Thanksgiving Countdown: 5 More Days to Go

I have a confession to make. I have never cooked Thanksgiving dinner... ever. I've never had to, especially with two families clamoring for our time.

How funny is it that I had to move the England (which is hello, the country the pilgrims were escaping from in first place) in order to prepare my very first Thanksgiving?

As with most ridiculously complicated endeavors, I've been looking forward to the challenge, but putting off the planning.

Honestly, I have an excuse. It's not like I don't have things like deportation and unemployment on the brain. With less than a week to go to "T Day", I finally had to say, "Uncertainty be damned, I'm going to learn how to cook a turkey".

Step one: Find one.

I went to my local grocery store and was told they were out of fresh turkeys. In fact, all delivery of fresh turkeys has been SUSPENDED at our local grocery store until after December 1.

I have a feeling I know who's hoarding the world's turkey supply... UH-MER-ICA.

Undaunted I eventually tracked down a frozen turkey and had the store hold it for me, as I have no where to store it in the meantime.

My British fridge fits about four apples and a quart of milk (skimmed), and my freezer is the size of a crisper... drawer. Just one.

I thought I'd just come by for the turkey sometime next week and defrost it on the counter, except... wait! today I learned that that's WRONG!

Seriously?

Where am I supposed to thaw this thing? (See above reference to British fridge... not hyperbole)

What do you think? If if were to...say defrost my bird on the counter top anyway for lack of options, am I going to kill my family like the Internet says I will?

Certainity. A Luxury We Can No Longer Afford.

This has been reposted from my American Mom in London blog, because yes, it's just that important to me.

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Shortly following the start of the worldwide economic meltdown, Mike turned to me one morning and asked, "But how does all this affect us?"

("Us" being folks with no immediate ties to the banking industry going about their daily lives.)

At the time, life around us hadn't changed much...

The London's streets were littered with just as many tourists as the day before. The shop lines on Kensington and Oxford Street were just as atrocious as ever, and the previous day our grocery store had run out of fresh bread before I could get there. It was business as usual.

Furthermore, we're decades away from retirement, well-educated, and completely debt-free. I assured Mike that we really don't need to worry, but his question still struck me as the "Gee, what else can go wrong?" of sitcom folly...

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What I'm about to tell you has been wallowing in the pit of my stomach and consuming my every thought.

I've avoiding talking about it until now, even with my family, because it's too difficult. Too complicated. Too personal.

When I started sobbing at Mass last weekend... while on the bus... and standing in line at the post office... and basically, any moment when I get five seconds to myself, I figured it was time to let it out.

So here, goes...

Our visas expire in 27 days and Mike's contract still hasn't been renewed.

Note, this is not to say that it wasn't renewed. Only that it hasn't, and his company seems to be in no rush. (Such the British way...)

On the other hand, the company has voiced on several occasions that it would LOVE to keep him on staff. His co-workers love him and are shocked that he hasn't been scooped up yet. However, the funding for the next project hasn't been secured and unless it happens within in the next four weeks, they can't...

Thank you, worldwide economic meltdown.

Everything could still change on a dime... er, ten pence, but for now, Mike has started job hunting again and when our visas expire, we'll have no choice but to move back-- uninsured, jobless, and homeless. (i.e. hobos)

This may come as a shock to most of our friends and family.

Why the hell would we turn our lives upside down, drain our bank accounts, sell our stuff, our home, and our car, and start all over for essentially six months of employment?

The answer is simple. I love my husband and it's great job. Not to mention, it's was an opportunity that we just couldn't pass up.

When he accepted the position, it was with the tacit understanding that it would be his for as long as he wanted it. We'd have a chance to see Europe, live abroad for a while, and build back our savings.

Of course, at the time, who could have foreseen the collapse of every single financial market in the world. (Certainly not the people "in charge"...)

We were just getting settled-- creating routines, desensitizing ourselves to the banking system, making wonderful new friends...

We very much want to stay, especially after everything we went through to get here. (Those of you closest to us, you know the stories. No need to rehash them here...)

As difficult as it has been to "adjust", the thought of moving overseas again, so soon and so suddenly, is exactly why I haven't slept in over three weeks.

Please don't tell me "It's going to be okay" or "We'll be fine". I won't be able to stand it. Not yet.

A Halloween Post-Mortem

Well, Halloween has come and gone and I hope you all had a nice one!

Since the UK doesn't really do Halloween, we attended a "Saints and Angels" party dressed as ourselves.

Only the girls came in "fancy dress" (I love British English) as angels and/or angel fairies (of course). They all sat very prettily and played very daintily while the boys (my son included) charged upstairs to play pirates and cranes. Or was it dinosaurs and swords?

Well, whatever it was, it was LOUD and involved throwing their socks from the top of the beautiful, sweeping staircase in the foyer.

Meanwhile, I found myself in an elegant living room sipping tea with the other mums and trying not to slouch too much. I asked once again if they planned to go trick-or-treating with the kids and they all looked at me as if I had just suggested that we sacrifice a goat and eat the children.

"Halloween is absolutely horrid," one mum informed me. "You go to the store for a costume and it's all blood and guts and gore. For my young children? No, thank you!"

(As a aside, the tiny selection of children's costumes here ARE awful gross...)

Then, she continued on some diatribe about Halloween being in league with Valentine's and Mother's Day as a lucrative conspiracy dreamed up by greedy card makers.

While I don't personally recall ever having sent a single Halloween card in my life, I guess some do...

As the token American and unbidden international emissary of Halloween, I explained that Halloween in my colony country isn't all headless horsemen and slutty nurses... at least, not the kids' version.

In fact, it has the potential to be really, really cute. They dress up as monkeys or lions and we take lots of pictures!

"It really does have to potential to be very nice and quite sweet", I assured them.

"Well, I guess that part of it just hasn't caught on yet in England," she conceded, "but, I still don't want any part of it" and all of the other mums murmur in agreement.

As we're leaving the party, everyone mentioned needing to stop by the store to get candy for later that night...

You know, just in case.

(I, on the other hand, bought my candy days ago. Ha! Ha!)

By 5:30 (because it gets dark here at 4 in the afternoon), we already had four groups of kids and one meter reader come by. Only a few more came around while we were having dinner and the meter reader made fun of me for answering the door with a huge bowl of candy, but otherwise it was a slow night.

Oh well. More candy for me! Me! ME!

North, South, East, West. Mother's Milk Is Still The Best.

I would like to preface this post with saying that I am an ardent supporter of breastfeeding... and come to think of it, formula feeding too!

I'm also generally NOT a prude, nor do I think that there should be any shame or indecency associated with feeding one's child, but something happened the other day that struck me as funny and I just had to share.

I've been trying to get involved with this great parents' group in our area. As you can imagine it's mostly British mums and dads. They have been welcoming, but in a less whole-hearted and gregarious way than I'm used to in Texas.

It's not their fault. The Brits just tend to be more reserved and aren't so keen on inviting strangers "to drop by anytime" for play dates and mutual bitching, so I'm fine that things are still rather formal.

However there's one mom that I've gotten to know really well, but in a most unconventional manner...

The first time I met her, it was at another mom's house. She walked in with her kids and before introductions could be made, she pulled up her shirt to nurse her baby. No cover up or even a pretense of one.

The conversation merely pressed forward and she had to go before I could catch her name.

This happened again on the two or three other occasions I've run into her. Last time, we were in a public place and she got so caught up in the conversation that she (absent-mindedly) left her breast exposed well after her son had unlatched and nodded off.

This is all very funny to me, but only because I still don't even know her name.

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In any case, if you were wondering about the rest of the world's attitude towards nursing mothers. The answer is... there isn't one.

(Well, at least not in my London circles.)

It makes me cringe to even think about all those times I had to squeeze into an ill-fitting fitting room to feed my son...

Or the time, I had to apologize for having to pump at work...

Or my friend that was asked to leave the dinner table because what she and her baby were doing was "gross"...

Yes, Eh, and Only Because You Keep Talking About It

It rains a lot in England, but it seems redundant to even mention it.

Everyone already knows that it rains a lot in England, and whether or not they've ever been here, everyone likes to point it out to us.... constantly.

"Oh it rains there a lot, doesn't it..."

"I bet you're sick of all of the rain already..."

"You must being going crazy with it raining all the time..."

People comment on the rain so much that sometimes, just to be contrary, I want to contradict them and say, "Well actually, it doesn't"

Of course, I don't because that would be a lie as it DOES rain here a lot, but you already knew that, now didn't you?

I don't even know why this makes me so cranky. It's not you. Promise.

I think I'm just sick of all the rain...

Culture Clash

I was in the middle of explaining to a store clerk that my family and I just moved to London when he complimented me on how well I spoke English...

"Why, I can understand you perfectly," he added for good measure.

I clarified that's GREAT especially since we just moved here from the UNITED STATES of AMERICA (but thank you, nonetheless).

Even though I'm perfectly aware that I'm SHORTER and BROWNER than most folks, I tend to forget that I'm Filipino sometimes. Having been born and raised in the US, it's not like it really impacted my daily life.

I shopped at Wal-Mart, celebrated Thanksgiving with green bean casserole, and pled the fifth just like everyone else I knew. I grew up with Saturday morning cartoons and sugary cereal. I even know all of the Presidents and state capitols.

When nosy people ask where I'm from, I always say, "the US" and leave it at that, but I know what they are really after...

As one of the locals so quaintly pointed out during our recent trip to Greece, "No, no. You're not an American. Not in the face. Now, where… you… from?"

Okay, so if pressed further, I will begrudgingly clarify by saying that my parents are from the Philippines, but I am from America. This is then usually followed by one of the following:

"No, I can't converse in Tagalog, but I can understand it when spoken."
"Yes, I've been to the Philippines and yes, it is quite lovely."
"No, I will not clean your house/ know your next door neighbors' cousin's wife's who is also Filipino/ make you chicken adobo."

Okay, that last one was just a joke, but you get my point. I am proud of my heritage, but it's just tedious to explain to the casual acquaintance or souvenir vendor.

When it comes to identifying with a people... I'll have the Sonic Buger, onion rings, and a Cherry Limeade. Umm, better make that a Butterfinger Blast. (Mmm, Sonic...)

I knew moving to London was going to be a bit of "culture clash". What I didn't consider was how many cultures would be clashing...

For instance, the closest food market to us is a Middle Eastern/Polish grocery with no less than 25 types of salami and a separate sections for pierogois. The store clerks speak to one another in their native language, but not to anyone else...

The other night, I went there to buy authentic Greek yogurt when I overheard a couple nearby arguing in French. I walked past them quickly and ran into a group of girls dressed in hijab and discussing Mexican food.

If you think I'm joking, here's a photo of the frozen peas I also purchased that night...


The packaging is written in Arabic, even the heating instructions. Fortunately, I already know how to defrost peas. What I don't know if how to operate my British appliances...

What is this Celsius, they speak of?

Cheerio!

Whoa! I so did not mean to leave you hanging for over TWO WEEKS...

My son and I arrived in London just fine, but we've been living without a phone or INTERNET since then. We've also gone without a TV or radio as well, and I was about to go batty.

Fortunately, I've been getting out every day, but mostly to go grocery shopping and run errands.

Living here without a car, I can only buy as much as I can carry... five to ten blocks... while pushing a stroller. I can't believe I actually used to complain about having to make more than two or three stops stops in my car. At least, I got to load up my truck with whatever I wanted, and as much of it as I wanted...

(I miss my car... sigh)

While I've been out, I noticed that there are a few seedy Internet cafes around our new home (circa 1990), but it's not likely that my son would sit still in a room full of buttons and lights.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), there's plenty of housework to be done, like hang drying our laundry. Lots and lots of laundry, but more on that later.

Now that I've rejoined the 21st century, I promise not to abandon you again. More posts to come. In the meantime, check out the updates on my other blog, American Mom in London...

"Cheers!"

Countdown...

My son and I leave for London in a week... FINALLY!

I re-booked our flights as soon as I received our visas and have been counting down the days ever since. I can NOT wait to see my husband again!!!

Time has never moved so slowly...

Since I have nothing inspiring to write about until then, please visit my posts on American Mom in London.

• Being a tourist in "my own town"
• Some undiplomatic behavior
  
• House Hunting...
  
• ...and where I really want to live
  

American Mom In London

As I've mentioned here before, I blog in secret... as in only very few of my "real life" friends know about it and definitely NOT my in-laws.

It's been awesome to have an outlet to vent frustrations (complain), talk smack (petty complaining), and generally have the freedom to express whatever I want (even more complaining). I guess it's no surprise that blogging about something is usually the only way I'm able to process it or, better still, get over it completely.

Guilty pleasure aside, secrets do have their burdens...

For instance, I realize this is the INTERNET and I'm only one Google search away from any number of awkward apologies and strained holiday reunions with my in-laws. In spite of that, there are times when I wish everyone I knew read my blog because I'm really bad about keeping in touch.

Really, REALLY bad.

With our move to London, I wanted to have a place where I could update the folks back home without having to clean up my act or change the focus on this blog (whatever THAT may be...)

Soooooo, I bring you my newest project...

... and yes, I fully plan to have my delicious cake and eat it too by trying to keep both blogs equal, but more importantly separate.

Although I feel a bit like a fraud blogging as the "American Mom IN London" when I haven't actually lived in London yet, but it's not like I haven't tried... In the meantime, I've posted about my recent trip to London.

As you probably noticed, I created a widget for my sidebar linking to this new blog. (For those of you accessing this post on readers, you can click to it here)

P.S. Yes, it's a Wordpress hosted blog. I thought I'd give that a whirl, but I'm quickly finding that I'm not nearly as HTML savvy as I had imagined... nor am I entirely sure that I want to be.