We're now seven weeks in to life as a family of four and, for the most part, I can say it's not too bad. Andy and I have each had one day when we wanted to scream and run away, but one day each out of 49* isn't so terrible is it?
For me, the thing that makes me want to scream is both children crying at the same time. One child I can deal with. Two, however, and I feel like I must be failing at parenting. And when one of those children is screaming because they're beyond tired but resolutely refusing to go to sleep is infuriating - it reminds me just how poorly designed babies are. Here's a small creature that needs around 20 hours of sleep a day, and yet it doesn't know how to go to sleep by itself, and even with all the help in the world it will often still resist it. That is simply poor engineering.
The other child is usually screaming for a more mysterious reason. Perhaps because I carried his dinner through to the table myself, instead of using my psychic powers to deduct that he wanted to take it himself this time. Or perhaps because I picked the bugs t-shirt instead of the shark one. Or because I gave him milk to drink when he obviously doesn't want milk (even though he asked for milk). Yes, I know. Reasoning is not a toddler's strong point.
There is definitely no Me Time anymore. Or any Us Time either, for that matter. In the tiny window between Child One going to bed and beginning the process of Child Two's (usually more protracted) bedtime, we shovel food down our throats as quickly as possible to give us sustenance for the gruelling night ahead. Then it's bedtime number two, after which I at least am so exhausted that I usually manage about half an hour of gazing blankly at the TV before I cave in and submit to sleep myself.
OK, perhaps I'm over-egging it a little. Edith has proved herself to be a reasonably good sleeper, given some very specific reuqirements which we are gradually beginning to discover. She's not as amazingly adept at it as her brother was. He, if I remember correctly, was basically sleeping through at 8 weeks. She still needs me every 2-3 hours. But waking up to feed her during the night seems like a strangely familiar process, and one that isn't nearly as disruptive this time around. I am just an automated milk provider: reach for child, feed child, return child, back to sleep. Repeat as required until Child One tells us the morning has arrived. She is also a better daytime napper, which allows me some sanity, although naps in the cot are still largely elusive.
But the challenge of having a newborn now seems puzzling - what was all the fuss about last time? They're so easy! As long as you give her sleep and food at the appropriate times, she's happy. The real challenge is managing the two of them together. Especially when one essentially wants to be static most of the time and the other runs around with seemingly limitless energy, is overflowing with questions and demands, and is liable to flick into tantrum mode at a moment's notice for an unguessable reason. Oh, you wanted the blue cup instead of the green cup today, did you? How silly of me!
To be fair to Alec, most of his tantrums took place during the 2 weeks that he was suffering from a really horrible heavy cold (which he kindly shared with the rest of us), and since his sinuses have cleared up, so too have his grumbles. He is a very loving big brother. Each morning he asks to see Edith and give her a cuddle. He brings her blankets, rocks her in her car seat and comes running to tell me as soon as he hears her crying. He picks up Peter Rabbit and holds him to his chest to rock him and pat him in the same way I do when calming Edith to sleep. And although he's slightly resentful of the fact that she takes up so much of my time ('Mummy, put Edith in the chair. Mummy, give Edith to Daddy... etc'), he's not at all resentful of Edith herself. In fact, he's started speaking to her like a friend: 'Look Edith! A gingerbread man!' I think the whole process may even have made him slightly more empathetic. On Sunday, as I attempted to navigate Glasgow's infuriating one-way system with a sat nav that wasn't up to date and Edith crying in the back to be fed, Alec piped up from the back: 'It's tricky isn't it mummy? I know.'
We're doing OK, the four of us.
*If you knew how long it had taken me to do my 7 times table and get the correct number there, you'd be pretty disappointed - a little glimpse into my addled baby brain.
Tuesday, 30 June 2015
Monday, 18 May 2015
Introducing Edith
Sometimes life surprises you. Two hours after I wrote the last blog post, my contractions started and seven hours later, Edith Mary Buckley joined us in the world.
Although she was a week behind schedule, when Edith decided that it was time to come out, she didn't hang about. I arrived at the hospital at 5.30pm unsure whether I had come in too early, and after being poked and prodded by one of the midwives, they packed me off to the labour ward at around 6.45pm. That's when Edith decided she was ready for the world, and with a sudden surge of contractions it became clear that she was going to arrive sooner than any of us expected, and 45 minutes later she was born. It sounds easy, doesn't it? It definitely wasn't. But it was worth it.
She's now a week old, and we're settling in to life as a family of four. Alec adores her, which is a huge relief for us, as we'd expected him to be nonplussed at best and had anticipated some jealousy and bad behaviour. But instead he keeps bringing me blankets for her to make her 'cosy', and he loves to stroke her hair, give her kisses and he makes sure to tell me every time she cries. "I've got a sister now!" he proudly told us in the car the other day, as he looked across at his new friend in the back.
Ok, our weekends look likely to be quite sedate for the foreseeable future, and getting everyone out of the house at the same time is quite a major operation that definitely requires four sets of hands - I can't yet envisage how it will all function once Andy's back at work or away for any length of time. But presumably we'll get used to it, as thousands of bewildered parents have done before us.
For now, Edith is still in that blissful sleepy newborn phase where a juggernaut couldn't wake them from their slumber, so we are making the most of these easy early days. Give it a few months and I'll be blogging about napping techniques and sleep training all over again.
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| Brand new |
She's now a week old, and we're settling in to life as a family of four. Alec adores her, which is a huge relief for us, as we'd expected him to be nonplussed at best and had anticipated some jealousy and bad behaviour. But instead he keeps bringing me blankets for her to make her 'cosy', and he loves to stroke her hair, give her kisses and he makes sure to tell me every time she cries. "I've got a sister now!" he proudly told us in the car the other day, as he looked across at his new friend in the back.
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| Alec meets Edith |
For now, Edith is still in that blissful sleepy newborn phase where a juggernaut couldn't wake them from their slumber, so we are making the most of these easy early days. Give it a few months and I'll be blogging about napping techniques and sleep training all over again.
Monday, 11 May 2015
Preparing for two...
As I write, I'm a week overdue. Or rather, it's not me that's late (I'm never late) but Baby Buckley 2.0, who was due on 4th May. So I'm hovering about in that strange space between nothing and something, waiting for something Very Important to happen, but having no idea when that might be. Baby B has been a tricksy little thing, having been in the GO position for ages now and giving me a few twinges about two weeks ago that left me convinced I'd deliver early. But here I am, many days later, with Alec at nursery, Andy working away at all the physics, and me with little else to do but watch Downton Abbey and bounce hopefully on the birthing ball.
The odd thing is that preparing for No. 2 feels no more real than preparing for No. 1. Yes, I know there will soon be another small creature in the house - and the readied Moses basket and tiny nappies suggest that it's likely to be a baby - but it's still impossible to piece together this information with my bulging belly and picture a brand new human being. I know what to expect this time, of course: there will be sleepless nights, hours sitting on the sofa unable to move because of the feeding/sleeping baby and many, many nappies to change. But there are still so many unknowns too: What will he/she look like? Will they have hair? Will they look like Alec? Will they be a good sleeper/eater? Will they have colic? Will this one turn out to be completely different to the first?
And then there's the prospect of two. Given how much time is taken up just looking after our fairly competent toddler already, where will the extra time come from to look after the baby? And of course there's the dreaded destabilising of our happy status quo: what will Alec make of the baby...?
Friends tell me that yes, having two is hard. That you will marvel at how much time you had before you had two of them, how you had it so easy and simply didn't realise. How sleepless nights are so much more difficult to manage when you have a toddler to get up for in the morning, and how no time will ever be your own again - if you aren't with one of the children, you will be with the other.
But if this were the full story, no one would ever have more than one. They also tell me that seeing your two children together is one of the most beautiful things in the world and that even though you thought there was no more love left in you after No. 1, somehow you find it all over again for No. 2. So we're going ahead and doing it. It's too late to back out now. See you on the other side.
The odd thing is that preparing for No. 2 feels no more real than preparing for No. 1. Yes, I know there will soon be another small creature in the house - and the readied Moses basket and tiny nappies suggest that it's likely to be a baby - but it's still impossible to piece together this information with my bulging belly and picture a brand new human being. I know what to expect this time, of course: there will be sleepless nights, hours sitting on the sofa unable to move because of the feeding/sleeping baby and many, many nappies to change. But there are still so many unknowns too: What will he/she look like? Will they have hair? Will they look like Alec? Will they be a good sleeper/eater? Will they have colic? Will this one turn out to be completely different to the first?
And then there's the prospect of two. Given how much time is taken up just looking after our fairly competent toddler already, where will the extra time come from to look after the baby? And of course there's the dreaded destabilising of our happy status quo: what will Alec make of the baby...?
Friends tell me that yes, having two is hard. That you will marvel at how much time you had before you had two of them, how you had it so easy and simply didn't realise. How sleepless nights are so much more difficult to manage when you have a toddler to get up for in the morning, and how no time will ever be your own again - if you aren't with one of the children, you will be with the other.
But if this were the full story, no one would ever have more than one. They also tell me that seeing your two children together is one of the most beautiful things in the world and that even though you thought there was no more love left in you after No. 1, somehow you find it all over again for No. 2. So we're going ahead and doing it. It's too late to back out now. See you on the other side.
Thursday, 5 February 2015
Alec turns two
Yesterday morning, I went to get Alec up and found him sitting in his cot looking a bit forlorn and repeating the word 'messy' as he looked around him. He'd been sick. Everywhere. His carefully washed hair was entangled with bits of last night's dinner, Peter Rabbit was a subtle shade of orange, and there were peas in between the sheets. I hadn't expected it, as I had only heard what I thought was him coughing during the night, but now I realise it was bang on schedule. Alec is two today, so as toddler tradition dictates, he must be ill just in time for a special occasion.
This isn't quite how I'd expected to blog about reaching the two year milestone, but toddlers are unpredictable little creatures in many ways. In others, they're a little too predictable for our liking. Yes, we've already had the pleasure of discovering the Terrible Twos. They arrived a few weeks ago, unannounced, as though someone had simply flicked a switch on my adorable little boy and turned him into that wailing cliche you see on the TV. One morning, as we all did our best to get ourselves out the door and away to nursery/work, Alec threw himself to the floor and burst into tears at the injustice of being denied a showing of the Gruffalo film at going-out-time. Andy was there to witness the event and we couldn't help laughing - much to Alec's disgust. He pursued this line of behaviour - quite valiantly and with enthusiasm, I must admit - for about a week and then, like a switch once more, he flicked back into being a delightful little soul.
The language is coming thick and fast, and every day he surprises me by remembering things I had only mentioned in passing but which have stuck in his mind like glue. Like the fact that there will be a red fire engine ('nee-naw') birthday cake today (who could forget that kind of promise?) or that Daddy is 'away' for 'work' and that, adorably, a heart means 'love'. (It's best not to pursue the love thing with toddlers, I've found. While Alec admitted that yes, he does love mummy and daddy, when pressed he also told me that he loves a hedgehog and a cow.)
He loves the drums, and especially loves playing the drums with daddy. He loves to sing Baa Baa Black Sheep at every opportunity and shouts 'Yes Sir!' when I ask if he has any wool. He loves Baby Ballet, which he does on Wednesday mornings at nursery, and talks about for the rest of the week. He loves our Monkey Music classes on Friday mornings, but mostly because of the bubbles and stickers which come at the end, but which he always tries to demand from the teacher right at the start. And he is totally obsessed with the Gruffalo (known as 'Mouse' in our household), and will spoil any sense of suspense by telling you exactly which animals are about to appear on the screen before they've made their entrance.
Ok, so he has Opinions now, this is true. Like taking an extreme dislike to his new dressing gown, which Grandma bought him for Christmas, which keeps him warm in our freezing house, and which he adored when he first clapped eyes on it on Christmas Day. And his new coat, which was a bargain in the Mothercare sale and is actually a better fit for him than the one he insists on wearing every day because it has stars on it. Oh and gloves - don't get me started on gloves...
But otherwise the Twos have so far been kind to us and I'm hopeful that the next year will bring more moments of laughter than it will tantrums. We have lots to look forward to. Alec will be getting a new brother or sister in early May, and he already seems quite excited about that, gleefully pointing at my tummy, saying 'Baby!' and waving hello. Whether it will be a boy or a girl, though, he's not too sure. Some days it's a brother, other days it's a sister. And on others it's a brother who he plans to name 'Sister'.
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This isn't quite how I'd expected to blog about reaching the two year milestone, but toddlers are unpredictable little creatures in many ways. In others, they're a little too predictable for our liking. Yes, we've already had the pleasure of discovering the Terrible Twos. They arrived a few weeks ago, unannounced, as though someone had simply flicked a switch on my adorable little boy and turned him into that wailing cliche you see on the TV. One morning, as we all did our best to get ourselves out the door and away to nursery/work, Alec threw himself to the floor and burst into tears at the injustice of being denied a showing of the Gruffalo film at going-out-time. Andy was there to witness the event and we couldn't help laughing - much to Alec's disgust. He pursued this line of behaviour - quite valiantly and with enthusiasm, I must admit - for about a week and then, like a switch once more, he flicked back into being a delightful little soul.
The language is coming thick and fast, and every day he surprises me by remembering things I had only mentioned in passing but which have stuck in his mind like glue. Like the fact that there will be a red fire engine ('nee-naw') birthday cake today (who could forget that kind of promise?) or that Daddy is 'away' for 'work' and that, adorably, a heart means 'love'. (It's best not to pursue the love thing with toddlers, I've found. While Alec admitted that yes, he does love mummy and daddy, when pressed he also told me that he loves a hedgehog and a cow.)
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| Alec's nee-naw cake |
He loves the drums, and especially loves playing the drums with daddy. He loves to sing Baa Baa Black Sheep at every opportunity and shouts 'Yes Sir!' when I ask if he has any wool. He loves Baby Ballet, which he does on Wednesday mornings at nursery, and talks about for the rest of the week. He loves our Monkey Music classes on Friday mornings, but mostly because of the bubbles and stickers which come at the end, but which he always tries to demand from the teacher right at the start. And he is totally obsessed with the Gruffalo (known as 'Mouse' in our household), and will spoil any sense of suspense by telling you exactly which animals are about to appear on the screen before they've made their entrance.
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| Taking the drums very seriously |
Ok, so he has Opinions now, this is true. Like taking an extreme dislike to his new dressing gown, which Grandma bought him for Christmas, which keeps him warm in our freezing house, and which he adored when he first clapped eyes on it on Christmas Day. And his new coat, which was a bargain in the Mothercare sale and is actually a better fit for him than the one he insists on wearing every day because it has stars on it. Oh and gloves - don't get me started on gloves...
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| See? No gloves. In fact, he's flicking the V-sign at gloves. |
But otherwise the Twos have so far been kind to us and I'm hopeful that the next year will bring more moments of laughter than it will tantrums. We have lots to look forward to. Alec will be getting a new brother or sister in early May, and he already seems quite excited about that, gleefully pointing at my tummy, saying 'Baby!' and waving hello. Whether it will be a boy or a girl, though, he's not too sure. Some days it's a brother, other days it's a sister. And on others it's a brother who he plans to name 'Sister'.
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| 3 months to go... |
So happy birthday, Alec, and thank you for two amazing years of getting to know you. I'm getting a little teary as I write this (I blame the pregnancy hormones), not so much at the thought of you growing up and becoming a proper little boy, because that is wonderful to watch, but more at our miraculous fortune in being blessed with such an awesome and fun little child. I know every parent is deluded into thinking that their child really is the best one but... well, ours really is.
Tuesday, 19 August 2014
Being normal
At the ripe old age of 31, it seems like I finally have the semblance of a normal life. Which isn't to say that until now I've been living life on the edge, fighting off bears and trekking across uninhabited wildernesses. But (and I'm sure a few other freelancers will relate to this) until now I have always dreaded that inevitable first question as you sit down at the hairdressers for a restyle: 'So, is it your day off today?' Well.... where do I begin...? I usually just say yes and be done with it. But if she (for usually it is a she) presses me with 'So what is it you do then?' I tend to um and ah and mutter something about being a musician. 'Ooh! What do you play! My brother's in a band!' (I'm not meaning to typecast hairdressers with all these exclamation marks. If you're a hairdresser, please don't take offence. This is just my hairdresser. She has a lilting Penicuik accent and always follows up anything remotely negative with 'Ooh! Wha' a sheeyme!')
'Oh, I'm not that sort of musician', I say. 'I don't play for a living'. Crestfallen face.
'Ooh! Do you teach then?'
'No.'
Confused face.
'I'm, er, doing a PhD. On Beethoven. I also manage a contemporary music ensemble. And I run a choir.'
'Ooh! You sing!'
'Not really, I just run the choir.'
Return of the confused face.
'It's a managerial sort of thing.'
'Oh! My brother's band needs a manager!'
Er...
But this time, when I went to the hairdressers, I assumed the role of a Normal Person. Behold.
'So is it your day off today?'
Firmly: 'Yes it is.'
'So what is it you do then?'
'Well I'm just back at work after having my little boy.'
Cue squeal of delight. 'Ooh! What's his name? Have you got a picture?'
I get out a picture, and we discuss his blonde hair (yes, I say, I was indeed blonde as a child too), his enormous eyelashes and whether or not he sleeps through the night (he bloody well does). She asks me about his eating habits, how many words he has, when he started walking, whether he gets up to much mischief, how many days he does at nursery, if I want another one, and so on and so forth. This all goes on for a good half hour, during which time my hair is lopped, coiffed and straightened. As she's just dusting off the stray hairs from around my shoulders she remembers to ask:
'So what are you doing for work now when Alec (she's on first name terms now) is at nursery?'
'I manage a record label.'
Her face lights up.
'Ooh! My brother's band are looking for a record label!'
'It's a classical music label.'
Sad face.
'Oh, I'm not that sort of musician', I say. 'I don't play for a living'. Crestfallen face.
'Ooh! Do you teach then?'
'No.'
Confused face.
'I'm, er, doing a PhD. On Beethoven. I also manage a contemporary music ensemble. And I run a choir.'
'Ooh! You sing!'
'Not really, I just run the choir.'
Return of the confused face.
'It's a managerial sort of thing.'
'Oh! My brother's band needs a manager!'
Er...
But this time, when I went to the hairdressers, I assumed the role of a Normal Person. Behold.
'So is it your day off today?'
Firmly: 'Yes it is.'
'So what is it you do then?'
'Well I'm just back at work after having my little boy.'
Cue squeal of delight. 'Ooh! What's his name? Have you got a picture?'
I get out a picture, and we discuss his blonde hair (yes, I say, I was indeed blonde as a child too), his enormous eyelashes and whether or not he sleeps through the night (he bloody well does). She asks me about his eating habits, how many words he has, when he started walking, whether he gets up to much mischief, how many days he does at nursery, if I want another one, and so on and so forth. This all goes on for a good half hour, during which time my hair is lopped, coiffed and straightened. As she's just dusting off the stray hairs from around my shoulders she remembers to ask:
'So what are you doing for work now when Alec (she's on first name terms now) is at nursery?'
'I manage a record label.'
Her face lights up.
'Ooh! My brother's band are looking for a record label!'
'It's a classical music label.'
Sad face.
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
Bienvenue en Ecosse
A month on from my last post and now the question I am hearing often has changed to 'so what's it like to be back?' We've been back in the UK and back in our old house in Penicuik for a week and a half now, and to tell you the truth it's a little bit surreal. I'm not completely convinced that we ever went to France. All the evidence suggests that we probably went on a long-ish holiday somewhere, but since everything in the house looks the same, all our old belongings are in the same places they used to be, and our lovely neighbours are still there - I suspect it might have all been a dream. There is just the small but noisy object that is Alec to remind us that a few things have changed in the last 2 years.
I have to say though, it is good to be back. I say that with a slight sense of hesitation, because I am worried that people will think we didn't enjoy our time in France or - worse - that we don't miss the people we left behind. We did and we do. But coming back to Penicuik has been like slipping on a comfortable pair of slippers - a pair that you had almost forgotten you still had, hidden down the back of the wardrobe somewhere, and now you're wondering why you ever thought about throwing them out.
While our tenants didn't exactly leave our house in a wonderful state ('cleaning' doesn't seem to have been a familiar word to them), and there has been a lot of stuff to sort out since we came back (clearing the garden of bags of dog s**t for example...), getting the house back in order has been mercifully quick and coming back to it after a 2 year break has spurred us on to do all those things we never got round to before - repainting the dining room, fixing that bit of broken gutter, chopping down a few trees in the garden. We have a renewed hatred for letting agents and their weasel-word contracts, which promise nothing but charge you 15% for the pleasure. And we have vowed never again to let our house out to someone with 'a dog' - or rather, as it transpired, 'three dogs, three cats and two rabbits'.
Happily, we have also swapped the sound of French motorbikers racing down the road past our house day and night for the gently rippling sound of the river at the bottom of the garden. And we have been reunited with our wood burner! Even in July, the Scottish weather is kind enough to let us use it.
Armed with an energetic toddler who demands entertainment every waking hour of the day, I've also started to see the area through new eyes. The woodland walks and rambles around our local woodland and the Pentland Hills that I used to enjoy so much on my own have been transformed into exciting nature discovery adventures that will keep Alec happy for hours. I've also found a new community centre 5 minutes up the road that has cheap coffee (tick), free wifi (tick) an indoor play area (tick) and a playground (tick) for slightly less adventurous days. Another 10 minutes in the car takes us to The Kabin in Loanhead, a great soft play centre (also with cafe and free wifi) that Alec thought was amazing, and 10 minutes more takes us to the Toots play cafe - an ingenious idea started by a fellow mum looking for a way to drink her cappuccino in peace (yes, there's wifi there too). I've discovered the children's area at the National Museum of Scotland, which Andy and I previously bypassed on our regular trips to the museum, and I haven't even got started on the Museum of Rural Life (animals - tick), Dynamic Earth (science and buttons to press - tick) or Andy's favourite, the Falkirk Wheel (big machinery - tick).
Of course, I'm back to work 3 days a week now, so all this activity has to be sandwiched into my 2 days with Alec during the week, but that is also a good thing. Instead of getting up each morning and thinking, 'Right, how can I entertain Alec today?' I'm now happy to be getting time to myself on work days, thinking about more than snacks and naps and nappy changes, while on my days off I get up thinking 'Lovely, a day off and some time with Alec!' There is still time, of course, to be worn down by the monotony and rigour of daily life, but for now it's Bienvenue en Ecosse and Och aye the noo. Scotland, thanks for having us back.
I have to say though, it is good to be back. I say that with a slight sense of hesitation, because I am worried that people will think we didn't enjoy our time in France or - worse - that we don't miss the people we left behind. We did and we do. But coming back to Penicuik has been like slipping on a comfortable pair of slippers - a pair that you had almost forgotten you still had, hidden down the back of the wardrobe somewhere, and now you're wondering why you ever thought about throwing them out.
While our tenants didn't exactly leave our house in a wonderful state ('cleaning' doesn't seem to have been a familiar word to them), and there has been a lot of stuff to sort out since we came back (clearing the garden of bags of dog s**t for example...), getting the house back in order has been mercifully quick and coming back to it after a 2 year break has spurred us on to do all those things we never got round to before - repainting the dining room, fixing that bit of broken gutter, chopping down a few trees in the garden. We have a renewed hatred for letting agents and their weasel-word contracts, which promise nothing but charge you 15% for the pleasure. And we have vowed never again to let our house out to someone with 'a dog' - or rather, as it transpired, 'three dogs, three cats and two rabbits'.
Happily, we have also swapped the sound of French motorbikers racing down the road past our house day and night for the gently rippling sound of the river at the bottom of the garden. And we have been reunited with our wood burner! Even in July, the Scottish weather is kind enough to let us use it.
Armed with an energetic toddler who demands entertainment every waking hour of the day, I've also started to see the area through new eyes. The woodland walks and rambles around our local woodland and the Pentland Hills that I used to enjoy so much on my own have been transformed into exciting nature discovery adventures that will keep Alec happy for hours. I've also found a new community centre 5 minutes up the road that has cheap coffee (tick), free wifi (tick) an indoor play area (tick) and a playground (tick) for slightly less adventurous days. Another 10 minutes in the car takes us to The Kabin in Loanhead, a great soft play centre (also with cafe and free wifi) that Alec thought was amazing, and 10 minutes more takes us to the Toots play cafe - an ingenious idea started by a fellow mum looking for a way to drink her cappuccino in peace (yes, there's wifi there too). I've discovered the children's area at the National Museum of Scotland, which Andy and I previously bypassed on our regular trips to the museum, and I haven't even got started on the Museum of Rural Life (animals - tick), Dynamic Earth (science and buttons to press - tick) or Andy's favourite, the Falkirk Wheel (big machinery - tick).
Of course, I'm back to work 3 days a week now, so all this activity has to be sandwiched into my 2 days with Alec during the week, but that is also a good thing. Instead of getting up each morning and thinking, 'Right, how can I entertain Alec today?' I'm now happy to be getting time to myself on work days, thinking about more than snacks and naps and nappy changes, while on my days off I get up thinking 'Lovely, a day off and some time with Alec!' There is still time, of course, to be worn down by the monotony and rigour of daily life, but for now it's Bienvenue en Ecosse and Och aye the noo. Scotland, thanks for having us back.
Thursday, 5 June 2014
This is not goodbye, it's just au revoir...
In less than three weeks time, we'll be back in the UK, our petit sojourn in France having come to an end. The title of this blog is a little misleading as our 'year in France' became nearly two, thanks to a bit of crafty contract extension, but all good things must come to an end, and Scotland is calling us back.
As we start packing up and saying our goodbyes, I am being asked a lot: 'Are you looking forward to going home?' In truth, it's a time of mixed emotions. Yes, I am very much looking forward to going back, but there are many things I will miss about living here. Life in France has very much lived up to the idyllic image I had hoped for, much of the time. Take today, for example, when I cycled along to the park in beautiful sunshine with Alec sitting in the seat on the back pointing out the cows along the road, as I looked across the valley to Mont Blanc in the distance. Earlier, we sat on the terrace looking up at the mountains, both of us without a care in the world.
Part of the reason our stay here has been so wonderful is down to the fact that I haven't been working (at least for the most part). I had a relaxed pregnancy, during which I went to French classes, joined a needlework group, went swimming regularly, and met lots of other lovely women in the same position. And since then I've been fortunate enough to spend 16 blissful months with my son, in what is certainly an extremely generous amount of maternity leave. But the friends you make when you have a baby are really important: you share with these people perhaps the most important experience of your life, you talk with them about things you would never discuss with other people, and you build up a closeness with both them and their children that it will be hard to replace. (Just have another one then, my friend said to me the other day...) The people we've met here are, without a doubt, the thing I will miss most when we return to the UK.
And as for the weather... yes, this is number two on my list of things that I will miss. Closely followed by the pastries and the bread. And the wonderful seasonal fruit. And the markets. And the mountains. And in a funny way I will miss speaking French every day too. When I arrived with my rusty GCSE French, I could do little more than order a coffee and a croissant, whereas now I can get by in most situations - give or take a few too many d'accords and a rather liberal use of the verb faire. It would have been interesting to see how Alec responded to speaking two languages too. I had assumed that his two half days a week at the local French creche wouldn't have made much of an impact, but today he surprised me by saying his first word (or words, in fact) and it was French: 'a-va' (au revoir) to the French children in the playground.
But as rewarding as it has been, speaking French has also been one of the most challenging parts of living here too. Not being able to express yourself precisely the way you would like to, not having any 'chat' and not being able to pick up the phone and know with confidence that you'll be able to ask the questions you want and get the answers you need - that has been frustrating. It sounds lazy to say I'll be pleased to go back to an English speaking country, but it will certainly be easier.
Neither will I miss the expense of living here, which far exceeded what we expected. And while I admire the gesture towards quality family time, I'll be happy to live again in a country that considers Sunday a viable 'doing things' day too (nothing - by which I mean nothing except bakeries - is open here on a Sunday). I'll be pleased to have a reliable source of bacon again, not to mention the soft white bread to put it in, and it will be nice to be able to buy a crumpet or a tea cake without any fuss, instead of having to venture out to the British shop and pay five times the price for a little taste of home. And don't get me started on a decent cup of tea... (A note to the French: a cup of hot water and a tea bag does not a cup of tea make.) I'm also looking forward to going back to work properly, and for Alec to start at his new nursery. And best of all, I'm looking forward to returning to our friends and family in the UK, who we've missed a lot while living away.
As we drive away on that final day, I expect I will feel a little bit emotional to be leaving things behind. But most of all it seems strange to me that there will be a little corner of France (and also a little corner of Switzerland) that we will know really well, that will continue to go on as normal, but we won't be a part of it. That in years to come, we'll look back at photos of our time here and of Alec's birth and first year, and say 'Do you remember when we lived in France?' 'Do you remember that house we lived in, and our little village?' That we'll forget the names of the roads we knew so well, just as I've forgotten the names of the roads I walked along every day in Cambridge, now more than a decade ago. And that Alec won't have any memory of this funny little period of his life. ('What do you mean, you're Scottish, but you were born in Switzerland and lived in France?'). When I started this blog, the idea was to give my view of life in France from the perspective of an expat. I wanted to write about all the things - big and small - that I found strange and surprising and novel about living here, having come from the UK. And in the early days, there was a whole rush of things to write about: What do you mean you have to eat lunch between 12-2pm? Why can't I get milk on a Sunday? And what is this priorité a droite rule all about (OK, I discovered that one a little late, and got beeped at for the best part of a year before I realised my mistake...). But the reason the blog posts have slowed down in recent months is not just because I have a small child taking up most of my time these days, it's also because life in France doesn't seem so strange anymore. In fact, I really can't remember the feeling of alienation that we had when we first arrived, nor put my finger on why life here is any different from anywhere else.
And so now we reach a quandary: what to do with this little blog? A Year in France: Life as a CERN Wife is a rather specific title to write under, so I either pass on the baton to another willing CERN wife, or this CERN wife starts blogging about going back to life in the UK (I've heard it's strange there, you know. The shops are even open on Sundays!) and the prospect of a Yes vote in Scotland. Ok, Ok, that's another topic for another blog. Until then, this is not goodbye....
As we start packing up and saying our goodbyes, I am being asked a lot: 'Are you looking forward to going home?' In truth, it's a time of mixed emotions. Yes, I am very much looking forward to going back, but there are many things I will miss about living here. Life in France has very much lived up to the idyllic image I had hoped for, much of the time. Take today, for example, when I cycled along to the park in beautiful sunshine with Alec sitting in the seat on the back pointing out the cows along the road, as I looked across the valley to Mont Blanc in the distance. Earlier, we sat on the terrace looking up at the mountains, both of us without a care in the world.
Part of the reason our stay here has been so wonderful is down to the fact that I haven't been working (at least for the most part). I had a relaxed pregnancy, during which I went to French classes, joined a needlework group, went swimming regularly, and met lots of other lovely women in the same position. And since then I've been fortunate enough to spend 16 blissful months with my son, in what is certainly an extremely generous amount of maternity leave. But the friends you make when you have a baby are really important: you share with these people perhaps the most important experience of your life, you talk with them about things you would never discuss with other people, and you build up a closeness with both them and their children that it will be hard to replace. (Just have another one then, my friend said to me the other day...) The people we've met here are, without a doubt, the thing I will miss most when we return to the UK.
And as for the weather... yes, this is number two on my list of things that I will miss. Closely followed by the pastries and the bread. And the wonderful seasonal fruit. And the markets. And the mountains. And in a funny way I will miss speaking French every day too. When I arrived with my rusty GCSE French, I could do little more than order a coffee and a croissant, whereas now I can get by in most situations - give or take a few too many d'accords and a rather liberal use of the verb faire. It would have been interesting to see how Alec responded to speaking two languages too. I had assumed that his two half days a week at the local French creche wouldn't have made much of an impact, but today he surprised me by saying his first word (or words, in fact) and it was French: 'a-va' (au revoir) to the French children in the playground.
But as rewarding as it has been, speaking French has also been one of the most challenging parts of living here too. Not being able to express yourself precisely the way you would like to, not having any 'chat' and not being able to pick up the phone and know with confidence that you'll be able to ask the questions you want and get the answers you need - that has been frustrating. It sounds lazy to say I'll be pleased to go back to an English speaking country, but it will certainly be easier.
Neither will I miss the expense of living here, which far exceeded what we expected. And while I admire the gesture towards quality family time, I'll be happy to live again in a country that considers Sunday a viable 'doing things' day too (nothing - by which I mean nothing except bakeries - is open here on a Sunday). I'll be pleased to have a reliable source of bacon again, not to mention the soft white bread to put it in, and it will be nice to be able to buy a crumpet or a tea cake without any fuss, instead of having to venture out to the British shop and pay five times the price for a little taste of home. And don't get me started on a decent cup of tea... (A note to the French: a cup of hot water and a tea bag does not a cup of tea make.) I'm also looking forward to going back to work properly, and for Alec to start at his new nursery. And best of all, I'm looking forward to returning to our friends and family in the UK, who we've missed a lot while living away.
As we drive away on that final day, I expect I will feel a little bit emotional to be leaving things behind. But most of all it seems strange to me that there will be a little corner of France (and also a little corner of Switzerland) that we will know really well, that will continue to go on as normal, but we won't be a part of it. That in years to come, we'll look back at photos of our time here and of Alec's birth and first year, and say 'Do you remember when we lived in France?' 'Do you remember that house we lived in, and our little village?' That we'll forget the names of the roads we knew so well, just as I've forgotten the names of the roads I walked along every day in Cambridge, now more than a decade ago. And that Alec won't have any memory of this funny little period of his life. ('What do you mean, you're Scottish, but you were born in Switzerland and lived in France?'). When I started this blog, the idea was to give my view of life in France from the perspective of an expat. I wanted to write about all the things - big and small - that I found strange and surprising and novel about living here, having come from the UK. And in the early days, there was a whole rush of things to write about: What do you mean you have to eat lunch between 12-2pm? Why can't I get milk on a Sunday? And what is this priorité a droite rule all about (OK, I discovered that one a little late, and got beeped at for the best part of a year before I realised my mistake...). But the reason the blog posts have slowed down in recent months is not just because I have a small child taking up most of my time these days, it's also because life in France doesn't seem so strange anymore. In fact, I really can't remember the feeling of alienation that we had when we first arrived, nor put my finger on why life here is any different from anywhere else.
And so now we reach a quandary: what to do with this little blog? A Year in France: Life as a CERN Wife is a rather specific title to write under, so I either pass on the baton to another willing CERN wife, or this CERN wife starts blogging about going back to life in the UK (I've heard it's strange there, you know. The shops are even open on Sundays!) and the prospect of a Yes vote in Scotland. Ok, Ok, that's another topic for another blog. Until then, this is not goodbye....
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