Here's what you can expect.....

There were about a dozen (if not more) entries similar to the one that follows this that I logged during the months of December and January. Once our internet was up and running, I thought, these entries will be effective in painting the picture of just how sucky things can be. I hoped that by the time they were posted, things would be past suckiness and we could all look back on it and be glad it was in the past.
Then it occurred to me: why do I want to document all the shitty stuff? I mean, what benefit would that have? All it is going to do is perpetuate the negativity, draw more of it in, and create further drama. No thanks.

So, I have decided to NOT post the pissing and moaning, no matter how funny some of it is (in hindsight,) no matter how well-written the account is (if I do say so myself) and no matter how patient and tolerant it may have made me appear to be (and I've been an f-ing saint, seriously.)

I am, however, going to give a few summaries of the major occurrences... namely:

• the drama with not being adequately prepared to move (sorry and thanks, though, to Geoff and Katrina,)
• the drama with trying and trying and trying and trying and trying to get our phone and internet (British Telecom, also known at BT, is the anti-Christ, in case you wondered),
• the drama with getting a mobile (say "mo-by-ul") phone,
• the drama with trying to get a work permit,
• the drama with learning how to understand British (because it IS a different language...don't let the Hugh Grant movies fool you into thinking otherwise,)
• the drama of learning how to cook all over again,
• the drama of getting our bank account,
• the drama of being with the same three people for 24-hours a day, seven days a week, for 34 days in a row (and I speak for each of us separately on that one,)
• and the drama of being terribly, heinously, horribly homesick while trying to comfort two wonderful children experiencing the same homesickness, coupled with their apprehension over starting a new school and new life.

See how it can get really ugly really fast?

Stay tuned for the summaries...it's the only glimpse you'll get into the bad stuff. The rest is just me and my babbling...and anyone who reads this can probably say that you had enough of that before I moved. (Except for Sue or Julie...you both can say that I was the crappiest at sharing my babble with you guys. For that, I am sorry.)

Stupid Criminals

So someone has stolen Husband's debit card number and charged TONS of stuff on it. The American account, that is. Well THIS should be easy to fix, from 7,000 miles away with an eight hour time difference. Bastards.

Take a Hike

Since we are so fond of hikes back in Oregon, Husband was clever enough to find us a place to hike here AND get to see some castle ruins. For anyone who knows us, our family is totally into castles and knights and history like that. So Husband did some research and found Beeston Castle
http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/server.php?show=nav.13495
which was a short drive from our house and proved to be a fun afternoon. Take a look for yourself.

I'm not an experienced mover, I just play one on TV.

In hindsight, it was denial. Complete and total denial.

At first glance, it seemed that I was so calm, so together, so well-paced. People would say, "Oh my gosh...are you all packed? Are you ready to go?" I would nod, confidently, and say that I was JUST ABOUT THERE. I truly believed myself when I said, “It’ll all come together in the last day or so. It always does."

Wrong, wrong, wrongity wrong!

It WOULD have come together in the last days IF I were moving to another house in Portland.

Hell, it would have come together if I were moving across the country again, back to St. Louis, or even further east. It did NOT come together, though, because this was the first time I was moving to THE OTHER SIDE OF THE F-ING WORLD. Okay, maybe not entirely the OTHER side, but nearly 7,000 miles, I think.

I relied on the "last time" I moved...that was my frame of reference. Truth be told, there wasn't a "last time" to rely on. It was a whole new ballgame and I arrived during the last inning. Seriously, I didn't realize that I was in over my head until it was too late.

My body, my choice. I'm not against it, but I wouldn't get one, either. (A short haircut, that is.)

I'm going to attempt to NOT begin every post with "so" and then begin my babble; however, for the sake of authenticity, most posts will probably start with that word, as do most of my sentences. Like my spoken word, my writing just erupts mid-thought. I've found that the word "so" acts as a buffer, making the listener or reader think that they have been listening to something relevant to what I am saying or writing next. Really, though, none of it is connected. Just ask Husband.

So the hair. The short hair. The hair I piss and moan about EVERY day. As part of the temporary insanity that gripped me the last month I lived in the States, I decided that my long hair was too long, too damaged, and needed to be cut in a smart and sassy style. In my defense, I have to add that I haven't been in complete control of my brain and body in recent months...I've got some rather crazed hormones. I should also point a finger at Katie Holmes and Victoria Beckham. They should have never got their hair cut short (or at least not allowed their photo to be taken and published) because that's what REALLY pushed me over the haircut edge.

I took it in phases, small steps. A cute semi-longish bob. A week later, a shorter bob. A week after that a borderline pixie cut...you can see where this is going. A gal with a head as big as mine should NOT have short hair unless it is super-super-super short. Like having to get it clipped every two weeks to keep it so short-kind-of-short. And having a face like Jamie Lee Curtis, Sinead O'Connor or Demi Moore helps, too. A long face like mine is not optimal, nor is really thick and apparently REALLY curly hair. Lesson learned.

With my self esteem issue rearing its ugly head (literally and figuratively) I got my hair cut really short. I imagined myself in England as the cute American with the confident, stylish, sassy short hair. Like Victoria was the cute Brit with the confident, stylish, sassy short hair back in the States. (Okay, now Spain.) Instead I end up looking about 10 years older, somehow fatter (not sure how, but it's true) and about eight shades paler.

I won't put up any of the pictures of the 'do. If I did, though, the caption would read: "Renee's Victoria Beckham Haircut - Delusion or Mutilation? You Decide."

What happened to December 3rd?

We left the States at 6:32am on Wednesday, December 3rd.

We left our house at about 4:00am on Wednesday, December 3rd.

We would have NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER made it to the airport were it not for Geoff and Katrina.

Let's just say that Goff and Katrina are living proof that God places people in your life with a purpose. His purpose in giving us the Helzers was two-fold. One, He was rewarding us for something, apparently, (thanks, God!) because they are just the very best people in every way, and we loved every single minute we spent with them. Two, He knew that there weren't two other people capable of dealing with the implosion of my life (and subsequent mess) that resulted from The Move. More on that later.

So December 3rd. That day, for all intents and purposes, didn't really happen. I lost a chunk of it somewhere over the US, then a bit in New York, and the rest over the Atlantic. I emerged in Manchester, England, at about 8:00am on December 4th.

And so it begins.

A Girl Can Hope, Right?

Just arrived in England, and I'm on the lookout for the Osbournes. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm f-ing serious. I so LOVED that show.

It doesn't help that I'm hours away from London...we landed in Manchester and we are living in Chester. But I'm still holding out hope. Maybe they come shop here in Chester...I hear that's what the town is known for. That and an ancient Roman wall that's older than America by like ten times. Nothing like a trip abroad to put my tiny little world into perspective.

Over and out.