This Is What I Had Hoped For You

The first words I heard were from the medical student. He was new to the baby business, not new enough that he hadn't seen the process before, but new enough that he hadn't been told that  "Woah, that's a big one!" was perhaps a little enthusiastic. He was right. You appeared to be about three months old when you were born. Shortly after this shot was taken you crawled out of the delivery ward and ordered a steak from the bar next door.

A little bit later in the day you had an introduction to what was in store. You were to realize that you were not an only child, that there were others and they were noisy. After the initial excitement of your arrival you were relegated to the corner. Everyone wanted to hop in the bed with Mum.

Can you see that your eyes are open? I have my suspicions on your thoughts at the time. Nobody puts baby in a corner. *you won't know but that's a Dirty Dancing reference*

It was chaos for the first few months. Daddy had to go away for a few weeks and a girlfriend came to stay. At one stage I ducked over to the neighbours, when I came back I found the second and third little travelers hanging from the garage door while the first little traveller pushed the button to make it go up and down. She was doing me a favour by providing some games. 

This is what I had hoped for you. I wanted chaos and narrow misses. I wanted fun and the camaraderie that comes with a big family. I wanted you to feel surrounded and engulfed by us. We were to be inescapable.

I've watched the others drag you across the floor. They've picked you up to carry you over the snow. They learnt to skate while pushing you in the stroller, you were their anchor keeping them upright. They've all taken you as show and tell in class, you've sat next to them while they've explained how things worked and what to do. And when you finally decided to learn how to ride a bike, it was them  cheering in the middle of the road while you weaved your way back to us.

Last night at dinner we talked about your birthday, and how it was your final night of being six. The second little traveller suddenly gasped with excitement as her idea made its way from her head to her mouth.

"Shall we have a sleep over, like now, all four of us in the playroom?" 

"Can we? Can we? Can we?" you pleaded.

And in one swift moment you all disappeared, a mass of hysteria amongst pillows and mattresses. You all talked over the top of each other while arrangements were made on who was to go where with whom. 

This is what I'd hoped for you.

Football Season

My father lived in a house full of women. It never seemed to worry him that he was the sole provider of testosterone. There was never an "If I had had boys" conversation. He now has grandsons and I've not seen him display any favouritism towards a particular gender, he manages to ignore them all equally - especially when the footy's on.

Of course I'm not serious. Gramps is very much into his grandchildren but yes, when the football is on I know from experience that unless you're either passing him a beer, or heating up a pie, the only thing you should be doing is sitting by his side watching the game. I grew up in a house where we screamed at the television. "C'MON!" "BAAAAAAAAALL" and "YESSSSSSS!" were popular, as was "WHATYADOIN" and "NOWAY" and "BLOODYGRABTHETHING".

We cheer, we throw our arms in the air, we become assistant coaches and clairvoyants. Someone needs  to move him to the forward line, he'll kick it from there - watch him.

Thursday is the day that my reminder email arrives in my inbox regarding football tips. There are weeks where I have put more thought into my tips than I did over our house purchase. I then spend the weekend trying to inconspicuously look at my Australian Football League app on my iPhone. I say inconspicuously because it drives G crazy. He'll be mid conversation when he'll notice my frown, "What's wrong - everything alright?"  You can imagine his joy when I explain that Freo is currently 19 points up.

It was a couple of weeks ago though that I really did the serious damage. Divorce possibly crossed G's mind as he skidded across the floor narrowly missing the side of the cupboard.

He was in the shower when he heard the initial screaming. It got worse, louder and louder "Noooooo, Noooooo, Nooooo!"  Convinced that there was an incident involving a knife and an intruder, he came racing out of the bathroom naked and dripping wet "what's wro...."

He realized the moment he heard the television.

"You've got to be bloody joking?" he said looking in my direction and then towards the game on the television.

"But it's so close! They're a point in front!"

He shook his head and followed the drips back towards the bathroom.

We've got another twenty weeks to go.

"C'MON!"

This Blog Was A Complete Accident...

On the 27th November 2009, I did two things. The first seemed far more monumental at the time - our move to Doha. The second was a last minute haphazard decision to start a blog. I figured that rather than send a group email out to friends and bombard them with large files with family pictures, I'd leave the decision up to them. Here's what we're up to, come and check it out if you'd like.

I chose a blogging platform and began to write my first post. It was a mash of weirdly placed capital letters and my usual style of clumsy punctuation thrown onto the page without the respect it deserves.

"We've made it! We're FINALLY here in Doha." I was sitting in my hotel room after a 17 hour flight with 4 children, a barking beagle, and G.

"What will you call it?" G asked while looking over my shoulder at the empty title box. I looked around our disheveled hotel room, the little travellers we asleep side by side, surrounded by suitcases. It was a complete shamozal. I began counting. "How about 4 kids, and lets see, 17... 18... 19... 20 suitcases and a beagle?" The name didn't matter, it was just a personal blog. I mean it's not like I was going to have to fit it on a business card or a letterhead anytime. Ha! It would just be us, and our updates.

That's how I'd thought it would be. A selection of posts with photos of the family with updates similar to something you might receive in a Christmas card. Trombone lessons, a basketball grand final, a trip to the zoo.

It was never like that.

The minute I opened the page, I began to think and write in stories. Just little stories, nothing monumental, nothing groundbreaking. Whatever popped up in my head that day: motherhood, travel, mobile relationships and the occasional feeling of isolation that comes with the geographical schizophrenia of having many homes. I wrote ten posts that year, forty seven the next, ninety five the year after, and then last year I decided to begin blogging every day.

For over a year now I've been asked if I'd like to advertise on the blog. I've spoken to PR companies and businesses about sharing my space with you. Nothing felt right. I've talked about writing a media kit for months but I kept finding reasons not to finish it. Something felt weird about it all. I'd spent years working in Account Management and writing proposals but this was different. This was my space, you've become my friends and my support and what happens here is genuine.

About a month ago G and I had the talk. The career versus blog versus returning to the office. I can make money from freelancing but was it time to return to what I knew? I realized that I really wanted to keep writing this blog. That it was much more than a hobby. It's not just about recording the stories of our family, I also want to share the stuff I've learnt along the way. The tips for travelling with kids, the discoveries made while being pregnant in a foreign country. I love posting a question from Amy about where to sit on the plane with a one year old and seeing a community of women jump in with advice. That's what this blog has become, it's a community of women all over the world who pop by each day or maybe each week to have a laugh or a cry.

So, this is what I've done. I written down a list of international brands that I've used and trusted over the past thirteen years. I've started talking to them about what I like about them and how my experiences could be shared. I don't have to tell you this, but I want this process to be as authentic as it possibly can. When I tell you that there is absolutely no way that I will ever talk about a product I don't feel comfortable with, I want you to know it's genuine.

I'll continue to tell you about the bowls at the souq and the "highbrow" pencil I've fallen in love with.  I'll let you know if someone gifted something to me - but I promise you, you won't hear about it unless I love it.  Any post that is sponsored will be labelled as such, but please know that my intention is that these posts will continue as stories.

Thirteen years ago I landed in Jakarta, green as grass to the expat experience. A beautiful English woman came to collect me, she was a part of an organization that had a "welcoming" committee. I was five months pregnant and was standing in the hotel lobby with a similar expression to that of a child on their first day at school. "Do you get paid for this?" I asked her cluelessly. "No my dear" she was horrified. "Expat women have been helping each other like this for years, this is what we do." I apologized and we moved on in silence for a moment. And then, I guess maybe after considering the fact she'd rushed her children off to school and given up a morning to sit in traffic halfway across town to then show a complete stranger around Jakarta, she said "we probably should get paid though, yes bugger it, someone probably should pay me for this!" We both laughed at how she reached her indignant conclusion.

This blog was a complete accident, an accident that has become a daily ritual and something that is just there, with me always. It's not just a record for my children, it's also about connecting with others and hearing their stories, your stories, while enthusiastically nodding away at your replies and comments. This morning I've heard from someone who was also in Libya, I've run into a blog reader at the supermarket, and I've emailed someone who is moving to Houston with advice on housing. I've also spoken to a PR company in Dubai. The blog seems to weave itself into my day, it has become the everyday, the ordinary. I've been lucky enough to meet people who have read this blog, people at parties who have instantly become friends. Really gorgeous women who have been very kind. Women who have encouraged me to keep coming here every day.

But if I'm going to keep coming here, and not going back to the office, I guess I should probably think about how I'm going to get paid.

Does that make sense? I hope so. I'm counting on you guys to tell me when I get it wrong.

Cheers,

Kirsty x

Arctic Desert Warriors.

Remember last week when I spoke about the weather? The heat was yet to arrive. We were too busy with sandstorms, hail, sprinkles of rain and lovely cool weather.

Well that was last week, this is now.

Accordingly to my car temperature gauge it was  47 degrees yesterday afternoon. The heat has arrived, and like labour pains and cracked nipples, the minute it returned the memories came flooding back. As I made my way across the sand swept school car park, I peeked out through my squinted eyes at my fellow arctic desert warriors.

Arctic? Yes arctic.

It's currently 45 degrees and I'm wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt. My feet are frozen and the hairs on my arms are pointing towards to the sky. Why? I stopped for a quick coffee with a girlfriend. Coffee shops in Doha mean that all cappuccinos are instantly frapped. Would you like that latte frozen? Well, just wait around for a couple of minutes and our air-conditioners (set to ice age) will get that happening for you. If the power was to shut down I imagine even Walt Disney in his cryogenically frozen state, would take a few days to begin to thaw.

In a few minutes I'll head off to pick up the little travellers from school and receive the defrosting sandblast. Glasses will fog, perspiration will appear and the perpetual squint will arrive as the sand swishes by. The feeling of one hundred hairdryers that are set to both high heat and full air will follow me as I make my way to the car.

Welcome to May.

The best excuse for ice-cream consumption, sparkling drinks, and poolside fun. Pass me the tonic, I'll grab the ice-cubes, come with me my fellow arctic desert warriors it's time for summer.


*I think it's just a rumour that Walt is frozen, but it's kind of cool to think that somewhere in a back room somewhere there's a real Disney on ice.

It's Not A Journey To Be Endured

This is the road that falls smack in the middle of my hometown and the beach house. 

In the past week I've been forced to reflect on the process of writing, initially there was an interview for a magazine and then a questionnaire that was finished while the house was silent and my family slept at 1.30am this morning. It's funny how you can tap away at the keys without really thinking about what you're doing. Here's the topic, here's the idea, can you have it done by Monday? I've had days where I've unfortunately concentrated on the word count as much as the words. Those are the days when I think about returning to the office.

The days where sentences refuse to form and paragraphs are indecipherable. Words clumsily fall out of my head in slow motion and blot the page as they land. They blur as I read them back to myself. Delete, delete, delete. And then there is the beauty. The words that skip and dance, and without any conscious thought you find the answers right there in front of you. Of course, it all makes sense now. That's exactly how I feel.

G and I were stuck half way up the ladder. We weren't sure where it was headed anymore, we'd lost sight of its end, and we didn't wan't to keep going. He hated his job, and I'd not seen him this unhappy. We worried constantly about how it was all going to work. The mortgage, school, groceries, and child care. Would we ever have a home in Australia? How would we get back? How long should we stay away? Were we doing the right thing?

And then in the midst of it all I received a call from a friend. Cancer. Our lives had been so similar, both on the move, children the same age, friends in the same home town. "You'll be okay though? Right?" I was full of stupid questions, it was my first time. Her diagnosis changed everything, all of our commonalties almost disappeared as there was something so much bigger going on. G and I went to visit her and realized how every tiny problem can immediately be erased when you're faced with mortality. And then as the year went by, domino by domino, the bad news arrived. The death of a child, a father who lost his wife and children, a family who lost their daughter. It was perhaps the saddest year I'd ever known.

We were driving someone home. We'd only met him that night at a function, he was also Australian and he was telling us why he was in Qatar. He kept talking about the "journey", he listed country after country like they were badges he'd received at boy scouts. He'd got through them, "survived" them. I sat in the back seat and stared out the window. My friend was gone, families were devastated and you "survived" living in Morocco in a five star hotel. I wasn't perhaps my best self at the time.

I tapped away at my keyboard in the darkness, answering the questionnaire. What has your blog taught you? What's been your biggest lesson? The words that had been swishing around in my head as I listened to "the journey" from the back seat of the car, made their way onto the page.

"It's not a journey to be endured, its an adventure to be enjoyed."

Let's enjoy it.