The Whirlwind

And with that the Whirlwind had gone.

Living life with a travelling husband is taking some time in adjustment. A new sales role, in a territory that covers all of New South Wales and ACT, has taken Mr D away from the family home for longer than he has ever been before. Coupled with that, a Sydney house that needed work before advertising on the rental market and you have a family with the shadow of Mr D that occasionally appears on small backlit screens before bedtime.

Let me clarify, that this arrangement doesn't please him, in fact, I think he misses his family more than I do when I'm away (or maybe I'm just not away often enough to miss them) and always pines for the day when he can be at home and enjoy spending time with us.

So hence the aforementioned 'adjustment'. We both are treading new ground in this arrangement and having to change our ways slightly to accommodate the new normal. Rather than family time at the end of each day, all our family time has to happen during the days that Dad is home, which is mostly weekends.

Let me give you a little background on the dynamics. I'm not a control freak. Housework is there to be done if it really needs doing, and if it can wait till tomorrow then all the better. There are a million things that are mentally captivating for me than putting random things in their places (again, for the fortieth time that week) and cleaning bench tops. I don't mind cooking (baking is probably my favourite task in the kitchen) but please don't ask me to decide what to make for dinner. Again. Cheese toasties sound good, don't they?

My previous job of Office Assistant in a busy school office was the perfect excuse for procrastinating on the things that needed doing at home. I did the bare necessities, but sorting that overloaded shelf and vacuuming the blinds didn't emerge on my 'must do this weekend' list. Usually that list comprised of 'buy food, wash uniforms and tumble dry' - the last item was to avoid having to add 'ironing' to the list. I wiped over the bathroom mirror when we had trouble seeing our reflection but I confess I couldn't tell you the last time I washed the floor. To be honest, (and I'm sure I'm not alone, though I need help if I am) work was far more exciting than keeping the house.

Having said all that, my new found employment of 'Project Manager - Move House', as it says on my LinkedIn profile, has left me with no other option. This is my role now, to look after the family and keep order in our rented house; it's an amazingly huge role when done properly! And I have to say, despite a reticence in having to say to my mother that she was right, there is a great sense of satisfaction in a tidy house. I have battled my prejudice that house work is dull and should be avoided at all costs, and am getting it done with contentment in the order it leaves.

That is, until Mr D arrives home.

I've seen houses much tidier than mine, but just before he walks through the door it's pretty good. Floors vaccumed. Clean sheets, space (not ever seen at our last tiny cottage) and dust-free surfaces (also not seen before). My house is becoming a home, much to my own surprise.

It lasts for a nanosecond. Not just because of the paraphernalia that accompanies the returning traveller, but my lack of care of the house when he arrives. It becomes a much distant second...actually, maybe tenth... in line of priorities. Not only distracted myself by having the love of my love at home, the kids are also distracted from their usual jobs in the presence of 'the fun time guy' and I'm neglectful in my observance of missed duties. One of the adoring qualities of my husband, is his sense of fun and how when he's home the mood is suddenly so much lighter. There is rarely a moment passed without a joke, funny face or laughing child being thrust into the air. Housework? Pfft, who'd want to do that?

Our family dynamics have changed. No longer are there are few moments of family time each day with order in between; the days when Dad is home become a frenzy of conversation, updates, questions and laughter. The usual order of each day (meals, homework, bedtime routine) that has been put in place to manage in his absence, is tossed aside like a teenager's washing (I was going to add 'dirty', but then I realised that for teenagers, both dirty and clean end up in the same place).

Now I sit, trying to cast a blind eye on the chaos behind me, patiently waiting for attention. Trails of textas and unfinished homework, crumpled shirts needing ironing, a kitchen bench displaying evidence of the past two days' culinary enjoyment. I will get to it eventually, but for now I indulge in the memory. For as much as it pains me to constantly say goodbye to my love, we have had an amazing two days with our family together again. And, in having the best of both worlds, I know that in his absence I will have a house that will stay in order (more or less), as much as I desire.

Till the next Whirlwind.

Face Value

There's nothing like a seven year old exclaiming he doesn't feel part of the family to put a halt on the morning's proceedings. Needless to say, it turned my morning upside down in the few seconds it took him to utter those words (which he did... very loudly).

The first week at the new school had passed somewhat uneventfully, and we even remembered the correct uniform on the correct day. Seeing as I got it wrong more than once at our old school, even when employed as a staff member, this is a victory for me! All three children seemed fairly settled and perhaps enjoying this new adventure.

Until this morning.

Despite being a little down over my own sadness at missing the constant contact with friends (who became like family to me over the nine years at the last school), this morning dawned a new beginning. Fully rested after eight and half hours sleep, I aimed to tackle the morning with a fresh perspective. I was organised, I was motivated and darn it, these children would get to school on time (not one of my strengths) if it killed me.

And organised I was. Hot breakfast was served (instant porridge - I'm no Nigella), lunches made, all with time for me to shower before leaving. I even tackled Master Seven's turned up nose at my food offering and made him toast instead, figuring if he was happy about his breakfast it would make the whole morning routine go more smoothly. All he had to do was get dressed which I thought was easy enough. How wrong I was.

On emerging fully showered and dressed from my room, I found Master Seven folding paper aeroplanes. In his pyjamas. Five minutes before leaving. Now I did have the leaving time as ten minutes earlier in case of unforeseen catastrophes (which happen to our family regularly) but even fifteen minutes was cutting it close for Master Seven to get himself organised. So, I whisked my 'Admin Assistant' hat on and I started to dress him myself. Maybe I was a little tetchy, but I was conscious that Miss Nearly Fifteen loved being late as much I as loved warm pineapple (blech).

My slightly strong tone struck a dissonant note in Master Seven and he revolted. He wanted to tie his own tie 'I'll just Google it, Mum!' and there was a great deal of flapping hands from both of us. I tried desperately to get him ready while he tried desperately to stop me.

Needless to say, it ended with both of us shouting and he uttering 'you're so mean! It's not fair! I don't feel part of this family'. You could have sliced my heart with a knife and it would have been less painful.

We did make it to school on time (just) but the stony silence in the car was downright depressing. The ten minute journey was enough for me to (silently) berate him for his belligerence, justify my own position, then chastise myself for being so damn introspective and a terrible parent. By the time we got to school, I was set to apologise for being 'mean' (as he put it) and start the school day on the right foot. I couldn't bear it if I left him with the memory of harsh words for the the entire day.

I helped him put on his shoes (not finished in the haste of getting out the door) and spoke gently. He kept saying how tired he was and I kept saying how he'll pick up when he gets into the classroom.

I don't know what prompted me to ask the next question. Some may say 'mother's intuition' but it certainly wasn't a thought that had come into my mind at all that morning. I actually prefer to think that God, who I believe knows and loves me and my children, put that question in my head as He knew what Master Seven needed more than I did.

'Are you missing your friends, sweetie?'

I watched his big eyes fill with tears, and his bottom lip falter and I had to quickly hug him so he wouldn't notice my eyes following suit. The poor little dear was in such an emotional state about how drastically new everything was, that it had been manifesting in an angry defiance. New friends, new teacher, new routine; it was all wearing him out. Having touched on the source of his emotional anxiety, he and I both melted. I knew then what was needed - a mental health day at home, complete with a milkshake for him and a much needed (large) latte for me. It appears that he doesn't like being the 'Newbie', any more than I do.

Taken at face value, Master Seven was a troubled little soul today, but there was a deeper issue that without that one question I would not have been able to draw it to the surface. I would have continued on with my day, oblivious to his anxious heart, angry and probably researching family therapy or child psychologists. Whereas my day so far has been chatting over coffee and milkshake, cuddles and watching Master Seven finish his most sort after level on Geometry Dash. And a piece of humble pie...there's nothing like it.

The First Day

I don't know who is more nervous.

All three children are starting at a new school tomorrow. Since moving house nearly three weeks ago, I have been able to unpack almost all the boxes (ok, maybe half) and get most of our 'stuff' (which we have too much of, as articulated in my previous post Six Days and Counting) into some semblance of order. We have had quiet days at home and have explored our new area. We've even learned to live with smaller numbers on our outdoor thermometer (so far). 

But tomorrow is the day. The day that the usual routine begins again; the lunches, the pressed uniforms, the homework. The routine that includes motivating sleepy children and finding the shoes that always seem to take themselves off for a game of hide and seek right before leaving for school.

I can't say I'm not ready. Like most carers, I long for a computer that's not required for the latest Minecraft mod download. I long to have a phone that doesn't run out of battery due to the extended sessions of Geometry Dash. I long to finish a task before hearing a wailing 'MU-UM, where are you?'. To be able to buy a coffee without it costing me $30 in hot chocolates and bakery goodies.

Even though the prospect of kids going back to school renders me a dancing orang-utan, there's a small (ok, a bit bigger than 'small') part of me that is really nervous for them. New teachers, unfamiliar class times, unfamiliar faces, awkward conversations. Actually, I think I'm more nervous than all three put together. Will they make friends? Will they make good friends? Will they feel a little lost? Will they get lost? Will they be cold? (A never-ending obsession of mine since move day, as I wrote in a previous post The Yeti.)

I know only they can answer those questions as this is something they need to do on their own. Despite my desire to go ahead of them, and perform a 'security sweep', investigating the unknowns and reporting back in time for the first bell, my greater desire is for them to learn how to make new friends, how to find answers to things unknown and how to negotiate new situations. And the only way to do that is by letting them go through the process on their own (excuse me while I grab the tissues).

So I will farewell them tomorrow morning, and try not to watch the clock while they're gone. I will pray for their day and repeat my husband's adage to them 'to have a good friend, you need to be a good friend' as they head off to their first class. Knowing that the whole experience will be another link in the armour of their character and a step toward them growing into the resilient young people we always hoped they would be. 

Pass another tissue, please?....

You've just got to laugh

Moving house - there's no attractive way to portray it. It's messy. It's chaotic and it's uber-stressful. Those who've done it are nodding; those who've done it with kids are recoiling at the recollection. So here I write, amidst a thousand boxes and packaging paraphernalia, I have the burning desire to share with you our journey.

My husband and I have always desired a tree-change from the fast-paced Sydney suburban life to the beautiful Southern Highlands in New South Wales, Australia. We thought it would be after our youngest finished school, but here we are - two teenagers and a seven year old, packing up our entire lives and filling out enrolment applications for a new house and school. As I write, I have exactly seven days to fit all of our lives into boxes before the removalist arrives (gulp).

So you can imagine what my tiny three bedroom house looks like right now. A single pathway from front door to kitchen, sideways only down the hallway thank you, and oh, when you get to the bedroom door, you'll have to do a ninja move around the other pile of boxes to actually get into the room.

Stressful enough, wouldn't you say? Well add into the mix the back deck that is currently under construction at our back door (three months overdue), half our yard dug into a mud heap, the necessity to complete several house repairs to be able to put our house on the rental market while still trying to run a household of five, three of which are still at school.

Today we reached a climax of catastrophic proportion. In our rabbit warren of a house, finding uniforms and trying to get lunches made was already a challenge of detective skills and multitasking prowess. Then the electrician arrived to talk lighting for the deck. Then the alarm guy arrived to talk about resetting the codes for tenants. Then the dog got a bit nervous about the strangers in the house and starting pacing, so I was having to dodge tradesmen, husband, dog, children trying to find uniforms. We had slept in so were already running late. The seven year old knocked over a cup of juice by accident in the only thoroughfare from front door to back door. I am cleaning while tradesmen are waiting to get through and somehow I managed to get everyone together and out the door. Juggling an armful of recycling and trying to find neighbours bins that had more room than ours, I dropped a glass jar and it smashed all over the neighbours driveway. It was then that I heard the approaching recycling truck from the next street.....

....and I laughed.