too many ducks in the park

the ducks fly south

So, it's time to go. Four and a half years. Way longer than i thought we would stay. Not that we really had a plan. Part of the attraction was to have new and unpredictable experiences. We'll miss it here.* London seems to exist in a state of constant excitement. We're taking away so much from our time here... not just our little duckling, way too much check-in luggage and the inability to hear the word 'zucchini' and not think 'courgette'.

I feel like a different person to the one that boarded a flight to Rome in May 2005. Now settling back into life in Melbourne will be the new adventure. Again there are many uncertainties and part of me would like to fast forward a year or so to when (hopefully, fingers crossed, oh my god, what are we doing with our lives?!) everything is sorted... but what would be the fun in that? So again, into the great unknown.

89 blog entries and time to say goodbye. Too many ducks in the park signing out.

*Not the flat. What a dump. Eat my dust green walls.

paris for the day...

because when will i be able to say that again?

i find it pretty incredible that i can be at my house at 7.30am and by 8am be at the train terminal that will whisk me to 'the continent' and the city of Paris in about 2 hours.

it was wonderful to visit this amazing city again, this time with my friend michelle. Going with a girlfriend meant i could spend time browsing and visiting shops (which brendan enjoys about as much as a poke in the eye... actually he would probably choose the poke in the eye if given the option). We visited Galeries Lafayette, which puts up a bit of a christmas tree and decorations:

they also have paris's answer to the myer christmas windows, but there must have been something that was lost in the translation. the first few windows displayed cheerful gingerbread men and teddy bears having innocent adventures, to the delight of the viewing children...

but then it went on to show bunny rabbits in tight leather living it up in giant glasses of champagne and posing provocatively... ooh la la! joyeux noel indeed!

last minute london

columbia road's sunday flower market and lovely shops... followed by lunch at jamie oliver's fifteen restaurant... delightful

Algarve

aaarghhh

The other day I came home and panicked: ‘oh my god! We’ve been broken into!’ but no that was just how messy I had left the house. This photo pretty much sums up life at the moment as we inch towards our departure from London.

Dah-dah dah-dah Lim-BO!

Limbo:
a) to manoeuvre under a pole, most usually done by zany party people;
b) that dodgy place you learn about in Catholic school where God leaves you while he decides if you deserve to join him for all eternity in the paradise of heaven or burn and wail in hell’s raging fires and brimstone;
c) the state we currently find ourselves in living in London but thinking of home.

When we came here we bought one-way tickets as an incentive to stay at least a year. Now over four years later we’re looking to head back but that seems easier said than done. London is great but unfortunately not an option for us long-term. We want Romily to grow up knowing her extended family and I want a backyard, a dishwasher, and hey, call me spoiled, not to be sleeping on a futon in the lounge room.

Brendan feels the responsibility of having to bring home the bacon and in these uncertain financial times rightly believes that a piglet in the hand is worth two at the trough… or something like that. I’m a definite believer in quitting while you’re ahead and it’s frustrating when you’ve mentally moved on from a situation that you remain physically stuck in. In the meantime we are reminding ourselves that Melbourne in August is gloomy and are planning a Summer holiday, so should soon have some sunny snaps to post here. But to tell you the truth, as much as I’ll miss it, the blog post I’m looking forward to is the one that will be entitled ‘Farewell London’.

*

Now here’s someone who is certainly not in limbo but moving ahead in leaps and bounds:

Fun and games

Mid-April already… how did that happen?

Now, here’s an idea for the world’s most difficult computer game: a true-to-life simulation of looking after a baby. The game must be played 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It comes with one hundred instruction manuals, all with slightly different rules. Just when you think you have a handle on things you are whisked to a new level and the state of play is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. What you consider a brilliant move one day turns out to be a complete failure the next. You are permitted to hand the joystick over to someone else, however the effect of this on your score is hard to determine. The game is not ‘fun’ as such but the interface is so damn cute that the moment you start playing you are addicted. With over six billion people/ex-babies in the world surely I’m onto something here.

I now realise that women with young children talk about these children so much not because they want to be baby-obsessed bores, but because there is so little time left for anything else. For example since we’ve been back from Melbourne Romily’s sleep hasn’t been the best (let’s put it this way, I knew we were in trouble when I found myself thinking ‘last night wasn’t so bad, she only woke up three times…’) and so the majority of my day is spent planning and plotting and implementing methods that may help her get through the night and have good naps. The happenings of the wider world seem trivial by comparison.

What started as a ‘tales of our travels’ blog now looks like turning into a ‘lets look at the baby’ blog which was obviously not the intention at the outset. And while I find it fascinating that Romily can now roll over and seems to be displaying a preference for sweet potato over pear, I wonder if anyone else (well, aside from the other gals in my mothers’ group… and my mum) thinks this is an interesting topic of discussion. But it’s all I got, so here you go…

The Romily Tour: Melbourne February 2009

Standard question number one: so, how was she on the flight?

Standard answer: she was great… we were wrecks… but she was great!

I think my favourite moment was at the end of the ‘oh my god when will it ever end… I think time is moving backwards… dear god are we still just over the Indian ocean’ leg, otherwise known as the dubai to melbourne leg or what I prefer to call 16-hours in hell, when I turned to see all the other passengers waiting to disembark, each looking more tired, dishevelled and refugee-like than the next and there was little R bright eyed and bushy tailed, smiling and bouncing and looking like it was just the best day ever…ahh youth. I guess for a baby getting to sleep on one of their parents is the equivalent to a first class cabin.

Romily, like all babies, was born believing she is the centre of the universe. Being ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over every day by scores of new people only consolidated this view. I don’t think she could have asked for more from a holiday. The sun was shining, B had a month off work and I got to sleep-in on occasion, so I don’t think we could have asked for more either.

Meet the Grandparents