In the In-Between

Welcome back, friends. I hope I can call you that now — because if you’re still here, you’re invested.

This season has lived in the space in-between—between breaks, plans, countries, and versions of ourselves.

The stretch between fall break and winter break is a no-man’s land.

You take a deep breath, lower your expectations, and hold on while the calendar explodes. Schedules fill with events, celebrations, performances, and chaos. When we make it through, we quietly thank whatever powers exist and move on.

So let’s pick back up where we left off after our arrival in Ashgabat.

In the In-Between

In my last post, I wrote about finally clicking the “buy” button on the grandmas’ Christmas tickets. That single click hit hard — about $3,000 hard. It hurt. But I knew it was worth it. The kids needed it. The grandmas did too. And so did I.

I rode that sense of accomplishment for exactly four days.

Then J — our school’s resident magic-maker — gently informed me that I’d celebrated a little too early. In my quest for the best airfare, I’d booked a 34-day stay. Their visas were only valid for 30. I found alternatives, but changing the bookings would cost another $1,500.

Thankfully, J worked her magic again. Extending the visas turned out to be the far cheaper option — about $100 per person. Crisis averted.

Or so I thought.

No-Man’s Land

That little scare was just the warm-up. Fall had more in store for us.

Next came Halloween in Turkmenistan — which, as it turns out, isn’t really Halloween. It became a fall festival with costumes. The school did its best to make it festive. It still came with its hurdles, and this one landed squarely on Drake.

Drake’s transition this year hasn’t been easy. He’s handled it with more grace than most adults I know, and I’m proud of the choices he’s making.

Out of all of us, he’s carrying the heaviest load.

When the Load Shows

He’s on the edge of puberty, attending in-person public school for the first time since kindergarten, navigating social anxiety, and being expected to make friends — real ones — as a twelve-year-old in a completely new country. Academically, the expectations are higher than anything he’s experienced before.

During the festival, he ran headfirst into some friendship and bullying issues. His costume — a Helldiver — went completely over his peers’ heads. The older kids loved it. His age group didn’t get it at all. There was also a moment where horseplay with a friend crossed a line, and he didn’t yet have the words to assert his boundaries.

That combination was enough. He took an early day, and I stayed behind to manage my own version of chaos: corralling twelve six-year-olds through eight candy-filled activities that required waiting, turn-taking, and walking all over the school. Chaos doesn’t quite cover it.

Amirra held it together remarkably well — only one meltdown — and if I’m being honest, that was probably more about absorbing my stress than anything else. We survived the day… only to get home and realize there would be no American-style trick-or-treating.

Cue dramatic crying under the covers while listening to YouTube search results for “sad music” on repeat. (The teenage years are going to be a delight.)

Somewhere between surviving Halloween and my next flight, I stopped trying to narrate life and focused on surviving it.

Still in Transit

Soon after, I headed to Tbilisi, Georgia, for professional development training. This year, my company covered regional travel for PD, and I won’t lie — I was excited to add another stamp to my passport under the banner of “work travel.” raveling with a large group, however, strips you of any illusion of control.

We hit some major hiccups getting through customs in Tbilisi, though most of us didn’t fully understand what was happening.

There’s more to tell about Tbilisi — both the hard parts and the good ones — and I’ll get to that in another post. We’ll also talk about racing to finish coursework before more coursework begins, found-family moments, the grandmas’ arrival, and what it looks like for all of us — kids included — to start putting down roots while still keeping them in pots.

This next season of writing will be less polished and more immediate. I’m writing from inside the experience instead of after the dust settles. Bear with me as I step back into the story — not to catch up, but to keep going.