This isn’t a post beautifully written (even if I could…) about the lessons I have learned from preparing for a move around the world. Not about patience, about acceptance, about calm in the midst of chaos, lemons out of lemonade. It’s about none of that. It’s about the mess. The huge emotional, physical and psychological mess I find myself in. It’s about getting the blah out. Pure and simple processing on the page. WARNING: So if you are a cup is half-full kinda guy or gal or someone who hates complaining of any kind, you might want to stop reading now (and for all 3 of you who read this blog, thank you for humoring me!). If you want to continue, I apologize now for dragging you into the mess.

I’m just going to lay it out there—I HATE mess. My friends and family know that I hate dirt, dust, grime, clutter and mess of any kind. Every Christmas I ask for a vacuum, dust buster or steamer, I am embarrassed to write. I am literally afraid of whatever is on the sidewalks and on the subway floors, seats and poles of NYC. I do whatever is in my power to keep all of that at bay or get rid of it: We don’t wear shoes in the house, I steam clean our apartment all the time, the girls take a bath EVERY SINGLE NIGHT of their lives, we don’t even wear the same uniform more than one day in a row before it gets washed. (And I don’t have a washing machine in our apartment). In a small space such as ours, if things aren’t put away and cleaned up, the household falls apart or seems to in my mind. It’s the broken window theory. Remember from Sociology 101 or the Giuliani administration? According to Wikipedia, “the theory states that maintaining and monitoring urban environments to prevent small crimes such as vandalism, public drinking, and toll-jumping helps to create an atmosphere of order and lawfulness, thereby preventing more serious crimes from happening.” If the kitchen table is littered with dishes, homework, princess paints, magnetic blocks, etc. Dan will inevitably come home and put his tie, jacket, and other work related stuff on top of that pile of stuff. If the table is clear of debris, his stuff will most likely get put away.

Friends, you won’t believe me, but I HATE cleaning. It really annoys me. I am COMPELLED to be so thorough and start at the beginning when all I want to do is curl up with a coffee (or wine, depending on the time of day) and read to my kids sitting on a pile of MESS, but it’s almost impossible. If you came over right now you would see my unmade bed, my kids’ unmade beds, laundry bags full of freshly cleaned laundry on the floor, breakfast dishes on the counter and in the sink, and Mia’s toy trains and blueberries from breakfast all over the floor. And you may think, “totally normal for a household with young kids.” What you may not know is that last night every single thing was cleaned, put away and organized. And within 5 minutes of my kids being awake this morning, it’s now in it’s current state. It’s an exercise in futility to clean up after young kids ALL DAY LONG, and to do it to the extent I am compelled to. As Einstein said, “Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” Yup. I am so tired.

To be able to write this blog or run my business in a house that is in a constant state of entropy isn’t easy and requires letting go. I long to be one of those people (like my eldest daughter and husband) who literally can’t see the mess. Oblivion! How I long for you! But I am not and never have been that kind of gal (I used to have to clean and organize my entire bedroom growing up before I could start my homework) so I have to put the housework that I hate doing out of my head to get done what I want or need to get done. Let it go and know that the mess will be there in a half hour for me to clean up. (Anyone else spend 2 hours a morning just getting their space into functional form so that the day can go smoothly? I know tons of you do. Isn’t it tiring?) And if apple juice is spilled at breakfast onto a phone and homework, and the sports bottle leaks all over the lunchbox, and kids in tights step in it on their way out the door, well, it just might take a bit longer than 2 hours. The good news is that I am able to let some of this go because the house was thoroughly cleaned yesterday and while it’s messy, it’s not dirty.

I was never OCD before NYC. My theory is that anxiety comes up as a result of the chaos and uncertainty of the city around me and just good ‘ol life in general—and I’m not completely clueless about the psychological factors in my own life that lead me to want to control my immediate environment—years of infertility, job uncertainty/loss, insane bosses, elementary school kids labeled “Emotionally Disturbed” with a million issues that I could do nothing to ameliorate other than putting a bandaid on the current wound. All of that lead me to my need to clean it all up in my own space. Keep it all contained so that my little family has an oasis in this hectic place. And so that I can breathe. So that we can go out and dance, sing and play in the dirt-storm (I want to say S–T STORM, but this is a PG blog for my mom and dad), and come back in, shower it off, and get cozy (and clean).

So what the heck do I do when that cozy, clean haven is moving to INDIA?!? A place that isn’t Singapore—you definitely won’t be arrested for throwing your gum on the ground, let’s be honest. A friend mentioned to me that the pics on this blog make India look like Florida. I definitely didn’t mean to give the impression that things with this move are easy or that the place resembles a vacation destination. (Perhaps I was unconsciously trying to present the best because I have been accused of complaining too much. I can go to the negative way too quickly—and it’s because the problems are a more interesting story than the positives. Seeing life as half-full and not complaining as much have been my New Years resolution like 5 years in a row. Or perhaps it’s because that’s the thing about India—there is beauty all over the place. Right next to the mess). Okay, so truth—the air is polluted, the water is undrinkable for those new to the scene, and there are piles of trash on the side of the roads in communities with and without money. I am not trying to be in any way insensitive, so please forgive the bluntness if it comes across as such. But what do I do to keep the chaos (and anxiety) at bay? I do what I always do, start at the beginning, turn over those bath toys and scrub the mold, pull up that carpet and vacuum those crumbs.

With the move to India, it has become all about setting up our environment—and now that we have secured that (hopefully), it’s about setting up that environment. So stuff. Moving stuff from here has become the biggest concern. What to bring, what to leave, donate, sell, store. And how does the move work? Ship, fly? When will we meet with the moving company to figure it all out? I need to know for my own peace of mind, which caused a big blow up today with Dan. Bad. Screaming, tears, anger, hang ups. Yes, I hung up the phone. (See the warning above about this not being a pretty post). Which prompted writing this post. To get the feelings and mess out. And maybe to try to explain them. And maybe, although it wasn’t my intention at the start, try to understand and order them. Because that’s how I handle the mess…”Life’s messy, clean it up.” Bissell’s words to live by.

Wednesday:

Writing this in the Etihad Business Class Lounge (not feeling guilty any longer about the amenities after our experience on the Jet Airlines connecting flight. I’m taking my luxury where I can get it).

The weekend before we flew out to India we took the gals to Jackson Heights, Queens-AKA “little India” for some authentic Indian food. The bad news is that Jackson Heights Diner has gone way down hill, but the good news is that Masan found her perfect “Indian dress.” It was “sea green” and very “fancy.” Evie decided she wanted the same one, but in purple and pink. Dan and I agreed to find a kid-sized one in India to bring back home for them.

While we were in Bengaluru we asked our relocation specialist Kasturiikaa if she could take us to find a kid-sized sari. She took us to a beautiful store with high-end silk saris for children. Gorgeous, but way too simple for our gals who love sparkle. We drove around for a bit seeing similar stores with similar inventory, until she finally called her boyfriend to ask where his niece got her dresses, which turned out to be a local Indian market. Kasturiikaa was hesitant to take us, not because it was unsafe, but because expats or foreign tourists never go. She says that she herself would never shop there. But Dan and I were game and on a very serious mission to find sea green “fancy” Indian dresses, so we went to the market. Dan needed an ATM (about 50 percent of the cash machines we visited during our week-long stay were out of money), and Kasturiikaa insisted that our driver (lots of people have drivers because to drive in that town is a death wish) go with Dan-apparently she was really concerned about us.

While Dan was at the cash machine K (not her nickname but for purposes of blogging while using an iPhone it will be) and I headed to the shops-picture the small stores all over Chinatown in Manhattan. Not more than a block out of the car a homeless man asking for money touched me and K became very upset on my behalf. She can’t believe this man has touched me and that she’s taking clients to this market. Clearly she needs to hear my story of the homeless guy in my neighborhood who insists on hugs. 

At that point I noticed a gorgeous Hindu temple just sitting behind the market. Strangely, it’s not considered a famous temple or tourist spot, but it’s huge and gorgeous. From what I saw, there are large and small Hindu temples scattered all around Bengaluru-adjacent to malls, at traffic lights, behind shacks-reinforcing the spiritual in the mundane, which I think seems like a great idea.

    Back to the mission-the first couple of shops didn’t have dresses for kids, but by the third we were in luck. They had shelves up to the ceiling on every wall filled with boxes of dresses. Every style-from traditional looking dresses to tunics and leggings to what looked to me like pageant dresses. Surprisingly, they were of good quality with ornate detailing. Not the sort of thing you’d find at a Chinatown market. Perfect for Masan and Evie’s vision. But alas they didn’t have sea green. Every other color imaginable. We settled on hot pink and blue, which the girls have seen on Skype and approve of.

  

Tuesday:

-Day 2 of dysentery meds

-Day 4 of Indian cold meds

Friday we thought we had found our house. It was perfect: clean lines, newish, beautiful yard, and of course, “a party roof” as our broker described it. It was also in the expat community closest to Dan’s office called Adarsh Palm Retreat. He could even walk to work (versus the hour car ride from any of the other spots we saw). Heartbreakingly, by Monday we were told it had fallen through. The broker showed us the house when unbeknownst to him, the owner was in early contract negotiations with someone else. And unfortunately for us, the landlord is honest and refuses to let us outbid the other potential client or be outright bribed. 

So today our relocation specialist extraordinaire, Kastrika, who was supposed to be rid of us pesky Americans yesterday, graciously agreed to show us a few more homes in the Adarsh Palm Retreat community. Dan and I were praying that these would work out, and were very nervous that they wouldn’t. The first house we saw today was huge, but way too ornate for our taste, and had a few safety concerns for small kids-the gaps between the banisters on the upstairs railing were just big enough to allow 3 little girls access to free fall into the fountain on the fist floor. (The best thing about this house was the adorable dog chained in the backyard who our kind relocation specialist found water for).

   

 The next house we saw had some design choices that we may not have made, but it was fine. However, once I spotted the memo about snake bites on the fridge, and heard from the current tenant that snakes like to appear during the rainy season
 I knew it wasn’t the place for us.

The next house we weren’t allowed into because the current tenant said it was a bad time. It was fine because I wouldn’t have been able to see the house through my tears of disappointment. Next to the house was a dusty vacant lot with a rusty, rickety security watchtower that I can picture all 3 of my girls wanting to turn into a death-trap tree-house. Ugh, this situation was getting dire fast.

House 3 was one we had already seen on Friday. Houses 4 and 5 were a no-go. And now we were out of options. We were so frustrated because we had been here for 5 days and had seen so many houses and still hadn’t found a home. Were we being too picky? Probably. But nothing felt right, and I’m a big ‘go with your gut’ kinda gal. We were left with either choosing an amazing house an hour away from Dan’s work place (meaning the kids would hardly ever see him) or a house that we disliked near his work. Either option was depressing. 

In a moment of desperation we asked Kastrika if we could see a newish house we had seen last week with some crazy design choices, like insane ceilings and elaborate light fixtures, but better than any of our current options. So while we went to meet Dan’s work colleagues and see MS Bangalore, Kastrika was going to arrange it. Another prayer that this ‘Hail Mary’ would work out. There have been many times in my life when God helped me out in the nick of time when I didn’t think things would work out. 

So while we were having lunch at the office Kstrika skipped her lunch to look at additional homes for us. And she found one!!! It’s a smallish house without any outdoor space, but it’s full of light, is simple with clean lines, and has a great feel. Huge sigh of relief. God and Kastrika came through! Well, hopefully…we still have to negotiate a lease. Prayers, please!