One Week and Counting

My children are wonderful. After watching most of their belongings walk out the door last week and sorting through the rest of their stuff to pack into suitcases, they are pretty much depleted of everything. Today I see their fuses short, having nothing to do and “I’m bored!” has echoed in our empty house more than once already.

So I sent them down the hall to revive a game we started many years ago – La Búsqueda de Inigo Montoya is an adventure, clue-seeking game, complete with keys, Ecuerdos (money) and shubas (capes). Last time we played my oldest was eight, so I was surprised that she was willing to play. Of course she wanted me to set it up, but I wanted to see how well they did without me. So far, so good; I haven’t heard a complaint for thirty minutes.

Yesterday we picked up our Ecuadorian visas, no problem – of course, it was the third time we visited the office. No paperwork can be done in under three visits to any office in Argentina – I would say most Latin American countries, but having never lived anywhere else extensively, I’ll hold off. While we were at the office we asked how to process more paperwork for our shipping company to begin the process of shipping. So our visa processing helper rattled off an official document verbally as I struggled to write it all down. I got about 5% of what she said, and she left us to attend to someone else.

Bryon and I wrote our own, not-quite-official-sounding document, and he headed back down there today to begin the process of making it sound better, and hopefully she will be more helpful today than she was yesterday. He went prepared, taking a flash drive with him, and plans to edit and re-edit and not return home until he has the official stamp and seal to ship our belongings! Good luck, Bryon!

Moving Muse

The movers came yesterday and packed up most of our shipment; today they return to finish it up and haul it all away. The house is starting to look bare and it brings back memories of our last move. Nada q ver, eh; totally different this time.

First off, I don’t have to have the place empty and clean. That just about killed me last time. The stress was unbearable and even the kids remember me falling apart. This time we have two weeks left before we fly out and those will be days of sorting through what’s left (although most is already done) and finding new homes for everything.

We hired a moving company this time, and so I spent the last months gathering what we wanted to take with us, piling everything up in one area and doing 75% of the packing myself in my totes. I left the kitchen and books for the packers to do, which took them most of yesterday. They also are making a generalized list of what is in each tote, not a detailed description like I did – so much easier!

By this time during our last move I was questioning why we were moving, not wanting to say good bye to my life in Colorado, wondering what had possessed us to consider taking a job somewhere else. I learned not to allow emotions to rule decision making. This move has been strategic, taking us down a path that we never intended, but we can see now where it is leading us; we never would have considered a move overseas had we spent the last 2½ years in Colorado – that would have had us four years in one place, almost a lifetime!

Am I excited about Quito? I have many dreams, mostly revolving around it being as fulfilling as Colorado was. The kids are hesitant, and it is difficult to see that we took them away from something that they really loved and have been missing it ever since. What if it doesn’t pan out the way we want it to? I have a lot riding on the school fulfilling expectations, and I don’t want it to fail, but it very well could.

Watching everything being packed up and shipped, knowing all the money that an international move involves, makes me really evaluate what we are investing in, wanting it to be a sure thing. But it’s not at this point – emotionally it’s not a sure thing – and that’s scary. We live by faith and not by sight, as 2 Corinthians 5:7 says. Never have I felt that I’m living that as much as now. 

Confessions, a little late

Today as my son had a thermometer in his mouth, a memory flashed back to me. Waaaaay back in the day when the nurse’s office was located behind the secretary’s desk at school, I was sick and sent down there to have my temperature taken. The secretary sat me on the bed, stuck a thermometer in my mouth and told me she’d return. After what felt like hours, I wondered what was holding her up, when, to my horror, the thermometer slipped out of my mouth and went crashing to the floor, the mercury spilling all over the place.

I panicked. Dreading the inevitable lecture in high decibels, I scrambled to solve my problem. Did I have enough time to do anything? I hopped down off the medical bed, pushed the glass and mercury to the best of my first grade ability under the furniture, opened the sterilized container to take out another thermometer. Now the true test was on. Was the secretary going to return at any moment and take my temperature, but would it be accurate? Would she step on a remnant of my crime and I’d be found out? Did she know how many thermometers were in the container? And what if the thermometer didn’t have enough time to register my fever before she returned? Because as each moment passed, I was feeling sicker and sicker. I really needed to go home. I needed my mommy.

After waiting another eternity, the secretary eventually returned, confirmed that, yes, indeed, I did have a fever, and called my mom, who came to pick me up and take me home. I never found out if the broken glass and mercury were found, and imagined that they would be under that furniture forever. I never confessed to my mom about my evil deed. And after a while I forgot about the whole incident. Until today, when my son popped an electric thermometer into his mouth, and had to wait for forever for his temperature to register. Which it did, after much beeping and waiting, at 98.7°.

Gone are the days of mercury and glass thermometers, and the risk of students breaking them in the nurse’s office and trying to cover up the evidence. Isn’t that a relief?