sweater.  I've learned to improvise with my cooking, to always watch where I step, and that embassies, street dogs, farm animals and overflowing dumpsters can happily co-exist on a single street (namely ours).  I've had it reaffirmed time and time again that I really do not care for offal, raki, or Albanian wine but have never tired of the plethora of  fresh fish, figs, and other seasonal delicacies.  My defensive driving skills have been honed and I been amazed time and time again at what can be made out of concrete, but I still can't decipher whether a bobbing head means yes, no, or a little of both.

We've grown and matured and we've seen Albania grow right along with us; new roads, many with actual pavement, have reduced travel times from one end of the country to another; new shopping malls, movie theaters, and grocery stores have all introduced a variety of services and amenities to the country inching Albania one step closer to her western contemporaries. But through all of this the house across the street from us remains as occupied and unfinished as the day we arrived while the number of old Mercedes, battered furgons, and over the top expensive vehicles plying the roads has drastically increased.  During the past two and a half years airlines have come and gone, we witnessed national elections and a new government come to power, and are watching Albania's ongoing quest to be welcomed into the EU.  From The New York Times to Lonely Planet, travel writers continue to rate Albania as an up and coming place to visit.  (And, in my opinion, Albania is well worth a visit).  Yes, the past two and a half years have been quite the adventure.

So what does the future hold for us?  For sure, there will be more adventures, more memories to be made and new opportunities to be had. This blog will continue with the same URL but a new name.  (I'm testing out names so if you have any suggestions, please send them my way).  So stay tuned to find out what the future holds for us!

Our most recent family picture; we are all older and
wiser but still enjoying our adventures

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da

OB-LA-DI, OB-LA-DA, life goes on......or so says the popular Beatles tune.  These familiar lyrics are an apt description of our lives and the lives of other military families whose careers require regular relocation:  we know each move is temporary before we even have our official orders in hand, our time in the job has an end date from the moment we start, and once we leave the cycle will repeat itself both for us and the people replacing us then for the people after us and them and so on into perpetuity.  We know we have a limited amount of time in which we can put our mark on our new position before someone else comes in and tries to do it even better.  That is simply the way it is.  So yes, life does go on after we are no longer here.

Today is my first day of not working since I started my job in August 2011. At the moment I'm waiting for our packers to arrive rather than sitting in what I still think of as my office.  I may not be there but I'm sure the usual Monday morning hum is continuing without me just as it did with my predecessor and the one before her.  From the moment I first sat down at my desk on that hot August morning, I knew the job was only temporary.  Time is relative but because I was in the position for longer than most people, I was able to spend the first two years focusing on my actual job rather than thinking about what would happen "after".  But in the past few months that "after" came creeping up on me like an unspoken cloud hanging over my head.  Soon I found myself sitting in meetings and planning sessions talking and thinking about things that would only take place after my departure.  As my mind drifted during particularly long or arduous meetings I found myself wondering whether or not I even cared.  At first I did, but later I didn't and simply tried to feign interest in the subject at hand.  Until I couldn't any longer.  By mid-December I may have physically been present but mentally I was checking out.

But now, none of any of this matters any more. For better or worse we've left our mark on this place and our replacements have arrived, are settling in, and we are already being forgotten--which is a good thing.  We're moving on to our next post where we can start this process all over again.  And the process of starting over will happen here as well, like it has before us and will long after us.

So,

 OB-LA-DI, OB-LA-DA, life goes on, brah!

Lala how life goes on....

OB-LA-DI, OB-LA-DA, life goes on, brah!

Lala how the life goes on.

(Unaccompanied) Baggage

The movers arrived for the first time yesterday to pack up our unaccompanied baggage shipment.  In military circles this smaller shipment of the items you will live off of until all of your household items arrives is often called an express shipment. Express as in it arrives quickly or at a minimum quicker than   the crates of your furniture, electronics, and other worldly items.  I stopped calling it an express shipment after our move to Albania when the said "express" shipment arrived one full day prior to the rest of our household goods.  So much for express!  Now I am calling it by its other name, "unaccompanied baggage" or UAB.  UAB is perhaps the most important shipment a military family will have when moving since these are the items, all 1,000 pounds of them, that with the exception of the luggage will bring onto the plane with us, we are expected to live off of for the foreseeable future. In our case we are planning on the foreseeable future being three or so months in a hotel room so careful packing is essential.

So what does one pack for three people for three months when everything that goes into those boxes must be stored in our small hotel room?  What can we live without for so many months?  These are questions I pondered for some time.  Although Belgium's weather experiences none of the extreme highs and lows that we have here in Albania, we will be transitioning from winter into spring and perhaps even a bit of summer before we see our household goods again.  With that in mind, rain gear is a given in.  But add in the myriad of Glenn's required uniforms plus off duty clothing and clothes for Sidney and myself and our tiny allotted closet space is sure to be filled to capacity.  Each and every item was selected with care keeping dual purposes in mind.  (I also have no idea what our laundry situation will be but I suspect it will mean my spending many hours in a laundry mat).

Anyone whose read this blog knows I like food so the prospective cooking situation concerns me.  I've been assured that our room has a kitchenette but I am unclear as to what this actually means.  I have heard a refrigerator and dishwasher are a part of the deal but other details are vague.  I'm assuming there is a stove of some sort and hopefully there is an oven as well.  I haven't been able to get any clarity so I don't know what I'll be dealing with.  My crock pot and set of knives were the first item to get packed into the UAB but multi-purpose pots and pans were selected with great care.  I have no idea if I packed the right items but it is too late to change my mind now.

So now I sit and wait.  I've been told that our boxes will arrive in Belgium in about ten days but I've heard that line before.  I'm hopeful that this time it will arrive on time.  If they do, I may go back to calling this shipment express.

How Many Ways Can You Say Goodbye?

Saying goodbye is rarely easy.  I've known this for some time and am being reminded of it again as we enter our final weeks here and are saying farewell to the many wonderful people we've met over the past two plus years.  As has been the case with all of our moves, we've known our time was limited since the moment we stepped foot on our Albanian roller coaster.  We've watched people arrive after us and even more depart.  Some of their farewells have been bittersweet while others have been just plain hard.  All the while we've known our time was coming and suddenly, that time is now.

But actually it began a few weeks ago.  One by one farewell events have been popping up on our calendars making us realize just how many people we have met here in Albania.  Lunches and dinners with both individuals and large groups are being planned.  More than one reception is planned as well.  We are hosting some of these events ourselves while others are being held in our honor.  This morning friends hosted a farewell brunch for me with the entire American Embassy family.  I was touched by the outpouring of people who gave up their Saturday morning to come and say goodbye.  I survived without shedding any tears but there were moments when I came close.  I was reminded that I have met some truly wonderful people here in Tirana.  But this morning was just the tipping point.  From here on out we have at least one farewell event scheduled for every evening until we depart.  Some days we have lunches scheduled as well.  Sure we will be physically busy saying goodbye to so many people but it will be emotionally draining as well.  While some people are professional acquaintances others are true friends.  As much as we are ready to leave, severing some of these ties is turning out to be harder than I had anticipated.  And it is a reminder that no matter how many times you do it, saying goodbye is very hard indeed.  Before it is all over I am sure a tear or two will fall.

So in the languages of everyone we are saying goodbye to, farewell, arrivederci, adios, lamtumirë, pożegnanie, au revoir, auf wiedersehen, la revedere, свидания, αντίο, 见, afscheid.............