I hear this a lot.  Usually after complaining about something.  I’ve gotten used to it over the past 14 months.  It’ll go something like…

Me – Crap.  Something totally snafued. Ugh.

Them – Oh, but you live in Ireland!

Implications are that I can no longer complain about anything because I live in Ireland.

Here’s what people forget -

While yes, it is true, I do live in Ireland, and it is seventy different shades of cool that I’ve been able to do this…

I am living my life in Ireland.  Not vacationing.  Not spending most days gazing off cliffs and climbing up castle steps.

I’m living in Ireland. With four kids, a dog and a husband.  With school issues and laundry piles and a house that needs to be cleaned.  I still have to go grocery shopping and take Maura to doctor appointments and do the parent/teacher conference thing.

Yes, I’m doing it all in a more exotic location than most of my friends.  But the catch was that I had to bring all the kids with, and their lives as well.

Case in point – this morning I woke up at 6:something in the a.m. to a weird sound.  I thought it was the dog yakking up something in her cage.  Peeked downstairs, dog is fine.  Check on girls, Maura’s passed out, Mim opened her eyes, I decided all was well and went back to bed.

7:30 in the a.m., go to pry girls out of their beds only to have Miriam announce that she threw up during the night.  And then she began to describe it.  Ew.  And then Maura’s diaper leaked all over her  bed which means I get to change those sheets today.  Woohoo.

So I sent Mim in for a shower while I gathered up ALL the pajama parts (after handing Mim the last fresh nightgown) and then lured Maura out of her bed.  Dragged laundry and Maura down the stairs, threw laundry into the washer and then got Maura ready for school (because Josh, being good, went to the gym early before heading to work.  sigh.)

Eventually, Maura was ready for school, Mim was tucked in on the sofa, Maura was put on the bus, Mim was set up with various remotes and the television, and I went to make a cup of tea.  The dog had to go out, so I let her out the front door….where she decided to chase after a pedestrian.  I called after her loudly, then cursed loudly, then for a split second, pondered whether I should run out into the rain in my socks, or get shoes.  Shoes won.  Pedestrian was nice and stopped so Zoey would stop too.  Zoey is now in a time out in her kennel.  I have an OT meeting at the school today to discuss potty training Maura, fun fun.  And though no one’s asked yet, I have no idea what’s for dinner.

And so on and so forth, world without end, Amen.

The point is, it’s still life.  Yes, I’m in Ireland, but I brought the whole kit and kaboodle with me.  I’m not holed up in a thatched cottage with a cheery fire burning as I type away, the sound of waves crashing in the distance, spending my afternoons walking along the cliffs taking in the views.

I don’t mean to downplay my reality.  I do live in a pretty darn cool place.  I have gotten this great opportunity to expose our kids to more of the world.  I have gotten to climb up castle steps and enjoy great pub moments.

But daily life is still your basic “feed kids, do more laundry, feed kids again, drive kids someplace” sort of lifestyle.  I have as much right to complain about the less glamorous parts of my life as the next person.  And if I’m all cranky because I’m cold and it’s raining…well…I’m allowed that too.

I will promise though – I will always appreciate the more awesome aspects of life in Ireland.  Because I do.

Meanwhile, my washer is almost done with its cycle, the dog is barking over something,  we’re on hour two of a day of cartoons thanks to Sick Girl on the Sofa, and I’m proud of myself for getting the garbage bin to the curb before trash pick up (I thought we had missed it.)

See?  It’s still Life.

I swear, the one thing that keeps surprising me in this country is the different bathroom situations.  Finding them, fitting into them, realizing you’re showering with an electric box in the shower wtih you.

The other night, I had another first – the men/women’s room.

We were out at a restaurant, and of course, to find the toilet, you went up the stairs, and there was a door with this on it -

Now I assumed this meant that I’d open the door to reveal a long narrow hallway with the various restrooms off the hallway, which is what normally happens.

Instead, I walked into THE restroom.

Note how the stalls are individually marked for the male or the female?  The doors were full closure, for your privacy of course.  And thank God in Heaven, no urinals.  There were actually two stalls for the ladies, and only one for the menfolk.

I have to admit, I opened the door and took a step back.  A moment later, I got over myself and went into the free female stall.  And I will say that this?  Would have been SO useful when my boys were old enough to use the bathroom on their own, but I was hesitant to send them in on their own – or when Josh was out with tiny Miriam and she’d have to go potty.

Honestly?  I’ve dreamt of this kind of set up at home. Well, not this nice.  I imagined a line of stalls line in a school bathroom.  But this would be better.

Hey, we’re a family of six.  This is the sort of pipe dreams I have these days.

Anyway, if in Europe, don’t be alarmed if you walk into a bathroom like this.  It’s really quite alright.  And better than the unisex toilet Josh was in one day in France – and that one had urinals.

Yes, I feel like I’m sixteen again….because I have a driver’s permit and get to take driving lessons.

I went through all this at sixteen.  My high school required every student to take a full semester of driver’s education, complete with classroom work, a driving range on campus, and on the road driving.  And I did very well – if not with an A, at the lowest, a solid B.

But that means squat in Ireland.  I get to do it all over again.  And then take a driving test to get my full license.

sigh.

Now, if I was from another EU country, I could just transfer my driver’s license over.  But a U.S. license doesn’t transfer.  The only perk we have is getting time off the waiting list if we  fax over our driving records (otherwise, we have to wait six months before we’re allowed to take the final test.)

It’s all just a bit annoying.

The plus side is…um…well, I know obscure driving practices in two countries!  And my permit is considered a form of identification, so I no longer have to carry my passport around to prove who I am (which always made me nervous – I’m always certain that my purse will be snatched only when I’m carrying my passport.)  And I’ll learn more ways around the area – instead of constantly getting lost or accidentally discovering a new way to go.  And maybe I’ll lose my anxiety about parking in very narrow spaces.

I will say – I am a much more aware driver here in Ireland.  You never know when a bicyclist will appear next to your car, or someone will jaywalk, or you have to squeeze your way through a narrow street.  That said, I feel like a worse driver than before, as things like parking on sidewalks, driving on sidewalks, driving on the wrong side of the street to get around a car parked oddly…it really isn’t so much driving as doing this really intricate dance with your car through traffic.

It really is an experience!