After all this time, I can hardly believe we are so close to moving to Spain. We found out about the possibility of a new job in Madrid back in October. We started looking into it, then pursuing it, trying not to get our hopes up. We talked as cryptically as possible around the kids. We didn't want them getting their hopes up either. It was inevitable, however, the little eavesdroppers would catch wind of it. While walking to school one day, my oldest asked me, "Mom, do you really think we'll get to move to Spain?" I replied, "No, son, those jobs are for other people, but we're going to try."
Fast forward about five months, we find out we are actually going, and the reality of it started setting in...with everyone. Exhilaration and panic seemed to be my two alternating states of being. Family members began to fret over the distance. We had so much to do to get us and all our stuff across the great big ocean, and we had approximately two months to do most of the preparations. My husband had to attend training in Virginia for most of the summer, so we had to be packed up and moved out of our house in Texas by the end of May.
Now here we are, 17 days from boarding the plane and just about all of "To Do" list entries have been crossed off. Our furniture is awaiting us in Spain, our van is on crossing the ocean as we speak, and my youngest is feeling better about the trans-Atlantic flight. Once we received confirmation on Spain, my youngest started obsessing over what we would do if our plane crashed into the ocean because, and I quote, "it was a really long way to swim." After some fast thinking, I assured him that letting your planes run out of gas was not part of a good business model. I also reminded him that in the event of an emergency, his seat could be used as a flotation device. He seemed ready to go again until he heard about the required immunizations. Now that all of his shots are over, he's back on board, just like the rest of us.