So, it gets dark at 4:00pm here. That means the sun starts to set at 2:00, or so it seems. The sun is brighter right before it sets and emits a dream-like brightness, a quality amplified by the umber shadows. Because of this my internal clock goes all cozy at around 3:00.
To complicate things, I usually leave work by 4:00 - after dark - and instead of rebounding (a small rest followed by either excercise or wine, depending on the day) like I did in Texas, I immediately get in my pajamas and lay on the cozy, beckoning couch. I may or may not make dinner opting for Chinese food instead and find myself too tired to play with Jack which means enduring hours of Scooby Doo with the occasional storm trooper battle until I drag myself to bed around 8:30.
This is unhealthy. I understand this, and yet..
I imagine that if I went outside for a walk (in the dark, cold outside), I might enjoy the Christmas lights. I might see other moms pushing prams, and I might, dear Lord, make a friend here. All of that sounds ludicrous, especially the dark, cold outside part.
SO I make this vow: In April, a new rowing class starts.. as in I will row a boat on the River Thames. The class will kick my ass and my abs and my legs. The arm work out is a given.
I welcome the ass kicking.
Until then, it's Shaggy and Scooby accidentally solving mysteries with all the other meddling kids while I, in my winter hybernating state, store food in my belly (and in my thighs) , and justify my laziness by doing endless amounts of homework.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
New Holiday Songs
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Saturday, November 05, 2011
We went to the Anne of Cleves (as in named after Henry VIII's wife) for our first Guy Fawkes celebration. Technically there should've been a bonfire, but we opted for family carnival, bouncy houses, and fireworks instead. What a fun night in Weybridge!!!
Friday, November 04, 2011
What are you doing this week end?
It still sounds so bizarre to say, "Yeah, we're going into London tonight to meet friends. What are you doing this week end?" like it's no big deal.
Technically for the folks who live here it would sound like Arlington folks saying, "Yeah, I'm going into Dallas for the evening". Going into the city for a night out is kind of cool because somehow hanging out with other urban-ites sounds sophisticated and cool. But it's a whole 'nother layer of cool for the urban atmosphere to be London.
Because it's freakin' LONDON, people. And I live here now.
Truth.
Thursday, November 03, 2011
simple things
We found a place where we can enjoy burgers with American cheese, edimame, AND beer. Cheers to Giraffe, the kid friendly restaurant in Walton on Thames!!! And Thanks for being totally cool when my son announced to you that he had a poopy diaper..
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Leave it be, lady.
"I'm just going to say it. Parents these days! Lettin' their kids play video games at the dinner table. It stunts their growth, you know.."
Husband nods, all shifty eyed.
"They won't be able to have conversations," the wife said a little too loud to be private.
I turned their table next to ours and said, "Excuse me? Seriously? First of all, welcome to the modern world. Secondly, it's been a while since we've been to a restaurant. A long while. And do you know what happens at restaurants? Conversations, that's what. Adult ones that don't involve topics like "going tee tee in the potty", counting to ten in the correct numerical order, or reading Tinker Bell. Don't I deserve one night a month? One? Where I am not singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider? One where I'm not begging my three year old to take a bath, eat his supper, or go to bed? Seriously. ONE FREAKING VIDEO GAME while we wait for the waiter to come with food that isn't mac-n-cheese, chicken nuggets, or pancakes? One game that is actually educational - choose the color, the shape or the number? SCREW YOU LADY and your uninforned, hoity-toity rambling!"
What I really said was... nothing. I said nothing. I felt the weight of her comments on my back as my son, for 10 minutes, colored on his DS (using words like "stylus" correctly) while Rich and I sipped wine, ordered dishes that included incredients like aubergine, and talked about how ridiculously hard our day had been.
Husband nods, all shifty eyed.
"They won't be able to have conversations," the wife said a little too loud to be private.
I turned their table next to ours and said, "Excuse me? Seriously? First of all, welcome to the modern world. Secondly, it's been a while since we've been to a restaurant. A long while. And do you know what happens at restaurants? Conversations, that's what. Adult ones that don't involve topics like "going tee tee in the potty", counting to ten in the correct numerical order, or reading Tinker Bell. Don't I deserve one night a month? One? Where I am not singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider? One where I'm not begging my three year old to take a bath, eat his supper, or go to bed? Seriously. ONE FREAKING VIDEO GAME while we wait for the waiter to come with food that isn't mac-n-cheese, chicken nuggets, or pancakes? One game that is actually educational - choose the color, the shape or the number? SCREW YOU LADY and your uninforned, hoity-toity rambling!"
What I really said was... nothing. I said nothing. I felt the weight of her comments on my back as my son, for 10 minutes, colored on his DS (using words like "stylus" correctly) while Rich and I sipped wine, ordered dishes that included incredients like aubergine, and talked about how ridiculously hard our day had been.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
He said, she thought - and that rarely turns out well..
He was kissing me good night - in a very platonic British way which still sometimes feels a little awkward (especially when he does it to my husband) - when it hit me. Well actually, he thought it hit him first, hitting me in a more informed way, but then it was supposed to shoot back to him, wrapped in a glossy package of understanding.. by osmosis. Instead, the point I was trying to make rebounded itself over his right shoulder, flew into the chilly Surrey air, finding its tarmac a street gutter.
I must have flinched.
Sensing my stress, he said, "You know, you are so blessed! Just be happy! All you need to do is meditate."
I said, "Fuck off!! Seriously. You think I haven't tried that?"
Actually, I didn't say that. My mumbled reply was something like, "Really? You know.. Um.. Really? You think that's the issue?"
Or maybe I didn't say anything out loud, but I must have at least looked uncertain.
"You are so blessed," he reiterated as he pointed up at my new place.
I didn't have to look at the soft glow emanating from the little apartment above the shoe shop here on Queens Street to know that he was right about the blessed part.
For the record, I am. Completely blessed.
If blessed means being brave enough to completely decimate my old life - leaving my job, my dear family and friends, my roomy suburban house, a good job, financial stability.. my comfort zone - to come to an entirely new country and move into a tiny apartment above a shoe shop where I can't run the dishwasher and washing machine at the same time, to try my hand at international teaching - privileged kids, no less- to sell two cars (my husband's and mine) to afford one and then drive it white knuckled on the "wrong" side of the road, to have to make a mathematical conversion every time I want to know the weather or cook a meal, to not know cultural nuances or if/ when to tip, to have to scrutinize the size and value of every coin in my purse to pay, holding up the line at the grocery store.. then yes. I am. I even made the transition with a 3 year old boy who happens to be blossoming here.
Yes. Yes. I am BLESSED.
And I mean that with sincerity because only a blessed life gets an option.
In that moment, however, I didn't feel blessed. I felt sad. I felt like life is hard.. because it is.
For a while I wouldn't allow myself the negative emotion because here I am in England - an English speaking country that I LOVE, a place where I have a really good friend who picked me up at the airport, whose family helped me beyond measure when I first arrived and had no bed to sleep in; the very one that suggested I meditate. This is a place that was and remains my number one on the list of "Where I Would Consider Moving My Family, For Reals Y'all", surpassing places like Morocco and Libya, but placed after Norway and Switzerland. I spent years applying - hoping - afraid - bold - begging - waiting - praying..
After confirming my job position, I spent the summer begging banks for money transfers, arranging for the new apartment, praying someone would rent my house "in this horrendous market", wondering if I made the right decision to uproot my son from a place and person he adored to go somewhere so far away. And what about my family? What was I doing to them? What about my new position? Would it pan out? What, exactly, was I running away from? Or was it as I said - that I wanted a new start - an international experience for my son, for me, for my husband?
All of this - the epiphany that jolted through my body at a seemingly simple solution - to meditate or not to meditate..
I squared my friends shoulders and pointed to my temple. "I know that," I said. "I know that I am blessed, that I am living this dream of mine, but the problem is my brain doesn't get it. Neither does my heart. That's the problem. I have anxiety! It's not something that just goes away because I will it to."
What I meant was, please allow me a transition, friend. What has happened to (for) me - what I've made happen to me - is HUGE. And yes, I may need to meditate more - to, as my native Texans might say, "Hold onto my butt" a little longer, but as my epiphany that night suggested, I need to also allow myself to de-stress, to allow myself some transition time in this foreign place, to mourn the fact that I'm not around the majority of those who love me and no longer accessible to those who seriously, with heavy hearts NEED me, to allow for the understanding that meditation will come.. but not now. And not for a while.. At least not until I learn how to sleep through the night here in my very blessed apartment, on my glowingly safe street, in this new place, England.
I must have flinched.
Sensing my stress, he said, "You know, you are so blessed! Just be happy! All you need to do is meditate."
I said, "Fuck off!! Seriously. You think I haven't tried that?"
Actually, I didn't say that. My mumbled reply was something like, "Really? You know.. Um.. Really? You think that's the issue?"
Or maybe I didn't say anything out loud, but I must have at least looked uncertain.
"You are so blessed," he reiterated as he pointed up at my new place.
I didn't have to look at the soft glow emanating from the little apartment above the shoe shop here on Queens Street to know that he was right about the blessed part.
For the record, I am. Completely blessed.
If blessed means being brave enough to completely decimate my old life - leaving my job, my dear family and friends, my roomy suburban house, a good job, financial stability.. my comfort zone - to come to an entirely new country and move into a tiny apartment above a shoe shop where I can't run the dishwasher and washing machine at the same time, to try my hand at international teaching - privileged kids, no less- to sell two cars (my husband's and mine) to afford one and then drive it white knuckled on the "wrong" side of the road, to have to make a mathematical conversion every time I want to know the weather or cook a meal, to not know cultural nuances or if/ when to tip, to have to scrutinize the size and value of every coin in my purse to pay, holding up the line at the grocery store.. then yes. I am. I even made the transition with a 3 year old boy who happens to be blossoming here.
Yes. Yes. I am BLESSED.
And I mean that with sincerity because only a blessed life gets an option.
In that moment, however, I didn't feel blessed. I felt sad. I felt like life is hard.. because it is.
For a while I wouldn't allow myself the negative emotion because here I am in England - an English speaking country that I LOVE, a place where I have a really good friend who picked me up at the airport, whose family helped me beyond measure when I first arrived and had no bed to sleep in; the very one that suggested I meditate. This is a place that was and remains my number one on the list of "Where I Would Consider Moving My Family, For Reals Y'all", surpassing places like Morocco and Libya, but placed after Norway and Switzerland. I spent years applying - hoping - afraid - bold - begging - waiting - praying..
After confirming my job position, I spent the summer begging banks for money transfers, arranging for the new apartment, praying someone would rent my house "in this horrendous market", wondering if I made the right decision to uproot my son from a place and person he adored to go somewhere so far away. And what about my family? What was I doing to them? What about my new position? Would it pan out? What, exactly, was I running away from? Or was it as I said - that I wanted a new start - an international experience for my son, for me, for my husband?
All of this - the epiphany that jolted through my body at a seemingly simple solution - to meditate or not to meditate..
I squared my friends shoulders and pointed to my temple. "I know that," I said. "I know that I am blessed, that I am living this dream of mine, but the problem is my brain doesn't get it. Neither does my heart. That's the problem. I have anxiety! It's not something that just goes away because I will it to."
What I meant was, please allow me a transition, friend. What has happened to (for) me - what I've made happen to me - is HUGE. And yes, I may need to meditate more - to, as my native Texans might say, "Hold onto my butt" a little longer, but as my epiphany that night suggested, I need to also allow myself to de-stress, to allow myself some transition time in this foreign place, to mourn the fact that I'm not around the majority of those who love me and no longer accessible to those who seriously, with heavy hearts NEED me, to allow for the understanding that meditation will come.. but not now. And not for a while.. At least not until I learn how to sleep through the night here in my very blessed apartment, on my glowingly safe street, in this new place, England.
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