Before all of my UK friends freak out, I haven’t spelt labour wrong.
It’s Labor Day weekend!
And as this is an American holiday, I feel it only right that I spell it as they do over here – however wrong that may be.
*Educational corner – What is Labor Day?*
This is a day off for everyone, every year, on the first Monday of September, in celebration of people who work. How bloody awesome is that?! A day to celebrate people having a job – I actually love this. If you don’t work, you don’t get a day off. It’s just another day for you. Regular Monday. Made even worse by the fact that you can’t do any of the normal things that you would do on a regular Monday because nearly everything is closed so that everyone who does go to work can have a day off. I’m claiming this day.
But more important than Labor Day; a nationally recognised day, a federal holiday, in fact – and leading seamlessly on – today is our one month Americanniversary. And as we’re only here thanks to Mr M’s job, it’s only fitting that we celebrate our one month Americanniversary, at his boss’s house, having a BBQ, to celebrate Labor Day [and not having to work].
It couldn’t get more poetic.
And I’m very excited. Today I mingle with Normal Adults*.
*Normal Adults – grown-up people who don’t just want to talk to me about a) working out, or b) children.
And we’re taking pie. And it’s peach. Peach Pie!
Anyway, back to the USAnniversary – I cannot believe we have been here a month already.
Funnily enough, there’s not a single moment where I’ve ever felt like I’ve been on holiday here – it’s felt like living from the get-go. And speaking to friends and family, that seems to be the most common question asked – ‘Do you still feel like you’re on holiday?’.
From what I can gather, this is what people think I spend my days doing:
Friends – that I live in New York and spend all my time there being glamorous and touristy
Family – that I live in the middle of nowhere and spend all day looking for ways to keep busy whilst Mr M is at work
Work colleagues – that I live somewhere that has a laptop
None of the above is true. Well, the last one is true. And I wish the first one was.
But truly, nothing really seems that different – the weather is more pleasant [apart from the odd tail-end of a hurricane. Don’t worry mum, Hermine isn’t coming anywhere near north NJ. It’s just hitting south NJ… hard]. It’s a bit quieter where we live but we’re the same distance out from New York as we were from London. I know it sounds boring but *whisper* it’s pretty much the same.
Except one thing.
I know that he refuses to read my posts – he thinks that they will ruin the ‘air of mystery’. I’m not sure what air he is talking about. We’ve been together for seven years, married for five months, and have a two-year old together. If he thinks I have anything mysterious left in me, bless him. I have not.
I think this is just an excuse, to be honest. He refuses to read anything other than food plans, weight training programmes, and football match analysis.
Anyway, what that means is that I can be quite gushy right now, and he won’t start chipping in saying things like ‘you forgot to mention when I did this’, or ‘so, is this the final version…?’.
Mr M has absolutely surpassed himself. In one month, we are now in our own home, with a car, gas, electric, water, gym memberships, wifi, insurances, healthcare, pre-school… and I have to hand it to him.
Mr M has done most of this.
This, in addition to the simple fact that we are only here because of his job in the first place, and I couldn’t speak more from the heart when I say that I am so, so proud of him and everything he has done. I’ve never met someone with so much determination to make something happen – moving to the states has been his dream forever and I consider myself one lucky girl that I get to spend the rest of my life with someone who can be that inspiring and driven. Word.
I do tell him this to his face as well. Don’t worry, I don’t just secretly write it down in hidden places where I know he never looks. Like in my blog. Or in the cleaning cupboard. Or anywhere where he may have put something that he needs to find later.
But before any of my friends start worrying that I’m getting soppy, please don’t fret. This picture at the top of the page? This is what I opened the doors to my utility cupboard to see this morning.
The netting bag on the left is our dirty laundry bag. The pile of clothes lying on top of it is Mr M’s dirty laundry.