Washout

This weekend was our "babymoon". Time and funds are a bit tight so we booked a short stay somewhere close to home in order to maximise time away and to allow us a little luxury.
 

We chose a rather swish two bedroom apartment with direct poolside access at the 4.5 star Sand DunesResort on the Sunshine Coast. The resort is renowned for its huge, fabulous pool and the one minute walk to beautiful, unspoilt Marcoola beach.

We had visions of lolling around in the pool for hours on end, picnics on the sand and Agatha's first experience of the ocean. Buckets and spades were set aside, a beach tent borrowed and new swimming cossies purchased. We were all so excited.

And then came the rain. And the severe weather warnings. This was followed fairly swiftly by that sinking feeling that comes with the knowledge that your best laid plans (and also your plans B, C and D) are scuppered.

But then we decided "ah, stuff it (stuff it real good)!" This is OUR special weekend and we're going to make it wonderful.

On the afternoon of our arrival we swam in the pool as the rain fell and loved it. We set up the beach tent in the dining room and played house. We picnicked in style on the living room floor. We watched “The Muppets Take Manhattan". It seemed like we were going to make lemonade from lemons.

And then came day two. On our second day in "paradise" we were greeted by 125km/h winds and an official exhortation from the police urging people to stay off the roads unless in an emergency. We saw a Dad and his young son get into the outdoor spa at our resort while the storm raged around them. Moments later the boy was hit in the head by a metal chair carried across the pool by the extreme wind (he wasn't too badly hurt thankfully).

That evening we decided upon homemade burgers on the grill since a BBQ was out of the question and a DVD so that we didn't have to venture out. Cue a total loss of power halfway through our dinner preparations. A loss of power that was still in place when we checked out on Monday morning. 

We tried really, really hard to make the best of it, to turn negatives into positives and to focus on fun family times. But sometimes, when things go completely awry they isn't room for serendipity, just disappointment. I felt especially sad for Agatha who pressed her face to the window several times and said "outside!" in the hopes she could run and play and swim. We wanted so much to relax and instead spent the days on high alert and the nights listening to the howling wind and lashing rain. We couldn't wait to leave.

And yet we have it so much better than so many others in Queensland who have lost their homes or worse in these floods. We go to bed tonight knowing that each of us is sleeping peacefully in our beds, safe and sound and that puts us among the most fortunate people on earth.

We never did get to walk on the beach or introduce Agatha to the ocean. But that's okay, it will all be there waiting for us, next time.

Caravan of love

Today is a special day for two reasons.

First, it is exactly twelve years since Andy and I went on our first date in London. We met below the clock at Waterloo Station at midday and proceeded to take in a “Women at War” exhibition at the Imperial War Museum before catching a bus (From Lambeth Walk no less) to Piccadilly Circus where we indulged in a curry and a drink or two. A few more drinks were had in Soho before we met up with some friends of his and hit a nightclub that only played incredibly hip 60s music. We parted at 4am in different black cabs (but not before he’d stuck the lips on me) with the knowledge that something rather wonderful had just happened. We’ve been a couple ever since and I can honestly say that we’ve had a blast. So here’s to you Mr. L, I love you, like you and appreciate you; you’re the cat’s whiskers and the bee’s knees.

Second (and almost as importantly) today is the day I bought my first Vintage Caravan Magazine. Somehow, this publication managed to get up to issue 11 without me knowing about it but there’ll be no more of that! I will henceforth be an ardent subscriber.



Caravanning is cool

I have always wanted a caravan. And by always I don’t mean since it became kind of cool to be into all things kitsch and vintage. I mean that when I was a kid I used to ask for a “Gypsy” caravan for Christmas (I never got one, though I did receive an excellent beanbag and a Womble one year).

There is something magical about caravans; they appealed as a sort of giant dolls house on wheels when I was a child, a home in miniature with cute gingham curtains and sofas that transformed into beds. The extravagantly decorated Romany caravans represented freedom, a life off the chain, filled with adventure and warm nights punctuated by music and dancing, firelight and stars.

As an adult I came to see the humble caravan as a way of establishing a “room of my own” (though I’m fairly confident a van is not what Virginia Woolf had in mind when she recommended it). I’ve long held the dream of buying an old caravan and renovating it, turning it into a study/craft room/reading and tea drinking space, parked permanently in the back garden. And I’ll confess that I know this is where the kitsch would come in as I simply couldn’t resist the pull of retro colours and a vintage fit-out.

 

 

But lately I have come to the realisation that the caravan can be all of the above: a miniature home, a mode of transport, a taste of freedom and a special space for the things we love to do. Inspired by this knowledge I have just floated the idea of towing one along the Great Ocean Road, an idea met with surprising enthusiasm by Andy. The thought of our midgets (plural! Only 10 weeks to go…) running in and out of the van while we cook dinner and chat about where we might head tomorrow - knowing that a complete change of plans is only a turn of the steering wheel away – fills me with the sort of joy that makes you squeeze your eyes shut and raise your shoulders a little bit.

 

 

Currently we aren’t in a financial position to make the dream a reality but I will make it happen, watch this space. In the meantime there is caravan porn (my new mag even has a centrefold in the shape of an 8-foot 4-inch 1950s caravan called Jellybean) and time to create the perfect van… on Pinterest at least.

 

 

Happy travels y’all!

It's not the end of the world

Today is an important day. Not because the world is ending (it isn't) but because I just withdrew from my postgraduate studies.

I have long wrestled with this decision. I started my PhD with the dream of becoming a lecturer in British and Australian Literature. I lectured and tutored during my studies and I loved it, teaching a subject you truly love is wonderful. Researching a subject that inflames your intellectual passions is wonderful. What isn't wonderful is the reality of being a paid academic. The huge amounts of paperwork, the constant pressure to bring money into the department, journal articles and conference papers which have to be produced in your own time, the very long working weeks and the discrepancy between hours worked (and compensated) and output expected. Put bluntly, the dream was just that and reality wasn't doing it for me.

 Letting go of a dream is hard. I feel a certain sense of shame and of failure if I think of my decision as "dropping out". But if I can reframe it as simply changing the dream then it becomes freeing, an opportunity for change. I wasn't enjoying it anymore so I stopped doing it. How radical!

As W. C. Fields once said: ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it.’

I do have a safety net with an option to return to my studies without penalty as long as I do it within two years. That's a possibility but 20 years is more likely. There's so much I want to do.

First up is to write more and perhaps to try and get something into in a non-academic publication. I want to learn, once and for all, to sew. I want to work (post maternity leave) in a marketing communications/PR role for QLD tourism or the museum or a charity I feel strongly about. I want to enjoy time with my midgets without feeling I "should" be studying. In short, I want to do more of what makes me happy.

The decision I just made will allow me to do (or at least to attempt) all of those things.

In replacing the "dream" with goals that are different, though equally meaningful, it feels a little bit adventurous - as though I'm sailing away from the safety of the harbour and into the big wide blue.

It's an important day, but it's not the end of the world.

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Wishing you all a wonderful Christmas and a splendid New Year. I hope it's a time of love, laughter and happiness.

In Loving Memory

Last week a good friend of mine passed away. Suddenly, unexpectedly and far from home.

His name was Elwin and he was one of the nicest people I have ever met in my life.

Elwin was Dutch and moved to Brisbane not long after Andy and I. As I had lived in Amsterdam for a year when I was 20, we shared a “Dutch connection” that meant I was always the lucky recipient of three Dutch kisses whenever we met.

Just thinking of this wonderful man brings tears to my eyes but it also makes me smile, he is one of the very few people I know where I can say with conviction that he was truly happy. He absolutely lived the dream of doing more of what makes us happy. Elwin loved fast (red) motorbikes, skydiving and cats. He played soccer and samba drums. He worked hard, had signed up for his first triathlon and loved to hang out with his many friends. He was generous in every way and an absolute natural with the kids in our group. One of my fondest memories is of how sweet he was with Agatha, I would have loved to see him become a husband and a father; I know he would have nailed it.

Agatha enjoys some toe-tickling fun with Uncle Elwin (left)

Last year, when I was heavily pregnant with Agatha, Andy would drive me home from my job in the city each day. Perhaps three times in the first fortnight a man on a moped would pull up at our window at the traffic lights and give it a little knock. We’d wind down the windows and there would be a smiling Elwin on his way home. We’d manage a brief chat before the lights changed and we were both swallowed by the traffic. Ever since then, whenever we were in the car and saw someone riding a moped, Andy and I would say “there’s Elwin” – even if the rider was clearly an elderly woman – and maybe once or twice more we got it right and it was our friend. It has become such a habit that I know we’ll do it again - only now with the knowledge that it never will be Elwin again, it never can be, he has gone.

All of Elwin’s friends and of course his beloved family feel his loss keenly; he was the sort of person you meet rarely – utterly good, extremely kind and completely devoid of bitterness or malice. But not so good as to be no fun, he was blessed with cheekiness and a great sense of humour; he smiled and laughed a lot. He threw himself into everything - sometimes literally as with skydiving - and enjoyed every minute of the ride, grinning all the way.

His was a short life but it was a full life – a life well-lived. The sort of life I aspire to live and the reason I created this blog. I don’t want to use my friend’s death as a “lesson” of some sort but I can’t help but be inspired to want to do better. To seek out every opportunity for joy, to eradicate the stuff that brings me down, to embrace happiness and to try everything. I think Elwin left a little of that behind in everyone who was lucky enough to spend time with him.

I know that this is not the most eloquent of eulogies; my emotions are pretty raw at the moment and my thoughts are scattered. But I hope it does some justice to Elwin and how very special he was.

I’ll miss you friend, go gently.

Short But Incredibly Sweet

First I have to say a heartfelt thank you to those of you who read my last blog post and sent personal messages of support and understanding. It meant so much to me.

And now for the wonderful, amazing, overwhelming news that I received yesterday afternoon. The results of the Amnio show no abnormalities whatsoever! It looks like our beloved little baby is perfectly healthy. I don't mind admitting I wept tears of relief on the phone to the doctor and then onto Andy's shoulder for about 15 minutes afterwards.

I am carried away by gratitude and joy. How lucky are we?!

The Dreaded Word

There are lots of words you don't want to hear: card declined, sold out, no, code brown (our personal alert when Agatha's nappy needs changing), you're fired. Yet there is one word that is worse than them all and that word is but.

You see, a few weeks ago I had some news that made my heart sing, I found out I was pregnant! This is a much longed-for and much tried-for addition to our little family and we are overjoyed. But - and there is that little word again, so small and seemingly inoffensive yet filled with potential menace. But there may be a problem with our baby.

At my nuchal scan everything looked fine. My beautiful baby, the size of an orange, was wriggling and swallowing and waving tiny limbs in what looked a lot like glee. Andy, Agatha and I heard his/her heartbeat and my eyes filled with happy tears - s/he was okay! Sadly I have had scans in the past at which there was no heartbeat, just the sonographer's silence, followed by a deep breath and the information that our baby hadn't made it. Scans are nerve-wracking for me, the fear that something has gone wrong never leaves you.

And here we were at 13 weeks with a heartbeat and a nose and little arms and legs and everything in the right place!

But, but... my nuchal translucency score puts me in the "high risk" category for having a baby with Down Syndrome. When the doctor uttered these words I was shocked, I knew my score would be lowered by my age, every year has a big impact on the risk score and at 38, I'm no spring chicken in reproduction terms. Still the news floored me, a 1:190 chance of Downs and a recommendation for a CVS or Amnio.

Both the CVS and Amnio tests carry a risk of causing miscarriage - 1 in 100 for CVS and 1 in 200 for Amnio. The benefit of the CVS is that you can find out straight away, you must be 16 weeks pregnant before you can have the Amnio. I chose the latter despite the awful, stressful wait to minimise my chances of miscarriage.

Andy and I talked and there is no question of termination for us, (please know this is a personal decision and not a judgement, every family must do what is right for them) but we agree that we need to know. To be able to get our heads around it and to prepare, possibly to change some things about our lives to accommodate a special needs child.

So off to Amnio I go, on Tuesday. I know those odds aren't too scary when taken at face value, Hell you'd even say they were good. But apply them to this situation, with the weight of love and fear and hope that's behind them and couple them with the words: "the scan was fine but..." and they take on a different feel. There's no two ways about it, "high risk" is what it is and we've got an anxious time ahead of us.

But - and here's a nice but, the nicest in fact - no matter the fear, no matter the outcome next week, this baby is ADORED. Beloved, cherished, valued. And there is more happiness in that than any word can express.

Tough Times

I must begin by apologising for my tardiness in writing a new blog post. It’s been a hell of a few weeks dominated by illness including a three day vomiting festival (I have been dubbed the “vomiting cavalier” in our house) and a two week battle with bronchitis which was actually rather scary on the old gasping for air front.

 

However, that was then and this is now and on we go. Last Wednesday was an important day for this little permanent resident as Andy and I had our Australian Citizenship test and interview – a pass meant we get to be bona fide Aussies who can vote and get a passport and everything. I was just hoping they didn’t ask us who we support in the Ashes… It all worked out well with high scores on our tests and big ticks in the interview boxes. It’s very exciting and as soon as we officially get our “true blue” status I am going to throw an Aussie-inspired party for all the lovely friends who have helped to make our lives here so enjoyable.

 

In other exciting news we just sold our house! This one is bitter sweet as I love our home - it’s been such a happy place and has hosted many wonderful events including the Naming ceremony of the always-fabulous Agatha. The place has got soul. But, selling means we’ll be debt-free and able to enjoy disposable income again (Hawaii, here we come!) as well as save for the future. In that respect it’s an exciting opportunity to shape our lives and it really feels that we’ll be doing more of what makes us truly happy – spending fun times as a family, travelling and not stressing about mortgages and rates bills. Oh to be free from the tyranny of the bank!

The hunt for a suitable rental property has been painful. We didn’t think we had particularly extravagant needs – air con, 3 bedrooms, pet-friendly, fenced garden – but Lordy it’s been a challenge! Thankfully, as of 9am today we had an application accepted on a great house in a great location available at just the right time to tie in with our settlement date – phew!

 

And just because I can, here is a photo of Agatha enjoying a babyccino in what will be our new local café.

 

Good luck on your path to doing more of what makes you happy, even if it’s a bit uncomfortable/annoying/downright bloody painful at first.