Hourglass: Life Overseas

"How is that we've already spent two Christmases here," Stephen asked in a rare moment of verbalized surprise.

"That means this year will be our THIRD Christmas," I replied in my standard over-enthused way.

It's true. This year will make our third Christmas season in England.

We have our social/travel/visiting lives scheduled until September, and while that delights my fun and people loving side, it horrifies the commitment averse side of me. But, what that also means is that we will soon be hitting our third round of all things England.

That seems serious. Committed. Almost as if we really do live here.

Life here has become routine, even that unpredictable inconveniences that pop up when your tether to your homeland is an APO box and (sometimes questionable) base services.

For instance, (US) Amazon sent us size one diapers in a size four box, and Nova's 21 pounds of buttery chub will NOT fit into size one diapers. So now, I have to run out and buy diapers in store since the return and refund process will take weeks. Weeks. 

The other day, I decided the kitchen needed color and the living room needed character, so brightly colored signs, faux succulents, and travel themed pillows appeared in our house. Settling in. It took me two winters to decide that we NEEDED color, light, and happy saying in the kitchen to make me hate it just a little bit less. The color worked, and now I know I'm going to look fondly at pictures of this kitchen and remember just how bizarre it is to have the washing machine in the kitchen. ;)

People like to know that the most difficult part of living 5,000 miles away from our families is, and it's really just that: the distance. On a daily basis, we don't notice the distance, aside from timing phone calls for after 2pm so that we don't wake up anyone. It's not even the actual holidays, birthdays, and other important dates on the calendar because there is magic in the freedom to set your own itinerary on such days. The difficulty is in  the moments when you really need to be there or need someone to be with you. It's not as simple as a day's drive or a plane ticket. It's a convoluted, expensive dance of planning, sacrificing, and exhaustion; it's an untold amount of layers just to see the people you love.

We are on a literal island right now, but we also live on a metaphorical one. Days like Christmas are ours to spend how we wish. There are no familial obligations, aside from two Skype calls later in the day. Everything is up to our preferences. It's wonderful, but part of the wonder is that it's not forever. If every Christmas on the horizon was forecasted to be up entirely to our leisure, we wouldn't appreciate these quiet Christmases nearly as much. They'd grow lonely, isolated, and depressing. There is beauty in change, in the unexpected. We relish these days so much because they contrast so starkly with ones we had before this and differ from the days we will live after our time here.

This overseas assignment runs on an obvious hourglass. The IF and WHEN of when of moving are answered: we will leave this place one day and that day approaches quickly yet slowly. The WHERE will not be determined for some time. That hourglass colludes with the fact that we are obviously not from here to make us feel settled but not planted. We are here, comfortably and happily, but with eyes and wings open to the future. We've decided that we don't want to remain OCONUS forever, or even for another assignment. Our pre-kid selves would've likely leaped at the chance, but our current family style mixes adventure with the importance of extended family bonds. We love living here--struggles being what they are--in this time and season. It is a dream come true in so many ways.

So here we are two Christmases in, already planning a third. Living an exhausting adventure on islands both real and metaphorical, watching the hourglass of this assignment.