Author: Robin Chartier

I wrote this yesterday, but didn’t post it . . .

 

Last night I woke up about 12 times and each time I’d been dreaming that Josh woke up, checked his email and there was no news about his job. Then on the 13th time he did wake up and check his email and there was no news about his job, but since I’d already lived it 12 times over it wasn’t a surprise. I guess I’ve become a modern-day Joseph and God is revealing the future through my dreams. In that case, tonight I’m hoping for sweet sleep full of job offers, beach vacations, and 12 grandchildren. (I’m planning to be the best grandma ever. I just need to pick my #coolgrandma name and I’ll be set.)

Technically, tomorrow is the last day of the week, the week where we are supposed to find out either way. When we wake up in the morning it will be after close of business on Friday . . . tick-tock.

TODAY: NOW IT’S PAST THE END OF THE WEEK AND I’M STILL IN LIMBO

Yesterday I wrote the above, we went to church, taught kids church, and the day was great, but by late afternoon the stress was getting to me. I feel like such a whiner cause it’s not like I’m waiting for a cancer diagnosis or some other terrible life changing news. We’re waiting to hear about a job. A good thing. But here I am, holding stress in my jaw and shoulders and feeling on edge. So around 7pm last night I crawled in bed, didn’t eat dinner, and went to sleep. Just like a toddler who needs to end the day and start over again tomorrow. Josh took the kids out to eat and mama checked out.

So now we’re in the weekend — both here and in the US. We can guess at why it’s taking so long and say things like, “If it were a no, it would be a quick response” or “maybe it’s taking longer because they are arguing over who to hire” or “it could be that putting together a salary package for overseas with kids is more complicated and taking longer,” but the short answer is we don’t know and we don’t know why we don’t know. But as soon as we do know, you’ll know.

I think I’m at 59 — I skipped yesterday, but if you feel shortchanged, go back and read day 61 again. Every day this week feels the same.

I am in a funk. Kind of. I’m at peace about the future. I’m still positive Josh will get the job, but my mind is restless. I want to hurry up and know. Though as I think about it, that shouldn’t matter because either way I get up, go to the gym, go to work, and prepare to go home to California in 6 weeks. Either way, I still have to pack up the house, I still have to go through our things and declutter, still have to close out our life here . . . but will it all be done with a forward thinking view: “We’re coming back!” or will it be the last hurrah, farewell to the Middle East?

I think we’ll know tomorrow morning (Friday) when we wake up. It’s when we got the word that he had made it to the final round of interviews 2 weeks ago, and last Friday morning he had the interview . . . maybe this Friday he’ll have the job.

I’ve got nothing. I went to the gym, chiropractor, work, and killed another day. It’s Tuesday morning US time now so the window is once again open to hear something . . . I’m tired of writing about waiting, I’m sure you’re all tired of reading about waiting. The entire process is bursts of excitement linked together by long stretches of tediousness.

As I wait for confirmation, for the “yes” that I know is coming, I’ve started to run numbers on what it costs to live here and what our total all-in number needs to be in order for the offer to become reality.

I’ve actually been running numbers for the last 4 months and reading up on US tax law since we will be in a different situation working in the private sector rather than for the US government. Right now our housing is covered and school is paid for and we get a normal paycheck. Next year housing will be covered and school will be paid for, but as civilians it will be considered income and we will have to pay taxes on that amount. That’s a smack in the face when school costs over 20k per kid (yes, that’s dollars).

Did I ever think I would pay more for my kid to go to 3rd grade than I paid for my freshman year at Westmont College? Nope. But there is no public school here. We could choose a cheaper private American school, but we’re talking the difference between 18 and 20K. There isn’t an option that costs 5 or 8 or even 12K. For 2 thousand dollars a year difference would I pay for my kid to go to the better rated school? Yes, absolutely. So there you go. Taxes on 64 thousand are about $19,000. We owe 19 grand and haven’t even brought $1 home yet. Ackkkk!!!

Then add in the (obscene) cost of rent, any plane tickets home, and any moving costs paid by the company (all also considered taxable income) and we are looking like high rollers on paper, but paupers after the tax man cometh.

Oh yeah, and as California residents, the Golden State takes its (big) bite too. That’s why I’ve been calculating and recalculating and I think I have it narrowed down to the magic number that it will take to allow us to stay here. I may not be able to take my bucket-list trip to New Zealand (driving around in a camper and sleeping on the beach with seals) without saving up for a few years, but we won’t starve. Most likely we will be more than fine, but there’s a whole lot of unknowns to make known.

***Just so you know, while I am very confident that Josh will get this job, I still have that little buzz at the back of my brain, “what if? What will you do then?” I’m human, not Superwoman! 

It’s the first day of our workweek, but I’ve been reminding myself all day that not only is it still the weekend back in the US, but it’s an extra 10 hours behind us. That means the clock can’t start ticking on “we’ll let you know this week” for another 24 hours at least.

Tick-tock. I bought myself a bike at a garage sale yesterday in anticipation of moving close to school. It has a wire basket on the back, a la Miss Gulch/Wicked Witch of the West and I love the idea of riding around downtown with my knitting and my books. Of course it’s too hot to ride for the next 6 months, but I can dream.