Friday, October 11, 2013

Homesickness, and the choppy seas of marriage.

This is a continuation of the theme that has been invading my blog for quite a while.

I have struggled through another week, and come through it tired of crying, but still depressed. With a husband who equates living in Britain with my leaving him. I suppose because he’s unable to even consider the possibility of his own happiness in my country. Although he expects me to be happy in his country!

He says he wants me to tell him how I feel, when I’m angry with him and homesickness overwhelms me, but what he really wants is a quiet life. In the end all men want is a Stepford wife, a woman who looks good, cleans house, cares for him and doesn’t feel anything but euphoria and ecstacy. Maybe the older ones are a little better, but probably not by much.

The trouble is every time I do tell him I’m angry with him, its another argument about the same thing over and over again. You can only rock the boat so much until someone falls out of it. I don’t want him or me to fall out of the boat! I’m a woman I need to talk, I need the safety valve of blowing off steam. I have girlfriends, my parents and this blog but that doesn’t communicate my feelings to him, but I’m scared I’m going to rip us in two!

As I said in my last post, my homesickness isn’t quite the same as say the homesickness of someone just arriving in a new place. Don’t get me wrong, the feelings are just as intense as those of someone who has recently moved away from everything they know! Its just that all of those little tips to make yourself feel better don’t really help me any. All I can do is keep busy, and try not to dwell to much on how much better I would feel in the UK. I’ve arrived at that stage of numb emptiness, where you don’t really care about anything anymore, because “where’s the point?”. I manage to get up in the morning, I manage to get dressed, I loathe leaving the flat and I don’t really want any company, not even my husband’s, even though I love him to death! But he doesn’t get it. He will never get it.

I find myself searching for things to give me that sensation of being home, its a terrible obsession! I watch BBC entertainment, which is about the closest thing I can get to british TV, I watch Dr Who repeats there and wallow in british-ness of it all. I have my Google account open practically 24/7 waiting for the next email from my parents, I call them up on the phone or Skype and absorb the sensation of home. I do everything I can think of to feel that sensation of wellbeing, even if its just for a moment. There’s only so far you can go on moments of wellbeing, eventually the sensation fades from those things and your left with the overwhelming feeling of being lost and unsure. Eventually you just have to do the one thing that cures the ailment, and hope that you don’t hurt anyone in the process.

I don’t know when I will go home, but I know -  past the numbness, past the emptiness, past the insecurity of being here that in the end I will have to go home and it will have to be for good. I just hope that when that day comes my husband comes with me.

Thursday, October 03, 2013

Homesickness, the mind and body ailment.

If you hadn’t guessed by the amount of depressing and homesick posts I have been writing lately, or perhaps this is the first time you’ve read my blog, well then I will tell you. I’m homesick!

What I’ve found though, as I’ve dragged the web, is the lack of information on long-term homesickness. This is a phrase I will try and coin in this post. What is the difference, you may ask? Homesickness affects everyone, from children to adults, usually when first arriving at new place/environment (i.e, summer camper, a child at a sleepover, soldiers newly deployed or college students) that’s the given. The other thing is that usually after a few days, weeks or months in said new place/environment the homesickness subsides and people get into routine.

Long-Term Homesickness however is a little different, and since I haven’t been able to find any site that discusses this I will use my own case.

I am an adult woman of 32 years, who after being vehemently against returning to her home country of Great Britain, has suddenly developed an overwhelming longing/desire to move back there. When I left the UK for Southern Spain in 2000 I didn’t have one moment of homesickness, I was glad to be out of there and promised myself never to return again. This was true for 10 years, I didn’t even go on holiday to the UK, such was my will never to see it again. Then in 2010, me and my husband of only a few months went to visit my parents and I hated it. We visited Blackpool and I was quite relieved to get back to Norway again, and so glad we didn’t live there. Then in 2011, I went back to visit with my parents without my husband and it was nice to catch up with my parents, especially my mum, but although it was hard to go home I wanted to see my husband. I came home and unfortunately it was two years before we got to visit the UK and my parents again. We went on the Norfolk broads and it was delightful, although I was still pretty stressed when I returned back to Norway, I had a terrible ache for the UK and it got worse, there was no escaping it. So my husband kindly arranged for me to go visit again and this time it was even harder to leave the UK to come back to Norway after my trip was finished.

So now I have the worst kind of homesickness, because it seems there is nothing I can do to ease my pain, without returning home, which is never going to happen according to my lovely husband. I have done all the things they tell you to do when you are newly homesick;

  • I’ve learned the language.
  • I have friends here.
  • I have regular contact with my family and friends (not so many of them) in the UK.

I do everything I can to make myself feel myself here, but none of it is working. If I had a cure that would make everyone happy, me included I would of course do it, but I don’t. There is no cure without moving back! So it seems I am doomed to ache. Its been thirteen years since I last lived in the UK, and for now at least, it seems I will never be allowed to go back. I’m living with a wall, a brick wall, who loves me of course, but is nevertheless a brick wall. So I’m struggling to accept that my pain is never going to end, I have chronic homesickness and there is no way to relieve it. Even if I go back every three months, all that does is put my “life” in Norway in limbo, because I’m not a millionaire and I can’t afford to buy a house or other life decisions and live part time in the UK. Its all or nothing, and right now all I’ve got is nothing. So on that happy note, I will post this and spread my pain to the web. I hope my next blog is less self-centered and more positive. 

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Quintessentially British

What is it? I was wondering this late one night, after Skype-ing with my darling parents, who (obviously since I’m british) live in the UK.

It’s a symptom of my not quite so recent homesickness, or heart-sickness if you will. Since at this time in my life I cannot return to my precious homeland (honestly I really do feel that way) because of my hubbie’s work, I’m looking to up my sense of nationality in other ways.

This all started further back than I care to imagine, as anyone who is an ex-pat “anything” will eventually tell you, its a sensation that builds up over time. Unless of course you really do hate the country you find yourself in! When I was 19 or so, and I had just left the UK I loathed Britain with a passion that still surprises me, I never ever wanted to return, not even in a body bag.  But then, hate isn’t the absence of love, it is the flipside of it… the negative side of love. Then when I had left Spain, and returned from Sweden I began to seriously consider returning to the British Isles, I had friends there who egged me on. Then again, I was also considering a life in Paris, but that never happened. I never returned to Blighty, not because I didn’t want to, but rather life swung me in another direction. I met my husband, and he wanted us to live in Norway, so being the world traveller that I am I moved to Norway and began my life here. Ever since I’ve never felt completely at home here, my sentiments on the subject has always gone along the lines of: “This is a nice enough place to live, I’m content here, I have a nice place to live and someone who loves me and lots of friends. I’m not unhappy here!” Indifference, in a word!

I went home ever so often starting the year after my marriage, and every time I returned the sensation of coming away from myself was stronger. Of course, my parents live there so I have that added draw to be near them. But its so much more than that, every time I’m in Blighty I feel myself, completely, without having to try and be something or someone else. I haven’t lived and worked in Britain now for 13 years, and it feels like the time to go back. However, my husband is Norwegian and he likes the lifestyle we have here, and his job, and he’s not willing to let that go. Fair enough, I suppose!

So now I’m on a mission! A mission to find my quintessential British- ness here in Norway. I still have hopes that one day my husband might re-consider and we will move to the UK, but until then, and since I won’t risk destroying my marriage by leaving, I will have to do all I can to be as British as I can be. So I ask, what is quintessentially British? Is it afternoon tea? Being a free spirit, accepting of everyone and their particular lifestyles? Is it living in a city with a park (i.e Notting Hill)? Is it bumbling about, unable to express oneself? What is it?

I was told, not so very long ago, by an acquaintance that I was the most British person he had ever met. I put this down to the fact that national identity, in adults, grows stronger the longer you stay away from the country of your birth. That is my theory, and so far it hasn’t been disproven. When I searched for quintessentially British online, I found a number of things, one being a Facebook group. Another was a essential oil company out of the UK, and yet another was someone asking on Yahoo! what it was and getting a not quite so uplifting reply… which I’ll be honest I neglected to read. So the question hasn’t been answered for me, can I be more British than I am without moving home? Is it even possible?

I was going to continue this post trying, desperately to find my answer, but after thinking a whole night and most of the day I can’t discover one, so I will tell you more about my need for going home instead.

As you probably know, if you’ve read my blog, I am a huge geek. This includes Discworld, Doctor Who, Sherlock and pretty much anything vintage from the 1930’s to the 1950’s. See, in Norway, these things have a quite small following. These subcultures are quite small minorities. There are not many Discworld nutters here, Doctor Who is only shown on BBC entertainment (i.e digital) and therefore not widely watched or known. Vintage style has a small following, but it doesn’t have the events that it does in the UK. So apart from feeling safe and myself there, it would also give me a chance to participate in all those lovely events I can’t quite get to from here. Let me be completely honest, I want the diversity of Great Britain. I want to live somewhere I don’t know the supermarket check out girl because the supermarket is smaller than most village post offices, I want to live somewhere I can walk down the road without seeing all my neighbours or the guy from some random employment meeting. I feel like The Prisoner, unfortunately there’s no cool sixties aesthetic. 

Tomorrow, in a small effort to make myself feel more, well, myself, I’m going to have some of my friends over and eat scones. Its a small thing, but right now that’s all I’ve got! Maybe I will eventually find my core British-ness and return to being indifferent about Norway, and able to live here! Till next time!

Monday, August 19, 2013

Lost and Untethered

If you’ve read my latest posts you’ll know that of late I’ve been feeling rootless and lost. Its an intense sensation, the emotional equivalent of waiting at a bus stop trying to get home. The worst of it, just of late, is that I feel as if I’m at some sort of crossroads and I don’t know which way to turn. The thing is this isn’t a singular occurrence, I’ve felt like this before. Only then I was 25 years old, and not long afterwards I met the man I married and moved to Norway.

But even before that, what I’ve always wanted since long before I started writing this blog, was a career in writing. The trouble is there isn’t so many opportunities to write for a living. There’s journalism, not really my thing, I can be dramatic but I’ve never wanted to tell other people’s stories unless I’m personally connected to them. Then there’s writing a column, and that’s why I started this blog, as a way to write long, random pieces without any apparent connection except that I wrote it. There’s also writing a novel, which if any of you have read any of these posts at all in the last few years, you will know that I have done that and I’m still waiting to see if it will ever get published.

Hope however prevails, but still writing as a career isn’t easy. As in all creative careers its difficult to get your break and it takes a lot of patience and determination. It isn’t exactly the most financial rewarding either, most published author’s will tell you that even after they’ve managed to publish and sell their first novel they still have to continue at their day job to pay the bills. So unless you manage to be the next J.K. Rowling, a tough job for any writer, you are not going to be earning mega-bucks anytime soon. Which is why I started to work in child care and began a course to learn how to be a registered child carer. I do love working with children, but it just doesn’t take the place of writing and to be honest its far too demanding a job to be able to work in child care and write as well. One thing I have learnt in doing the course is that I love writing so much that I don’t really mind what I’m writing about, so long as I get to write. Of course the dream is that eventually all that hard work of writing a novel will pay off and I will publish and can start considering my next adventure in literature, which will eventually mean that I won’t have to have a day job and I can concentrate on my passion.

Of course everything would have been a lot easier if I’d gone down the route of further education, if I had learnt from the start how to write and what to write and possibly gotten a job in journalism at an earlier stage in my life. Then I would be able to tell publishing houses, “look at all the pieces I’ve written in the newspaper, see how good I am”, instead of “take a chance on me that I might be good enough to sell.” Instead I’m 31, almost 32 years old and I’m trying to crack into this business with a hammer.

To be honest, and apart from this blog, I’ve gotten to the point where I am losing hope. I was on the verge of just forgetting the whole thing when my darling mum spotted a website from the UK The idea that there was a way for me to do something I love and I’m good at, that doesn’t necessarily mean I need to learn, except perhaps to improve my punctuation… hehe. It got my hopes up, unfortunately I’m not living in the UK and I can not write in Norwegian, so whether these kind of opportunities are open to me in Norway I don’t know but it gave me hope and encouragement when I needed it most. If any of you are reading this feeling the same, outside of the UK I’m sure that you will be able to find similar sites. Its just a question of looking!

Whilst I’ve been stuck at these crossroads, unsure where to go I did what anyone else would and “googled” my feelings, hoping to find some advice. I came across a webpage called Wise Bread and I tried the suggested 20 min exercise. I don’t know if it gave me anything to think about, I didn’t discover anything new, rather it magnified what I already knew about what I wanted to do with myself. I suppose for me, the most it did was make me more determined to continue on doing what I was already doing, blogging. Holding on to the hope that my novel will eventually get published and that somehow, somewhere in the next few months something is going to change and I will no longer feel lost.

Monday, August 12, 2013

Making Home

Lately, as you will have discovered if you’ve read my last post, I’ve been feeling homesick. Not in the slight, “wanna-go-home-from-camp” kind of way but in the urgent, painful, unable to face any other idea, sense of loss kind of way. In the past that has made me focus on where I live and making my (our) apartment a home, which I have tried and feel quite sure I have succeeded. Today though, I want to discuss what is a home? Recently, actually yesterday I think, I was browsing pinterest as you do and came across a rather interesting quote.notwhereyoulive

“It’s not where you live but where you love”

I know its probably a no-brainer, everyone realises that a home isn’t where you live, where you were brought up but where you love and where who you love lives. Where you feel yourself, where you are accepted and loved just as you are. Parents, in general and on the whole, tend to love their children unconditionally or rather they love you whether you hurt them or not. But my point is getting away from me, as usual.

If a home is where you love to be, because of the people there that love you too then really location, or “stability” of location doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter if that’s a caravan, a tent, a cardboard box, a house or a building at all, so long as when you get there or what I mean is, while you are there you are loved, accepted and cherished, right?

Of course everyone wants to live and love somewhere comfortable, somewhere pleasant, somewhere warm and inviting. Which is why hotels spend millions on decor, why people all over the world look at interior design magazines, blogs and the like. That’s doesn’t mean though that a beautiful house is the same as a beautiful home. Lots of people have lovely houses but not all of them are lovely homes. This I found out when I moved to Norway and met a lovely lady who had a beautiful house that was well, and tastefully decorated, that was never untidy, never had clutter or bric-a-brac. Yet somehow, and although this lovely lady had a wonderful husband and two beautiful children, every time I visited it felt cold, like an exhibition space. Devoid of comfort or warmth, not that it wasn’t either comfortable or physically warm. After all it had soft furnishing and a good central heating system, yet something was missing and I wondered what it was like to live in a place like that.

I am a creative person, and it shows in my home. Not only because (IMHO) its well and tastefully decorated and furnished, but also because I have a tendency to leave projects out that are half-finished and as I read on another blog not so long ago about a writer who said the same of themselves, as a writer I have a tendency to procrastinate. Which is why in my fridge magnet collection is one that says:

“A clean house is a sign of a wasted life”

because I believe its true. That my house is never spotless or pristine doesn’t mean that it doesn’t feel homely, or “cosy” as my dear friend put it. Whereas my home always feel lived in, it always feels inviting, it’s always welcoming. I don’t really know if its the people (i.e, me and my husband) that make it feel welcoming or our slightly chaotic home. Perhaps its a mixture of the two, perhaps our cluttered little home is merely an impression of the two slightly scatter-brained people that live in it.

Maybe in a sense that’s the root of my homesickness, I miss my parents. I miss that part of my family that doesn’t live in the same country as I do and that’s the home that I miss. Of course the sensation of speaking your own language, in your own culture lies heavily on top of that, but it comes down to feeling comfortable, accepted and loved, sometimes its not so easy to feel those things in a country that isn’t your birth country, even with a loving family around you. Sometimes home is just your parents, or your brothers and sisters and no matter how close you are to your parents-in-law or brothers and sisters in law, its just not quite the same.

My home is split three ways, my parents live in the UK. My brother lives in Spain, and me and my husband, along with all this family live here in Norway. So I suppose you could say that no matter where I live I will always feel homesick. What a disquieting thought!

Home is where my heart is, and my heart is split into three. Until next time.

Sunday, August 04, 2013

Longing For Blighty

It’s been about 13 years since I last lived in the UK, and I left, at the tender age of 18, feeling like I was glad if I never saw the place again. I felt stifled, unaccepted, a lost soul searching for its home. I was determined I would never go back, remember I was only 18 year old, those decades when everything is very black and white.

So I felt till I was about 26 – 27 years old, the time between I’d lived in Southern Spain, where I had been accepted and learnt to accept myself. I began to miss Northern Europe, and then I went to Sweden for a year, I missed my family in that year and longed to move back to my parents, so I went to Belgium to where my brother lived and the tingle began.

Belgium wasn’t really for me, especially living in the village with lots of retired people. Its a lovely country, filled with culture, chocolate *wink* and copious amounts of very good beer. You can read about some of my Belgium experience in a previous post, focusing heavily on the chocolate. Hehe.

Back to my point! I began to think that I would end up moving back to the UK, I started looking into places to move to, the south coast and Devon were I was focusing my attention. Then I met my husband, subject of other posts, feel free to read those as well! We met, I moved to Norway, my life course changed once again and the idea of moving back to Britain was pushed aside. We got married and I thought that somehow that would make Norway feel more like home, and it did for a long while, or at least if not home then a comfortable place to live. Like a hotel, I suppose, without the cooked breakfasts and the maid service. But even a hotel eventually loses its charms and you just want to go home.

We went back for about 10 days in May, it was lovely, we had a wonderful family holiday in the Norfolk Broads and even just visiting Norwich was like coming home. That’s when the ache really set in, it was like visiting your parents, everything was easy, understandable, dare I say it stress-less. Of course, when your visiting the UK from Norway in 2013 its like winning the lottery, everything seems so cheap compared to Norway and so shopping, of course, ensued! Its not a rare occurrence, my last two visits to the UK have incurred extra heavy suitcases for which I’ve had to pay. Oops! I suppose that some of the feeling comes down to that holiday sensation.

In my imagination, I move back to Britain, to the Lake District with my husband into a large house in the country. He either has a job with his company here in some aspect there, or works from a Norwegian company with offices in the UK. I’m either a receptionist for a large Norwegian company with offices there, my books has sold enough so that I don’t actually have to leave the house to work or I have a nice little job in the local bookshop/library. We live close enough to my parents for my mum and me to have coffee one or two times a week, and near enough to a large city so that I can feel my city-slicker roots. In my imagination its like every cliché about the English village ever imagined. I know that if we moved back it wouldn’t be like that, even in the best case scenarios, life is life wherever you go and stress and problems are never far behind.

It would be so nice to be somewhere and feel like I truly belonged, although after 13 years of living outside of the UK I don’t know if that’s actually possible anymore. It would be nice, (oh ye gods, I’ve used the word I love to hate twice) it would be so lovely to just fit, or at least to feel like I had the chance. So that’s my conundrum, how to stop feeling like this? Or how to convince my darling man to move? (Not possible) Another one would be how to live where I am and be content?

I live in a beautiful country, filled with amazing, dramatic countryside, with straight- talking, quiet, simple people. Where the economy is stable, if expensive, where I have lots of wonderful friends in a loving community filled with other immigrants like me. I have nothing to complain about, I just feel homesick to the extreme. Well that’s my therapy session done. Till next time.

Monday, May 20, 2013

Writing About Grandma

It may seem that this title is somewhat odd, possibly even dull. However, I have just lately embarked upon a voyage of discovery, as you all know, or probably don't, I am an amateur novelist. I have written a fantasy fiction novel and am currently in the process of publishing said work of fiction. I had planned, as still do, to write two more works dealing with my own slice of imaginary world but having said that I have just lately been very interested and inspired by my maternal Grandmother.
She was a woman who died when I was around 7 years old, she was a big part of my life and of my dearest mother's life too. She was a loving and gentle person who always made time for her grandchildren and had she lived longer than she did I'm sure I would have had endless conversations with her about life, love and everything else. Although by now she would have been at least 91 years of age and the chances she would have survived that long are slim. She was born in the twenties, was married in the 40's and emigrated to Africa in the 50's, her story, though probably not exceptional is curious and interesting. She lived in times that has fascinated me, times of great political upheavel, of great social change, of the beginning of the end of outspoken feminity and the beginning of what we call feminism today. She raised children in an era of changing theories in child psychology, of freud and ericsson. She lived in Africa at a time when the struggles against apartheid were beginning to show. She left before she and her family were truly effected by them. She lived with a man who was difficult, abusive and alcoholic and she loved him and then put up with him for over 40 years. She failed, as we all do, she wasn't a saint, but she did have moralfiber and principles and she tried her best to instill them into her children. In my biography, if that's what you can call it since a lot will be poetic licence, I hope to see through her eyes, to be able to understand her a little better, maybe even know her better and perhaps I will understand myself a little better in the process. Maybe I will find the roots I sometimes feel I am missing, its unfortunate that I can't reconnect with her on a more personal level, like actually talking to her and receiving actual answers, oh well. Maybe I will feel more in touch with where I came from, and less adrift in the world, which is something that happens occasionally. If nothing else, I will understand a bit more about my family history.

Wednesday, March 06, 2013

Wearing Your Geek on the Inside

Hmm... how to start this blog post?

To be honest I've been saying quite a lot recently that I "wear my geek on the inside", meaning that most people on a superficial acquaintance of me would not know that I am in fact a HUGE geek. I love Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who, graphic novels, movies made of graphic novels (ie comic books), The Big Bang Theory, Glee, Sherlock Holmes movies and the Sherlock BBC series... and basically my list could go on and on to infinite and beyond (Yes, I also love animate movies). If you read any or all of my blogs you will probably find a number of things I talk about regularly and am animated about. I am a passionate person, but most of the time I talk about the passions that are seen to be "less geeky" in public, such as interior design, cooking and other rather domestic things. So that I seem not to be the actual geek that I am. I'm a hidden geek, sometimes I don't mind showing my passion for the 1950's or the times gone by, but I don't think of those things as "geeky". I think of those things as part of a subculture, that has recently become excessively popular thereby no longer being a true subculture... dang nabbit!

However, just recently I have been watching, with interest, entertainment and regularity the Vlog Brothers videos on Youtube and heard alot of Don't Forget To Be Awesome and Nerdfighters. Not only do I find them interesting, witty and somewhat endearing (forgive me, I've always had a special place in my hearts for cute geeks) but they have got me to thinking about my own geekdom. Believe me when I tell you that I am a mega super Geek, with a Capital G. I could probably explain my inner geekdom but then you would probably be bored to tears by this post and stop reading about now. No, I'd much rather discuss the inner Geek we all have inside us, even the popular kids at school have a little slice of geek in their souls. After all in everyone alive there is a little part of their personality who isn't just passionate about a subject, but has also become the worlds greatest expert on the subject, and lives and breathes for everything remotely related to said subject.

We all, at some point in our lives become, or are, social awkward. Heck! The British have been social awkward for centuries. Yet out of that awkwardness come comedy, an ability to laugh at yourself, and so the social awkwardness becomes less and less as we grow less and less worried about who's laughing at us and realise that we should be laughing at ourselves. So back to my point, we can all be geeks, we can all become Nerdfighters (thanks John and Hank) we can all embrace our inner social awkwardness and passion for "geeky" things. We ARE all Geeks! We can applaud the out and proud Geeks, who don't wear their geek on the inside, who are proud of their geekdom and wear it where everyone can see it. Praise be to those people brave and proud to wear t-shirts of their favourite Sci-Fi movies in public, or who have tvshow theme songs as their ring tones, or own and use movie memorabilia lunch boxes over the age of 10. Praise be to you brave souls who are true to themselves and wear their Geek loud and proud. I am not worthy, I will continue, unsuccessfully, to hide my geekdom and wear it on the inside. I will continue to be engaging and fun while not mentioning the hours I spend on Youtube and other streaming sites watching The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Sherlock and Doctor Who. Unless I meet a proud out Geek, and then I will show my true colours and discuss in depth the new Star Wars 7 movie and its possible release date.

Lets not only live and let live, but give the due respect to the "socially awkward", to the Geeks, Nerds and others who aren't, or who don't feel popular or that they fit in. You are the GREATS, the world changers, the money makers who will soon be giving us jobs. We praise you and hope that when you've changed the world you'll remember us fondly and give us a reasonably paid job. Us Inner Geeks salute you, and if so necessary we will help you get revenge on the insecure who picked on you and us, so long as its only flushing their heads in the toilet, or throwing slushies.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Stay-At-Home Motherhood

Okay so this is coming a bit out of left field, I know, which is why I'm not publishing at date of writing... 07.02.2013. I'm going to sit on it and see if I still want this out there. Firstly I would just like to say to anyone who may have found this blog from a google search, this is not tips or my experience as a SAHMom, sorry. This is a somewhat personal reflection on the desire to be a SAHMom and a Mom in general.

I am 31 years of age, I've been happily married for three years and I've known my husband for about 6 and a half years... so we dated for approx. 3 and a half years. Anyone who has read my blog previously will know that I'm baby crazy, and that I've been struggling with my desires to be a mother for a while. Well its been a year, or there abouts and I'm still struggling with my feelings of being a mother. Of late I've found myself considering what it takes to be a SAHMom, I've since my last blog on the subject changed my work situation, which though still unstable is on the road to a more permanent situation. I'm also studying Childcare, which is very interesting and that I really am enjoying. Perhaps its this that has got me thinking about my own future children and sending them/or not into the childcare system. I was raised in another time, when nurseries and kindergardens where things for people with money and since my parents weren't well of I was raised by my parents at home. I was sent to school and then later, due to sickness, home-schooled. I spent most of my childhood in the company of adults, of my parents. I've always felt that this was a much more natural approach to child-rearing. So its natural, that I would want to be a SAHMom, that I might want to home-school my children, at least through preschool and junior school. We live in a society that due to financial difficulties, career opportunities and lifestyle choices demands some sort of childcare system. But I've seen friends, women who have to work a full-time job to help their families survive and have had to send their young children to a nursery/preschool break their hearts because they can't see their children grow up. They wake them up, take them to preschool, work a full day in an office and then pick up their children at the end of the day, feed them and put them to bed. Childhood is a fleeting and precious thing and no woman... scratch that... NO ONE wants to miss their child's developement into young adults. It goes against everything nature dictates, everything God dictates to us to have to let someone else raise our children, yet in this day and age, when women can have it all, a family and a career, when the economy demands two full time wages to pay for food for a growing family we have little to no choice. Unless we are either willing to sacrifice a career or cut back expenses and sometimes the later is just not feasible. So with all of this milling around in my head I've begun to wonder how can I be a stay at home mother? How will we be able to afford one less full-time paycheck a month? But those are questions I will not be able to answer until the time comes and it really comes down to the question of what am I willing to do without to see my child grow, develope and mature. These are questions that all women, I'm sure ask themselves at one point or another, and thankfully enough I'm sufficiently baby and motherhood obsessed to ask them now, before there is even a glimmer of a child on my horizon. So even though I may not be able to answer the above questions, I can answer this, and as any mother will tell you, I would be willing to sacrifice any amount at all, any thing to be able to give my child the best childhood available, and for my part I believe that has alot to do with being with your child as much time as humanly possible. So that means I will work a little as possible on a secular basis, so that I can dedicate as much of my time to my future child, when he or she arrives. I want to remember how hard it was to feel that empty space, when there was no beloved offspring, I want to remember and record that, so that when the day eventually arrives I can absorb all of the joy and beauty and wonderment. Adieu my readers, adieu and av revior!

Friday, January 11, 2013

So Sick Of White...

Walls, white furnishings and white decor. I'm officially DONE with Shabby Chic and if I see one more decoration magazine with an ALL white layout I may be physically sick! Okay, so perhaps I'm overreacting, and dramatizing just a tad.
White as a colour is not a bad thing, this I can agree on, white china, white linen and my total favourite white paper are some of my most loved items and ideals... if you like. After all they are practically parts of our heritage! The problem I have starts from a few places: 1. my creative, vivacious and definitely COLOURFUL personality. If you've been reading anything at all from this blog you will know what I mean! 2. Years and years of living in white walled houses, rented houses that meant I couldn't let my enormous creative flair out on to my walls and 3. the overwhelming amount of WHITE in home decor the last 20/30 years.

I honestly can't imagine that I'm the only one who is bored of the dull flat white/shabby chic/frenchified decor we have been seeing since as long as I can remember. I have books on Modern Vintage, with colour and vintage furniture... my favourite thing to drool over, I watch home decor programs with graphic wallpapers and zesty colours, so I know that somewhere out there are options besides the ever so dull and really done to death all white decor. Yet I'm still faced with reams and reams of pictures on places like Pinterest of the white dullness. Its true that I'm probably getting on my soapbox for something that really I can't change or would want to change, because as much as I can't stand ALL WHITE every single piece of furniture, I realise that there are people out there who love it.

Personally I feel like its sterile, or perhaps over decorated... too primped. I'm not a neat freak myself, I hate to see clutter but I don't want to live in a place that is SO well put together that I feel like noone lives there. In fact when I come home from vacation to my spotless apartment, which hasn't been lived in, well it just doesn't feel like home till I've made some dirty dishes and put something down on the table. I like seeing things like a coffee table book, some family photos and knick-knacks around... I like having photos or artwork from places I've travelled too, I like bright feature walls and bedrooms that feel like cocoons. I love colour, and I wear colour, so why shouldn't my home do the same. White is a blank state. White china is for creating marvellously colourful and delicious dishes on, white linen is for dreaming impossible dreams whilst lying beneath and white paper is for writing or drawing new and amazingly colourful and vital ideas on. I, personally, don't think of my home as a white state for me to live my life on, I think of it as the cocoon or a crystalis, a part of me, where I can grow and just like small children need stimuli to grow and develop, I want my home to be filled with inspiration and life for me to be inspired and live, developing every day a fresh.

I want my home to be a greeting card to my personality, to my family. Well, at least I strive for that, every thing is a work in progress after all, right? I want to have white in its proper context, alongside its spectrum relatives and cousins. Surely we should have a varied colour palate in our lives, as much as we need a varied food palate. So I've had my rant, I feel a bit better for expelling that into the realms of interwebs... ;) Thanks for listening, and I hope that somehow it was interesting and perhaps thought-provoking.