FAQs and More Pictures

I have extra pictures, so I thought I'd throw them up with a FAQ. I get a lot of the same questions over and over (not just from people who read the blog), which isn't really annoying, but I thought it would be fun to put them up.

1. Why did you move to Paris (in 2004)?
A: Because I felt like it. I wish there was a more exciting reason than that. I get bored easily. Other places on my list were Australia, the British Virgin Islands, Germany, and Italy. I found a program teaching English that we could do in France, so that's where we went. It seemed like a fun idea at the time. I don't regret it.

2. Why did you leave Paris?
A: My mom died in 2004, and there were issues with my brother. Without getting into too much detail, we moved back to the States in 2006 take care of him and eventually became his legal guardians. We always intended for it to be a temporary move until he graduated from high school.

3. Why did you move to London
A: See #s 1&2. Essentially. I get bored easily and we knew we wanted to move back to Europe. Most of the big stuff fell on me last time because M, while he can speak and understand French, wasn't quite as helpful with bureaucratic things. I thought it would be easier on all of us if we moved to an English-speaking country. That left Scotland, Ireland, England and Wales. We chose London.

4. Are you even going to work in archaeology?
A: Maybe. I don't really like having to work for other people, although I realize it's necessary. It kills all the fun in the job, though, thanks to the whole office politics nonsense. Why would I want to kill my love of archaeology? If I'm volunteering, I don't have to deal with that as much. But I won't discount working for pay. We'll see. :)

5. Why do you act so weird?
A: I don't know, but it's Mini-Minion's favorite question right now. Thank you, Lilo and Stitch.

6. Do you regret moving to London?
A: Nope. I like London. I don't know if I like it as much as Paris, but I like living here. I like public transportation SO much better than driving, with a few exceptions (Costco & Ikea runs, for example).

7. Why do you put up unrelated pictures on blog posts?
A: Ah, the picture thing is mostly for mine and M's (blood and extended) families, who don't get to see the kids very often. Maybe they're boring to everyone else? At least they break up the blog posts.

Driving in London Is So Much Fun!

I'm lying. It's not. Especially when you're driving a van and it's raining. But even less fun than driving a van in the rain in London? Sitting in the passenger seat while someone else who is nervous by nature drives a van in the rain in London.

(That's a lot of bubbles.)

I felt quite bad for M, because it was a terrible day to drive. We made it to the warehouse to pick up our boxes just fine, but we had to sit out in the rain for 20 minutes until they were ready for us. This caused a bit of a problem, because we only booked the van for 4 hours, and it took us 90 minutes to get to the warehouse. 90+90+20+we still have to pick up Mr. A's bed with this van = Not Good.

(This is our neighborhood park. It's small, but nice!)

Now, I'm sure some of you are thinking, "Why didn't you map this out first?" Well, we did. But maps don't take into account horrendous London traffic, compounded by road work, and of course, the lovely English rain.

We made it out with all of our stuff intact, thankfully. I had it palletized before we left, so I was pretty sure it would all be safe anyway. We frantically pulled all the boxes out of the shrink wrap and threw them in the back of the van, with M saying, "How are we going to fit that bed in here?"

Then we drove off to pick up Mr. A's new loft bed. With absolutely no time to spare. . .we got lost. Oh yes, we got REALLY lost. The guy ended up meeting us at the edge of his town and drove us back to his house so we could pick it up. M kept saying, "He's got a van. Why didn't he just bring the bed here?" I dunno.

When we got there, though, the guy was like, "Uh, I don't think it's going to fit in the back of that van." Doubt not, Mr. Englishman. I was raised on Tetris. So while the men fretted and M managed to drop a box on my foot AND accidentally slam my head into the side of the van, I repositioned the boxes and we slid the bed in on the top. It took less than 10 minutes total. Nice.

It didn't rain on the way home, so we actually got to appreciate the Essex countryside. UH-mazing. Seriously gorgeous. We were pretty pleased with ourselves until we hit traffic and ended up 90 minutes late dropping off the van. Fail.

By the time we unloaded everything and carted it upstairs (including a box of solid books -- haha, WHAT was I thinking?), we were pretty over the whole moving thing and vowing never to do it again (until next year, right?).

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Look at it for a few seconds. Notice anything? (Other than the blurriness! Our lens got a pebble in it and wouldn't turn correctly for a few weeks.) Do you see them?

Yes, this is a playground. With headstones in the background. It is essentially a cemetery/playground. Ahhh. . .and how could anyone NOT love Europe?

We live next to a cemetery. Well, we live next to a church. And if you climb the wall in our garden, you can see the tombstones, because they're literally next door. But it could be worse. There's a little cottage for sale down the way, and the windows in the kitchen face the cemetery. I asked M, "Do you think that affects resale? I mean, seriously. How badly would you freak out if you were doing dishes at night and saw someone walking through there?" No thank you, ma'am. It's an old cemetery, too, which I think just makes things even creepier.

Back to THIS cemetery, though. Mr. A was playing in it, happy as a lark, for about 15 minutes. The first pictures is when he was completely unaware of his surroundings.

Hey, Mr. A. What's behind you?

At 8, though, it's not enough to want to leave. The playing in a cemetery (and living next to one) adds to his 'street cred.' It's creepy enough to pretend shiver over when he's on the phone with his cousins, but overall, he doesn't bring it up.

It's Not Me, It's You & the Summary

(York House Gardens, Twickenham)

Haven't you ever wanted to say that to someone? I want to say it to people all the time. "Yeah, really, it's not me, it's you." Well, I got to say that to the property management company we were working with, and it was actually a lot of fun after the two weeks of hell they put us through trying to get into the place in Soho.

Obviously it didn't work out. Obviously we spent more than we should have on hotels. But obviously we're still alive, and we're still in London, so we did find a place to live.

We're in Mortlake. Where's Mortlake? Exactly. It's a few miles away from London city center, in the southwest part of Greater London. We're wedged between Barnes, East Sheen, Kew and Richmond. Hammersmith is pretty close on the bus. It's definitely not Soho out here, but really, it's probably better for the kids that way.

(Twickenham)

Trying to get utilities transferred and set up turned out to be hilariously and irritatingly complicated. We went about a month without internet, which, when you work online, doesn't work so well. We ended up spending a lot of money on pay-as-you-go internet that restricted our time and data usage.

Another thing that ended up being irritatingly complicated was signing up Mr. A for school. As I type this, he still hasn't gone. He's going to be pretty far behind.

In the meantime, my grad program started, and I love it, but it is hard to balance grad school, work, the kids, the house, and time with M. Who wants to hear more complaining, though? I'm throwing up some posts tonight with pictures from our "missing" time.

Life Without Poodle

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Pomme. When Pomme was very small, she got a pretty pink poodle as a gift from a very special person. Pomme treasured her poodle. He helped her get to sleep, comforted her when she was sick or hurt, and played the perfect companion on long trips. Everyone knew that wherever Pomme went, Poodle would not be far behind.

Over the years, Poodle grew worn with love. His soft fluffy pink fur became grey and matted. His eyes were scratched up and dull. His nose came undone and bits of his stuffing started to fall out a little. But the biggest damage was done to his tail, which was worn down to a small nub and a few strings.

Whenever Pomme would take Poodle out, people would remark, "That certainly is a mangy animal, isn't it?" Others mistook Poodle for trash, thinking he was so well-worn he was practically worn out. In fact, Pomme's mother had to fish poor Poodle out of the rubbish bin one time when he accidentally got left behind at the store. But in spite of his appearance, to Pomme, Poodle was the most beautiful thing in the world. Every day, she would squeeze him tight and plant little girl kisses on his damaged nose. And every night, she still cradled him lovingly as she fell asleep, rubbing his nubby tail over her nose.

Pomme and Poodle had many great adventures. They went up and down California, on a long drive to Utah, and all the way to Florida twice. They swam together (much to Poodle's chagrin), ate together (Pomme shared best with Poodle), and played games together.

One day, it was time for Pomme's family to make a big move. Pomme was a little sad and scared, because she didn't understand what was going on. But as long as she had her Poodle, she felt safe and secure.

They got on the plane, made it through the 12-hour trip, and slept together in the airport during the layover. When they finally got to their new home, Pomme was tired and cranky, and she clung to her best friend.

For the first few weeks in her new city, Pomme had fun exploring everything with Poodle. They hung out at parks, splashed in fountains, and went for really long walks with Pomme's family. Pomme loved showing Poodle all the pretty lights and sights of her new home.

Then one day, Pomme fell asleep while her family was getting on the underground. She woke up as they were switching trains, and got so excited, she jumped out of her stroller, taking Poodle with her.

She pressed her Poodle up to the window to show him the sights, and then, so enthralled with them herself, she let Poodle fall to the ground.

When it was their turn to get off, Pomme jumped up from her seat and followed her parents out. She sat down in her stroller as her mother asked, "Do you have Poodle?" Oh, no! Pomme had left Poodle on the train! Pomme's brother leaped toward the closed train doors and tried to push the "open" button frantically, but it was no use. The train took off toward the next station, and Pomme began her life without Poodle.

As soon as Pomme realized her Poodle was gone, she began to cry. It was the deep sobbing cry of a heart being truly broken for the first time. Pomme cried off and on all night, asking over and over again for her Poodle. Not only had she never been away from him, but she had also never had to fall asleep without him by her side.

The sky grew dark, and Pomme's mother knew it was time for her baby to face her first night without her best friend. She picked Pomme up in her arms, and rocked her as she cried for her Poodle. "Where is he?" Pomme asked over and over. "I want my Poodle."

Pomme's mother knew Poodle wouldn't be coming back. She held Pomme close and said, "Poodle is on the train for Poodleville. His mommy misses him so, and now Poodle must go back to her."

Pomme's heart was heavy all night long. She finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, but she woke up throughout the night. She didn't ask for Poodle, and her small whimpers told her mother that Pomme remembered he was gone.

In the morning, Pomme's mother had a present for her. It was a new Poodle, exactly like the old one, but with pink fluffy fur and a cotton candy puff of a tail. His eyes were bright and shiny, and his nose was like brand new.

Pomme threw the new Poodle across the room. "That's not MY Poodle!" she yelled. Both Pomme and the new Poodle sat in heaps on opposite sides of the room, one silent and smiling and the other sobbing and heartbroken.

Pomme's mother picked her and the new Poodle up and sat down on the bed with them. "Pomme, I know this isn't your Poodle. But even though he didn't want to, your Poodle had to go. But he loves you so that he has sent this lovely new Poodle to help comfort you when you need it. And this Poodle would like to be your friend."


It didn't happen right away, but over time, Pomme began to share her world with her new Poodle. She started by bringing him out on walks and shaping his tail at night while she fell asleep. She tried pulling out some of his fluff to make his tail just the right kind of stringy.


Her mother knew Pomme would never forget about or stop loving her first Poodle, but she hoped that Pomme's new friend would help give her some comfort as she settled into her new life.

Back to Square One

You know what's really fun? Feeling like you've just wasted a ton of money and two weeks. Oh, wait. That's the opposite of fun. Haha. Silly me. My confusion can be the only reason why I managed to do both since we got here.

So we're back to square one. No apartment. They want over $10K from us. Not gonna happen. So we're going private. I contacted a bunch of landlords, and we set up some viewings. We finally put down an offer on a flat in Mortlake, which is in southwest London.

We're now on the fifth (I think) hotel, and we're moving again tomorrow. But oddly enough, things have turned around a bit this weekend. Mini-Minion lost her beloved Poodle on the DLR, which really put a damper on our time here, but overall, I think we're in pretty good spirits. We're currently in Canary Wharf, and I kind of like this area. We've got a gorgeous view over the water at our hotel. I'd definitely move here.

Tomorrow we head to Twickenham, which is also in the southwest. I was hoping this would be the last move, but we'll see. We just learned that the hotel will hold our luggage "no longer than one month." Wait, seriously? Because that is what has sucked the most about our moving around. What can we do but laugh?

Paying Our Dues

See, it was really just too easy to get my German passport and for us to be able to move here. Now, I know what you're thinking. . .if that was the easy part, this part must be downright awful. And it is.

We had to move hotels again. Just a one-minute walk down the road. Still across the street from Hyde Park. I figured we could buy ourselves another two days so that the estate agents and the referencers could get their acts together.

What is most infuriating about working with estate agents is they're lazy. Very, very lazy. They want YOUR results pronto, but when you appeal to them for help with a company THEY hired (the referencing company), it's, "Oh, why don't you ring them yourself?" Really? For this, I'm paying you almost 300GPB?

Every day, the referencing company wants something new. We've now given them 6 months' worth of bank statements, copies of our contracts, a landlord reference, and two references from our managers (against my better judgment, because independent contracting is such a slippery slope, and M's manager was NOT happy to be contacted). Now they want another reference from M's manager and another reference from our landlord. This has to be a joke.

But I'm looking at it like we are strong enough to handle this, so that's why it's given to us. It can't be easy all the time. That would be nice, though.

On a rather humorous note, this idiot at the referencing company claimed to have done tons of international references, including people from the US. But then in the next breath, she says she can't get in touch with our last UK landlord at the telephone number we provided. Except had she read our paperwork AT ALL, she would have seen she was dialing a US phone number. Facepalm!

Staying in hotels is getting old. It would be great if we were just on vacation, and I wish I could pretend that we were just bumming around Jolly Old England, but our bank account tends to rip me back into reality pretty fast.

Life is so strange right now. It's like extreme pulls from opposing forces are keeping me fairly neutral about everything, which feels so strange. I love it here, but I hate that it's so difficult to get settled.

The kids are pretty happy with the junk food and the parks. But even they're at the point where they want to be settled. It's no fun to move hotels all the time. If I had known we would have been displaced for so long, I would NEVER have packed as much as I did. But then on the other side, we can't really do laundry right now, so the excess clothes come in handy.

I'm glad we came early, though. Can you even imagine what it would be like to deal with all this while starting grad school? Insanity. Everything happens at it does.