Blonde. Jane Blonde.

Well, we are almost certainly going to make it to the States this summer. I won't go into the sordid details--and yes, they are sordid--but suffice it to say it's been an icky business the last week in particular. Just between me and thee, over the weekend, when it was understood it would be a no-go, I came the closest I've ever been to suicide. Not in a petulant way, little Silver wasn't getting her way, but rather because I don't think I realized until that point just how important it is to me to make this move.

I don't think I can explain how deep the need is without sounding like a complete debutante who can't make it work for herself in a foreign country. You'll have to take my word for it that I'm not being a princess about this whole thing (if you knew me, you'd know I am NOT the princess type), and everyone familiar with our situation believes it's the best thing for our family.

Thanks to my parents, but not to my husband's ill judgment and bull-headedness, we are considerably closer to departure than ever before. But as the details get worked out between them, my son and I are basically being held for "ransom", which is a shitty position to be in, and the future is still held precariously in the balance. I'm infuriated with my husband but can't show it, and indebted to my parents for their generosity and understanding. So now one stress has been replaced with another, and I'm floating through the house, doing my housewifely things, preparing our belongings for the move, continuing to home school our bright son... but still unsure where our destiny lies. Is it yay, or nay?

To facilitate the cause, I've begun carrying around a little medicine bag. It's a tiny felt change purse decorated with a silver edelweiss flower I bought in Füssen when we visited Neuschwanstein castle (the one the Disney castle is based on) a few weeks before our son's birth. In it are an American quarter, St. Jude's prayer (though I'm not Christian, I do believe prayers go somewhere and are heard), an English pound, an Elizabethan groat, an American flag pin, and my favorite little worry doll. I carry it around everywhere and hold it in my hand when I can. I talk to my mother's father, who passed away two years ago, and who I believe has had a positive influence on the outcome so far. I talk to my other deceased grandfather.

The flower on my tiny change purse looks very similar to the flower on this ring.

Neuschwanstein Castle.


I also talk to my husband's deceased father--who died shortly before my husband and I met, and who my husband is certain helped us find each other--and beg him to soften his son to comply to my dad's terms, and not to try to strongarm my father.

I might sound pretty wacky to some of you, but I won't apologize for my metaphysical practices.

Anyway, while I was thinking all this out a little while ago, my husband and son were rough housing before bed. My son said to his dad, "I'm James Bond! Who are you, Daddy?" James Bond was my son's very first hero, a few years ago. My husband said, "I'm James Gond!" I couldn't resist piping in with, "Well, I'm Jane Blonde!" and managed to elicit a rare amused smile from my husband.

I couldn't help but wonder how Jane Blonde would fare in this tense, delicate situation my family and I face right now? Much better than I, I'm sure.