Mindy Carlson

I’ve been trying to write this post for almost 2 weeks now.  It’s been hard.  I don’t know why, but I slip into a navel-gazing monologue of maudlin philosophy.  It’s boring for me, too.  So, this is what I’ve got on reflecting about our last 4 months in Switzerland.

Time is ticking.

Only 4 months left.

20 weeks.

140 days.

Half a pregnancy.

(No, I am not pregnant.)

I am, however, in a weird head space.  It’s like my brain is splitting apart.

I’m desperately trying to soak in everything I can and love about Switzerland and yet I’m cruising rental listings. I’m wading through the thickets of the school year while researching school districts in Maryland. I’m buying the boys new clothes while at the same time making lists of stuff we will need to sell or give away.

It’s like being on both ends of a see-saw.

The boys are feeling it, too, even though we try to keep them out of the chaos of change and more Switzerland and European-travel focused. E has declared he’d be willing to stay if we bought him a new TV and a PS4. H can barely remember Maryland and he’d be willing to stay, too, if we promised to ship over all the toys we left in storage. The fact that the kids have given us a kind of blessing makes staying in Europe very tempting.

However, the wheels are in motion and unbreakable Stateside promises have been made.

I just sent our property manager/real estate agent an email informing him of our return and intended plans and pretty much begging for help setting a timeline.  My mouth was dry as I sent it. This was a big step. We have decided not to move back into the house we own, but to rent for a year in a neighborhood we’d like to buy into. It’s not an irrevocable decision by any means, but it feels big.

And it’s the first concrete step in admitting to myself that I am, indeed, moving back.

The End.

I’m sure I’ll have more coherent and deeper thoughts about moving back later, but right now I’m preoccupied by packing for a skiing trip in the Alps.  I haven’t skied since I was 15 years old and even then I wasn’t any good.  I made about 6 trips down the bunny hill and on the last ride down I cartwheeled down the hill spraying poles, skis, gloves, and hat in spectacular fashion.  A 6 year old boy brought me my stuff as I sat in the snow at the bottom of the hill.  I chucked it all back at the man behind the rental counter and spent the rest of the day sipping hot chocolate and reading fashion mags in the chalet.

Wish me luck. I am going to need it.