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!

 Sunday: Last night the bass was so loud from the hotel rooftop bar from 9pm until 1am that our room shook. We are 3 floors below the bar. All the calls to the front desk were met with much polite apology, but no resolution. Sounds like we missed a good party! We’re going to have to get a new room. 

After such full days of home searching, school interviews, hospital tours, and drive-thrus of the various parts of the city it’s hard to have the energy to do anything at night. We have been collapsing on the bed, ordering room service, watching some Discovery channel and falling asleep-at least until the music upstairs starts. Today is our first day off so we are looking forward to some adventures, swimming in the pool and relaxing. We want to hit up a church, a bazaar and maybe a public park.

The cough and cold that I’ve had since the beginning of February is still with me. The coughing seems to be exacerbated by the dust in the air, and riding around in the car with my scarf covering my mouth and my big sunglasses keeping the sun away has become my new look. (Michael Jackson perfected it-I’m just borrowing it). Dan bought me some medicine at The Cash Pharmacy as well as some antibiotics. Antibiotics over the counter! (These are impossible to get back home even if you see a doctor!) It’s nothing like a pharmacy in the US, Dan says. He described it as a large hardware store with lots of drawers. You tell your symptoms to the pharmacist and he/she chooses the right meds for you. So I’m taking something for cough and cold twice a day-the ingredients of which sound interesting and difficult to pronounce. 

Time to drink my room service coffee and plan the day! 

“I can’t wait to see our new house. I bet it’s going to be a mini-temple.” – Masan, age 7

Before we left the US the girls had begun to talk and ask questions about where we are going to live in Bengaluru. From what we have seen of expat communities thus far, it looks as though we are going to have a MUCH larger space than the one we currently live in. 4000 square feet versus the 1000, 1 bathroom we have now. Huh. Moving to India to get more space. Who would have thought?

At this point we have probably seen about 25-30 houses and apartments in Whitefield and downtown Bengaluru. All in 2 days without a break for tea. (What happened to breaking for afternoon tea? I thought this was a given in India, and so far I have yet to have afternoon tea here). Most of the homes had pros and cons. Some communities had amazing pools and clubhouses, while others had amazing homes, but a smaller neighborhood (which means fewer potential friends), and others were too far from Dan’s office (traffic in this town is no joke-it makes rush hour on the BQE seem easy). However, today we saw a lovely, simple (not “fussy” as our sweet relocation specialist describes a certain style of home) house with clean lines, a small yard for the kids to play in, a large functional kitchen, enough bedrooms to have friends visit (yes, I mean you!), a pretty pond across the street and a quiet street to ride bikes on. The A/C units aren’t in the living spaces, but apparently you can just request that the landlord install them. 

We definitely saw houses that were much bigger than the one we hope to rent. Most places had 4 bedrooms and 5 baths! No wonder most expats have housekeepers! We would like a place with enough room so that the girls will not be stacked on top of each other, but too much room would mean too much stuff, and I already feel like we spend too much of our time managing our things. That’s not how we want to spend our time here. Home will be a place to relax, sleep, and escape the city chaos, but I’m hoping we will spend most of our time exploring.  

These are some pics of our favorite homes:

At the airport. More specifically, the business class lounge of Etihad airlines. Okay, this is going to sound really provincial, but why have I never before been in this magical kingdom? My coach self never even knew it existed! 

I had butternut squash and scallops for dinner. And they weren’t at all like airline food, but instead were absolutely amazing. And they were free! There are showers here, a prayer room, any magazine I could ask for in both English and Arabic, any kind of alcohol I want, and I’m sure some illegal things if I asked nicely. It’s a bit Stepford that all of the servers are wearing the same shade of lipstick and a similar wide smile, but we’ve shown them pics of the girls and gotten some personal stories so I feel a bit better. I guess for a ticket that cost as much as 3 month’s rent in my overpriced neighborhood this place makes sense, but I feel very guilty. It’s too much, too decadent, like I’ll have a toothache from how sweet it all is. This isn’t me-I don’t deserve this. But it’s so nice and cozy to sit on a clean leather chair in a quiet nook rather than a hard chair at the airline gate. So I’m going to “when in Rome” it for now. 

REALLY looking forward to having a sitter today. I wanted to run away from the childcare chores and never look back—or at least not look back for a few hours. I needed to be a party of one–a regular human being without a child strapped to my chest, just for a second. First stop was midtown to learn yoga poses that strengthen and elongate the injured area of the spine. Helpful, but my body seems to want to do the complete opposite of what it’s supposed to do in the poses. Everything I was instructed to do felt unnatural. Apparently my body is moving in ways that aren’t healthy, which is probably why I have periformis syndrome and a herneated disc. I was told that I lock my knees, thrust my hips forward instead of keeping them over my feet, that my left knee points inwards, my shoulders are uneven, and I need to remember to keep pulling my belly to my spine. The goal is for me to do these exercises at home to create space in my spine. But first I need to find the space in my life. I tried to do one of the the exercises when I got home. I was 2 breaths in when Mia came to stand next to me and yelled, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” over and over until I stopped the exercise and turned my attention to her.

After yoga I went to Dr. Cliff for some energy healing. On the table, face down, couldn’t stop coughing. So annoying for the people ‘energy healing’ on tables on either side of me, I’m sure. As soon as I arrived I wanted to leave. Now laying on my back I kept looking at the clock to see what time it was and playing with the ends of my hair. When can I leave? Trying hard not to bolt. Dr. Cliff said that this is great time of transition for me, and that he wants to help me get through it “whole, and not fragmented.” My usual MO when the going gets tough is to run the other way and hide under the covers with a book. He wants me to be able to confront the hard stuff without retreating in my body, mind or spirit. Ugh. That sounds painful.

Anyway, the energy running through me felt so jittery. The only thing that helped was when we did Stage 9 breathing, which is very hard to explain, but was a much higher stage than I am normally at, and really brought some nice energy. Feeling a bit less jittery afterwards. But I still ran out of there as soon as I was released. Went for lunch, and wanted to leave the restaurant as soon as I sat down. I wanted to get back home. As fast as I could. Missed the girls and Dan. Wanted to be home to watch Masan and Evie play in the recess yard behind the apartment. Wanted to play toy instruments with Mia or read her favorite book with her. Again, it was one of those Hotel California moments (“you can check in anytime you’d like but you can never leave”) I had been having all day. The service was great when I was seated and served, but no one looked at me when I needed a bill. I sat at my table with my wallet out and my plate empty for 15 minutes. Finally I went to the register and asked for my bill. The servers were annoyed, but I NEEDED to get out of there RIGHT THIS MINUTE.

I was so antsy to leave my house and my kids this morning, and just a few hours later I couldn’t wait to get back home. The change in mind-frame was so drastic in just a few hours. What was it? Guilt at not being with the kids, for wanting to be apart from them, or something more than guilt? Why was it so hard to sit at a table and sip tea and read a book instead of rushing for my check? Why couldn’t I focus on breathing and healing? Dr. Cliff said that there was some resistance during our session. It made me wonder if I don’t take time out for myself to really take care of myself, not because I don’t have the time or space, but because once I do I will need to figure out who I am stripped of my roles and my chaotic life. And maybe it’s too scary and been too ignored for too long. It’s easier to rush around and get home to focus on other people’s needs than peel the layers and sit with the uncertainty necessary for self-discovery. Who knows. I just want to be done with this post!

Friday we went to see a doctor for a tutorial on surviving India, and to get some of our vaccinations and oral medications. This extremely thorough tutorial totally changed my perspective on this whole endeavor. Instead of feeling like we are embarking on a joyful new adventure, I feel much more trepidation, and like, “how am I going to make it out of Bengaluru alive?” The conversation with this doctor was so vastly different than any other conversation I have had with anyone about India and this move thus far. Almost every single person we have spoken with about the move has been 100% excited and supportive of our move (thank you!), which in turn has made Dan and I even more excited and very positive around the girls, which kept everyone’s spirits up. Maybe I was just being naive. It’s not that I didn’t think about any of the real health concerns associated with going to a developing country. Of course there we were going to have to take some malaria pills, be careful about what we ate, and wear bug spray and sunscreen, but beyond that it would all work out. I also thought that my OCD around cleanliness would be a huge asset, but meeting with a medical professional was truly eye opening.

Not only do I have to keep myself healthy, but am responsible for keeping 3 little kids from getting sick. Knowing how hard it is to keep kids healthy here (we are always fighting something), how much crazier and more complicated will it be in a country where I don’t know anything about anything? It was beyond helpful to get this doctor’s perspective and advice, but it also left me feeling a bit disappointed. That things weren’t going to be as I had hoped or envisioned.

During our tutorial, we were told the following:

-Don’t drink bottled water unless it’s from a hotel or from a big grocery store even if there is an unbroken seal because the bottle may have been refilled with tap water and the top may have been super-glued on like that scene from ‘Slumdog Millionaire’. So if my kids are thirsty and there are only small stands around, they are going to be thirsty. Not having access to clean water is no joke.

–Don’t even think about petting the cute-looking monkeys you see everywhere because they have rabies, which will kill you. How am I going to keep my kids from petting the cute monkeys when they pet every animal they come in contact with in Brooklyn? They’d probably pet a rat if they could get close enough.

-Don’t eat where the locals eat and definitely no street food of any kind. I was so excited to eat street food! That seems like the real deal, but okay.

-No fruit or vegetables unless you peel or cook them yourself. I can already foresee that keeping regular is going to be an issue. Thank God for dysentery.

-Don’t cross the street unless you want to be run over. There must have been more to this one, but that was my take home message.

-Keep all windows and doors locked while in the car, and never hail cabs because they could take you to your location in a round about way, trying to rip you off. Okay, like cabs do in NYC. Used to this one.

-Keep a throw away wallet with a $20 in it in case you are getting mugged. When I first moved to NYC in 1998 for grad school, I wore a money pouch inside my clothes and didn’t carry a purse or wallet with me. Seriously. I was scared that I would get mugged getting my groceries or riding the subway. This lasted about a week, until the teasing by my grad school friends became too much, and I realized that people did carry purses around, but that I just had to be smart about things. A bit of paranoia can’t hurt as 18 years later I have never once been mugged in this great city, knock on wood.

-Don’t give any money or food to anyone who asks—even kids. The money makes sense, but I was planning to carry snacks around to give to the children who asked. I can’t imagine ignoring people who need something—even here we give money to almost every person who asks (when we have it—except to the slightly belligerent man in front of Rite Aid and the man who keeps saying his shoes were stolen “yesterday” every time I see him, and who demands that I hug him). I am trying to raise compassionate kids, not jerks. The doctor said that kids who beg are often controlled by gangs who will stalk us if they see us being generous.

-And no, you can’t volunteer in any orphanages because you will catch TB. Great. That’s what I was most excited about! There go my dreams of being Mother Theresa, and a way to ameliorate the rich, white guilt in a country with overwhelming poverty.

-No, you can’t pet the cows; they are dirty. I love cows, and am very excited to see them in the airport, in stores, in the street. Dan and I are even excited about becoming vegetarian again! Even though they are sacred, I guess they are still unclean.

Vaccines—Many of the vaccines that I was supposed to get I had already gotten when I was pregnant per New York State law, like Tdap (tetanus, diphtheria, acellular pertussis) and MMR (measles, mumps, rubella), so that was wonderful to hear! I only had to get Hep A & B (which I think that I may have already had a few years ago in addition to Hep C, but need to check my medical records) yesterday. Additionally, we were given oral typhoid pills, which we take every other day (just 4 pills, but we need to have an empty stomach and can’t consume alcohol–this may pose an issue for tonight’s Super Bowl party). And I finally learned the origin of ‘Typhoid Mary.’ According to Wikipedia: “Mary Mallon (September 23, 1869 – November 11, 1938), better known as Typhoid Mary, was the first person in the United States identified as an asymptomatic carrier of the pathogen associated with typhoid fever. She was presumed to have infected 51 people, three of whom died, over the course of her career as a cook.^[1] She was twice forcibly isolated by public health authorities and died after a total of nearly three decades in isolation.”

And the best part of going to Bengaluru is that we don’t have to take malaria pills! It’s one of the only places in India where you don’t have to take them. Of course, when we travel to other parts of the country we will need to.

Now I need to figure out a way to be excited and positive while also being as safe as possible, aware, and always err on the side of caution until I know my way around.

I was on the Upper East Side for a pre-surgical testing appointment a couple of months ago. After the appointment I met a friend at Alice’s Tea Cup. I arrived with a large bandage covering stitches on my throat. This wasn’t the surgery I was having testing for, but one I had had 2 weeks prior. My friend, who was born and raised in Mumbai asked me how I was going to go to India with “all of these surgeries.” Very good point. This fall and winter I seem to always be going to a doctor, looking for a doctor or having a procedure/surgery. My thinking was that I wanted to get everything taken care of before we moved to a place where I don’t know any doctors or have any sense of how the medical system works, but getting healthy is turning into a full-time job!

After Mia was born I had a scab on my throat which would bleed on and off without properly healing. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but decided to get checked out just in case. Needless to say, it was something–basal cell skin cancer. If you’re going to get cancer, it’s a really good one to get: Slow growing so it doesn’t spread quickly. I was told that this type of skin cancer is usually seen in patients starting in their 50’s, so I was a bit young, but during high school summers I often covered cardboard with tin foil and baked myself in my backyard so this whole skin cancer thing made sense.

Mohs surgery, which is the type done when the area is really visible like on the face or neck, wasn’t so bad. The dermatologist was very appreciative that I had brought and taken my own Xanax before he started cutting. With a scalpel cutting into the throat that close to the face many of his patients aren’t quite so calm. The only really uncomfortable part was sitting in the waiting room with a big bandage covering an open wound while the doctor looked at skin cells under the microscope to see if he removed all the bad ones. But I only had to go back twice to have more cells removed, so pretty easy. And I kinda like the once inch scar. It looks like I have some life experience. I prefer to tell people knife fight if they ask what happened.

The next procedure was having 8 fibroids removed. Apparently, and I never knew this, pretty much every woman has these non-cancerous growths in the uterus. Sometimes they grow large and need to be removed and other times they are just there not causing any issues and can be left alone or shrink on their own after menopause. I was told by my OB that very rarely they can be cancerous. So better to be safe than sorry and have them removed. I wasn’t so sure. As a rule of thumb, I prefer not to have stuff cut out of my body if I can help it. I spoke with an acupuncturist and did some internet research and decided that completely cutting out gluten, taking vitamins to clean out the liver and using castor oil packs on my abdomen every other day were going to do the trick. I went back to my OB 3 weeks later to see how well my homeopathic remedies were working. Well, not so much. Maybe I didn’t give them enough time or believe firmly enough. But with the move across the world on the horizon, I figured I’d just get the fibroids taken care of medically.

My doctor said that this was a very simple “procedure”—he never used the word “surgery”—so when I showed up at the hospital, and had to put on the gown and that unfortunate looking cap that covers your hair, get an IV, meet the anesthesiologist, wait in a holding area with others in gowns and caps, where everyone looked like they were about to have a surgery, not a procedure I started to second guess my decision. Surely I could just live with these fibroids. They caused a bit of discomfort, but nothing I couldn’t live with. However, soon the Xanax (again, I brought my own) kicked in and I was feeling better about the whole thing: I was already at the hospital, had fasted for 15 hours, so why not just go through with it? By the grace of God that surgery went well too, although I get freaked out thinking about what I was doing or saying when I was under general anesthesia.

2 medical things taken care of and checked off the moving-to-India list. Great! So now to the hip. The hip has been an issue for about 2 years. Sometimes it’s really bad and I want to throw up and cry, and other times it doesn’t hurt at all. I had it a tiny bit when I was pregnant with Masan, but it came back in a big way when I was pregnant with Mia and never went away. So far to treat this hip issue I have had acupuncture, worked out every day, not worked out at all, gone to physical therapy twice a week for 6 months, done pilates, taken yoga classes, had 2 spinal epidurals, had an MRI which showed a herneated disc in my back, and am seeing a holistic energy healer named Dr. Cliff twice or three times a week. He’s amazing. But I am still in pain every other day. Because I have to get some relief and can’t just rely on muscle relaxers (I have been watching Nurse Jackie lately and a big fear of mine is falling into a big dependance on pain killers—and nope, a half a Xanax to deal with family weekends and medical procedures doesn’t count. And I checked with a doctor and one can’t get addicted to ibuprofen). So ANOTHER doctor was added to the list. This one did a full work up to see if I indeed have piriformis syndrome, which involved being hooked up to some type of electrodes which shocked various parts of my legs. The result is that I do have mild piriformis syndrome (what would full blown p.s. feel like?!?) and some neurological damage, but not too bad. Yoga poses and some cortisone/botox shots are the plan, so we will see.

On some level, I think my body is having these issues because it’s tired. We are all tired, I know. Life is hectic. There are so many pressures and so much going on all the time. However, being the primary caretaker of young kids makes one a different level of tired. A tired beyond tired. It’s that state of hyper-awareness that’s turned up all the time to keep the 15 month old safe, coupled with the refereeing of the older two that really do me in. It’s so tricky finding a moment to take care of myself in a meaningful way. I may go online to see if I can find myself a bargain on a pair of shoes, make a cup of coffee around 3 pm, pour myself a glass of wine at 5, or watch some true crime documentary while I make dinner to relax, but these are short-lived treats that don’t nourish souls or rejuvenate like I need. Even a trip to the spa to use the gift cards I received from a dear friend didn’t have the lasting effects I had hoped for. It’s probably because I have to jump back into chaos as soon as I get back home. I need a transformation in the way that I handle stress and care for myself instead of just escaping for a few hours. If I figure out how to nurture myself in the midst of this exciting, crazy life, I will bottle it and send it to all the brave, strong moms I know. And if you have it figured out, will you please get in touch? Sometimes it seems that having a place to have a voice helps with the stress. A place for me to process stuff going on with me apart from my roles as “mom” and “wife.” That’s really one of the goals of this blogging. Hope it works, however, right at this moment the baby is screaming for me to pay attention to her so this typing is actually making things worse. It’s a process, I know, I know.

So that went better than anticipated. This morning during family breakfast (family breakfast meaning that Daddy was home to eat with us and the TV was off), the blizzard of 2016 and Mia’s nap we told the big girls about the move to Bangalore. M cried exactly one time when she realized she wouldn’t see her friends for 2 years, and E was too distracted by the snow outside to fully process what we were talking about, although her eyes grew wide when we mentioned that she would get to ride an elephant.

Based on what I know from studying child development and from what I have read in various parenting articles, I knew intellectually that it was probably better to disclose closer to the move itself. However, being from a family that was almost never forthcoming with information (although the intentions were always good ones), secrets weigh heavily on me. I hate them. I feel guilty for knowing things others don’t. With all the planning that goes into an international move D and I knew that we probably wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret from two observant 6 and 4 year olds, and we want them to feel involved and empowered as much as possible. So hence, the conversation this morning. And with all the snow outside and crazy weekend activities cancelled, we knew that we would have lots of time to answer any questions and help the girls to hopefully feel understood and listened to.

My favorite part of the discussion was when we were watching a YouTube video of kids touring India. M asked us to pause the video while she went to her room to look for something. She came back out and asked me where the “red thing is that I wear when I am a pirate.” No idea. But I absolutely love the enthusiasm and the need to dress for the occasion. M seemed very excited about the clothes and asked if she can have Indian clothing made for her like the kids in the video. That’s my girl. And Evie seemed very enthusiastic about the bindi that gets put on the forehead.

Both girls were excited and concerned by videos of the Holi festival we showed them on YouTube. They asked me several times if it was okay if they got their clothing dirty (my neat freak fault, I know, I know) when colors were thrown at them. And of course M asked if she could do her own colors to make her own design.

I have written exactly one previous post in my brand new, first-ever blog called ‘Brooklyn Mama in Mumbai.’ It’s about being a Brooklyn mama about to move to Mumbai, India, and now I’m moving to Bangalore instead. And to make things a bit more tricky, Bangalore was renamed Bengaluru November 1, 2014. However, because it took me so long to figure out how to change the name of this blog from brooklynmamainmumbai to brooklynmamainbangalore, I hope I will not cause any disrespect by keeping this blog’s current name. Down the road I may need to change it again.

This weekend on a walk alone without the kids along a river in Wilmington, Delaware while the in-laws were in the children’s museum watching the kiddos, D asked me how I would feel about moving to Bangalore instead of Mumbai. It might have been the half a Xanax I took (my protocol for any overnight trip with 3 small kids and extended family—love them all!), but I said I that was fine (?!?). Bangalore supposedly has a milder climate (80 degrees instead of 90-110) and more school options for the kids, so it sounds good to me. Actually, D had me at hot, instead of boiling. I already feel like I have hot flashes in December in Brooklyn, I can’t imagine what summer in Mumbai would be like. (Ah, to be 40!).

D said that he was relieved that I was so agreeable. He had been worried about how to tell me and even more so, what my reaction would be. How long he had known that the-powers-that-be would like us to go to Bangalore instead? Since Friday. How could he not have told me something this big right away—the right way to ask me be damned! The fact that he had known some new info about our move around the world for 2 days and hadn’t told me worried me. It fed into the general anxiety I struggle with—of feeling like I don’t have control over anything (this started in a big way with the years of infertility in my early 30’s, then unemployment, dwindling savings, domestic adoption, but it probably has roots in childhood stuff because I remember the yucky butterflies in the stomach feeling as far back as I can go). So the more info I have about the move, the better I feel. And I am big into prep. Probably more now than ever because D is not a big plan ahead guy, so I feel obligated to plan to make sure all the balls stay in the air.

Laying in bed last night the fear of the unknown reared it’s ugly head. It’s almost the end of January and we are supposed to move in June (hopefully after the last day of school for M and E). That’s a bit more than 5 months away. Nothing has been done for the move. Nothing. We don’t have school lined up for the girls, we haven’t even told the girls yet (how can we when so many of their questions don’t yet have answers?), we don’t know when we are going over to India to look for housing. We need to book flights, get immunizations, get passports, start going through our stuff to decide what gets moved with us, what goes to storage and what gets given away, thrown away or sold. Apparently there will be a meeting with D’s work at the end of January and dates will be decided. But until then I am left in limbo without being able to plan or systematically check things off my list. Because of my nature I can’t just sit back and wait, so I am doing what I can. I have gone through a couple of drawers to weed things out. I have a bag of clothes and one of 80’s belts (what was I thinking?) that I am going to try to sell or donate. And we are going to get the girls’ passports this Tuesday when they have the day off school. And I will continue to go through things around the house, not because it’s super productive to do so, but because it calms the anxiety just a bit to be doing SOMETHING, ANYTHING.

This brings me back to when D was job hunting during the worst recession in recent history, M was a toddler, and I was a mess. Would we move back in with our parents? Would he get funding to start his own business? Would he get a job? I had to wait. And wait. And try to do what I could to make things okay for my child, my husband and myself in the midst of the uncertainty. And it was hard, so hard, but we came through it.

Thinking back, there were dozens of times in my life that seemed really grim–when I broke off an engagement with someone I truly loved, when we were going through infertility, when we were trying to adopt, when we were dealing with job situations and unemployment, and it always worked out. Not how I thought it would, but even better than I could have envisioned. When I try and try to ‘do’, I just feel like I am running in circles. When I sit down with the uncertainty, in the middle of the chaos in my gut, and say a prayer, and try to let go, I am remind that God really is in charge. He has a plan that’s much better than the one that I had. And he is trying to teach me something with this uncertainly. I HATE learning it, but it’s going to make me a more patient, loving, less controlling person when all is said and done, right? Hopefully?