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Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008
Matthew is in the US again this week. Between business meetings he is driving around San Jose and environs looking for a place for us to live. He will rent us a place without me seeing it and although the company that is offering him this contract offered to fly us all out to visit, the only thing worse than moving into a house sight-unseen that has been rented by your spatially-unaware husband (’it didn’t look like a box room when I viewed it’) is flying twelve hours with three children under six and a new baby unless you absolutely have to.
I am so hiring a nanny to accompany us on the flight when we move.
I have had two months to come to terms with this move and the bit I am dreading most is the flight. On a recent trip back from San Francisco, Matthew sat behind a family with three small children and nary a peep was heard out of them. Great, I said. Yes it was, Matthew replied. So you asked them how they did it, right? I asked. Um…, he trailed. Men! (Although it’s okay, it’s certain to have been Phenergan because I know about these things. It was the first thing I Googled, right after ‘Silicon Valley bloggers’. Because this moving lark, it’s all about getting your priorities right.)
So Matthew will rent us a house and I will love it. Love it, ya hear?
And if one of the rooms turns out to be a boxroom, well you know where Matthew will be living.
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Posted in Expat, Daily Life
A sense of place
Monday, July 14th, 2008
It’s early May. The baby is seven weeks old and I have surprised myself with how easy I am finding it, how well I am coping. It’s a fragile balance though, I feel the need to remind myself, mindful of how insidiously post-partum depression can creep up on you. A couple of bad nights, bad behaviour from the children, trouble with homeschooling, sickness or any of those routine things that go with having a family can quickly turn happy days into something a lot less pleasant.
But no, I sit with my coffee, older children working on their maths, toddler engrosed in a jigsaw puzzle, baby asleep in his swing chair. Beautiful children, with their heads bent in concentration, the days passing in a blur of busyness and fun. Not only that but I have the easiest baby ever. I live in a lovely house in what must surely be one of the most beautiful places in England. I have a wonderful support network of friends, mothers who understand what life is like with a new baby in the house, friends I have known for years rather than just months. Both my parents and my sister and her children live close by and I love being able to see them regularly, to be part of their lives. I’ve lived here longer than I’ve lived anywhere and it has been wonderful to put down roots, to finally think of somewhere as home.
All is well, I think.
Until Matthew comes home and tells me he thinks we should move.
Five thousand miles away.
************
Where are we going? Well let’s just say that I will be a regular reader of the SVMoms blog from now on.
It’s not that I wouldn’t like to live there, I would. It’s just that it’s not here…
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Posted in Expat, Daily Life
Coping with four children under six
Monday, June 30th, 2008The last few months have been busy, tiring, sore and fun. But mostly busy. If I am crazy to have had so many children so close together, I am at least loving every minute of it (OK, maybe not the 3am ones) and somehow I make it through the days without losing my mind. Or a child. Matthew even went to the US for two weeks when Edward was only six weeks old and I survived! But I will say that the experience made me stronger - in the same way that bullying can be considered character building.
I homeschool in the mornings, mostly with the giant leech attached to my boob. If I’m lucky, Matthew is not away and will have made me a coffee before he goes to work and that can make the difference between a good day and a day when I am a crumpled heap in the corner when he gets home. In the afternoons we venture out to a variety of responses ranging from evil looks and lots of tsking/’why aren’t your children in school today?’ to ‘you’ve got your hands full!’ to big smiles and ‘oh you lucky thing! aren’t they lovely?’ I play little games with myself as to what I think the next person will say while I shepherd the children down the pavement of the busy road and try to remember that I must not let my mind wander for one second because somehow I have sole charge of four small children, three of whom are on the loose, and I AM EXPECTED TO KEEP THEM ALIVE.
In my sleep deprived state, it’s easy to forget that bit sometimes. Hell, I have trouble remembering to put all my clothes on before I leave the house, I’m not sure I should be trusted with anything as important as children.
I do grocery shopping online and other very important computer-related activities (which may or may not be blog reading - just sayin’) every evening, all evening while the baby feeds himself into a coma and thence to bed. Somehow, in between all this daily fun, I manage to stack the dishwasher twice and do about three loads of laundry, make 26 meals or snacks and occasionally sit down with a cup of tea.
My mother comes one day a week to help and on that day I am able to catch up with the backlog of chores and laundry and have one meal each week without the baby in my arms. Matthew cooks on the weekend and I freeze leftovers that I can reheat during the week. Without this help the house would look like the apocolypse had hit and the only thing left? - the bones of our emaciated bodies. And the mountain of dirty laundry.
Some days there is too much crying and way too many tantrums but I have learnt that they don’t get me anything. (Just kidding! I’m referring to the children of course.) The worst time of day is suppertime when the baby is at his most tired and hungry and I have the most to do. I have had to buy a sling for the velcro-baby/giant-leech because there is a limit to how much I can do with one arm and the rest of us need to eat. The children get bathed less often than I would like and the bedsheets changed even less than that. I try to set myself no more than one thing to get accomplished on those days when I am doing this parenting gig by myself. Sometimes this is something as over-achieving as leaving a message on a friend’s answerphone to let them know I am still alive. Sometimes this is still overdoing it because I can’t even remember who it is I’m phoning by the time I get to leaving a message. Which adds to the kind of crazy woman tag that I am cultivating right now.
But if I make it to the end of the day with everyone tucked up safely in their (dirty) beds and my sanity intact, I’m happy. Aim low: that’s my advice.
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Posted in Tips, Daily Life
‘Twas the night before Christmas
Friday, December 28th, 2007We spent the week leading up to Christmas in London where we thought the children would be excited to see the Christmas lights, visit the museums and winter ice rinks and generally feel a bit more excitement than we get in the country.
Most of it was a success but on the last day, visiting the Natural History Museum, William decided that he had seen most of the animals ‘actually alive’ at Longleat Safari Park (which is true - except possibly for the dinosaurs William) - a place we visit with boring regularity because it is close to our home - and Harry declared London ‘boring’ - because at five you can clearly be too cosmopolitan and have ‘done’ London for long enough.
On Christmas Eve we retreated to the country to spend Christmas with family. This involved much eating of Christmas cake (me), drinking of festive drinks (Matthew), tracking Father Christmas across the globe and sending letters to Father Christmas (the children).
A few minutes after the letters were dispatched up the chimney to the North Pole we were distracted trying to get a picture of the children in front of the tree. Normally I dread this because it is obviously impossible for three boys to stand still for more than ten seconds without one of them pulling a silly face but this time their mucking about was a blessing because the distraction meant they didn’t see their carefully written letters reappear silently down the chimney into the fire place and become burnt to a cinder. I’ve done some pretty creative explaining over the last few weeks about how Father Christmas operates but with only minutes to go before bedtime, and therefore Santa’s arrival to fill stockings, I don’t know how I would have convinced them that they would still get the presents they wanted.
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Posted in Daily Life
A little domestic scene at the most | least household
Wednesday, November 28th, 2007I’m crouched down stroking the dog’s head as she looks up at me with soft, spaniel eyes (probably with greed but I’ll pretend it’s with love). William has his hands around my neck, simultaneously kissing the back of my head and throttling me. Ben leans forward to kiss me while he strokes the dog by grabbing handfuls of her hair (the dog takes what love she can get, even if it is a bit painful). Harry stands back, surveying.
‘We love each other a lot in this house,’ he remarks.
Yes we do.
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Posted in Daily Life
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