There is something truly wonderful about coming home. After being away for five weeks, after car trouble and money trouble and trouble-trouble, we made it home this week. I was resistant. Home right now is not the home that I imagined for my little family. It’s hard asking for help. It’s hard living in someone elses space, even when they make it very welcoming. And I was beating myself up about it, a lot. I visited friends in so many beautiful spaces. Then I look at spaces like this one, and my heart aches for our own space. Seriously. How bloody gorgeous is that house! Oh My Gosh! Drea, you know I love you, your space is freaking AMAZING.
So I was pretty down thinking about how far we have to go to having our own little piece of home. And then, as they do, these little people, Bo gave me the worlds biggest reality check.
We got home late, it’s a two and a half hour drive that took us well over three hours. Halfway a screaming toddler in the back frayed my nerves so we stopped in a gas station car park and played in the back seat. She nursed and we laughed and tickled and read stories in the dark of the night, in the safety of the car under the streetlight. Just us two.
When we finally got home the heat of the Australian air had left behind it the cool dark of night. We walked through the door and Bo’s face lit up. She ran from room to room laughing. Picking up her toys and kissing them all over their faces. She cuddled her grandma and built block towers and sat, in front of her very own bookshelf, books in her lap, and read, out loud to herself.
And all of a sudden I realised something that should have been obvious to me all along. Bo was home. This is her home. She doesn’t see the failure and the frustration that I feel. She doesn’t care that we are far removed from everyone else we love. She doesn’t care about the boxes or that we have everything in two little rooms. She doesn’t care there is little opportunity for work and even less opportunity for inspiration here. She doesn’t care at all. This is her home.
And all of a sudden, it didn’t seem so bad to me anymore. It didn’t seem so bad at all.
It’s not our forever home, and it’s not even a long-term home… but it is our right-now home. It is her home, and she loves it here.
We’ve had a lot of toddler tantrums in the past week. B-r-e-a-t-h-e… calling the patience brigade. Gosh this age is so wonderful and so fun and so amazing and so loud and so hard and crying-because-you-said-no-but-I-wanna (I totally get it, by the way, totally, sometimes I want to lay on the floor and cry too) and she says gdbooogiakratutu? and I smile and say absolutely and then she lays on the floor again and cries because obviously, that is not the correct response to her serious question. Come-on Mama! That bridge between understanding everything and not being able to be understood yet is super frustrating for these little people, isn’t it?And their mamas! All I can say is thank goodness for cold beer and understanding friends.
Patience has been tested. Can you tell? Highs and lows… and everything in between. Thanks for all of your input on last weeks post on daycare. I took your words of encouragement and I got brave and as of next week Bo starts daycare one day a week. We found a great centre that offers almost everything I was looking for. It’s not what I want to do, but I’m coming to terms with it and I know she’ll love it (for the most part) and I’ll get more work done and I might actually finish my masters this year after all (maybe…). Either way, thank you for your support and your words and your feelings and your stories, you gave me the courage I needed to do exactly what I knew I needed to do.
Have a beautiful weekend friends.It’s good to be home.