American living in the Netherlands. This is what happens when you marry a furriner, you end up living in furrin climes.
Though Thinsulate works better for me actually.
We moved here two years ago, when Dearly Beloved became abruptly unemployed. We had always planned to move to Europe – indeed, Dearly Beloved announced upon our date number three that he was planning to marry and have kids and that he furthermore was going to live and raise his children in Europe and that if this was a problem I should tell him now. (I asked if I could finish my dinner first, before we got married had kids and changed continents. This caused him to blush, which I have not succeeded in provoking again.)
In any event, we became unemployed when our kids were four and two. We figured, no time like the present, and before they start school seemed like a good idea.
The catch was, I had already bought tickets for me and the kids to go to Holland for the summer for three weeks thence – a thng we did every year. The newly unemployed do not toss out a couple thousand bucks in airplane tickets, or at least they do not if they are me.
So we sold it all, house, car, the lot, packed the other car full of stuff and drove it into a container and three weeks later stood bag and baggage in – well, actually, in Brussels, it’s closer than A’dam.
Then Dearly Beloved decided he wanted to stay in the south of Holland, and indeed in his own home town. This necessitated a return to school and a drastic career switch.
I become eligible for citizenship this year I believe; I will probably apply. I always thought dual citizenship was cool, how’s that for a compelling reason? 
I am told by the nice people at City Hall that there is one other American in town but we have not met. I am the token American at the local english club which meets twice a month – one American, one Aussie, the rest are brit. It’s nice to speak your native language now and again.
