another epic straddie weekend

Sometimes, I don't do stuff because it's too much work.  This means I end up not doing stuff that could be good fun, but the idea of doing it with three kids that mightn't appreciate it means I would much rather just put my feet up and watch some imported English tv show.  I'm probably not being all that fair because actually we do a lot, a LOT of stuff, but mostly it's things like endless chores trips to the park, walks to the bakery, gardening and playing at the local water park.  Nothing too fancy.

But Straddie, it's different.  It's very hard work to pack and organise all five of us for a weekend, a military operation in fact, so much so that I insist Will takes a day off so we can go over for at least three nights otherwise it hardly feels worth it.  The list making, the food organising, the Tetris style packing of the car that takes place (secretly I think Will likes that bit), it's all exhausting before we've even buckled up and hit the road, but for Straddie, it's worth it.  Especially when the weather is as blissful as it was a couple of weeks ago.  I mean it's fine if it rains, quite beautiful in fact (I am English after all), but the days of Will and I whiling away rainy afternoons with dvds and chips and wine aren't really an option with three babies.  

So yes, good weather makes it and thankfully, the weather for our last trip was fantastic, and the weekend was made all the more special because it was Hugo's first.  It was by no means perfect but gelato every day made up for the time-outs at the beach, the occasional tantrums, the packing and sun protection that needs to happen every time we want to go to the beach... and oh yes, we even had our first triple-all-boys-at-once meltdown, in the car too, so it was in proper Dolby surround sound - no escape.  And then there was watching the kids play on the beach, chuckling to ourselves that they were only a few metres away but the sound of the surf made them so quiet; even if they were arguing over their buckets and spades, we didn't hear it.  And did I mention it was all bloody hard work?  Then I must have mentioned too, it was totally worth it.

Ah Straddie, you are a beauty.  I'm going to miss you when I finally convince myself to move back to Europe for the snowy winters.  I might even regret it because of you.

the year in review

I went back to work after giving birth to my littlest boy and to my surprise, loved it, I joined a gym and kept it up, we had visitors from England, we broke a fridge, we bought a new camera and took a million photographs, we edited our photos and backed them up responsibly, we realised we need a holiday but didn't have the time to take one, we escaped the floods but friends weren't so lucky, I baked a cheesecake and made a pavlova, both for the first time, we lost a baby and cried and cried, we learned our son is crazy for puzzles and our other son is a cheeky little devil with a naughty streak that is adorable, we watched movies, so many movies, I watched my husband become an actual architect, I used my KitchenAid way more than I thought I would, I Skyped my parents every week, sometimes twice, I missed them terribly, we didn't always try a new recipe every week but we always ate good food, I loved watching the royal wedding, missed England and her countryside, visited the GoMA at least twice, we still haven't managed to get out to dinner but we had an awesome party for Will's birthday, we decorated our garden with 800 fairy lights, we said goodbye to Sue, but hello to Emma and Clasein, I had the most awesome birthday week EVER and ate at my favourite restaurant with my favourite person, we visited a zoo, our house was a zoo, I discovered patience, then lost it again, I became a little more like my mum, we ate McDonalds for the first time in years and regretted it, I got to know my sister as my friend and lamented the years we spent apart but realised it's better late than never, our boys' birthday parties were awesome and it didn't rain, we didn't send Christmas cards this year, but I've been good at keeping in touch with those I love, we became really good at doing the kids' packed lunches in about 10 minutes, and kept on top of keeping house, I worried about how I'm doing at work but found out they think I'm ok, I playdoughed, painted, tidied, read to my sons, our boys started sharing a room together, we only broke a few baubles this year, I wished I had read more books and had more haircuts, we had Christmas at our house with my friend Kate, I learned the names of lots of vehicles, we repaired our lawn and now our garden looks fabulous, I got cross with my boys more often than I would have liked but always ended the day with kiss and a cuddle, I started and ended the year very tired.  But so happy.

Come on 2012.   I know you are going to be great.

arrival

I'm going through the process of renewing my British passport which expires in August.  I'm amazed I remembered it's about to expire - aren't you supposed to have to travel for an emergency before realising your passport's expired and you have to get a special one issued?  I suppose it's not that amazing really.  I am quite an organised person and apart from the odd forgotten bill (since giving up my study to Max's cot and stuffed toys), I like to stay on top of these things.

But the point is that as I was flicking through the last ten years of my travels, the stamps from places in Europe, the US, India, Papua New Guinea, I noticed that today marks the 8 year anniversary of my arrival here in Australia as more than just a tourist.  Eight years since I came out here to see what life would be like, knowing that it would be better because I was coming here to be with that guy.  You know the one.

At that time I was happy in London.  I had just qualified as a chartered accountant (it is not as glamorous as it sounds), I was loving my job, living in London, finally earning enough money to not have to worry too much about it, the world was my oyster, I was in love, but thousands of miles apart from him, who was back in Australia, studying and waiting to hear whether he'd been accepted into the UQ School of Architecture.  (He was.) So moving... it didn't seem all that appealing (sun and surf has never been a lure for me), except I was desperate to be together again and nothing about staying in London was going to compensate me for that.  So I moved.  For the short term initially, until I landed on my feet with the right job that helped me go from career strength to strength while  he studied and our relationship too, went from great to better than I could have hoped.  Dogs, marriage, house, kids... but the homesickness has never abated.

Yes, this is a beautiful country, the weather is amazing, Stradbroke Island is like nothing you'll find in Europe, it's deluxe to live in something more than a flat in a terraced house, it's nice to have a seat on the train, I like wearing flip flops (they are not thongs) and yes, it's liberating to live with our windows and doors open but something has always been missing.  I've said it before that love hasn't always been enough for me.  I need that anchor, to feel that I belong somewhere - something I have struggled with at my core.  As a second generation Indian born in the UK I'm not sure I've ever really felt that sense of belonging.  I don't belong in Australia (I will never become accustomed to the lack of seasons, Christmas in summer?), I don't belong in India, I know that much, and the UK is my home but do I belong there?  Now this is the question, one which I can't justifiably answer right now, but all too soon, we will pack our bags to find that place of belonging and for now, we have pretty much concluded it is England, Blighty, that place I hold in my rose tinted vision as being the awesome place I left behind eight years ago.  And so, as I fill out Form C1 and choose a photograph that doesn't make me look too boss-eyed for the record of my next ten years of travel, I'm proud that I will soon have that little maroon book that belongs to HM Government, I'm proud that I gave it a shot here, but I'm happy that soon, we might going back home.

Coincidentally, it's eight years ago today, on the same day that I arrived here in Brisbane that Lola was born.  She became a part of our lives when she was 10 weeks old.  Little Lolsie, she's an old lady of 56 now.  Almost pensionable.  Definitely certifiable.  Always trouble. Happy birthday little Lolsie.

ready for those tiny little stitches

Another bout of tummy bugs and another stressful week at work.  I am not going to dwell on the negatives this week, despite feeling so sorry for Max who is sick again, and for myself, so deeply unhappy in my job and lacking the courage to make a change. Rather, I'm going to write about the excitement of having basted my third ever quilt.

The top has been sitting neatly folded for a few weeks now and I finally went out and picked up a cheap-in-the-sale set of flannelette sheets to use to back the quilt with (for extra cosiness).  Washed, dried, elastic removed from the fitted sheet, I basted the top, wooly batting and soft flannelette together and it's now ready for those teeny tiny stitches.

It seems a little superficial to write about something so insignificant, but since becoming a mum, there are so many of those tiny little moments that seem to make even the gloomiest days happy ones, sometimes it's overwhelming how much I want to document the littlest of things.  You never think you'll get so much joy from seeing your kid put his own shoes on for the first time (that happened, by the way) or from hearing your baby boy pointing to a bird and actually trying to say 'birdy' or from listening to the very explicitly detailed account of how the garbage truck deals with the rubbish in the wheelie bins or from from having an hour to yourself to just be, but you do.

Now that the weather is cooling off, I am reminded of our holiday to Tasmania almost three years ago when Ollie was in my belly, and how beautiful and cold it was in the midst of winter, especially on this day at the top of snow capped Mount Wellington when I only managed a few moments out of the car to take this photo and a few others.  It's nowhere near as cold as Tasmania was then, but with these chilly evenings I'm looking forward to sitting under that nice big quilt and watching it come together.  I'm pretty keen to make one for our big bed next, pinks, oranges and deep yellows, I think.  What is it about having incomplete sewing projects that just makes you want to start even more?