Bon Voyage

Last night we drove out to the west side of the island for a little family excursion (a.k.a. we really needed to get out of the house after a day of packing). We glued ourselves to a rocky perch and watched the sun settle behind the mountains and saw the whales swim by. This island, our (mostly) idyllic home for the past six years, is so incredible. It's not simply the naturally beautiful surroundings that we love, it's all the truly amazing people who choose to call the island their home. Sitting quietly with my family and absorbing the view, I wondered, "When exactly did the island became home?"

Was it when I started playing Bunco once every month with eleven hilarious women, rolling dice and chatting nonstop and laughing like only twelve ladies can? Thank you Deb Vermiere for asking me to be a part of this raucous, inspiring group of women. Or was it when I started running several mornings each week with Kerry, Adrienne, and Shannon? We tested our strength, our endurance, and our friendships. Perhaps the island became home when I had hyperemesis gravidarum (translation: the worst morning sickness possible) while pregnant with our son? Word traveled quickly (as it usually does here) that I was too ill to assume anything but the couch potato position, and soon Kathy Babbitt, Val Curtis, Lovell Pratt, Cheryl Opalski, and Amy Harold (others too, though my memory is a little fuzzy concerning that time period) knocked on the door with delicious dinners in hand for Chris and Greta. I think, too, it could have been when I started volunteering at the library just two months after we moved here. I coveted my Thursday afternoon shift that I shared with Beth Hudson as time away from being a mom and time devoted to the library, a place I grew to love. Of course, the island becoming home is a summation of all these examples . . . and many, many, many more.

I think I have grown up a lot since moving here. I have learned to navigate life with two kids (more challenging and more joyous than I could have predicted), to run 13.1 miles and cross the finish line with a smile, and to be courageous enough to embark on this adventure. It's difficult to leave such a lovely paradise. The consolation is knowing that this place, this island with its tremendous people, gave me the confidence to simply go for it.

Seventy-five Days and Counting

Seventy-five days until the insanely hot desert greets us. Seventy-five days until we arrive in Doha, sleep in our new house, hear the call to prayer, and begin a barrage of meetings in preparation for the school year. Seventy-five days! Is that enough time to begin a blog, purchase new running shoes, catch up on inoculations, shuffle our finances, stash stuff in storage, and say goodbye to everyone? I suppose it has to be.

It's been honeymoon-ish dreaming about our new life abroad. In February, we ceremoniously signed our teaching contracts in Iowa and pledged our lives to ASD. I donned a dress and Chris sported a tie. We've been blissed out ever since.

The honeymoon glow is fading. Slightly. Now, it seems, reality is setting in. I am nervous about being in the classroom full time, anxious about feeling deflated by the heat, and uneasy about helping the kids adjust to life abroad. We have made the right decision to move overseas, that I know. Chris and I are lucky to have secured these jobs. It's been a goal of ours for years to teach internationally, and it feels so fantastic to embark upon our dream. Honestly, there are moments when I am so thrilled about Doha I could turn a cartwheel on the kitchen floor and others when I am queasy with uncertainty about teaching.

I hope seventy-five days is enough time complete my growing to do list, quiet the queasiness, and perfect my kitchen cartwheels.