When my husband and I decided to uproot our family from Kentucky- from the only place, people, and life we have ever known- and move to a tiny island in the Caribbean, it was of course met with so many remarks to the tune of “Oh My Gosh, THAT’S AMAZING!”, “You are living the dream!”, and “This is going to be the experience of a lifetime for them!”.
Are all of those statements true? Well, the admittedly conceited and braggy side of me says YES, yes they are.
And clearly are why we made this crazy, illogical, “YOLO” type decision.
We know our kids will be better for the exposure to a new environment, people, culture, and history. And we know the experiences we have as a family while here will enrich them in ways that only travel, adventure, and taking risks can.
But if I pretended like I don’t have some major Mom guilt for choosing to live out this “dream” – that yes, it that of myself and my husband, and not my small children- well, I could replace Jim Carey in Liar, Liar.
Because my kids are some of those incredibly lucky, blessed kids that have a village that has surrounded them, raised them, and loves on them as fiercely as my husband and I do since the day they entered this world.
As the only grandchildren to three sets of doting grandparents, and the only niece and nephew to two uncles- they are loved beyond words, praised and celebrated beyond recognition, and spoiled beyond belief.
Add on extended family members and friends of myself and my husband’s that are also integral parts of that village- and to take them away from that base and foundation- well, hello Mom guilt. And daughter guilt, daughter-in-law guilt, sister guilt, and niece-cousin-friend guilt.
I’m Ashley, and I suck.
And yet, here we are on that tiny little rock. Because clearly, we went for it despite the guilt.
Am I certain in our decision as I even write this? Nope.
But I suppose that’s parenting.