Lately, John and I have been enjoying one of the best parts about being back in Minnesota: Grandma Sue. Grandma Sue has been coming to town a lot lately, to see all of the grandkids. When she comes to town, she divides her time between our house and John's sister's house and is happy to stay with the kids while John and I enjoy a quick night out. It helps with the monotony of a long winter, for all of us.
Last night, was just such a date night. We usually keep it simple and last night was no different. I really wanted beer (there is a great new American gluten free beer) and buffalo wings (no Buffalo wings in Belgium.) We found our way to a local pub. They specialize in a variety of beer and their menu is more European than most around here, but I held out hope that they still had wings. They did. And they had my beer, all three different "flavors" (for lack of a better word.) Thus, it was a perfect destination for our date night.
Their sophisticated beer selection and "European" menu (as well as their location on the edge of downtown) attracts young professionals. Corporate climbers and attorneys, that sort of crowd. We bellied-up to the bar and ordered. Our afternoon and evening thus far had been about driving kids to ballet, making sure homework was done, feeding grandma and the crew and herding everyone through baths and showers. Then it was "grab the keys and get out the door without looking back." I had a lipstick in my purse and I swiped it over my lips in the car. I am in desperate need of a haircut, and I'm always cold, those two factors combined mean I haven't taken my hat off my head since we arrived in Minnesota in December. In other words, we weren't exactly all decked out. But one thing I learned about living in Belgium, is that a nice sweater, a cute scarf or hat, and a pair of boots goes a long way to looking pulled together. And in Minnesota in the middle of winter, functionality often wins out over fashion anyway, so we fit in just fine. I wasn't worried.
The bar was crowded, but most everyone trickled out over the course of the night. There was a young couple near us at the bar that were obviously on a date. He was dressed uber-cool and had dark thick, stuck-his-finger-in-an-electrical-socket-type-hair and black rimmed glasses. If I had to guess? New lawyer. (No judgment intended, I used to be one myself once.) His date was a petite blond, wearing a sweater vest. If I had to guess? Kindergarten teacher.
John hadn't wanted any wings (he'd eaten a lot of the dinner I had set out for the kids.) So I worked my way through almost the entire plate of wings. (I hadn't eaten a single bite of the kids' dinner, I was saving myself for the wings.) But the date-couple had shared some sort of amazing dessert. So John leaned over to ask, "Hey, what did you guys order for dessert? Was it ice cream? It looked really great." And uber-cool-guy answered in the most pretentious, arrogant voice I've heard in awhile, "No, it was the chocolate torte." I think his nose turned up in the air a bit as he said it too.
John gave a slight nod of his head and a small polite laugh and said, "Thanks." Then he turned to me and we laughed. We couldn't help ourselves. For the next five minutes, we whispered to each other without caring what anyone thought. And we could not stop laughing. Uber-cool-guy shifted uncomfortably in his seat and I felt bad for him. Really, I did. No one likes, nor deserves to be, laughed at, especially someone who is obviously trying so hard to be impressive. But it was just so funny.
In those moments of laughter I realized what we must look like to him: me in my stocking hat, sitting at the bar drinking local beer from the bottle and eating wings, and asking about what we thought was the ice cream dessert. I certainly didn't look like the lawyer I once was.
What he could never have known, was that we were two Americans who had lived the last six years in central Europe, recently stateside again and out to enjoy some of the American specialties we had missed for so long. How could he possibly know, that last spring I took a cooking class taught by my friend from the kids' school who had trained as a French chef. In that class, I learned how to make a chocolate torte from scratch, by melting butter and dark French chocolate and I had done so by only speaking French. And don't even get me started on the collection of French wine and champagne, smuggled carefully via suitcases over the course of several trips and waiting patiently in our basement. Reserved for only the most special of occasions from here on out.
I think it is safe to say that John and I have mastered the art of blending in. After years of living and traveling abroad in a post-9/11 world, we have learned to fit into whatever scene surrounds us, in the moment. It's a skill that I am rather proud of -- I would rather not stand out in a crowd. At this point in my life, I am much more comfortable blending in…like chameleons. Last night, I was happy to let the spotlight shine on the lawyers and young professionals who were excited to be out, enjoying the more exotic choices on the menu and drinking fancier drinks. We looked exactly how we wanted to look...like two cold midwesterners, with a chance to sneak out for a quick beer and a plate of wings. If that means we don't deserve Mr. Uber-Cool's approval, so be it...we will probably just laugh it off.
But I have this message to Mr. Uber-Cool, and a reminder for all of us, myself included: be careful not to judge. For you never know, the person sitting next to you might just be a chameleon.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Saturday, February 22, 2014
First Impressions.
Now that all of the moving posts are over, it's time to move on to some fun stuff.
One of my favorite parts of moving back, has been watching and observing the reactions of the kids. Just seeing what they notice. They are pretty insightful about some things, and just plain funny about others.
For example, one of the first comments Miss B made to me (keep in mind she was born in Belgium, and the last time she'd been on U.S. soil was almost two years ago) was, "Mommy! The toilet flushers here are so cool, they are little handles!" (In Belgium, most of the toilets flush with a button on top. Something, I don't think I ever even noticed until she made her comment.) That was followed a few days later with, "Mommy! The toilet paper here is SO soft!" Ahem. Apparently I should have invested more money in my toilet paper purchases there.
I should do an entire post about commercials, but I can't wait. During the first official week in our house, A.J. said, "Mommy, the commercials here say really important things about life, but then it's for something stupid like toothpaste."
There are a lot more commercials here. Monkey calls them "previews". "Mommy," he said. "There are just too many previews, I don't like all of the previews." It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about. And one day, he tracked me down where I was unpacking boxes, to tell me, "Mommy! Did you know there is a vacuum without cords on TV?"
And speaking of commercials/previews, we are not used to tuning them out. I would guess that most American kids have figured out that commercials are the time to run to the bathroom or whatever, at least that's what I always used to do during the commercials. Not my kids. My kids have not yet developed the skills to tune them out and are instead completely riveted to the commercials. Entranced. And as a result, I've found myself having to explain a lot of things that I never expected to have to explain. Like erectile disfunction. And vaginal dryness. (And no, we weren't watching anything obnoxious, we were watching Modern Family reruns on cable.) But seriously, do we have to have commercials for that stuff? Can't people just slink through the pharmacy and find what they need without being so informed?
One day last week, A.J. came home from school, very excited. "Mommy," he said. "Today I learned how to open my milk." Mental head slap. I've tried to anticipate and preempt some of their challenges, like explaining the Pledge of Allegiance. But opening his milk carton is not something I ever would have thought to show him. But of course they didn't have milk cartons in Belgium. They don't drink milk with lunch in Belgium (only breakfast) and anyway, milk is in bottles there, not cartons.
Ok, and I will end with this. Last week we were coming back from dinner and came across the radio station Kool 108. This is the "oldies" station that my mom always used to listen to when I was in high school. It was music from the fifties and sixties and maybe even the early 70's if they were feeling bold. And now? Kool 108 still calls itself the oldies station. But they play music from the 80's. And John and I sang along to Don Henley's The Boys of Summer, at the top of our lungs, all the way home.
One of my favorite parts of moving back, has been watching and observing the reactions of the kids. Just seeing what they notice. They are pretty insightful about some things, and just plain funny about others.
For example, one of the first comments Miss B made to me (keep in mind she was born in Belgium, and the last time she'd been on U.S. soil was almost two years ago) was, "Mommy! The toilet flushers here are so cool, they are little handles!" (In Belgium, most of the toilets flush with a button on top. Something, I don't think I ever even noticed until she made her comment.) That was followed a few days later with, "Mommy! The toilet paper here is SO soft!" Ahem. Apparently I should have invested more money in my toilet paper purchases there.
I should do an entire post about commercials, but I can't wait. During the first official week in our house, A.J. said, "Mommy, the commercials here say really important things about life, but then it's for something stupid like toothpaste."
There are a lot more commercials here. Monkey calls them "previews". "Mommy," he said. "There are just too many previews, I don't like all of the previews." It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about. And one day, he tracked me down where I was unpacking boxes, to tell me, "Mommy! Did you know there is a vacuum without cords on TV?"
And speaking of commercials/previews, we are not used to tuning them out. I would guess that most American kids have figured out that commercials are the time to run to the bathroom or whatever, at least that's what I always used to do during the commercials. Not my kids. My kids have not yet developed the skills to tune them out and are instead completely riveted to the commercials. Entranced. And as a result, I've found myself having to explain a lot of things that I never expected to have to explain. Like erectile disfunction. And vaginal dryness. (And no, we weren't watching anything obnoxious, we were watching Modern Family reruns on cable.) But seriously, do we have to have commercials for that stuff? Can't people just slink through the pharmacy and find what they need without being so informed?
One day last week, A.J. came home from school, very excited. "Mommy," he said. "Today I learned how to open my milk." Mental head slap. I've tried to anticipate and preempt some of their challenges, like explaining the Pledge of Allegiance. But opening his milk carton is not something I ever would have thought to show him. But of course they didn't have milk cartons in Belgium. They don't drink milk with lunch in Belgium (only breakfast) and anyway, milk is in bottles there, not cartons.
Ok, and I will end with this. Last week we were coming back from dinner and came across the radio station Kool 108. This is the "oldies" station that my mom always used to listen to when I was in high school. It was music from the fifties and sixties and maybe even the early 70's if they were feeling bold. And now? Kool 108 still calls itself the oldies station. But they play music from the 80's. And John and I sang along to Don Henley's The Boys of Summer, at the top of our lungs, all the way home.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
I guess...it's official.
We still have a few boxes here and there. Ok, a lot of boxes. But I am officially calling this move over. Funny, I just looked at the date today. February 19, 2014. Two months ago today, December 19, 2013, we flew from Brussels to Minneapolis, to our new/old home.
It is a little strange, but also comfortable to be back in the same house. As I put stuff away into the very cupboards that I emptied six years ago, I feel like I have a chance to make good choices. Better, wiser choices. Some of the stuff is going back into the same spot. A lot of stuff is going out the door and not coming back. If there is one thing I learned living in a sparse house for five weeks, we just don't need all the stuff we thought we needed.
I made it official today. I changed my location settings on all of my social media forms -- Twitter, Facebook and here on this blog. My heart has this dull ache that comes and goes, and it has been particularly strong today. For six years, my location, Brussels, has been a primary defining factor of my identity. That's what I was doing, that was my purpose.
It's the same feeling I had when I finished college, or even law school. That feeling like you don't exactly know what's coming next. There is all kinds of uncertainty, apprehension. And it's different now too, because we've got little people. My focus has been on them, making sure they are doing ok. It doesn't leave much room for figuring out what's next for me.
But if history has taught me anything, it will be something. A new challenge. Another reinvention, just around the corner. It will be hard to top the last experience. But I have a lot of faith that I will figure it out.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Our Nomadic Journey, Part 3: Let's just be done already.
Can we please just get these blog posts about the move over with already?
Yes, I know. At this point in the whole process, I was ready to be done with anything and everything having to do with a move.
But, slight problem, we still had to wait for our furniture. And in the middle of it all, there was this weather phenomenon they are calling "the polar vortex." From what I understand, that's just a fancy way of saying, colder than hell. No wait, bad analogy -- hell is supposed to be hot. Whatever. All I know, is that Minnesota experienced temperatures that rivaled the North Pole, right at the same time we were trying to move in and get settled.
So here we were, in our new/old house, with minimal furniture. We had mattresses, and a table and chairs from storage, and a camping chair. And a giant television. I probably don't have to tell you that there were a lot of arguments about who got to sit in the chair. Although, we do have a fireplace in our new/old house, and laying on a blanket in front of the fireplace was a pretty good alternative to the chair.
Meanwhile, school kept getting cancelled because the temperatures were so cold, it was dangerous to go outside. I was happy that we had air shipped the wii, and that Santa brought Isabelle "Just Dance" for Christmas. But unfortunately, this also meant delays for our container. It was coming from port via rail to Minneapolis, and the sub-zero temperatures meant the rails couldn't operate.
We finally got word that our furniture was here, but because of all of the delays, the company had a difficult time finding a driver to deliver it. They finally did, on a Friday at noon. Of course we had six inches (sorry, I converted to the metric system for a lot of things, but I will forever measure snowfall by inches) of snow the night before, so it was a snow emergency. For my Belgian friends, that means that we had so much snow, the city needs to plow all of the streets. To do this, there are rules about where you can park your car at night, and then different rules for the day. Of course, during the day of a snow emergency, there is no parking on the street in front of our house. And we were about to have a container delivered. Right there. Thankfully, my genius of a husband thought to call the city to ask. Good thing he did too, or we would have had a $500 fine from the city.
I felt physically ill watching this truck pull up to our house on a Friday afternoon. I was there when they packed it. I knew exactly how many boxes were in that container. I knew what our house in Belgium looked like the day before the container came -- stacks of white boxes everywhere. And even though our house here is almost the same square footage as our house in Belgium, the rooms are very different. There was no way, they would be able to unload that truck in four hours without a whole lot of chaos.
Our movers here had never seen anything like it. Every single piece of our furniture had been taken apart and put into a box. Our couch, was in six different pieces. Same for our beds, dressers, dining room table, shelves -- everything. If our movers in Belgium could have taken apart our mattresses, they probably would have.
So I fought hard against the Type A personality that dictates most of my life choices, and opted for plan B. I left. John and I had already agreed that under no circumstances, were the movers going to be allowed to leave until we at least had beds to sleep in that night, and a couch to sit on for the weekend. I knew I was leaving the house in good hands. I picked up the kids from school and we went to my sister-in-law's house for the rest of the afternoon. And hid. And in the end, that choice was probably a better one for my marriage. We got back to the house in the evening and they were still getting the last of the boxes in the house and shoving them into whatever tiny spaces were left.
It took all four of the mover guys to figure out how to put the couch together. And I don't think I've ever been so happy to have a couch before.
In this whole chaotic moving mess, we just keep trying to find the good where we can. And it's usually the little things that have counted for the most.
Yes, I know. At this point in the whole process, I was ready to be done with anything and everything having to do with a move.
But, slight problem, we still had to wait for our furniture. And in the middle of it all, there was this weather phenomenon they are calling "the polar vortex." From what I understand, that's just a fancy way of saying, colder than hell. No wait, bad analogy -- hell is supposed to be hot. Whatever. All I know, is that Minnesota experienced temperatures that rivaled the North Pole, right at the same time we were trying to move in and get settled.
So here we were, in our new/old house, with minimal furniture. We had mattresses, and a table and chairs from storage, and a camping chair. And a giant television. I probably don't have to tell you that there were a lot of arguments about who got to sit in the chair. Although, we do have a fireplace in our new/old house, and laying on a blanket in front of the fireplace was a pretty good alternative to the chair.
Meanwhile, school kept getting cancelled because the temperatures were so cold, it was dangerous to go outside. I was happy that we had air shipped the wii, and that Santa brought Isabelle "Just Dance" for Christmas. But unfortunately, this also meant delays for our container. It was coming from port via rail to Minneapolis, and the sub-zero temperatures meant the rails couldn't operate.
We finally got word that our furniture was here, but because of all of the delays, the company had a difficult time finding a driver to deliver it. They finally did, on a Friday at noon. Of course we had six inches (sorry, I converted to the metric system for a lot of things, but I will forever measure snowfall by inches) of snow the night before, so it was a snow emergency. For my Belgian friends, that means that we had so much snow, the city needs to plow all of the streets. To do this, there are rules about where you can park your car at night, and then different rules for the day. Of course, during the day of a snow emergency, there is no parking on the street in front of our house. And we were about to have a container delivered. Right there. Thankfully, my genius of a husband thought to call the city to ask. Good thing he did too, or we would have had a $500 fine from the city.
I felt physically ill watching this truck pull up to our house on a Friday afternoon. I was there when they packed it. I knew exactly how many boxes were in that container. I knew what our house in Belgium looked like the day before the container came -- stacks of white boxes everywhere. And even though our house here is almost the same square footage as our house in Belgium, the rooms are very different. There was no way, they would be able to unload that truck in four hours without a whole lot of chaos.
Our movers here had never seen anything like it. Every single piece of our furniture had been taken apart and put into a box. Our couch, was in six different pieces. Same for our beds, dressers, dining room table, shelves -- everything. If our movers in Belgium could have taken apart our mattresses, they probably would have.
So I fought hard against the Type A personality that dictates most of my life choices, and opted for plan B. I left. John and I had already agreed that under no circumstances, were the movers going to be allowed to leave until we at least had beds to sleep in that night, and a couch to sit on for the weekend. I knew I was leaving the house in good hands. I picked up the kids from school and we went to my sister-in-law's house for the rest of the afternoon. And hid. And in the end, that choice was probably a better one for my marriage. We got back to the house in the evening and they were still getting the last of the boxes in the house and shoving them into whatever tiny spaces were left.
It took all four of the mover guys to figure out how to put the couch together. And I don't think I've ever been so happy to have a couch before.
In this whole chaotic moving mess, we just keep trying to find the good where we can. And it's usually the little things that have counted for the most.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Our Nomadic Journey, Part 2: Christmas Vacation
The second phase of our trip was all about Christmas. (Yes, at this phase of our move, I was still thinking about it like it was all a big "trip").
We spent the first weekend with my brother and his wife. And we were so happy to be there, and catch up and let the kids get reacquainted with their cousins. We snuck over to our new/old house to leave some luggage, and have the wireless internet installed. Then, it was on our way "up North" for a good old fashioned fun family Christmas with John's family.
It was the second week since we'd been out of our house and it really felt like we were on a much needed vacation. The cousins played. The grown-ups ate and drank. It was wonderful to hold the nine-month-old baby we'd finally gotten to meet, and take time to "be" with everyone. I can't tell you how much we just appreciated - and still do appreciate - the chance to see everyone.
We hadn't had much of a chance to "get ready" for Christmas. But thanks to internet shopping we had enough to suffice. And if there was ever a year not to worry about it, this was it. This was the year that Christmas was all about our family in a way that it had never been, nor probably will ever be to the same extent, ever again.
We spent the first weekend with my brother and his wife. And we were so happy to be there, and catch up and let the kids get reacquainted with their cousins. We snuck over to our new/old house to leave some luggage, and have the wireless internet installed. Then, it was on our way "up North" for a good old fashioned fun family Christmas with John's family.
It was the second week since we'd been out of our house and it really felt like we were on a much needed vacation. The cousins played. The grown-ups ate and drank. It was wonderful to hold the nine-month-old baby we'd finally gotten to meet, and take time to "be" with everyone. I can't tell you how much we just appreciated - and still do appreciate - the chance to see everyone.
We hadn't had much of a chance to "get ready" for Christmas. But thanks to internet shopping we had enough to suffice. And if there was ever a year not to worry about it, this was it. This was the year that Christmas was all about our family in a way that it had never been, nor probably will ever be to the same extent, ever again.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Buzz Kill.
The flight went as well as could be expected. There were lots of movies to watch, and everyone was tired and worn out enough to sleep a little.
Traveling with three kids, I learned a long time ago that it's best to just pack everyone a box of (mostly healthy) stuff I know they'll eat, and let them eat what they want whenever they want, rather than rely on the airplane food choices. So yes, Ms. Flight Attendant, I am perfectly fine with my ten-year old son refusing, your delectable offer of a meal. Please save your judgmental looks for someone else. Not that it's any of your business, but he ate his peanut butter sandwich when we got on the plane, because that's when his body told him it was time to eat. And yes, I am also fine with him refusing your hot-pocket-type-pizza-sandwhich and only accepting the ice cream cup during the "snack" service. My kids aren't familiar with that sort of gooey cheese goodness (yet) and let's not forget, that it is almost midnight Belgian time. He might not be that hungry.
We got off the plan in a jet lag stupor, and got ourselves through customs. This not being our first time re-entering the good ol' U.S. of A., I knew that one of my biggest jobs as a mom of three was to get rid of all of the forbidden foods before we got off the plane. That meant we had to dump all of the cheeses, uneaten salami sandwiches and fruit. And I didn't feel the least bit bad about throwing it all away as most of it had come from our refrigerator before we moved and it had served its purpose well.
We dragged tired little bodies through the line at customs, and each child even answered the customs agent when spoken to. And not one word was mentioned about our extra bottles of wine. All was good. A.J. was in a pile against the wall while we got our NINE suitcases. "You'll be ok," I told him. "It's just the jet lag. We just have to get on the elevator and through the door and Uncle Ryan will be there to take us home."
We shuffled ourselves through the last customs agent. Balancing two carts, wheely carry-ons, backpacks and tired kids, we pushed everyone just a little bit further. "Just get to the elevator," we said again. "Uncle Ryan will be there when it opens to help us."
Only, when it did, there was no Uncle Ryan. (Sorry Uncle Ryan, if you are reading this, I didn't mean to call you out in front of everyone.) But it was kind of funny, to see all sorts of families waiting with signs and balloons for their college-age kids coming back after spending a semester abroad. And then have to dig out my Belgian phone to say, "We're here!"
In all fairness, our flight arrived ahead of schedule, we needed two cars to pick us up, and it was the middle of rush hour on a weeknight the week before Christmas. Kind of a lot to ask of anyone, but especially of two working parents with little kids. It was enough to know we were going to their house, and their house was close to the airport.
Thankfully, my cell phone still worked and we had plenty of luggage to sit on while we waited. Soon enough, we and our pile of luggage and backpacks, were on our way and in our blurry tiredness, we didn't even really notice or remember that we had to wait a few minutes.
The Fowler Family was home.
And in the end it turned out to be a good thing A.J. didn't eat much on the plane. Somewhere along the way he picked up a stomach bug and spent his first 24 hours in the U.S. with a high fever and unable to keep anything down. But it passed quickly enough and we were just happy it didn't hit any earlier than it did.
On to Christmas!
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Our Nomadic Journey, Part 1: Saying Goodbye
On December 12, we moved to our temporary apartment.
You should have seen the look on the guy's face when we pulled up. With nine suitcases.
Let me back up. We knew our "pack-up and move-out" would take about a four to five days. We knew that this would be exhausting. We also knew that at the end of that, we didn't want to wake up in the morning, get on a plane and fly away. So we planned an "in-between" week. Somewhere we could transition ourselves out of Belgium.
A key factor was location. We needed somewhere nearby so the kids could finish off their last week of school, and we could wrap up whatever was needed as we wound everything down. We found the perfect place.
We found a furnished apartment that was advertised as a bed and breakfast, and low and behold, it was halfway between our house in La Hulpe and the kids' school. Perfect. It was a loft apartment with one bedroom and a room with a kitchenette and a pull-out couch. We told them we wouldn't need the breakfast service. I don't think they knew what they were getting into when the agreed to rent us the loft apartment above their garage.
We settled in and as sad as we were to be out out of our home, we were happy to have one of the hardest parts over and done with and a quiet place to live out our last week.
We took the kids to school in the morning. We finished off the last of the football practices. With the cleaners hired, and football (soccer) practices behind us, that left us the weekend to be tourists. We took a day trip to our favorite Belgian town in the Ardennes (La Roche en Ardennes) and Sunday we went to the Christmas market in Brussels.
We celebrated Miss B's birthday on Monday with her favorite dinner (saucisse and frites) by temporarily stealing back the grill we had given to the neighbor and grilling at our apartment. Tuesday, we rented the upstairs room at the local pub and really confused our Belgian friends with the idea of an open-invite happy hour. Not having my class lists meant we couldn't send a mass invitation email, which meant that we had to rely on word of mouth, which meant that the kids were in charge of the invites. But in the end we had a great turnout and a fun night. Although, I really hadn't expected all of the going-away gifts and it just about threw me over the edge in terms of packing. Thank goodness John had reached his rainbow gold sparkly status at Delta and it no longer mattered how heavy our bags were.
That left us one last day of school. And one last night in Belgium, which was spent at a dear friend's for dinner. She helped drive us to the airport in the dark the next morning.
Of all of the trials and tribulations I have ever faced living as an expat in Belgium, the last day and night I spent in my beloved adopted country, was one of the most difficult days of my life.
It will be a long, long time before I can think about all of those goodbyes without tears running down my face.
You should have seen the look on the guy's face when we pulled up. With nine suitcases.
Let me back up. We knew our "pack-up and move-out" would take about a four to five days. We knew that this would be exhausting. We also knew that at the end of that, we didn't want to wake up in the morning, get on a plane and fly away. So we planned an "in-between" week. Somewhere we could transition ourselves out of Belgium.
A key factor was location. We needed somewhere nearby so the kids could finish off their last week of school, and we could wrap up whatever was needed as we wound everything down. We found the perfect place.
We found a furnished apartment that was advertised as a bed and breakfast, and low and behold, it was halfway between our house in La Hulpe and the kids' school. Perfect. It was a loft apartment with one bedroom and a room with a kitchenette and a pull-out couch. We told them we wouldn't need the breakfast service. I don't think they knew what they were getting into when the agreed to rent us the loft apartment above their garage.
We settled in and as sad as we were to be out out of our home, we were happy to have one of the hardest parts over and done with and a quiet place to live out our last week.
We took the kids to school in the morning. We finished off the last of the football practices. With the cleaners hired, and football (soccer) practices behind us, that left us the weekend to be tourists. We took a day trip to our favorite Belgian town in the Ardennes (La Roche en Ardennes) and Sunday we went to the Christmas market in Brussels.
We celebrated Miss B's birthday on Monday with her favorite dinner (saucisse and frites) by temporarily stealing back the grill we had given to the neighbor and grilling at our apartment. Tuesday, we rented the upstairs room at the local pub and really confused our Belgian friends with the idea of an open-invite happy hour. Not having my class lists meant we couldn't send a mass invitation email, which meant that we had to rely on word of mouth, which meant that the kids were in charge of the invites. But in the end we had a great turnout and a fun night. Although, I really hadn't expected all of the going-away gifts and it just about threw me over the edge in terms of packing. Thank goodness John had reached his rainbow gold sparkly status at Delta and it no longer mattered how heavy our bags were.
That left us one last day of school. And one last night in Belgium, which was spent at a dear friend's for dinner. She helped drive us to the airport in the dark the next morning.
Of all of the trials and tribulations I have ever faced living as an expat in Belgium, the last day and night I spent in my beloved adopted country, was one of the most difficult days of my life.
It will be a long, long time before I can think about all of those goodbyes without tears running down my face.
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