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MY SO-CALLED LIFE
Boo hoo hoo, no tapas tonight. :( No delicately crunchy, perfectly cooked and straightened* shrimp scampi with pesto creme. No tender marinated sweetly fragrant artichoke hearts lovingly wrapped with prosciutto. No ooey gooey rich and creamy potato and cream souffle smothered in melted gouda cheese with mouthwatering chunks of bacon. *drool* sigh But it's just as well, since I can't really afford to go out to dinner AND pay a babysitter when I'm supposed to be trying to save money to go to the States this summer.

I'm starting to have a hard time with saying "going home" when I mean "going to the States" and it seems to bother Anders as well when I say it, so I'm consciously trying to stop. THIS is home. Sweden is home. It's not as if when we go to the States, we go to a place where we've even lived, since we go to my mom's house in Michigan (where I've never lived) and rarely even make it to Chicago, and it's been seven years and you'd think I'd be over this already. Is home where my mom is? Is home where I was born? Where I came from before I moved here? Or is it where my husband and house and children and life are? The latter, is my answer...but when referring to any vacation in the U.S. of A., my brain automatically translates it as "going home for the summer/Christmas/random holiday."

You'd think I would have figured this out by now, after a lifetime of moving around, but it's still just as confusing and weird to deal with it as it was when I was a teenager. Military brats always have a hard time answering the question, "So, where are you from?" I still mix up the definition of my family, even, as sometimes it means Anders/Martin/Karin and sometimes it means my FIRST family: Mom/Dad/Sarah/John. Is there ever a time when you finally make that mental switch?

This morning, Martin and I mixed it up properly. I had to get up a bit early and get the kids up and feed them breakfast, which all went off without a hitch, but then I got their clothes out and set them in the living room and told them they could watch TV while they got dressed, as long as they were done by the time I got out of the shower. 10 minutes later, Martin had only made it as far as his underwear, because he apparently didn't inherit the multi-tasking gene from me, or else he was caught in the slo-mo undertow, and anyway, he pitched a fit and fell in it when I turned off the TV because OBVIOUSLY he couldn't finish getting dressed on time if it was on. I was dumma mamma** several times, and he even threw something and hit out, until I threatened to remove TV privileges for tonight too, and then the dumma mammas were all internalized and the only outward sign was the laser eyes of 6-year-old deprivation and anger leveled at me over the toothbrush. The only reason that this is at all post-worthy is because the child in question was Martin.

courtesy Posts a Hilarious (but sadly, not real) Reply From the Smithsonian Regarding a Submission: Australopithecus spiff-arino

And You the Judges, Bear a Wary Eye: Alternative Ending for Hamlet Recently Discovered (thanks for the laugh, pegkerr!)

Good Writing Out There Right Now:*How do they DO that?!!
**Stupid Mama
 working
mood: working
music: Corr's—What Can I Do?


Comments
...and your little dog too!

Unlike Dorothy, I don't think I'll ever 'arrive' somewhere and think - Wow, this is home. I KNOW this will never happen with anywhere in the USA. Not now.

There's been too much change. Both within myself and with where I used to call 'home'. The small town that 'produced' me is changing so quickly that I sometimes don't recognise where I am on visits. I visit annually, so it's not like it's been years and years. My little town now hosts a 'super' Walmart! MY LITTLE TOWN! Although, admittedly, Henry County, Georgia is the largest growing (commercially/residentially/etc) county in the country. (or so it's been reported in the local papers) Because the commuter belt of Atlanta keeps slipping south, it has enveloped my 'little' town. It's unrecognisable! There's houses and little new subdivisions where there used to be cows and fields and woods.

I just don't feel 'comfortable' in the States anymore. There seems to be an underlying tension. Maybe I'm more sensitive to this because I'm 1) Not religious 2) Not Christian and 3) Have my own quite liberal but VERY strongly held views of what is and isn't right (esp politically). I'm rather glad to get 'home' to the UK after visits to be honest and 'relax' and be myself.

Since we've just moved in November, the 'renovation project' is not home either. It's just a NIGHTMARE due to the dust, boxes, and work. However, it technically is home. Why? Well, because my family is there. My family consists of my hubby and my dog. I do (as you say) belong to a larger 'immediate' family, but my CHOSEN family is the one I stated first. You're lucky that you're close to both families, maybe not geographicly, but if a relationship is sustained, distance matters little.

'Home' is something each of us as expats have to make for ourselves. I'm sure that your real home is with your little ones and Anders - whereever that may be. :)

Re: ...and your little dog too!

it's true!, so true :) We have our "first" families and our "chosen" families, no matter WHERE we are.

October 2019
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