Growing Family

Land Lust

This week The Captain and I articulated one major difference between us.

I have Land Lust, and he does not.

I want to own at least a decent-sized chunk of earth to play with, to create on, and to give our children a wild space. A suburban block just isn't meeting my needs these days. I dream of something bigger, and more free. I feel like I need that land.

It's not just me, either. My parents own acres of woods and they built their open plan log house with their bare hands. One of our favorite family pastimes is doing a creek walk on their property, and this summer all of us worked together to build a dam across the creek, using river rock. It was so amazingly fun...until the snake showed up in the water...but that's another story.

I know my brother feels the same. He might have scratched that itch a bit with the lovely yellow house, buried deep in snowdrifts, that they owned for the last couple of years near Notre Dame. Maybe in Tanzania he'll buy some ground and plant some seeds?

The Captain's not like that. He loves the flat and endless fields in Holland, as well as the expansive blue sky. He loves the living green-ness of it all. The Dutch landscape is etched in his heart as home, but he does not need to own it. He does not need to possess it. 

Even very wealthy Dutch people live on small pieces of land. They might enjoy an expansive view, but not of land they own.

What an interesting difference: Americans with the history of seeking and taking land (rightly and wrongly), with so much land to explore, and the Dutch who have been negotiating a small country for hundreds of years. 

It really makes things interesting when we talk about what we both want out of our future purchase of a house here in Australia. 

When Did My Hair Get Like This?

I have dubbed November the Marathon of School Prep. In Australia the school year begins at the end of January, and we are currently in the last term before the long summer holidays. Now is the time for all manner of orientations and parent nights and park play dates for the kids entering kindergarten next year.

Next year is a big year for us! Small Sun will be starting Kindergarten AND Sprout will be starting three days of preschool. So that's about 45 new classmates, plus all their parents to meet, not to mention schedules and rules for two new schools. Small Sun's uniform is all purchased and ready to go.

Because Small Sun's current preschool is located in our old neighborhood, and lies in the direction opposite his new school, I opted to put Sprout in a preschool that is closer to home so I can manage the double drop off and pick up. To be honest, I am not as pleased with the new preschool as I am with the old. I LOVE the old preschool. I would like to marry the old preschool! 

The staff knows how disappointed I am that we can't make the old preschool work for next year, so when they had a student announce that they will be leaving for the last four weeks of the term to go on holiday, they asked if I might want to bring Sprout to fill that spot. I said yes, of course! So for about the next month I'll be driving to preschool every day of the week, Monday to Wednesday for Small Sun, and Thursday to Friday for Sprout. 

This week I took Sprout to new preschool orientation two days, and Small Sun to kinder orientation one day. Then there's the non-stop commitments to playgroup, ballet, birthdays, and play dates. The weather is also turning a corner here and it is suddenly hot and muggy and I find myself sweating, schlepping up and down the hill into the village, pushing Sprout in the stroller to the new preschool. 

And my hair. *sigh* I have really thick hair that has to be thinned in order to appear tidy. At the moment there is still some dye left in it from several months ago. I have only colored my hair once since moving here, since I left my trusted stylist back in the States. Coloring it here was a mistake as it came out with red tones that don't suit me. In this humidity, and with the consistent presence of a big floppy hat to protect me from the sun beaming right through the hole in the ozone, my hair is basically a hot mess. 

I come to the end of these November days completely worn out. My toenails are too long and have chipped polish on them. I'm out of the right facial products. Every day I'm trying to choose clothes that look nice when I'd just like to walk around with a cotton sack on because of the heat. Basically I am meeting teacher after teacher, and parent after parent feeling completely unpolished, and unstylish. 

This is unusual for me. I love clothes and fashion and even though I'm a mom with three kids five and under, and I run around wiping noses and bottoms all day, I care about how I look. I may not pay much for the clothes I wear (since the kid mess ends up on my clothes every day), but I still care. I haven't gone the way of the mom uniform...yet. 

I guess I just wonder if this is what I'm in for next year? A whole year of double drop offs and pick ups that leave me running around, haggard and unkempt, just trying to slice up enough fresh veggies for my kids' lunch boxes? Am I going to become one of those women that completely lets herself go to put her kids first?

You know what I mean. Those moms who haven't had a proper haircut in who knows how long! When did I last get my hair cut? I can't quite remember...

To You, Daughter, When You Became Four

Darling Sproutje,

It was on the trip to Currarong that I saw you, contrasted against your friend, and the lines and colors of your person-hood were so clear that I laughed. You, always in a dress, always deep in make-believe, always looking for beauty, and finding it.

You might not remember, but I think I always will, the day we collected shells on the beach.

From one end of the beach to the other - from cliff to jetty there were millions and billions of tiny shells. The whole beach was shells. When our happy party broke from the bush line, out of the trees, and onto the beach, in expectant search of a shipwreck, you plopped down and focused on all those minuscule delights. We tried to persuade you to come see the shipwreck, to explore, to continue, but you were too deep into the world of sea shells. You learned the word "iridescent" and have used it appropriately and passionately ever since. You filled up a large bucket, one by one, and were later beside yourself with grief when they were upset into the dirt path and you wailed "It will be so hard to wash all of them!"

You are so fierce, and I have it recorded in numerous pictures - you yelling straight into the camera with all the savagery and braveness of a ruler. While I protect you, I do not fear for you in the world, or your place in it. I have seen you, often enough, wade into a crowd of boys and girls heads taller than you, to make a place for yourself.

Like at Small Sun's Grandparents' Day concert, where I couldn't find you anywhere, and realized you must be up front, singing with your brother, despite the fact that you are not a student at the preschool and do not know the songs. A tiny shimmer of golden hair next to your brother's shoulder confirmed my suspicions.

And you are also kind. Really, very, wonderfully kind in a way that makes my heart sing. 

Sometimes your brother asks you for things he shouldn't. Sometimes I want to draw a line for you to say "you don't need to give him that," but I see how big your heart is to offer him what is yours, with no consideration at all. I see how you respond to him when he is hurting, how you offer a hug and a pat and kind words. You are only small, but you are a very big person.

 Today we were meant to go to the beach. We had a wonderful party planned. When it rained all week, and was still raining this morning, we changed plans and had a beach party inside instead. 

We had our morning tea boxes on beach towels in the living room, instead of the sand. 

We feasted on beachy cupcakes, and you were thrilled with the whole event, even though the beach party you had been anticipating for weeks, was rained out. You're that kind of girl.

At the end of the day, while I was filling the washer with laundry, you were wandering around the garden saying "I miss my friends. I wish they could all be here forever!" And, on the way home from eating Mexican food for dinner, your voice rang out from the backseat "can I go to school tomorrow? I want to go to school!"

You see, you're the first thing that stayed in my womb and grew and grew and grew until at four in the morning, after 28 hours of travel, you emerged smooth, and white, with the rosiest lips. In my mind's eye everything is dark except your white, white skin, and that pinkest mouth. 

And now, you're such a big girl, as big as the three story dollhouse I painted and wallpapered and sewed for, only to position it at the end of your bed while you were sleeping so that you would wake up to it on your birthday morning. When you did, you hugged me and said "I dreamed two dreams last night. One was a dollhouse, and one was a horse and it kissed me!"

You are a dreamer, and you are perfect. You are four, and I love you.

Mommy