This weekend we found ourselves toddling over the road to visit our neighbours, Rod, Stephanie, their daughter Tara and their brand new baby, Benjamin.
He's a cute little thing and the family seemed incredibly relaxed, comfortable and happy at a time when some parents come across as stressed out wrecks.
It seems to me there there is an absolute baby boom going on around us at the moment, with at least half a dozen babies due to friends and family in the next few months.
I guess this has added to the anxiety around the fact that in a few months - three yesterday - we will be leaving here for a long time, possibly for good.
Moving away from friends and family was never going to be easy, but its only now that we're discovering just how hard it is. As you can see from Tiff's entry, we've put down roots and we are choosing to break them.
As any gardener or amateur scientist will tell you, if you put a little stress on a plant as it grows it will grow more strongly. If you pull up the roots - and you don't kill it - the next time it grows them deeper and thicker.
Our adventure over the next couple of years is sometimes going to be exciting and interesting and sometimes dull and stressful. I hope it helps us all grow stronger, wiser and with very deep roots.
28 August 2006
07 August 2006
Musings (ramblings) on community
It seems that belonging where you live is something that creeps up on you. When we moved to our house, we didn't know anyone living in the suburb. Holden was 4 and Phoebe was 1, and we hadn't even considered the fact that Holden would be starting school shortly. Hol went to daycare in the next suburb, and I got to know a couple of parents well enough to say hello to, but not much more. Then suddenly it was time for Holden to start school, and lo and behold, there's a primary school about five minutes walk away. Until then we knew it only as The Place with the Organic Markets Where You Queue For an Hour for a Coffee.
I duly joined the P&C, but hardly ever went to meetings. I did reading with Kindergarten when I had spare time (the joys of being self-employed) and came to quite like the idea of schools and teaching. By the end of Holden's first year of school I had decided to apply to do a Masters of Teaching. During his second year I lurked around school (when I wasn't working or studying) - the student teacher's version of insider trading, I suppose. Last year Phoebe started in Pre-school, I did my Teaching internship there, and then worked (paid!!) there for all of Term 4.
This year, although my main source of income is Writing For A Bank (you know Which Bank), I teach the odd casual day up there.
Unavoidably, I now know the name of every child in the school. I know a lot of the parents. I know (and like) all the teachers. I am the Treasurer of the P&C. I cannot go grocery shopping without bumping into someone I know, from school, or our street (or both).
Frankly, I've always been a bit of a bolter. I like change. I like setting up a new house. I didn't have a typical suburban childhood, and I didn't know it could be so, um, nice.
I can see that the kids are starting to feel worried about leaving all their friends and their familiar surroundings, although Holden thinks Hobart may be ok because there are skate parks there. Phoebe is being bribed with the prospect of horse-riding.
And Andrew and I keep reminding ourselves that half the trick to becoming part of the neighbourhood is having primary age kids - you have to take them to school, you can meet kindred spirits in your fellow parents, you can get involved ...
Still, I will miss the life we've had here.
As a postscript, our landlords, who have refused to sell us the house for four and a half years(we started asking shortly after we moved in), recently invited us to make an offer. We decided against it. I'll go into those reasons another time, as this post is already too long.
I duly joined the P&C, but hardly ever went to meetings. I did reading with Kindergarten when I had spare time (the joys of being self-employed) and came to quite like the idea of schools and teaching. By the end of Holden's first year of school I had decided to apply to do a Masters of Teaching. During his second year I lurked around school (when I wasn't working or studying) - the student teacher's version of insider trading, I suppose. Last year Phoebe started in Pre-school, I did my Teaching internship there, and then worked (paid!!) there for all of Term 4.
This year, although my main source of income is Writing For A Bank (you know Which Bank), I teach the odd casual day up there.
Unavoidably, I now know the name of every child in the school. I know a lot of the parents. I know (and like) all the teachers. I am the Treasurer of the P&C. I cannot go grocery shopping without bumping into someone I know, from school, or our street (or both).
Frankly, I've always been a bit of a bolter. I like change. I like setting up a new house. I didn't have a typical suburban childhood, and I didn't know it could be so, um, nice.
I can see that the kids are starting to feel worried about leaving all their friends and their familiar surroundings, although Holden thinks Hobart may be ok because there are skate parks there. Phoebe is being bribed with the prospect of horse-riding.
And Andrew and I keep reminding ourselves that half the trick to becoming part of the neighbourhood is having primary age kids - you have to take them to school, you can meet kindred spirits in your fellow parents, you can get involved ...
Still, I will miss the life we've had here.
As a postscript, our landlords, who have refused to sell us the house for four and a half years(we started asking shortly after we moved in), recently invited us to make an offer. We decided against it. I'll go into those reasons another time, as this post is already too long.
06 August 2006
Ezy Rider
Yes. The romance of hitting the road in what is arguably the home of the road movie is an intoxicating thought.
Of course the reality of renting a motorhome - to use the jargon Americans love, an RV - may be a little removed from the rugged individualist ideal of freedom and adventure.
For starters these things are not cool. If it is possible to make a small apartment on wheels look in any way attractive, very little effort has been made on any of the examples I've seen. Indeed it seems to me that an effort is made to make each vehicle as ugly and embarrassing as possible. If the chasis itself doesn't do the job, a paint job of such excrutiating hideousness is applied that being seen entering or exiting the vehicle would be horrible.
See some examples here: http://www.cruiseamerica.com/rv_rentals/available.asp
Then of course everything is bigger in America, and RVs are no exception. You're certainly not going to slip into town quietly. You will be noticed.
National Lampoon's Vacation, here we come.
Of course the reality of renting a motorhome - to use the jargon Americans love, an RV - may be a little removed from the rugged individualist ideal of freedom and adventure.
For starters these things are not cool. If it is possible to make a small apartment on wheels look in any way attractive, very little effort has been made on any of the examples I've seen. Indeed it seems to me that an effort is made to make each vehicle as ugly and embarrassing as possible. If the chasis itself doesn't do the job, a paint job of such excrutiating hideousness is applied that being seen entering or exiting the vehicle would be horrible.
See some examples here: http://www.cruiseamerica.com/rv_rentals/available.asp
Then of course everything is bigger in America, and RVs are no exception. You're certainly not going to slip into town quietly. You will be noticed.
National Lampoon's Vacation, here we come.
The best laid plans of mice and men
I went to the library on Friday afternoon and picked up a book on Mexico, because our original tenuous plan was to fly up to Mexico from Lima, then travel through Mexico up to the US and drive up to San Francisco. Then we had a sudden change of mind, and now we're thinking of flying straight from Lima to somewhere (anywhere) in the south of the US, then hiring a campervan and taking our time to drive to SF.
We have to stop in Tempe, Arizona to visit some friends (for parenting advice, which we may well need by then - Harriet has written a book on Parenting for Primates). Aside from that, we're free agents.
Andrew and I got very excited about the prospect of a road trip, to the extent that Andrew dashed up to the studio to research hiring a campervan. The kids were slightly bemused by our enthusiasm. I guess they haven't seen as many road movies as we have. Maybe if I borrow National Lampoon's Vacation ...
The only thing Holden is interested in is whether he can take a skateboard. He may be only 9, but he's working very hard on being a teenager. Phoebe is mostly obsessed with milking her grief at the thought of leaving her friends behind - and lest I sound like the harshest mother on earth, I should add that Phoebe is the world's biggest Drama Queen. Perhaps she will be discovered as we cruise through LA ...
We have to stop in Tempe, Arizona to visit some friends (for parenting advice, which we may well need by then - Harriet has written a book on Parenting for Primates). Aside from that, we're free agents.
Andrew and I got very excited about the prospect of a road trip, to the extent that Andrew dashed up to the studio to research hiring a campervan. The kids were slightly bemused by our enthusiasm. I guess they haven't seen as many road movies as we have. Maybe if I borrow National Lampoon's Vacation ...
The only thing Holden is interested in is whether he can take a skateboard. He may be only 9, but he's working very hard on being a teenager. Phoebe is mostly obsessed with milking her grief at the thought of leaving her friends behind - and lest I sound like the harshest mother on earth, I should add that Phoebe is the world's biggest Drama Queen. Perhaps she will be discovered as we cruise through LA ...
03 August 2006
Putting things in perspective
Last weekend I was enjoying the fine weather, taking washing off the line, when I got a crushing pain in my chest, my heart started racing and I felt dizzy. This had actually happened in the wee hours of Monday morning and I had, like the stubborn person I am, decided to ignore it. On Saturday I decided not to ignore it, and took myself off to the doctor, leaving Andrew saying 'I told you to go earlier ...'. Doc took one look at me, ran an ECG and then told me I had a heart murmur and a possible blockage on the right side of my heart. Naturally I got a bit of a shock.
I got even more of a shock when he said he wanted me to go to hospital right away for further tests. Kids got dumped next door, and Andrew turned up and took me to RPA. Clearly there is nothing wrong with my heart, because if there had been, that place would have killed me. We've spent lots of time in hospitals (what with Phoebe's 102 days in neo-natal intensive care, and my predeliction for emergency surgery) , but this wins hands-down as a surreal and hideous experience. The doctor who eventually saw me looked like Pippi Longstocking on drugs, and had such a strong Austrian accent that I only understood about one word in ten. After five hours sitting in a hallway with old codgers on ambulance stretchers, I was informed by Pippi Drugstocking that I was fine and maybe I had heartburn. Her written diagnosis was 'chest pain'. How tremendously reassuring.
So next week I have to go and see a specialist. It will be highly embarrassing if they say I have indigestion. But better than being told I have a heart problem. Fingers crossed.
I got even more of a shock when he said he wanted me to go to hospital right away for further tests. Kids got dumped next door, and Andrew turned up and took me to RPA. Clearly there is nothing wrong with my heart, because if there had been, that place would have killed me. We've spent lots of time in hospitals (what with Phoebe's 102 days in neo-natal intensive care, and my predeliction for emergency surgery) , but this wins hands-down as a surreal and hideous experience. The doctor who eventually saw me looked like Pippi Longstocking on drugs, and had such a strong Austrian accent that I only understood about one word in ten. After five hours sitting in a hallway with old codgers on ambulance stretchers, I was informed by Pippi Drugstocking that I was fine and maybe I had heartburn. Her written diagnosis was 'chest pain'. How tremendously reassuring.
So next week I have to go and see a specialist. It will be highly embarrassing if they say I have indigestion. But better than being told I have a heart problem. Fingers crossed.
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