In 41 days my son and I fly to Edmonton where my husband will collect us at the airport and drive to our new home. Home will be an address with more numbers than letters in it, surrounded by fields and a big blue sky. All our furniture will be there, looking uncomfortable and self-conscious in it's aged English-ness. Most of it will be in the wrong place and I will spend some considerable time moving it when I have found that time. The day after our arrival, our dogs will arrive. They will smell of shaggy-dog having been in kennels for two weeks prior. I don't think they will have minded the flight over, but we may never know.
Then we will all go into a low level state of shock. New country. New culture. Where's the Supermarket? What does a Coyote look like? Where's my potato peeler? I will take son to swimming lessons at the local leisure centre; I expect they teach the same swimming strokes the world over. Son will want to make friends, more important than anything to a six year old. He will have his seventh birthday in a country where he knows no-one but his parents. Deep breath! A mother's fear for the well being of her child looms large!
We will settle in. Meet the neighbours. I will buy a horse. Or two. I will get used to driving on the right, and I will master driving a tractor (yippee!). Life will continue, and I am absolutely determined that through my best efforts we will be okay.