Pond-hopping Huffs

Well, it’s out there in the public consciousness now, with special thanks to Chris (not Fis-Chris, but Fitness Chris) who announced it with a microphone at the gym a few weeks ago, when I wasn’t there (who does that?), and then I knew I had to tell work: 


We are moving to London.

 

Naturally, “London, Ontario?” is the first question that anyone asks.

 

Ummm…London, Ontario… I mean, you’re a nice city and all, but… no.  I was there for the Ontario Provincial Fitness Championships, way back in ’01 and ‘03 (winning in ‘03, thank-you-very-much-please-see-photo-of-when-I-was-awesome) (I had A VEIN ON MY ABS), and it seemed…nice.  I was there at some other time to visit Sean for his birthday (maybe in ’02?).  Great city, sure.

 

Photo of when I was awesome, circa 2003.  Sigh.

But no, we’re not going anywhere that convenient, close (everything is relative), or safe.

 

By “safe”, I mean, “what I’m used to” or “a place that I am employable in my comfort zone”.  Like – and I can’t believe I’m saying this – Medicine Hat.

 

The second question that everyone asks is, “But isn’t this the year that ‘nothing was going to happen’?” 

Yes, yes it was.

 

Last year, just in the span of four months, we bought a house, Tamsin started school, we got a dog, and I had somebody’s baby.  The years up to that involved scrambling with three babies/toddlers/preschoolers/kids, taking on more responsibility (and prestige!) at work, Chris being away for days/weeks/months at a time, recovering from basement flooding and renovations, having umbilical hernia surgery, and travelling to see family in Las Vegas and Halifax, while playing ball hockey, teaching fitness classes, and trying to remember not only what my husband looked like, but why I was married to him in the first place.  This was supposed to be the year that we just LIVE without having any kind of major change. 

 

Speaking of segues, the key -- if I may give out unsolicited advice -- is to be very careful and judicious when writing your wedding vows.  These are capital-V Vows, made out loud in front of a whole crowd of people that you know well enough to call you on it later, even if you don’t remember what you said, didn’t mean it, or wish you hadn’t said it.  On top of the ominous echo of “the rest of your life” that looms over every wedding day (can’t you hear it???), I made the grievous mistake bold move of publicly promising to not only love, honour and humour Fis (see?  I was thinking for that part, although I honestly didn’t realize how hard it would be to even humour him, sometimes*), but also to “follow him wherever his ambition takes us”.  Since that one sentence landed me in Medicine Hat, eight months after the wedding, you’d think that I would have asked for a re-do.   

 

But, 10 years later, here we go. 

 

The kids are all keen – for the few months before it became official, we talked up Quality Street, Cadbury, and Harry Potter.  We looked at Google Maps and wondered out loud how much we could travel, if only we lived over in Europe (aside:  does England still count as Europe?  Did you know that England is an island?  And do people still call it “England”?), and they were sold.  They even jumped up and down with joy when we told them.  They are already enrolled in a nice little school, and it sounds amazing.

 

Chris has a great job that is taking us there, and I have… the opportunity to do something new, “whatever I want”.  I will be cleaning my own (damn) house and walking my own (damn) dog.  I will continue to try to turn Ziggy into a well-behaved little mutt (or one of us will die trying).  Who knows, maybe I’ll even style my hair on a regular basis.**  I have certifications in fitness that are, I think, useless in the UK.  I have mad managerial and paralegal skills that are appreciated here in the Federal Government, but possibly/probably don’t translate into the work available at the Embassy… or maybe I don’t want to do that kind of work for a while.  I could write (for whom?  About what?).  Sightseeing, hosting visitors,*** dog-training, and Domestic-Goddessing the crap out of my household might hold me over for a while, but I can’t see me lasting for long without my own thing. 

 

If only I knew what that was.

 

So, what would you DO (not just “do”, but “DO”) if you were me?  I am open to any and all suggestions - email me or call me with them, and I'll seriously consider every one.**** 

 

 

 

* Also, he points out that this blog doesn't exactly "honour" him.  Piff.

** Well, probably not, but I could.

*** Guest room/pull-out sofa in living room.  Nuff said, come visit.

**** Submissions so far include "French training" in England, a Master's degree, and "Finishing School".  Humph.