Twenty Fifteen

Even though it has been six months since my last post, arriving at the end of the school year has brought many reflections. Twenty fifteen. What. A. Year.

If you have had told my 2014 self the events of this year, I would have thought you were making it all up. I mean, that stuff can’t happen to one family, can it? Rather than bore you with details, I will say that our year involved a phantom sleepover, a few kids birthday parties, a Sydney party (times 4...in a row!), non-existent soccer match, three NRMA calls in as many weeks, unexpectedly great end of year results, approximately 113 nights without my man, lots of lurgys, no traffic, fresh air, loneliness, a visit to the Principal’s office, depression, anxieties, lots of family time, but also lots of tears.

It’s been hard. Harder than I had thought when we made that idyllic decision 12 months ago to move to the country. It’s not just moving away from friends, it’s losing the security. The unspoken understandings that years of time together have allowed. The blissful freedom from small-talk. Being able to share a moment without explaining why it needs to be shared. Dinners, picnics and pool swims. Knowing who’s who and who they are related to. In essence, we miss being part of a community. Hard enough for me, but treble for my teenagers for whom security and friendships comprise 50% of their existence (for the other 50% is hormones).

A wise person told me once that you need to give a big move six months before reassessing. And here I write, eight and half months of birthing this new venture and I can categorically say they are 100% right. On one particular dark day a few months back, I asked my daughter if we should move back to the city. I didn’t know if we had made the right decision to yank them away from their secure life and on that day, it just seemed like too much of a fight, for them and for me. Her reply was astoundingly mature – ‘Mum, they’ve changed and I’ve changed. It won’t be the same as what it was. It will be, in a sense, like starting again.’ Wow.

I realised at that moment that time doesn’t stand still. We make decisions and no matter what decision we make, each one has fall-out. Sometimes we barely notice it and sometimes it takes a hard slog to get through. Sometimes the decision is made for us and we have no choice but to cope with the journey that is thrust into our laps. We can never go back because we can’t erase the lessons we learned through our new set of circumstances. Events like ours change who we are. The only choice is to keep going and not run away from the tough times. And only look back with fondness, never regret because the ability to change the past is out of our hands. We need to embrace the new, knowing that the lessons learned through the events that led us there are sometimes the most valuable.

I still get the mother-guilt attacks when my kids are having a sad day. After all, it wasn’t their choice to move, even if they thought it was a good idea at the time. Though, my daughter is right. Going back would not be as it was. The life lessons they have learned are privileged to those on a journey and my great hope is that this road will make them more resilient and able to cope with the future circumstances that await them in adult life. Of which, I know you all agree with me, there are many.

We are so privileged to call the Southern Highlands home. We have space to move and fresh air to breathe. Driving to work and school is a country drive every single day – no traffic, even no traffic lights! We have had more family time in the last six months than we used to get in a whole year. I park where I want, when I want (although even I have learned that weekends are not good times to find parking in Bowral). Our day to day lives are so much simpler and less stressful. And even though we are yet to develop those deep friendships similar to what we’ve left behind, we’re on the journey, looking forward.

The glass is half full (well, it is now J ).

To write or not to write?

The act of writing is a delicate balance. There needs to be the time to think and process - time to formulate a story around a funny moment or an event that has happened. Although, sometimes the busier I get, the more I feel compelled to write. Not sure why, but perhaps there are more stories to be told when there's more chance for chaos. Though being too busy can result in not enough time to write and so the cycle continues.

I'm not sure I've found the balance yet. The chaos of moving house gave me many inspirations for blog posts, though when life settled down a bit and I had time to write, I found it hard to find things to write about.

Now, after living the life of a kept woman for two and half months (I can hear the chortle...no such thing as a 'kept woman' when there are children to get to school!), I have been catapulted back into the land of the working mum. A financial necessity at this stage of our family's journey, I found a part time job as a medical receptionist with a lovely team in a medical diagnostic clinic. Having not worked in this industry before, there is a steep learning curve. Gargantuan. I know nothing, but having fun learning.

So will I keep up with blogging? Who knows? The eight hour days are a hard slog, and enjoyable as this job is so far, I'm sure the time away from home will take its toll in some way or another. The flip side is, the ensuing chaos might give me more fodder for funny stories and I may need the occasional break from using numbers and acronyms as a form of communication.

I have adored writing so far - thank you for being a patient audience! It has been such a great place to process the events taking place in our family's journey this year.

And you never know, life might get chaotic enough again that I just have to write about it.

The Quiet Life...NOT

Just imagine....on a picturesque weekend away, strolling down the main street of town. browsing and marvelling at the price of houses compared to the city. The crisp, clean air gives clarity and the momentary question of 'could we live here' rests in conscious thought. We could be content in this calm, serene existence for the rest of our lives, right? Mmm, not quite.

Don't get me wrong, I am really glad we moved - it has been categorically the best move we've ever made (and we've made a few). However, there is a moment where the idyllic is replaced with the reality of getting on with life in a busy family. That's the stage we've have reached now.

It's been two months or so since we moved to the country. At first, the clear air and sweet smells of pasture grasses were intoxicating. I had to keep pinching myself - all those holidays where we entertained the idea of moving out of the city and we finally did it! Every drive was another exploration of this new town we call home; every discovery exciting.

This has now been replaced with school drop-offs, emergency trips back to school to deliver forgotten items, soccer training, birthday parties and the usual errands that go along with family life. While we haven't yet discovered half of this beautiful location, children still need to get to school, groceries still need to be purchased and cleaning still needs to be done (sad, but true).

Of course, a holiday location will seem amazingly serene and perfect because life is left behind while visiting. Sometimes it involves someone else cleaning the hotel room, and eating food someone else prepared and subsequently cleaned up. The holiday weekend is just about the here and now; a few belongings and a beautiful town. Have you done it? Imagined yourself in the place of your holiday destination, living a life of simplicity and serenity? Easy to do without thinking about work, school and general demands of family life. We did it - every time we left the city!

Moving to the Southern Highlands has highlighted to me that no matter where I am, life still happens. It demands attention and won't take no for an answer. For example, I am indulging myself time to spout my musings to you all, while the washing still sits in piles (well they were in piles two days ago; regretfully, now a sea of clean, crumpled clothes masking the presence of a couch underneath). The bathrooms are silently protesting, while the floors are screaming to be relieved of yesterday's crumbs. I can bury my head in the scenery and idyllic lifestyle, but it will be at the expense of a family that is cared for and can locate their uniforms when they need to (hard enough on a good day).

However, there needs to be a balance. We can equally bury ourselves in busyness (apologies to spelling aficionados, but I think the 'y' makes more sense), but there needs to be some escape, some sort of balance, to help recharge the soul and focus on the blessings in our lives, even if for a short time.

I saw a post on social media today, which is an important reflection in the chaos of life.

 "Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes...including you" (Anne Lamott).


I am realising that moving to the country doesn't give me a magic pill for a quiet life; there are still the same amount of hours in the day and the same amount of things that need to be done. How time is spent is largely by choice so it's up to me to find the balance. I can choose to do the washing, or choose to write a blog, as long as I'm ok with living with the fallout (clearly, I am). Somehow, somewhere, there needs to be a balance between the productive and the reflective.

In the quest for finding that balance (which is a constantly moving set of scales), I feel like the overriding theme that keeps coming through is how to remain content, even when life doesn't quite turn out as first thought.

I think one of the chief elements of contentedness, is gratitude. Dwelling on the 'busy' is frustrating, (I know because I do it) and sometimes I just have to take a moment, a deep breath and remember all the things I love about being here. Not naturally a trait of mine, I'm trying on optimism for size (my husband will be rejoicing).

 (Lake Alexandra, Mittagong)

Dr Caroline Leaf, a brain scientist and campaigner for positive thought, posted this yesterday on social media:

Saying "I can't change my way of thinking" is just as much of a decision as "I can change my way of thinking". The choice is yours. (Dr Caroline Leaf)

I'm thinking social media is trying to tell me something.....

In any case, I am on my second coffee (thinking about how much I love this liquid gold) and about to tackle the housework (thinking about how great it is to have a warm house in this cold climate).

Busy? Yes. Optimistic? Trying to be. Content? Absolutely.

Ten things I've learned

It's been almost two months since our big move to the country, so here are ten things I've learned about our new area (and climate!):

1. No one is in a hurry, which makes driving a calm experience.

2. Although, no one is in a hurry, which is kind of annoying when you're waiting to be served (you can take the girl out of Sydney....).

3. Hair dryers aren't just to style hair, they prevent hypothermia on cold days.

4. Having the heater on during the day isn't a luxury, it's a necessity (I can almost hear it making the noises of a cash register, cha-ching, cha-ching).

5. Woollen garments are underrated - you learn to live with scratchy because it's a whole lot better than cold.

6. Parent meetings could have you driving on an isolated country road. In the dark. In the fog. If that scares you, better get over it real quick.

7. Almost every outing involves a picturesque drive - and you never get sick of it (well, not in two months, anyway).

8. Time for ordinary errands needs to be doubled to accommodate long chats with random strangers.

9. You learn that you can survive with cold toes, just as long as your ears are warm.

10. You're not on candid camera - everyone is smiling at you because they are genuinely nice (I did wonder .....).

New Shoes

There is one way that I contradict the stereotype of my gender - I'm adverse to shoe shopping. I can't stand it. Of course, I will do it if I absolutely have to, but if there's a chance those boots of mine can be mended by the boot maker one more time, I'll do it. (Until they say it can't be done, which has regretfully happened to me more than once!)

Comfy shoes are way underrated. I would probably wear slippers or ugg boots everywhere if I could get away with it, so when I have a pair of shoes that I have worn in till they fit superbly, I don't like to part with them. Many years ago in my studying days, when money was scarce, I purchased a pair of men's boots (why pay extra to make a fashion statement?) and wore them everyday. Comfortable they were, but worn out they became and by the third trip to the boot maker, he could only look pitifully on me and shake his head. (True story.)

I didn't throw them out at first. When I was wearing in my new boots and trying to get used to the fit, I'd just put on my old boots for a moment, familiarity and comfort enveloping my feet. Then I'd remember that with a bit more time, my new boots will be the same. It kept me persevering.

I'm realising since moving to the Southern Highlands, that friendship can be a little bit the same. I have met some wonderful people since moving, and am looking forward to being part of this new community. However, I am dreadfully missing the trust and familiarity of friends that really know me, warts and all.

Which explains why, in a moment of madness, I decided to travel to my old suburb, on two separate occasions this week. People looked at me like I was wearing mis-matching shoes, wondering if I was joking or truly choosing to do it on purpose. But that was how desperately I needed to feel that comfort and belonging. To have conversations or share memories that need no explaining. To feel the trust of years in confiding our innermost thoughts and feelings. During this process, I was struck with the realisation that these long standing friends were also once new and time had allowed this wonderful bond to develop. It gave me energy and patience to continue building friendships in our new area.

Even though being back for a short time was wonderful, there was still a sense that it wasn't mine any more; no longer my inner circle. These friends will always be family to me (and hopefully I to them) but my home and my heart were elsewhere. My high excitement for the short journey back to old (sorry, I should say long standing) friends was now in competition with my tremendous anticipation of returning 'home'.

So I now face the next stage of our relocation with renewed vigour, motivated by the memory of all that my long standing friends have contributed to me. Unlike the old boots, these won't be tossed (hearing lots of sighs of relief right now!), but get to be a huge part of my journey. And I have the fortunate chance of having double what I had before.

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.

Leaving a legacy

We all try to make a mark on the life that is given us. Whether it be a learned skill or business prowess, each one is intent on being better than the generation before us and leaving an indelible impact on society. Many hours are expended, well into adulthood, as we forge ahead to create a path (and perhaps an income to match).

Today, the nation has stopped in horror at hearing of eight prisoners who won't get that chance. Sure, they made bad choices (who hasn't?) but at the end of the day, their lives have been taken far too early and in many eyes, unjustified for the choices they made. Labelled as common prisoners, these men have left this earth without the chance the make their mark.

Or have they?

The Sydney Morning Herald posted an article today on the Bali executions. I have been digging my head in the sand over this whole issue. Whether it be because it's so dreadfully terrifying that people can so willingly take another life, or that the sensation it's caused has inadvertently overshadowed a greater tragedy in Nepal, as far as lives lost. Either way, I have been trying to avoid the articles but with the innumerable accounts in various media, it has been almost impossible.

Today's headline 'Eight prisoners refused blindfolds' caught my attention. I was expecting furore, or political outrage, but the perspective of this article was intriguing. I read it and was humbled by the account I was reading. Refused blindfolds. They faced their killers. Not only that, but sang 'Amazing Grace' until their last moments, choosing to show no fear. How is that even humanly possible?

What struck me today about the Bali prisoners was the legacy they left.

Taken way too soon, these young men left this world, making a statement within the situation they were given, that most of us spend a lifetime trying to attain. They didn't design the latest contraption, or write a best-selling novel. They chose to face their consequences and their fears, sought reconciliation with God and sang their way to the end, with courage.

Not all of us will have the chance to do amazing things with our lives. Amazing things, that is, by worldly standards. However, each one of us has the option of being able to leave a legacy where we are, within the constraints we have been given. Whether we are in a wheelchair, or a working mum or a single dad, we can make an indelible mark right here.

Each one of you is a gift to this world, and the world is waiting for you to make an impact. What will be your legacy?