There is a German catchphrase for times in which nothing goes to plan:
“Es ist der Wurm drin.”
The worm indeed does appear to be in it. Somehow, I feel like I am carrying a gigantic post-it note on my back that invites the universe to kick my arse.
The sale of our flat here in London fell through, the planning application for our house in Sweden has been turned down, and I am going to move to Sweden BY MYSELF.
I sat down the other day to put the girls’ yoga, swimming and dance classes in a schedule with nursery and school runs. Seeing it there in front of me, black on white, it became impossible to ignore: thanks to unforeseen events on the job front, my husband doesn’t play that big a part in our new life. One of the main reasons for our move to Scandinavia was to spend more time together as a family.
Oh, the irony.
On the other hand, it could be worse. The moving company could forget us, the au pair could not show up, the kids could become ill, we could become ill, my big toenail could grow in… All in all, we are still pretty well off.
Most importantly, Lil’ L is loving the idea to move to Sweden. The promise of a trampoline in the garden and the prospect of leaving the house all by herself (said garden) fortunately coincided with the discovery that her ‘best friend’ is, in fact, a mean, lying little b****. I knew for a while, but I wanted Lil’ L to decide for herself whom she wants to be friends with. Luckily (and only just), she did.
In other news, tomorrow is the interview for the yoga teacher training I applied for. All applicants will take part in an evening asana class – a bit like a yoga audition, I reckon (and fear). Let’s see if I will have managed to get that post-it note off my back by then.