Seven and a half years ago, we moved to London facing many unknowns. We had left our families,our friends and our pets behind, not knowing if Jim's job would last more than just a few months (a detail he neglected to tell me until AFTER we moved to London). We were grateful that we were moving to an English speaking country, but despite speaking the same language, we struggled in the beginning to grasp British culture. We couldn't even figure out how to use the washing machine...and then we couldn't believe that we were expected to dry our clothes on a clothes rack in the damp bathroom upstairs instead of a tumble dryer. We couldn't understand why they didn't have 'regular' Cheerios and when I made the trek to Asda (the UK's version of Wal-Mart), it took me about fifteen minutes to figure out that I had to put a coin into the shopping cart to get it to detach from the rest of them. THEN I could hardly contain my disappointment that Asda was so NOT like Wal-Mart (seemingly forgetting that I was never a big fan of Wal-Mart in the first place). We were flummoxed when, on Thanksgiving Day, we couldn't find a turkey OR Crisco (to make biscuits). We missed our families in a painful way and the loss of all of the conveniences and familiarity of the USA--our cars, our one stop shopping, our drive throughs, our giant washers and dryers--seemed almost unbearable.
We couldn't have imagined that, seven and a half years on, we would be so settled and happy in London, with two beautiful little girls and so many supportive and wonderful friends. We didn't anticipate that we would embrace the culture and love our lives here so much. We also didn't know how hard it would be to stay here, so far away from our families, with very little help with our busy and energetic children and with demanding jobs. We didn't know until a year ago that we really wanted to stay here and some days still, when things are particularly inconvenient, we have mini-tantrums about how much easier it would be just to move back home. And we mean it. And it would be.
After nearly six years in Hampstead, we are moving...but only to a new neighborhood in London. While our new neighborhood is only a few miles away, transport links are not convenient and we'll likely move the girls to a new school. Packing up this flat that is so full of memories, where we have lived as a little family for so long, is an emotional process for all of us. Last night, on our way back from a frustrating visit to Ikea, Millie asked if we were going to our new house and Evie replied, "No Millie..we're going to our home." This little flat in Hampstead IS our home...the only home that the girls have ever known.
Every time we go to Houston, we drive past our blue house on Peden--the first home that Jim and I shared together in the early years of our marriage. We usually drive by slowly or stop, hanging out the windows and probably making the house's current residents nervous. We tell the girls funny stories about our dog Buster and our crazy neighbor from across the street. We talk about the lady with all the cats and the time Aunt Kate and Marco came for New Years. We laugh at the things we did and things we saw. We feel a little wistful about that previous life.
As excited as we are to be moving on to a new chapter in our lives, this house on Thurlow Road in Hampstead will always be a very special place for us and a place that also is full of stories and fun and love. I'm sure, as time passes, we'll come back and stand on the sidewalk outside, re-living all the happy memories we have of being here. When the girls are older, we'll remind them that this was their first home and the site of a lot of firsts for us too.
