"To live is the rarest thing in the world - most people survive, that is all" Oscar Wilde

I always crash land, and this time was no exception, but perhaps this landing was more painful because I am no longer on my own. I am now four, a family of four and whether I like it or not, I am intrinsically aware of the effects this move from Australia to Chile has on my family as individuals, and how it effects us as a whole.

"Oh, they'll be fiiiiiiine, kids adapt so easily. It'll be such a wonderful adventure" was the general advise given to me before we left, yet when my five year old confided in me;
 "Mummy, when we were in the airport before we got on the plane to come to Chile, I heard a little voice in my head say "I wish we didn't have to go to Chile, I wish I could stay in Australia forever with my friends at Seaforth school"" my first concern was that she was hearing voices, which lets face it, is never a good sign, my second concern was that I was dealing with an astute and sensitive five year old trying to come to terms with the fact that she was about to leave everything she has ever known.

It is a fine act trying to keep my cool around my five year old as she begs me not to take her to school because "nobody plays" with her, or when I am driving her to school from the corner of my eye I watch her looking out of the car window with the saddest face I've ever seen, or when I have to wake her up in the morning and dress her like a baby, while she is sobbing into my neck.

"What's happening to her?" JC asks me, desperate for a solution "That's not her. Where is she?"

Instead of flinging my arms around my daughter and sobbing with her I hear my rational voice calming her, telling her I know how she feels, and that every day will get easier and before she knows it she'll be playing with the other girls in her class, and that this reality, this life, will soon enough feel like normal and it will feel like her life, as opposed to a life she is watching through a window.

While my five year old has a somewhat clear sense of distance and time, my two year old does not. Little P talks about her best friend Lily at least thirty times a day, she tells me she is going to Lily's house for dinner, she is going to meet her in the playground, she is going to play with Lily at pre school and when I pick her up from pre school she tells me;
"Today I played mummys and babies with Lily and Amelia".
I nod and smile and bite my lip, but my five year old tells it like it is;
"You are not going to see Lily, Paloma. Lily is far away. We are living in Chile now. She is not at your pre school, you are not going to have dinner at her house".

Some news is better delivered to a sibling by a sibling.

I save my tears for telephone conversations with JC as he sits at work at his new desk, in his new office, with his new colleagues trying to do a new job.
"How are you? How's your day going?" He asks.
I start crying because I can't ever hold it in with him.
"What's wrong, what's happened?" He is desperate.
"Everything. I hate everything"
"Be specific. What exactly happened today that you hated?" He is in practical-work-mode.
"I just miss our life in Sydney" I begin.
"How can you miss it when you've only been here for 4 days?"
"I just DO. You can't tell me I don't miss something, you are not me"
Silence.
"You've been crying every day. How long is this going to go on for?"
"As long as it takes" I shout "I can't switch off my emotions".

I want to escape. I hate everything. I'm trying to work out how we can leave, but I can't think of an escape route. I can't be bothered to start again. We were happy, why did we have to change everything? I don't need any more new experiences, I've done it. I've had loads of new bloody experiences I'm over them. I don't want more culture or challenges. I want to live in one place forever, never move. Ignorance is actually bliss. What's the point? I'm fine speaking crappy Spanish, I don't want to know your culture, go to kids birthday parties where there is not one piece of fruit in sight and where kids drink coke like it's water, where nobody else seems to be allergic to peanuts apart from my daughter, where nobody uses their indicators when driving. I don't want to live in a place where the term "allergies" is a euphomism for not being able to breath properly because of the dangerously high polution levels, where I can't even see the magestic Andes mountains to my East because the sky is covered by a blanket of smog caused by the over use of cars because people are too lazy to walk to the corner shop, where people depend on nanas to wash, cook, serve them, look after their children and if they don't have a nana they freak out as if their entire world has collapsed, where there is a chasm between the rich and the poor, and where abortion is illegal.

JC listens to all of this. He listens to me slating his country and culture and then he looks at me in the eyes, puts his arms around me says; "I know", and then he laughs.

*********

"To live is the rarest thing of all - most people survive. That is all" Oscar Wilde.

*********

Cherry blossom trees line the street on which we live, and we have arrived when they are in full bloom. I cannot help but feel at peace when I walk underneath the trees, they smile at me and I am reminded of my years spent living in Japan, and the times when I celebrated the sakura (cherry blossom) with Hanami parties, which is when the Japanese gather underneath the sakura, drink sake, and celebrate the beauty of the blossom, the transience of beauty and of life and of the importance of never losing sight of the fact that life is a series of moments; if you blink you will miss it. I cling to the blossom tree as if my life depends on it, and a smile creeps across my face and little by little I start counting the small moments.

My girls ride their scooters barefoot to the plaza beneath the falling blossom.

"Dos ninos y dos ninas" announces my five year old pointing at two boys scootering, and then at herself and her little sister,
"Yes!"
If she only ever learns how to say "two boys and two girls" for the entire time we are here in Chile then we have made the right decision to come.

Every time I connect with another person, every time I brave the roads in my car, every time I discover a new park with trees or a neighbourhood with  buena onda,  every Spanish word uttered from my girls' mouths, every day my children go to school with a smile on their face, every moment I feel like I am learning something, and every moment I see JC smile after I've told him about something good that happened in my day it makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs;
"It's not that bad. It's actually ok. See that? Did you see that? That was a good thing that just happened!"

When we watch Amaya's class show and see her, 4 weeks into her new life, stand on stage, microphone in front of her, singing on her own in front of all the mums, dads, students and teachers I can't stop the tears flowing, but this time they're for a different reason.

I've heard it's usual for most people to land in new places with excitement and energy, and then after a few weeks the culture shock sets in and that's when they crash.

Nope, that's not me, I always crash land and that way things can only get better.

sleeping schmeeping

                                                           
"I feel like we're sleeping on free samples" says JC as he attempts to come back to bed for the fifth time after having been up since 4.45am with the little one. I laugh and imagine fifteen minute sleep sachets attached to the pages of Marie Claire magazine.

We take it in turns to get out of bed to provide toast, milk, cartoons, wipe bottoms, and negotiate fights.

Between 6.30am and 7.30am we manage to sleep; the girls have all they need in the sitting room to occupy themselves for an hour.

I dream that the little one is calling my name but manage to change the scene and push the noise out of my head.

Of course I am woken to find her at the end of my bed;
"Mummy, mummy Amaya's done a poo. I want more strawberries."

JC springs up from bed to search for the rogue poo.

"Where has she done a poo?" he asks the little one, who's following him shouting "You're a poo daddy."

They discover Amaya on the toilet.

"Wipe my bum mummy" she calls, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her father is standing directly in front of her.
"But mummy's sleeping. I'm here, let me do it"
"Noooo, I want mummy"

I fall out of bed and into the toilet where I skilfully attend to the big one's, ahem, big one. Once completed I walk back towards my bedroom but am tackled en route by the little one.
"Mummy nooooooooo, don't go to sleep. Come into sitting room I want Peppa Pig and strawberries". I huff really loudly so it comes out as a growl, and mutter profanities under my morning breath.

Once strawberries and Peppa Pig have been provided and both girls are on sofa, cozied up under their duvet I let it out;

"Right girls, we need to talk. I'm being serious here, you have to stop waking up so early, honestly, we need to work something out. What can we do? When it's light outside you go back to sleep, no I mean when it's dark outside you go back to sleep. Understand? You turn over in your comfy beds and fall back to sleep. OK? Look at you, you're both exhausted." I point at the big one "You've got bags under your eyes, you're pale and tired and you're still sick from yesterday, you need rest. And you," I point at the little one "Look at your bags, you're tired too and why do you think you've been crying all morning, it's because you're TIRED. Really, it's the weekend and I need to sleep so I can have a nice, happy day. Quite frankly it's selfish. I mean it. Really I do. So please can you both just work it out?"

Blank stares.

I get back into my bed for one final attempt;

"Nice speech" says JC.
"They think I'm mental" I say.

For my little p

Little P, my little pea.
I could stay here on the sand with you until the sun goes down.

You ran down Woods Parade arms wide open, your podgy legs speeding up until it looked like you were about to topple over, and then you stopped in your tracks, put your finger in your mouth and furrowed your brow;
"What's wrong P?" I asked.
"Yaya" you said.
"Amaya's at preschool, we'll get her soon. Let's go to the beach and play in the sand".
Holding the bucket with one hand and my hand in your other you waddled down the hill for....a few seconds before you turned to me and said;
"Cuggle?"
That means "Cuddle?"

You are Joy.

We sat down on the sand and I took off your shoes. Your toes touched the sand and you wriggled and buried them;
"Shall I take mine off too?"
I took off my trainers and socks and we dug holes in the sand and played hide and seek with our feet.
"Toooooooooes, wh'are youuuuu? Here they are toes!"

You are Present.

You picked up a shell and put it in the bucket. We usually use that bucket to wash your hair in the bath, but before it was a bath bucket it was a huge tub of peanut M&Ms bought by your Papa, not by me because I don't like peanut M&Ms unless I'm at the movies and there's no other chocolate option, and your sister doesn't like them either because she's allergic to peanuts. You'll try them one day and can make up your own mind. When Papa finished the tub of M&Ms it became the hair washing bath bucket. That's the story of the bucket which we grabbed on the way out of the house today because I thought you'd like to play with it at the beach, and we couldn't get into the garage to get the beach buckets because Papa took the garage key to work. There are no differences between the bath buckets and beach buckets, apart from one being called "bath" bucket and the other "beach" bucket. These are labels little P. People like to label things.

We hunted for more shells to put in the bucket and found a few small purple ones and a black pebble.

You are Life.

I felt stiff in my right hip so twisted my body to one side, and then the other. The sun felt warm on my back and I wanted to do more stretching. I looked out to sea as I stood beneath the blue sky with the warmth of the sun on my face and my toes in the sand accompanied by you, my ray of sunshine. Happiness is this moment. I took off my hoodie and lay it over my bag, I then took off my sunglasses and placed them on top of my hoodie which lay over my bag.

You are Happiness.

Standing up tall I bent forward, knees slightly bent, legs slightly apart and touched the sand with my fingertips.
"Can you do this P?"
You can. The golden tips of your hair touched the sand and you opened your arms out to your side, wide, hugging the world. Then we stood up straight and smiled.

You are Beauty.

"Mummy come!" You took my hand.
We walked to the water's edge and looked. You looked at the water and at your world, and I looked at you then at the water and then my world.

"Can you see the red boat P?" A man rowed a red boat towards the shore. Row Row Row.

"Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" I twirled you around and around and around until you collapsed into the wet sand;
"More mummy" So I did more and you laughed and laughed and showed me your teeth and your snotty nose;
"More mummy!"
"No more P, let's take off your leggings. They're wet".

I picked you up and turned you upside down and you stretched your arms long so your fingers skimmed the water.

You are You.

I Love By The Sea

That autumnal morning the sun was low and half asleep in the sky, and I felt like I was in a hipstamatic photograph. Loners sat on the wall cradling their coffees and gazing out at the ocean, bright young things jogged by in tight pants with midriffs on display, and bronzed surfers padded past with boards tucked under their arms. Dog walkers and baby walkers paraded by with leads and three wheeler strollers, and a bearded traveller opened his eyes and the doors of his van to let in the morning sunlight. Despite this movement of life I was frozen in time, hypnotised by a landscape alive with colour.

Living beside the sea is cleansing, it opens my soul and clears my head. The pounding, repetitive beat of the waves can either inspire and energise, or send me into a reflective, meditative state. Whether it's a bad hangover, sleep deprivation, morning sickness, loving someone, losing someone, celebrating or grieving life, what's certain is that the deep blue is a healer.

My partner is a surfer and from the moment he puts his feet into the water I see how he becomes part of the ocean. He pushes off and paddles out one stroke at a time, ducking under the waves as they roll over him then breathing heavily he lies, belly on board, waiting for a set to roll in.
Waiting, just waiting.
Alone but not lonely.
Focused, mesmerised and aware.
He waits for the moment he will stand up and ride with the rhythm of the waves.

For him surfing is meditation, it is medicine.

After my mother died we crept into an ocean pool at twilight and gathered on the rocks overlooking the ocean. As waves lapped over our feet we scattered mum's ashes into the sea. What a perfect place to lay to rest.

The churning and constant movement of the sea is an allegory for life; transient, turbulent yet beautiful.

I Love By the Sea.

Travelling Terrors

On long haul flights with children you don't need your book. Come to think of it you don't need any reading material; not the in-flight magazine, the menu card or the emergency procedure leaflet. You will never watch a movie.

We've been travelling for 24 hours; me, the partner and two nippers. We're on the third and final flight of our journey (yes, that's right people; THIRD).  We're over the worst of it. We've survived the 12 hour flight from Santiago to Auckland with only a few trauma wounds, and we're now on the cruisey 4 hour direct to Sydney. Easy.

For the first 2 hours the girls pass out. They're so delirious they don't even wake for the food - which is usually the highlight of a flight -. I doze in and out of consciousness, watch a few scenes of a movie on the person's tv in front of me, and obsessively click on the "time to destination" icon on my screen.

This is serenity.

*************

The 1 year old shifts position on her father's lap.
Father opens his eyes.
I draw a breath.
Time stands still for a split second.

*************

With her left leg 1 year old kicks 3 year old in the head.
The 3 year old screams.
The 1 year old screams.
1 year old and 3 year old keep screaming.

We hush, we comfort, we scold, I cry, we bribe with cookies, lollies, promises of a lifetime of ice cream upon our arrival, we pretend they're not ours....and then, from the row in front of us comes a deafening;

"SSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Surely not.

"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" again.

"Seriously, did you just hear that?"

We decide to split up. I take the big one for a walk up one side of the plane and the father takes the small one. I hang out in the toilet with the 3 year old (not hard to see eye to eye in a plane loo) and with a sweet smile and a grip on her arm - that might be ever so slightly too tight - I relay comforting words;

"I understand that you're tired after such a long journey, and you've been such a good girl but we're going to be home really soon so can you please just try to hold it together?"

We exit the matchbox to find the little one running riot up and down the aisles poking her head around seats to say "HELLOOOOO" to snoozing passengers.

Give me strength.


As we return to our seats, refreshed after our 15 mins jaunt around the plane, the aforementioned "Shhhhhers" are still shifting about in their seats and straining their necks to give us the evil eye. Incredulously the main offending "Shhhher" is a mother - her son is in his 20s. I start plotting my revenge attack but when it comes to the crunch I don't do or say anything, instead I just sit there with my hands over my kids mouths praying for a speedy landing.

I understand it’s irritating being on a flight with screaming children. You’re looking forward to watching a movie or having a nap and you’ve got a wailing baby in your ear. It grates your nerves. I get it. So, I've come up with a few handy tips on how to deal with flying with the potential of having screaming child/ren in your vicinity;


1. Don't SHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Ever. It's F**KED UP.

2. Why don't you ask if there's anything you can do to help. That would be lovely.

3. Have a little think about how the parents of the screaming children are feeling. Here's a little clue; They're in a darrrrrrrrk place.

4. Buy some headphones which block out sound - or at least muffle sound. That would help.

5. Be kind.

Music saves my life

Feeling like you're going slightly mad when looking after two children under the age of 3 is probably a very common state of mind for many a mother. The intensity of emotion that comes with having two small human beings swinging from my limbs is something I could never have imagined prior to landing on planet motherhood.
In the olden days, as a single gal about town, time to myself would be classified as a weekend away with girlfriends at a luxury spa. Nowadays, I get the same sense of satisfaction if I manage to go to the toilet on my own, without a child wanting to sit on my lap.
The most challenging time in my day has to be from about 5pm when little tummies are hungry, bodies are smeared with all manner of dirt and everyone is tired and tetchy. Books call this time the "witching hour".
As I'm a bit hit or miss in the cooking organisation department, I tend not to have a "here's one I made earlier" dinner dish*, so I end up scurrying around the kitchen, wailing baby on hip, trying to gather something together that resembles a reasonably healthy meal...or at least a meal that won't give the children scurvy.
Once I've successfully cooked, fed, cleaned up, ran bath, undressed children, put children in bath, got soaked, put self in bath with children, washed, taken children and self out of bath, dried, found pyjamas, mopped up wee from floor, held down struggling baby whilst putting on nappy, argued about what pyjamas 3 year old wants to wear, given in, put own pyjamas onto 3 year old finally, finally, finally I carry clean, happy and relatively peaceful children in to the sitting room.
Now It's time. It's time for a boogie. It's time to put on the stereo really loudly. It's time to listen to some "illicit language" rap music. It's time to shake. Shake it out. Shake that booty. Shake it round. Shake it fast. Shake it like there's no tomorrow. Shake it like you cannot wait for another 5pm witching hour. Shake it hard. Shake it and watch your children watching you like you are the queen of shaking it, before joining in. Suddenly you have a shaking party, you're all going wild, hair's all over the place, you're all singing, laughing, shaking it, really going for it and dancing around the entire sitting room. The heat rises, you open the balcony door and continue the shaking right beside the open window. The music stops. You look down. You're naked. You forgot to put on your pyjamas after the bath. This is a recurring theme.
Whatever. Music saves my life.


*When I do have a "here's one I made earlier" dinner dish I feel smug as f***

Bicycle

For Christmas I received a beautiful bicycle. It is a work of art in fact, and I could look at it for hours. The best thing about it is the shopping basket attached to the front, and I also like that it looks retro but not in a wanky way; it doesn't scream "I'm a cool retro bike" rather it oozes a natural confidence. It's ever so slightly glamorous.
My first and only outing went well. I cruised along figuring out local bicycle etiquette, and felt a little smug tinkling my bell to let pedestrians know they should move out of my way on the cycle path. The only problem I encounted was my outfit. As I dashed out of the house leaving tetchy, tired babies with their father I didn't have time to consider what one should wear on a casual bike ride. It was a hot day, I happened to be wearing the world's shortest mini skirt and flimsy tank top. I realised this was a mistake the minute I swung my leg of the cross bar. Not only were my knickers on display the entire time, but my flimsy summer top didn't do much to cover my bra. I managed to tie a knot in my shirt to help the situation up top, but the mini skirt was a lost cause. Luckily this is Australia, bodies are everywhere. I've seen people in their bikinis waiting in doctors surgeries.
Lesson learnt.
I do love my bike.