We moved abroad when our kids were 5 and 7. Keeping them close to their grandparents became a priority.

We had just moved to New Jersey when we learned that we would have to move to London for my husband’s job.

Our children, aged 5 and 7, were the much-adored only grandchildren of my in-laws, who were retired and living in Texas.

Our kids were also close with my mom and her partner, who lived in Hawaii.

We saw all of them regularly, either when they visited us in New York City, where the kids were born, or when we traveled to see them.

Fortunately, neither my in-laws nor my mother ever made us feel guilty about our move to the UK.

They knew that my husband’s job required it.

Talking about it as a new adventure helped soften the blow for all of us, kids included. “We’ll come home for the holidays and in the summer, like we always do,” we promised. “And you can come visit us in England, too.” Luckily, we were able to keep those promises.

We felt like we’d won the lottery arriving in Maui after weeks in a bleak, dark, freezing London winter (despite the 24-hour door-to-door journey).

My mom bought leis to the airport to drape around the kids’ necks on our first visit, and soon the kids were learning to surf and devouring local treats like shaved ice with mochi.

In Texas, the kids had old-fashioned Christmases at the grandparents’ house, complete with a tree lit with real candles, and a miniature light-up carousel in the room they shared.

Our priority during those breaks was simply being together — whether playing board games, cooking, or going on outings to the Zoo and our favorite Mexican restaurant.

Probably the biggest upside to living in London was taking advantage of the kids’ frequent and long school breaks to plan travel with the grandparents.

Since it’s easy and relatively cheap to travel most anywhere in Europe from London, we took my in-laws to Vienna, Budapest, the south of France, and the West Coast of Ireland.

On a trip to the Cotswolds, her Japanese companion, a former Sumo wrestler, enjoyed the 400-year-old pubs and the local beer.

My mom, an artist, was also always happy to spend days wandering through London museums like the Tate Modern and the Victoria & Albert Museum.

We were fortunate they were all healthy enough to take trips like this with the kids and us.

In between those visits, we kept in touch with regular phone calls, texts, and letters.

At least once a week, a card from my mother-in-law would arrive for each of the kids — the envelope covered with stickers, her beautiful handwriting instantly recognizable.

Looking back, those trips were priceless.

We created so many memories, and certain experiences became fodder for future stories that no one got tired of hearing over and over again (like the time the roof of our rental van got wedged against the ceiling of a tiny parking garage in Provence).

Hint: if this ever happens to you, release air from the tires to lower the van.

I think the thing that made living thousands of miles from the grandparents was having a setting the intention early on — living overseas was not going to interrupt the closeness of our kids’ relationships with them, and in fact was going to enhance it.

Although all the travel involved a lot of energy and planning, it was well worth it.