The better half speaks....

As I watched the snow fall from the balcony of our carriage house in Chestnut Hill yesterday, I felt a slight twinge of concern (dare I say doubt as well?) about the journey we were about to embark on. My move to Philadelphia only six months ago was prompted by my need and desire to be closer to my family, and now I had agreed to leave both my family and my country. I shouldn't be that dramatic -- I do have an amazing new husband, Matthew Benz, who is not only my soulmate, but also my travel buddy. Our departure from home to DC (first leg of the journey to Paris) was not made any easier by farewells from loving "landlords," or the scenic ride on the R8 to 30th Street Station. Even the North Philadelphia stop tugged at my heart strings, as that is where I spent the last six months with an amazing group of kiddos. It is also no coincidence that over the last month my introductory Facebook albums that I posted almost two years ago, have reunited me with some of my DCPS monsters. It has been a constant reminder to me that I have spent the last few years of my life as an English teacher, mother, mentor, and friend -- a profession and passion that I will be putting on hold across the ocean. This not only saddens me, but scares me as well. What will I do to fill my time? Side note: I don't speak French.

This brings me to our "honeymoon" (as my Aunt Beetle termed it this morning) in DC. Here we will wait for the "oui," living at the St. Gregory on M Street. Last night on our way to surprise all of my dear DC friends at a NYE party, we were blessed with a gabby Kenyan cabbie who only had thirteen or so blocks to help remind me that I was soon to be in a country where I would not know the language, be able to work, or be able to study. It all seems so surreal and a little less romantic as I have been afforded more time to process now that we are waiting for the red tape to be ripped away so we can be on our way.

So what to do in the interim? Shall I take the necessary step forward and pull out the French dictionary, or do I wait until we make it to Paris and I am home alone during the day with nothing to occupy my time but my trips to the market and wine selections for the evening meal with my new husband? Something is preventing me from taking the plunge, and it is not the fact that my French books are now sitting in a storage space in France, waiting to be collected by their tardy owners.

In semi-subconscious protest of what will be, Matt and I are ringing in 2010 American style, in the nation's capital. There is no hip cafe across the street from us, but instead a Chinese restaurant and a gaudy new construction in view. Our first meal of the day was not a fresh baguette with butter, but a fiber-enriched, fortified and highly preserved loaf of bread with America's own gem of a spread: peanut butter. In the midst of a marathon of MTV's "Teenage Moms" and TLC's "One Big Happy Family" (a fabulous combination of America's obsession with reality TV and our country's struggle with obesity), I ran to CVS to get us Kraft Macaroni & Cheese for lunch. For dessert, Matt decided that in lieu of a bon-bon, a prepackaged Oreo would do.

Paris will happen. But until it does, I believe there is no better diversion from the uncertain than a healthy dose of the Kardashians while munching a Domino's pizza in our hotel room -- which, by the way, is adorned with fleur-de-lis.