Of course there is the looming threat of the summer. A time of year that most people look forward to, which I do look forward to because it means we are getting out of here (two and a half more months!). But of course getting out of here is one thing, getting to somewhere else is quite another thing. You all probably know that we have no idea where the hell we will end up; the only thing we know is that our lease is up at the end of June. Hopefully something will have come along by then.
It's funny, because recently someone asked me how I can do what I do, moving pretty much every year. I say it's funny because I struggle with it mightily, but what else can I do? Tell my husband, "Okay, you got a job in Oklahoma? Me and the kids'll just move in with my parents. See you in a year! Love ya, bubye!" Yeah, no. So we do this instead. I feel like I've gotten slightly better at it. I've joked that you'd think that moving so much would cause me to re-evaluate my possessions, strip down to zen minimalism, but really it just causes me to hoard cardboard boxes.
Here's how it goes: the first three months, I am getting used to the place, finding the library and the good gymnastics place, figuring out where the best place to get produce is. At this point, things that are different are funny to me, like the multiple signs as you enter Stillwater imploring you to "Attend the Church of your Choice this Sunday!" Hahaha, hilarious, right? The next couple of months, I've got my routine down, I've learned how to function in this new place, and usually there is a chance of us actually staying in the place, so I'm becoming more upbeat about the place we live, looking for where in the town would be the best place to live permanently. These few months are also the time when René is applying to jobs all over the country, and I'm toying with the idea of living in crazy random places like Moorshead, Minnesota, or Amherst, Massachusetts and I think he even applied to a job in Honolulu this year. In addition to that, there are always the fantasy jobs in LA or anywhere in California, that I don't even let myself think about too much.
Then there's the last few months, which is the stage we are at now. Last year at this time I was plotting how I was going to get a job at Trader Joe's and we were going to move in with my Dad. It's the point of the year where we know we don't have a job where we are, we know we aren't staying, but we don't know where we are going. It is also the point, at least here and when we lived in upstate New York, when we admit to ourselves that we actually really don't want to live here permanently. To admit to ourselves that grocery shopping here makes us want to cry and that we don't like the fact that in the eight months we've lived here we've received no fewer than five unsolicited religious texts. I don't know what to do about my Zumba class, I don't know whether I can squeeze in some swimming classes for the kids before we need to move, and I basically feel like we already don't live here anymore.
We don't know where we are going so we can't plan our summer, which includes wonderful events such as the weddings of René's brother as well as my bestest friend (marrying other people, not each other). But I am beginning to see the routine in our lack of routine, and I am starting to settle into my unsettledness. But I don't know if my kids are ever going to learn to swim.
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| Doomed to be non-swimmers? |
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| These goofballs don't seem to be bothered about it. |
