I grew up in a large family; at least by today’s standards. It was a crazy, noisy, mostly happy household which I thank God for every day.
Two weeks ago I moved with my own little family back into my parents’ home. We are happy to have time with them, and to have a place to settle while we sort out the ins and outs of our new life here. It is still a crazy, at times noisy, and mostly happy household.
Readjusting to life here is an interesting challenge. Similarities in language and culture deceptively communicate that it should be an easy assimilation. Those same similarities are what I found to be so very difficult when I moved away ten years ago. It would be easier to be immersed in a whole new culture, where the language as well as the customs were unfamiliar. Moving from one english-speaking culture to another makes me feel out of sinc. As though I should understand, be understood, use the same language and intonation to mean the same thing. It’s confusing. The result is this feeling of being out of place, of belonging but not entirely which is exhausting and used often to make me want to cry and think myself ridiculous in the same instant.
While we wrestle with bridging the familiar with the strange we are also trying to find a place for our little family and it’s little people inside a larger, older one. Some days it is a struggle, but I’m sure we’ll get there. In the meantime we’re enjoying having time all together.