Current Mood: Argh!!!

Intro 1: I’m also on Medium and I’m cross-posting, so a lot of what appears here will also appear on Medium.  Follow me and I’ll follow you.

Intro 2: I’ve decided to start spending time every day just writing down whatever comes into my head (check it out).  So more stuff will be posted here, I’m not sure if it will all make sense.

Actual post:

Moving is difficult, full stop. Moving to another country is a whole new level of difficult. Today is one of many days my partner and I have spent freaking out.

Today D was in a manic state researching shipping containers so we can send our stuff to England by freight. As a pack rat he has a lot of stuff that he does not want to have to get rid of. Unfortunately our budget just won’t accommodate the $10,000 needed to book a 20 foot shipping container.

This means many difficult decisions must be made. He has memory boxes full of scrap book material. He told me today going through those to find items to throw away is like ripping pages out of a journal.

Then there are the boxes full of art supplies and tools. They don’t have sentimental value. The problem is the whole“But what if we need this six months from now?” mentality we both have.

Somehow we are going to have to whittle all our possessions, including furniture, down to a couple duffel bags and the 200 cubic foot shipping container that we can actually afford.

Tangent: Spell check does not recognize the word duffel/duffle. I just Googled it to make sure I was spelling it correctly and found out that the name come from Duffel, a town in Belgium. True story.

On top of the freaking out about shipping and shipping costs and getting rid of more stuff (we’ve already had a major purge), we are also worried about the overall expense and everything else that needs to be done.

Plus this morning our niece wrote me and asked if D is still going to be journeying to England ahead of me and our child. She said there’s a lot he needs to do before A and I get there. Instant panic! I know we had discussed him finding a job and looking for accommodation, and now my mind is racing trying to figure out what else he’ll need to do when he first gets there.

Current mood: Argh!!!

Regarding the cat . . .

Fozzie

Fozzie is a cat. He is seven years old and we’ve been family for six and a half years. Before I met my partner, before we had our child, it was me and Fozzie. We’ve been through a  lot together.  Our bond is strong.

Sure, he’s what I like to call an equal opportunity lap kitty.  Meaning he’ll sit on any lap, but I’d like to think my lap is his favorite lap.

As my partner and I plan for a transatlantic move, whether Fozzie will join us on this adventure has become one of the great questions of life.

To me Fozzie is part of our family.  He was my fur baby before I had a human baby.  When I adopted him I never even considered any other option that that it would be forever.

The other side of the argument.  In what is already going to be an expensive endeavor, bringing him is an additional financial burden.  More importantly, a potentially traumatizing experience for Fozzie.  Once we get there he most likely will not be able to live with us and will have to stay with my partner’s parents a three to four hour drive away because most landlords do not allow pets.

Coming to terms with the fact that we may need to find him a new family, that the best thing for HIM is to find him a new family, is already causing a Fozzie-shaped hole to form in my heart.

I told my partner that once we are settled into a new home I want to get a fish.  A black fish.  And we shall name it Fozzie.