Beginnings and endings

At the start of September, my youngest brother was married - the reason why we timed our visit for when we did, as opposed to Christmas. It was a gorgeously perfect spring day, in a stunning location, Taronga Zoo. Everything went as smooth as could be.

Well, almost. We'd tried the flower girl dresses on a week earlier, to ensure that they fit properly. Miss Pie had proclaimed her love for her 'princess dress' and we all sighed with relief. Excellent. She'll be fine on the day.

Except she wasn't. My job was to get the flower girls ready at the bride's parents' home, so that the wedding photographer could get started there too. Allowing for an early (but necessary) toddler nap, then a long drive to the zoo, I had a window of about an hour to do my thing.

Let's just say that three-quarters of that time was spent trying to coerce a certain toddler to wear the carefully chosen ensemble for her. She wasn't having any of it. Nope. Flat out refusal, "Don't want to be a princess!" There were tears. There were tantrums. I tried the gentle approach. I tried being patient.

In the end, I had to get a little forceful with dressing her. It made for a stroppy toddler during the initial photo shoot, only wanting to be held by yours truly. Fun times.

Thankfully, the forty-minute drive to the zoo was enough time for her to perk up. When it came to 'showtime', she charmed and insisted on twirling in front of everyone while the music was being played. Look at the bride about to come down the aisle? Are you kidding? Look at me, everyone! That child of mine is no shrinking violet.

The Faery, meanwhile, dealt with things very differently. Ever the people-pleaser, she was only too keen to dress up for the occasion. She'd been counting down the days until she could dress like a princess, and it was all she talked about. There were no dramas getting her ready, because she'd been dreaming about this day. The only thing marring it for her was her nerves. Poor poppet was anxious about walking down the aisle and being watched by everyone, but she did well. No need to twirl and hog the limelight, though. Nope, duties done, she sat quietly with my parents through the ceremony as I chased after Miss Pie, softly shushing her constant exclamations and questions.

Not only was this a big day for my brother, but it was also momentous because we were seeing close family - some of whom I cherish but hadn't seen in many years. A number of aunts, uncles and cousins had flown in from interstate. Some of them had not seen the Faery since she was a baby, and most of them had never met Miss Pie. It was special.

Being a Sunday, most out-of-town guests had to leave the next day. We were due to fly back to L.A. on Tuesday. All we had was that one evening to catch up as best we could.

My dad's sister, in particular, is someone I've always adored and looked up to. As I was growing up, I was used to not seeing her often because she lives in Brisbane, but over the years, it's never felt like much time has passed between seeing one another.

The evening flew by too quickly, and before I knew it, it was 10.30 pm. Ten-fricking-thirty, and not a single tantrum that night from Miss Pie... but naturally, meltdown o'clock was imminent, so we started to say our goodbyes (again, can I stress how amazed and shocked I am that Miss Pie lasted so long, so well, into the late evening?).

I'm normally a pretty cool-headed-keep-my-shit-together kind of girl in emotional situations. Mainly, because I internalise it instead. Healthy, I know.

However, as soon as my lovely aunt began telling me what a credit the girls are to J and I, it was a struggle to keep composed. So tired. A little tipsy. A little hormonal (great timing, cycle-wise). Everything conspired to make me lose it then and there, but I didn't. Not yet, anyway.

Goodbyes are always difficult, but it doesn't help when you've only said your hellos on the same day - and you don't know how many years will pass until the next hellos. Oh, and you're leaving the country in about thirty-six hours.

As I hobbled to our rental car (bloody high heels! and carrying an almost-asleep toddler!), blanketed by the safety of darkness, I was a sobbing mess.

Lesson learned? Don't do huge family-type reunions at the end of a holiday.

I'm still a little raw.

The creature

Some days, it's hard to ignore the creature in my head that whispers things I don't want to hear. Maybe it's because the truth hurts, I don't know.

This creature whispers that I'm lazy because I've been in no hurry to return to teaching. That I'm lazy for being put off by the idea of searching for, and then juggling a job, day care, and a school run. Plenty of people do it, why can't you? What's wrong with you?

It hisses that I'm a financial burden to J, and the reason why we still can't get ahead. All your doing - stop making excuses. Just get a job already.

It reminds me - frequently - that I'm pathetic. When did you become such a passive lump? When did you start relinquishing important decisions to others? You're not just 'going with the flow'... that's just you in denial. Stop sleepwalking. Stop 'letting' life happen and take control.

It also whispers that I'm not good enough with my girls, that they deserve more of my attention. Engage, engage, engage. Stop going on auto-pilot.

This creature is not my friend, but I listen anyway and suspect it speaks the truth... I have an uneasy feeling I've been taking a backseat in my own life, and for a while at that. Hardly the model of being pro-active.

So... Operation Find-An-Evening-Job is underway. I'm not sure how exactly, when all my qualifications and certificates are sitting in an unidentified box, stored away in Sydney (packed away by accident in the newborn-induced fog shortly before The Big Move). I figure that if I can get some references emailed to me, that will be a start, and then I can look into private tutoring - adults who need help with their English grammar, vocabulary, pronunciation and so on. I've tutored before and it seems the most ideal fit for now.

Hopefully, when Operation Find-An-Evening-Job is successful, that creature in my head will leave me the fuck alone. It's been a little over two years since I last worked and contributed financially, and I think that's part of the problem with where my head is at these days.

I don't value myself as much, and something has to give - that something is me, so I can stop feeling as though I'm only taking.

Wish me luck.

A thousand feelings

When it comes to the old adage a picture is worth a thousand words I often wonder what the number is for feelings that an image can elicit.

The spare time I've had these last few days have been spent organising a stack of photos I finally had printed back in May, into newly-purchased photo albums. Because I can be pedantic about dates and correct sequences, I had to check every single one of these photos with the information on iPhotos.

Somehow - between May and now - this large stack of photos had been rifled through and mixed up. Badly. Did I mention that some of these photos date as far back as early 2008? That's a shite load of photos to be sorting, and each day ended with a headache.

That's at least three and a half years of photos.

Three and a half years of my life, captured, in images.

The oldest photos in the stack were, in some ways, the hardest to look at. That year was all kinds of fucked up for us.

We moved house. A close family member attempted suicide, and of course there was fall out from that. We also had to urgently find day care for the Faery (in an area with long waiting lists), while trying not to miss out on badly needed days of work. Our computer died. Then, J was made redundant (without a payout). I had to switch to working full time while he looked for a job, knowing that my salary would never be able to cover all we needed.

All kinds of fucked up.

Looking through the photos from that period, I had strong physical reactions. Seeing the faded hallway carpet patterns, I could smell the rising damp and mouldy ceilings of our first winter - in what turned out to be a hideously drafty house that we'd moved into.

Seeing the golden sunset glow on the bricks of the back of the house, and the large frangipani tree in the back corner of the yard, I can taste the wine we sipped at once we'd put the Faery to bed. An end of working-week treat.

Seeing the front door open, I'm reminded of the strong winds that barrelled through it and also down the side passage of the house - winds that came up one side of the hill that this house was perched on, bitter in winter but blowing my washing dry in no time.

Seeing photos of the Faery playing on the painted kitchen floorboards, I felt the urge to scrape the white flecks of paint that stuck to the soles of my feet in those first few weeks there - a result of the landlord's cheap DIY before we moved in.

Seeing the light green kitchen walls, I can smell the cooking I did. I also feel the walls' stickiness - from lack of adequate ventilation (no extraction fan above the stove). I can also taste the distinct worry that comes with not having enough money. Not knowing when things would improve. A tight feeling in the pit of my stomach. All. The. Time.

This period was only three years ago, and I can feel it so clearly... but it also feels further back in time. We got through it, and so much else has happened - starting with another move, then another baby, a fantastic job for J (after several false starts with some shitty companies), and that job being the reason for our biggest move of all.

The photos from the newer chapter have a shiny glow to them in comparison, even though everything was printed at the same time. It's purely my perception.

Moving to a new city, a new country... things tend to have a shine for a while. The shine of newness. Adventure. Plus, the feeling of relief that we aren't in the position we were only a few years ago. We didn't run away, but anyone who knows us well understands that we needed a fresh start, and a chance to maybe even get ahead one day. With the industry that J had been employed in, if we'd stayed in Sydney, I'm pretty sure we'd still be stuck on Struggle Street today.

Things are a little less shiny now, but it's still good. There's hope, and one day we'll return to Sydney - winners, not losers.

This has been my headspace over the last few days. Reflective, and grateful that the stomach-churning anxiety of that time is gone (mostly, because I'll always find something to fret about).

I'll never underestimate the impact a photo can have.

My Japanese Heart

Strength

The news I woke up to this morning was of devastation. A magnitude of which I can't begin to comprehend.

I've never been to Japan, but it is the country that's number one on my list of places to experience. It's been number one for most of my adult life.

It's a feeling I have deep in my bones, an intuition that Japan is a place I'll adore. There is so much that I've come to love about Japanese culture over the years. Their food is an obvious feature, but there is so much more.

So much beauty.

Yet, so vulnerable to the extremes of nature.

Since I began working as an English language teacher, I count myself lucky to have known the loveliest, most wonderfully hard-working Japanese students. Ones who made the brave and difficult step of immersing themselves completely in another country, in order to learn this tricky, idiosyncratic language known as English.

Through these hundreds of gentle souls, the complex spirit of Japan has come to feel strangely familiar to me.

The Japanese have a special place in my heart.

* * *

This is also a scary reminder to me that - as we live on a massive fault line in California - we need to be prepared for the Big One. It scares me to think of it striking, and being unable to protect my little ones.

I don't want to think about it.