Don't Hate, Part 2

The short answer for how to get the opportunity to live in Ireland and travel around Europe for two years? Sell your soul to a company that’s about the size of the Death Star (with about as much personality). Don’t like that answer? Here’s the long version....

Have I told you that I am the luckiest girl in the world? Well I am. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t shake my head in disbelief at how fortunate I am. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine I’d have the opportunity to live in another country, on the other side of the world, and do this kind of travelling. Never. Ever.

Floyd and I are not rich. Not even close. We come from white, middle-class backgrounds. My Grandma pronounced quiche “kweechee”. We went to school, studied hard (at least when we got to college), and made choices that would (eventually) lead to good jobs and stability. Even now, with the good jobs, Floyd pours over the budget to figure out how we’re going to make it all work.

Floyd and I started talking about the opportunity to move to Ireland before we were even married. I still have the scrap of paper tablecloth that Floyd scribbled on to explain how the Death Star operated and where all the little Death Star satellites were located. I still have that little scrap of paper because I also drew a little clock (representing my biological clock) and the two little babies that I was going to give birth to by the time I was 39 (which I just turned). So say what you will about the Death Star. It’s more dependable than my biological clock. Interestingly, I actually drew three little babies on the scrap of paper, I just knew one would be adopted.

I have a job too, but it’s not with the Death Star. More like R2D2. I love my job, but, at the time, we thought the move would be perfect. We were ready to start a family and envisioned using our time in Ireland to have and raise our children without the pressures of my work getting in the way. That plan was so perfect it just needed a little bow on top.

After we got married, Floyd let the officers of the Death Star know his wishes to work at their Irish satellite, and we got it all lined up. When the folks with relocation (Storm Troopers) asked us the size of our family (for housing, etc.) we told them “There's just the two of us now, but we’re expecting a baby once we get there!” I shudder to think of how simple-minded we were. As it was, the Storm Troopers don’t consider optimism when checking their boxes.

So here we are in Ireland and, well, let’s just say we’ve had a slight change in plans. Those little ones that we drew on the paper tablecloth when we were planning out our most fortunate of lives? Well, they’re still just twinkles in our eyes. After we set our sights on Thor, we found ourselves with a little bit of time on our hands.

The Death Star (being the Death Star) had to exact a price on Floyd for bringing us over here, so he was pretty busy for the first six months. The travel started out slow. Reluctantly almost. Sure, a trip to London here...a weekend trip to Amsterdam there. Thinking about money, not enough vacation time, all the usual concerns. But after we got our dossier over to China, something happened...

Floyd is now a reservation-making fool. FOOL I tell ya! He tippity-taps at the computer and finds these crazy deals on the nasty, budget airlines. Last weekend he booked something like four weekend trips for January and February. I think we’re going to Oslo, Edinburgh, Riga and Krakow (but, frankly, I can’t recall hate hate hate). Tonight he’s booking our trip to Turkey (red hot hate). One of the reasons I think he’s booking all these trips is to keep me occupied....lest I figure out a way to steal babies from fertile Irish women (joke). We have five more trips booked between now and the end of the year. Soon, Jezebel won’t even recognize us.

In between trips, I still do some work for R2D2. Write/edit reports, a little project management...basically keeping my foot in the door while making money for our next trip. I also take piano lessons, do the laundry, go grocery shopping, write, clean the house, host a book club, go to the gym, and make my husband healthy and nutritious meals (Jaysus, who is this woman?).

So there you have it. The best laid plans. If I’d had it my way, I’d be eating exotic foods like pureed carrots, learning baby-talk rather than French, dipping into the crystal clear waters of the kiddie pool, and making unexpected weekend jaunts to the pediatrician. Instead, I get to visit places that I’d never dreamed of, which is not a bad second place.