I wanted to create a journal of this crazy time in our lives. Somewhere I can write, vent, celebrate and whinge. A place that I can muse about motherhood, my thoughts and ideas about things. I seem to want to scream from the rooftops about how wonderful and yet how totally and utterly shit life is. It will be a place where images can say more than words some days. Where I can vent without judgement {or at least be able to delete the comments}. I want other people to read this and say 'well that makes sense, or perhaps relate to some things that happen to me.
I am a mother, a wife, a reader and writer, a sewer and crafter, cat sniffer, interiors addict, part-time blogger and (hopefully) future midwife. I have a husband, two kids (Minky, 3, and Max, 1) and a husband who I met in London in 2001. The other two family members are our fur-babies, Rosie, 12 and Sammy, 10. They are pure bred Tabby's and our first beloved children.
The real and very main reason for this blog though is to document our move to New Zealand. For the last 5 years we've called the Gold Coast home and created a house, life, children and family in a small suburb a stone's throw to the beach. And now we are leaving and I am heartbroken.
It's not my choice to leave, so forgive me if this is sometimes a more negative read than a blog full of inspiration and sparkly butterflies. I want to stay here, live in the sunshine and warmth. Be close to a community of interesting, creative and likeminded people. But certain things haven't gone our way and it makes sense that - at least in the short term - we move to NZ where Nik has accepted a position with a much nicer company and we are close to his parents who can help with the kids.
The last 12-36 months have been pretty challenging for me. To say I have had a nervous breakdown would be lying. I think I have had about 3. The last and most serious episode of depression saw me literally in a heap of exhausted tears and terror in my psychologists rooms trying to convince her why I shouldn't be sent straight to hospital. They say it takes a village to raise a child, but I would have just been happy with one or two extra sets of hands just so I could get some sleep. I didn't make the decision to move to NZ based on this alone, but the thought of having to keep battling on certainly swayed me. If we could afford to move back to Sydney to be closer to my mum that would be an option too but it's more expensive down there and a house on the beach would be triple the price. If we could afford to survive here, without financial stress, perhaps that would make life easier too. But as it is, with my fluctuating mood, a toddler (now pre-schooler) who is divine but utterly exhausting, a mortgage that insists on being paid and no options for me to go back to a dead-end job and whack the kids in full time childcare, it seems NZ is a beacon of light, of sorts.
The lifestyle there will be different. Quieter, safer perhaps for the kids, a simpler way of living. I tell myself that it will be a beautiful lifestyle for them. That Minks can have a pony (and so can I), they can roam around the local village, beach and river, keep chooks and even a sheep or two, grow all our own produce and be close to their grandparents and extended family. I will miss my Mum. She will miss them. It's not really fair.
It would be almost impossible for us to buy or extend to create more living space here so we will ultimately have a bigger house for the same price over there. I keep thinking it will be my chance to create the 'dream house' but I can't let myself get attached to the thought.
We have moved 11 times in 13 years (from memory?) and I have learnt never to become too attached to anywhere or anything. Not to ever think that the following Christmas will be spent in the same place, that memories might be made and traditions formed. Don't let myself think this place could be forever. Don't get too comfy, form too many friendships. Never think that I might actually have a solid, stable and content future somewhere. Call me bitter but that is the way I now think. I don't think I'll ever feel safe, always wondering when it will get taken away from me.
So I thought this was the 'forever home' but it seems yet again fate has tricked me.
We have a huge old mango tree in our backyard. When we bought this place I thought it was the most romantic thing ever, so Queensland. I soon discovered it was the coolest place to sit on a hot summer day. I hung a hammock from it and swung for hours when I was pregnant with Minky. I sat her under it's deep, shady branches on a blanket while I did the washing. I lay topless under it's huge limbs and breastfed her, looking up through the leaves for tree snakes and thinking about how she would climb it one day. I hung her first swing in it. We feasted on its fleshy, sweet fruit. I have a freezer full at the moment. The old bloke who lived here for 25 years before we bought it used to sit on his chair underneath it, listening to the horses on his old tranny radio. So many memories are held in one old tree.
So much love.
No comments:
Post a Comment