My First Franciversary

26 September, 2009, Sara Louise moved to Le Petit Village to be with The Boyfriend who six months later would become The Husband, and to rescue a puppy, who had been abandoned in a garbage dumpster and christen him, Fifty. 

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On this, the most honorable of days, I will tell you the story of exactly one year ago (and one year ago minus one day).

My last day of Dublin was rather uneventful. It had already been three weeks since I had finished at work, and many goodbye dinner and drinks with friends and colleagues had occurred, and nights in Temple Bar where I hugged Leprechauns...

{they're after me lucky charms}

So on that last evening of my old life what did I do?
I stayed up late shredding papers.
That's what I did.
I shred papers.
I actually shredded so much that I broke the shredder.
(Sorry Auntie, guess what you're getting for Xmas this year).
(Funny since I had gotten her that very shredder as a Xmas present).

Eventually all that shredding tuckered me out (with extreme boredom), and I went to bed. If any of you have made a big move in your life, you know what that last night sleep before is like. It's not really a sleep. It's a nervous rest. Sad that you will never be in that room again (or you will, but it won't be your room anymore), excited about your new life and all it may bring, and scared to bits that you made a very bad decision. And then the sunrises and what's done is done, and your on your way to your new life, your new home.

At the airport, checked in with my extra-weight bags I phoned The Husband (who of course was then, The Boyfriend), and he said he was sleeping. WHY WASN'T HE AWAKE? (I'll tell you why, because he had spent the night before drinking honey wine with who else but The Honeys. So while I spent a scintillating evening with a paper shredder, he was getting hammered on bee juice). If I was awake and nervous, he should be awake and nervous.  

One Dublin to Nice flight, and Nice to Le Petit Village drive later and I was in my new home. I was trying to look at it with 'new home' eyes instead of 'holiday fun' eyes. The Husband helped me out with that, I walked into a messy house. Definitely not holiday fun time. Cue first tantrum. 

Within a few minutes of my arrival, loads (maybe not loads, but like six or seven) of people were crowded around the outside of the front door. They were there to meet and greet me. They all stood there, smiling at me (inspecting me). I smiled back and nodded at all the French things they were saying. (It was the beginning of many months of the smile and nod).  

And that night we went out to dinner. 

And on Sunday I began to unpack. 

And on Monday The Husband went to work. 

And that was that. 

Welcome to your new life. 

This is not a rehearsal.

(not very exciting, is it?)

bisou