Moving abroad – things to consider before you pack your bags

From a young age, I had always wanted to travel and explore the world. So that’s exactly what I did during my 20s. It was a wonderful time. An adventure that I will never forget.

Now a mum of 3, my hunger for travelling and need to expose my little ones’ impressionable minds to the world, and the opportunities that come hand-in-hand has only heightened.

It’s true what they say, there is a big wide world out there, full of wonder, experiences and beauty, why wouldn’t you want to share this with your kids? Not only does it expand your knowledge and vocabulary of the world around you but it also broadens your children’s minds, providing educational benefits that certainly cannot be taught in the classroom.

Having had a family adventure in Spain with my children, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to share my experiences of expat living, the challenges that I faced, and what you should think about before embarking on your very own adventure.

There’s nothing quite like it, but if you are going to do it you need to ensure that you are safe, aware of the potential barriers and challenges you could face, but most importantly, ensure that you are in a sound financial position to accommodate this period of time in your life - when was the last time you checked your interest rates or took a long hard look at your credit score? After all, long term travel and expat living can be expensive, unpredictable and daunting if you fail to prepare for every eventuality.

But you should never be put off - with around 320,000 people leaving the UK to live abroad last year, you’ll be in good company if you decide to experience the many benefits of relocating. Here’s some advice and tips covering what you should think about before leaving the country for extended periods of time.

Visa

If you are planning on leaving the country, for work or pleasure, it’s important that you check the Visarequirements of the country that you are planning on visiting. Although all British Citizens do not require a Visa to move to countries that are part of the European Union, if you planning on broadening your horizons and travelling further afield, you should make sure that you complete the right application for the country you are travelling to.

For example, if you are planning on relocating or travelling to Australia or America, you will need a Visa. It’s also worth noting that, if you are planning on working in either of these countries, you will also need to prove that you are bringing a skill to their economy.

Have you considered the change in cost of living?

Before embarking on any long-term trip, it’s important that you have enough money put aside to support you, no matter what situation you find yourself in.

Finding work, accommodation, and securing a sustainable income is harder than you might think. Although living abroad can be a magical and eye opening experience, it can also be a living nightmare if you fail to prepare.

The cost of living varies from country to country, and every day amenities such as food, petrol, energy and general day-to-day living costs also vary, so it’s important that you do your research. Can your income sustain the cost of living in the country you are visiting? What are your chances of securing work?

Wherever you decide to move, there are always options and solutions. You shouldn’t let money put you off relocating but it’s important that you are well informed and aware of the potential barriers you might face. If you have a good idea of the costs involved and an understanding of the sources of income you will have, it will be much easier to plan for every eventuality. In some cases, this might mean looking at credit or finance options.

Remember that, if you move abroad and give up your UK address, it will be difficult for you to obtain credit within the UK as banks and credit card companies will not be able to undertake a credit check on you and consequently, will be unable to view your credit score. This is important as, without a valid credit score, you will not be eligible for any form of credit or loan.

With this in mind, it might be worthwhile thinking about possible credit options before you leave. If you are in a position to obtain credit (you can get more advice on this here https://www.creditexpert.co.uk/advice/credit-score) and manage it correctly, then it might be beneficial to apply before you re-locate in order to prevent problems in case of an emergancy (of course, that doesn’t mean you ever have to use it!)

In addition to the financial aspects of the move, you also need to consider factors such as - if you are travelling with your children, will they adjust to their new surroundings and environment? Remember they will still need to attend school – will your plans accommodate this?

Language Barrier

Living abroad for substantial periods of time is very different to your standard two-week holiday.  You will be expected to integrate into the community you find yourself in and make the upmost effort to respect their culture, and of course communicate using their native language. This concept has always excited for me but for some people this fills them with dread.

Before you go, it might be worth taking the time to learn basic elements of the country’s language that you are travelling to. There are plenty of online tutorials that will provide you with the basic language skills to enhance your expat experience.

Disclosure: All sources from CreditExpert

Madrid on a budget

I am so OVER how cold and miserable it is right now. I mean - still? Really?

This seems like the longest winter ever lived. So right now I am dreaming of city breaks and sunshine (again), and wondering how I can get some heat in my bones and some sun on my skin for the least amount of money possible.

Last summer Kaya and I escaped to Madrid for a budget weekend of mother and daughter time - something I would definitely consider doing again.

That was never actually supposed to be an international escapade however... The previous year, whilst living in Spain, we had bought her One Direction tickets as her Christmas present, never thinking that - oops, we wouldn't actually be there when the concert date rolled around.

As it happened we were actually back in Ireland by then, and there was no way in hell any of us was brave enough to tell her that she wouldn't be able to go. So two flights to Spain it was.

Luckily for me Ryanair flies directly from Dublin to Madrid and the Metro runs directly from the airport to the centre of the city - so that was a good start at least. (Be warned that taxis run on a flat fare within the city and so can be expensive.)

We were meeting Kaya's grandparents in the city and they had booked us in at the (always reliable) Ibis. There's nothing fancy or romantic about an Ibis, but for value for money, cleanliness and location they are very hard to beat.

Over the weekend we walked and train hopped on a shoestring from the bull ring...

to the market stalls.

And from Cervantes famous statue...

to the King's Palace.

Kaya was well impressed with her royal connections. 'You mean we're standing in the Kings' garden right now?'

We avoided places like the Plaza Major for food and instead decided to seek out more authentic and better value tapas in the side streets.

Cold beer and sunshine - one of life's great pleasures!

Spot the one who actually lives there...

And then we finished up the trip with One Direction and 50,000 screaming girls. Just what you need to make you want to return to reality!

So - any other city breaks you'd recommend to get me through to summer?!

A sense of belonging

It's funny what you miss when you move abroad. 

For me it wasn't particular people or places or even Cadburys chocolate - it was that feeling of being a part of a community. A sense of belonging. 

Finding your place in a new community takes time, a lot of time, and a lot of effort. You have to continually push yourself outside of your comfort zone - have conversations with people that you'd rather not talk to, do activities you'd rather not be involved in, push yourself out there in order to become part of the on going story. And it can be exhausting. 

The pull of the familiar soon becomes strong. 

I spoke to so many expats in Spain who had lived there for 5,6,7 or more years and  although they had built new friendships and formed great bonds they always felt pulled in two different directions - the country they came from and the country they now lived in. As did their kids - strangely even the ones born there. 

It's a funny and intangible thing 'belonging'. It's the relaxing back into your own language, with old friends who you have a history with, it's family and culture and knowing how all the official stuff works. It's understanding why things happen and when. It's bumping into people you know and going for impromptu coffees. It's offloading your kids to friends' houses and seeing multiple children running through your front door in return. It's being able to drop into people homes uninvited, and it's being invited out for dinner or a few drinks. It's a little like Cheers I guess 'where everybody knows your name'. 

I've a new found respect for expats who make new lives in new countries. Even when the standard of living far exceeds what you are used to and the sun never falters - it still takes guts and patience to hang in there and build that new world around you and your family.

That's not the reason I came home though - well a small part maybe - it's more just an observation that I wanted to remember for the next time I find myself hiking to school in the freezing rain and begin to fondly recall those easy strolls in flip flops and warm sunny breezes... 

(Which, ahem, may very well might be today..)

Autumn

Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness....

Seeing lots of lovely Autumn posts online these past months has made me appreciate what a wonderful season it really is. Fabulous colours, crunchy leaves, blackberries, apples and homemade pies. What's not to like?

Autumn has pretty much passed me by this year. Autumn in Spain is not what we would call Autumn, more a really good Summer...

We've been making the most of it by heading out exploring the local hills and coves.

Next time we head off we're going to arm ourselves with this great poster by Center Parcs - Everything you need to know about Autumn.

Maybe we'll even spot some of those birds they mention who have left the UK for a bit of Spanish sunshine.

A bit like us I suppose...



Disclosure: This is a sponsored post.

Halloween in Spain - same but different

Well that's another first for us ticked off. -Halloween in Spain:

Normally the kids would spend the entire day waiting to get dressed up to go trick or treating around the neighbouring houses. Hours would be spent perfecting their look, which would then be entirely covered up by a big winter coat so that they didn't come back home with hypothermia.

This year they spent the day in school (no half term here - just one day off), and then we raced back home to finish off their costumes before heading out into the town.

The tradition here is not to knock on the doors of houses but to visit all the shops in the local area - sweets, crayons and even icepops were popped into their bags along the way!

There were street games organised

Even the adults got into the spirit of things

And families gathered for their evening meal in the square.

They met their friends, ran riot around the shops, ate their own body weight in sugar, and then it was all back home to watch Ghostbusters. A pretty successful Halloween I'd say.

Bad language (surviving on pigeon Spanish)

Every day since moving here I am thankful that I had a basic knowledge of Spanish before I arrived. Now it's not great, and I'm sure my verbs and tenses are all over the place, but I know enough to get by.

It's strange trying to get your point across when you only have pigeon language. Often you have to go the long way round because you can only use the words that you know - so instead of rocking up to the school office and saying 'Hi, would you be able to talk to one of the teachers about the money for the extra books we bought?' you have to say 'Hi, I bought a lot of books and I didn't need some of them and I have this document that you gave me but the teacher doesn't understand and so can you speak to him?' Clunky no?

If anyone is ever learning a foreign language I can tell you now which words you are going to need most. Almost every sentence I utter contains the verbs 'I need', 'I want', 'I can', 'I have'. They do the basic job of most situations.  If I haven't included one of them at least once in each phrase then I'll probably chuck a couple of them in at the end anyway. They've been so good to me I'd feel bad if I didn't.

Of course sometimes the language can trip you up. For instance in Spanish if you want to say 'I am hungry', you actually say 'I have hunger' - tengo hambre. It's just unfortunate that hambre is very similar to hombre. Which means I have more than once announced loudly and proudly to the room that 'I HAVE A MAN!'.

Yay, good for me....

Still, that's not as bad as my father in law telling the post lady she was 'very hot'. Of course he meant to say 'IT is very hot'. Well, that's what he told us at any rate.

There's also been the strange episode of enrolling the 7 year old in Holy Communion classes. I worked out where the meeting was and what I had to bring and turned up at the noted time.

The meeting was packed with loud women calling to each other across the room and talking over one another. A priest gave a talk for about an hour about what I do not know, and then discussions continued for another 40 minutes. At the end 2 hours I queued up, filled out a form and handed over some money for a book that I understood would be picked up at mass the following week. Of course having dragged the 7 year old to mass with me on the Sunday there wasn't an utterance about it. In fact, three weeks on I still haven't heard anything about it. I now have a sneaking suspicion that I actually joined a totally unrelated meeting that I shouldn't have been at in the first place.

So that there's two hours of my life that I will never get back.

But worse than all that was the day I tried to explain away my daughters lack of desire to come over and talk to one of the school mums. As she ran away and hid  I did the universal 'sad face' and explained that she was 'muy embarazado'. I realised the mistake as soon as the look of horror crossed the other mothers face, for of course embarazado does not mean embarrassed, oh no - I had just told her that my 9 year old daughter was 'very pregnant'.

Having said all that learning a language is incredibly rewarding. Going in to a Government office, explaining what you need and understanding what they say back to you is a really great feeling. Not having to give that blank stare of 'what the f*ck are you saying to me' ten times a day, and using that other great phrase 'I don't understand' less and less means I must be getting somewhere.

And if not, well, who cares - at least I have a man right?

Going to school in Spain - what's it really like?

Our children have just hit the 6 week mark in their new all Spanish school.

6 weeks of listening to all their lessons in a language they don't understand. 6 weeks of getting to know unfamiliar faces in the classroom. 6 weeks of dealing with playground scuffles when they don't have the words to stand up for themselves. 6 weeks of trying to keep up with maths classes far beyond what they had previously been taught. 6 weeks of eating unfamiliar foods. 6 weeks of trying to form firm friendships when they know they left perfectly great ones at home. 6 weeks of juggling not one but two new languages as they try to learn both Spanish (Castellano) and Valenciano.

They're still not 100% at peace with it, but they have come on hugely since the first, very difficult, few weeks.

First day attitude...

Just 5 weeks ago I wrote about how hard it was to watch them struggling each day.  Since then they have moved with unexpected ease from a 9 - 1.30pm day (summer hours) to a 9 - 4.30pm day. Even the 5 year old who had only ever been to playschool in Ireland until 12.30 has been thrown in the deep end. But they have coped admirably.

Those short five weeks have brought us from bribing them with sweets, toys, outings after each and every successful school day to it becoming simply part of life here.

Friendships have been made and playdates arranged - a major milestone as any expat will know. Of course there are still plenty of days when, instead of coming running out the gates with big smiles, full of stories to tell, they shuffle out with a shrug of the shoulders and a tale of stolen marbles, pulled hair or having no one to play with - but on those days I have to remind myself, and them, of all those big smile days.

There is a marked difference between the Spanish and Irish breaktime that is taking some getting used to. Instead of their half hour running around in a biting wind or doing jumping jacks in the classroom because it's too wet to go out (really), they spend from 12.30pm - 3pm on free-time - mostly spent running outside in the sunshine. During this time they are served lunch in the 'comedor' - a whole other blog post in itself - all 4 courses of it. They can also sign up to extra curricular activities that range from sewing and pottery to chess and roller skating. And of course there's always the library where they can do their homework should they wish.

But much of the time they are left to their own devices in the playground. And it's a bit wilder than they are used to. I have to admit that the day the 7 year old dropped his bag of precious marbles and the other children all pounced on them and then ran away broke my heart just a little bit. When the same thing happened the next day I was a bit less sympathetic. Third time that week it was a case of - 'oh just keep your feckin' marbles in your pocket ya big thick'. I should add that this was only heard in my own head.
I think.
The 9 year old has had a few 'mean girl' episodes to contend with too but has come out of it with stronger friendships as a result. And I'm not quite sure what happened the day the 5 year old told me someone had jump on his stomach and made him cry. Sometimes the less you know the better maybe...

On the flip side the classes all mix together amazingly well, with different years intermingling unlike anything you would find at home. Perhaps it's as a result of the fact that every two years students are held back if they don't reach the grades they should - and so old friendships are retained but new ones made too so it becomes one big melting pot of children.

And on the grades front they don't mess about. The children are challenged with a far harder level of learning - with Maths classes being a whole two years ahead of what they are used to. Of course this brings it's own challenges, especially when the 9 year old is used to being in the top percentage of the class and suddenly can't do anything. But I think she is surprising herself at how quickly she is coming along, which can't be a bad thing. One of her current subjects is Biology and her books on the human body are all in Valenciano. The other day over dinner I asked if she understands what is going on in the class. 'Nope' she replied with a hint of 'and that's your fault, I never asked to come here' attitude. 'Well do you know what they are covering so that we can look it up and you can read about it in English?' 'Yep' she says without missing a beat. 'Excretion and penises'. Um...ok then! Glad I asked!

Moving on...

The other thing that has stuck me since being here is the tactile nature of the Spanish. As a teenager I remember watching the Spanish students that used to come to our town to learn English. They would walk through the streets in their uniforms singing songs and holding hands, and we would stand on the street corners in our school uniforms and laugh at them singing songs and holding hands. Now I see it first hand and it seems the most ordinary and lovely thing in the world. The girls hold hands with their friends, the boys fling their arms around each others shoulders in the playground and on the football pitch. One little boy in the 5 year old's class hugs him to stop him crying when he's upset. And it's not just the kids. Going into the school the other day for a meeting I watched several classes come down the stairs with their teachers - and male and female teachers alike were holding hands with their young students. It struck me and stayed with me - a really lovely, natural thing to witness which I don't think I had before.

And that's the other thing - there are actually male teachers. Not one token one for the whole school - lots of them. Watching the interaction between them and their students shows me just what we are missing in the UK and Ireland where male teachers make up about 15% of the total in primary schools. Is it just me or is that a little bit sad?

So far the Spanish school system has been different, difficult, inspiring, challenging and we probably have quite a lot to learn from it.

At least we all know what penises are for now anyway...

How to kill a mosquito.

There are few things more irritating than putting your book down, turning the light out and rolling your tired self over in the bed only to be met with a weeee-uuuu of a mosquito flying past your ear.

Image: How Stuff Works

This has been happening to me a little too frequently of late and I've come to realise that there are usually 7 stages to the midnight mosquito visit...

1. Pretend it's not there.
Lie in the dark and tell yourself it was your imagination, or that it will go away soon. It won't. And you know it. You don't want to know it. But you know it.

2. Mummify yourself
You're too tired to get up so you wrap the bedclothes around you and create a breathing hole at the top. 5 minutes later you are passing out with the heat and kick the covers off in defeat.

3. Flap your arms about in the dark.
You know it's useless, but would he just fuck off!

4. Stand on the bed and clap your hands
Right that's it. You are going to get the bastard this time. You stand on the bed and flick your head from side to side at every sound. You see him! Quick! Get him! clap, clap, clap. You wait. He's gone. You lie down smuggly and turn the light back out. Wee-uuuuu. 

5. Find the mozzie spray
Fine. He's not dead. But he soon will be. You bump off walls and into drawers, arms outstretched in the dark until you find the can of toxic mozzie spray. This'll do it. You spray the room manically then lie down choking on the bed. You wonder can mozzie spray kill humans too.

6  Revert to beginning
The little fecker is indestructable. You give up and pretend to yourself that he will go away soon.

7. And sleep...
...until the morning when you wake up from scratching your legs, arms, face off. The little shit. You'll be ready for him tonight though...

So clearly I'm failing here. Anyone else got any advice?

5 Things I didn't know before moving to Spain

1. How to drive on the right hand side of the road.
Seriously women - it isn't that difficult. Time to reclaim the driving seat on foreign holidays.

2.  But you can't wear flip flops..
When driving. Unless you want to spend a bit more time getting to know the ubiquitous traffic police with their stern stares and mirrored shades. Hmmm.

3. They serve beer in McDonalds
'Can I have three Happy Meals and a large San Miguel please?'
(Of course I would be saying that in perfect Spanish though. And I wouldn't actually be saying it because I am, of course, a responsible parent.)  Anyway, it's not even just McDonalds, it's Burger King too, and any other fast food joint you care to mention, and coffee shops, and at 9am in the morning. Loco.

4. They have stairs on the outside of houses.
And none on the inside. I still haven't quite got my head around this yet. But they have stairs on the outside. Of their houses. Not all houses, but still.  On the outside. Loco.

5. They expect kids to sign their own legal documents.
Anyone who knows anyone who has moved to Spain will know that all the required paperwork makes as much sense as a cat on morphine. You can't get Document B until you have Document A, but you can't get that until you have Document C, which you need Document B for....We've been pretty much taking it in our stride until this week when we were told we all have to travel to the next big city's police station in order to sign our names in front of a police officer. All of us. Including the kids.  'But our youngest is 4. He can't write'. And....? 'Hmm. So they're open on a weekend?' No. 'But the kids are in school during the week'. And...?

Un poco loco, no?

Silent Sunday

Why moving to Spain is a GOOD thing for our kids

Well my last post was a bit doom and gloom wasn't it?

The difficult school runs had been getting me down and it was very cathartic to offload how I was feeling. And what a surge of love and support I get back from you guys! It nearly knocked me backwards into our new (and you'll be glad to hear adequately big enough) swimming pool.

Luckily almost all the comments were positive, supportive and full of good advice. There was one lady however that felt I was doing the wrong thing putting my kids through this and that I should scoop them all up and just go home. I can understand why she might have felt that way and thank her for her honesty. However my immediate reaction was one of 'You're wrong - this is good for them' which surprised me in its intensity.

Since I read that comment my mind has been shunted onto a different track - from all the things they have lost to all the things they are gaining. And although the next few weeks or even months will be hard - that's not necessarily a bad thing because with each hurdle they grow in confidence immensely. If they can do this they can do anything.

Our weekends are now spent like this....

...instead of fighting over TV channels and trying to find things to do when it's pissing down outside (which invariably it is in Ireland).

After-school is spent like this...

...instead of fighting over TV channels and trying to find things to do when it's pissing down outside (which invariably it is in Ireland).

The kids have all learned to swim brilliantly already - a gift that you can't exaggerate the importance of. One of my big worries coming out here was that the pool would not be safe for the youngest who still needed armbands. Just look at him now:

They are eating different foods and becoming more adventurous.

They are learning harder and faster than they would at home. The maths classes are 2 years ahead of what they are used to but they are quickly coming up to speed with it all. Next week when the school day lengthens they will get to take pottery and sewing classes.

They are also picking up a foreign language without even realising it. The other evening we went out for dinner and the 4 year old asked could he have some more 'leche' and then requested to be topped up with 'aqua'. I don't think he even realised that he was saying the words in Spanish.

We are all also spending a lot more time as a family and have the added pleasure of having the children's grandparents a short drive away so they are gaining a new type of relationship with them - one where they can pop by after school rather than doing a hurried catch up every 3 months.

All in all there is a lot of weight on the Spain side of the scales - and only school nerves on the other.

My parents moved to Spain and all they got me was this lousy beach. 

Starting Spanish School - the first week

This time last week the nerves were really starting to set in. None of the children wanted to go to school. The 9 year old was afraid she wouldn't be able to do the work because she wouldn't understand, the 7 year old was nervous he wouldn't have anyone to play with, and the 4 year old didn't know what was about to hit him as he'd never even been to big school at all.

First day - feeling brave

Monday morning 9am saw us all standing in the playground trying to look brave. Kaya was lucky enough to have met some of her classmates already and was now firm friends with one of them. She joined her line and before we could even say 'buena suerte' she was gone. Soon after we walked Marley to his class, met his lovely teacher and with a big deep breath he said his goodbyes and went in to meet his classmates.

So that left Baxter. At 4 we had thought he would make the easiest adjustment. However, new school, new teacher, new classmates, new language was a lot to ask of him. He was incredibly brave going in but we arranged to pick him up early anyway.

As the week progressed poor Baxter got more and more distressed. There is one little English girl in the class who is looking after him but seeing him walking around the playground on his own kicking stones about has been tough to watch.

The other two are really flying though. They've both got their little group of friends already and seem un-phased by most of the challenges. Of course there are hiccups that we didn't predict - being called up to the blackboard to do multiplication when you haven't yet covered that in your old school can't be much fun, and who could of predicted that my daughters name in Valenciano means 'shut up'? Still working out how to deal with that one...

For the month of September the school runs from 9am - 1pm but after that it is broken up into two parts: 9am - 12pm and then 3pm - 4.30pm. The children can stay in the school during the break and do extracurricular activities or they can come home. This will be a whole new ballgame for us all but it's nice to be eased in gently with the half days for the first month.

So one week down and I am incredibly proud of my little estudiantes. I can finally start to breath again.

It's the weekend!

Next challenge - moving house!

Wobble

And no - I'm not referring to my belly.

Although....


Anyway. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

It was the latest house move that did it. We had spent the last few weeks living in the lap of luxury at my in-law's gorgeous villa, so our introduction to life in Spain was one of utter indulgence.

Having not found a permanent place to stay yet, on Monday we moved to our temporary accommodation - a small 3-bed villa apartment, with pool and view. But, as we settled in we realised - gasp, shock, horror - there was no working wifi.

Since we both now work from home this was a major spanner on the works.

Cue stress, panic, depression, doubt and any other emotional emotion you care to throw into the equation.

Previous to this I had noticed that since being here the kids would throw all their toys out of the pram as soon as something didn't go to plan for them (not literally - they're much too old for prams, besides we ditched all their toys before the move).

Most of the time they are far happier than they would be at home however when problems occur we get episodes such as:

'Mummy it's not fair! All my friends in Ireland have our favourite teacher again and I'm not even going to know my teacher here. Why did we have to come to stupid Spain'

'Mummy I'm too hot. I hate stupid Spain'

'Mummy I hurt my toe. Stupid Spain. I want to go home'

The reasons Spain is so stupid range from the understandable to the ridiculous - but it seems that every little hurdle or hiccup results in the same reaction.

And I fell into the same trap myself.

But 48 hours later - with internet restored - all is well again.

And with a view like this it really is hard to stay stressed for very long.........

(And thanks to the lovely ladies who held my hand during the wobble - you know who you are. x)

Beach babes

Today marks our first fortnight of our living in Spain.

Lying on the beach this morning watching all three kids building a sand city on the shores of the little cove we'd settled in I pondered on how lucky we are.

Of course we had a beach back in Ireland, and on the odd sunny day we always made the most of it, but this was different. The children's tanned shoulders glistened with sea water as they paddled out to dunk their buckets in the sea, dipping down for a quick refresher before continuing with their work. My mask and snorkel lay by my side after a brief exploration around the rocks, and a light breeze floated around my newly bronzed skin. The sky was pure blue, the sea crystal clear and most importantly the kids were quiet. Later we pottered in bare feet over warm sand to the small beach shack and ordered lemonade that came in ice cold bottles with a straw.

I couldn't think of a single thing that would have improved that morning.

So here's some of the other moments over the past 14 days that made me lazily reach for my camera to remind myself just what we have here.

In the words of that annoying orphan Annie - I think I'm gonna like it here.

The Spanish Years - The beginning.

Hola Amigos!

Well we made it. After two of the most stressful weeks of my life we managed to pack up our life in Ireland and transfer it to Spain without any major disasters.

Emotions were running high there for awhile pre-leaving, but on waking up to a sunshine filled bedroom on Friday morning the what ifs, buts and oh-my-gods drifted away across the mountains and I found myself wondering what all the fuss was about.

Since then we've been filling our days with clear blue skies, palm trees, sandy beaches, swimming, cervezas, siestas and generally trying and failing to behave like we are not on holiday.

We are not on holiday - see?

I could of course write tons more but frankly it's all seeming a bit like hard work at the moment, besides there's a lilo out there with my name on it.

Normal business will resume soon I promise.

Probably.

The Fear

As our move to Spain approaches (9 days, 14 hours, 15 minutes) the fear has started to creep in.

I wake up in the middle of the night wondering what the hell we are doing and why. 

Every room of the house is filled with piles of stuff to bring, sell, give away, dump, store. The kids are running feral and tantruming from when they wake til when they go to sleep, and if that fecking dog barks one more time at the front door I am taking her to the woods and one of us will not be coming back.

Stressed? Moi?

So I thought it would help to write down my fears and get a little perspective. (This could go either way here...)

What if the kids don't adjust to Spanish school?

What if they don't make any friends?

What if I don't make any friends?

What if everyone loves it and I don't?

What if one of us is unhappy?

What about the swimming pool and the 4 year old who can't swim?

What about the balconies on the houses?

What about driving on the other side of the road?

What if I can't communicate properly with the people I need to?

And what if I really, really miss home?

Now this is where you guys come in and tell me how I'm being ridiculous and everything will be just fine.

Guys?

Guys???

A rather big move

As some of you may already know I hit the big forty TO-FECKING-MORROW *gulp*

Having had this momentous landmark on the horizon over the past few months it's true to say that I may have gone a little mental. Days have been spent running up to old women in the street with a crazed look in my eye and grabbing their withering arm - 'is this it?' I would whisper desperately, white knuckles clinging on tightly. 'Is this IT...?' Nights meanwhile have consisted of looking at old photo albums and sobbing into my Pinot Grigio.

Or something like that.

It could of been Chablis.

Anyway, in the midst this madness the husband asked for the seventy hundredth time why didn't we move abroad for a few years.

We had always enjoyed travel pre-kids, indeed we met on the hippy shores of Byron Bay in Australia and spent the next few years zig zagging between there and London, Thailand, Bristol, New Zealand and Ireland.

Then the kids happened.

And so, in my mental, crisis-fueled little brain I agreed, and the wheels were set in motion. Right now I find myself surrounded by boxes and bags and I'm counting down in days not weeks to the date we take a handful of mismatched belongings to our new home in Spain.

Except that we haven't actually got a home yet.

Minor details and all that.

So I might not be around much for awhile - but do get ready for Kate Takes 5 The Spanish Years (or possibly months..)

It could be a bumpy ride.

Happy Holidays

Fourteen sun-soaked days and fourteen wine inspired nights have passed and with them this year's family holiday. And it had been a longtime coming after last years rain soaked Welsh fiasco. 

Thankfully this holiday was everything that a holiday should be.

Eating paella at a beachside shack. 

Morning swims followed by fresh coffee.

Reading an unputdownable book in the shade of a palm tree.

Inflatable crocodiles gliding in the pool.

Overflowing bowls of fresh cherries and sweet melon.

Real coke in glass bottles.

A warm breeze on bare stomach.

Exploring unknown cobblestone streets.

Painting toenails by the pool.

Somersaults and learning to dive.

Cold beers in the hot sun.

Swimming under and over waterfalls. 

Time. To relax, reflect, recharge, reevaluate. 

Great company and plenty of helping hands. 

A big thanks to my wonderful in-laws for making it happen.