Growing Family

Risk

Let me just say, right out front, I don't like risk.

I like security. I like picket fences. I like suburbs. I like insurance. I like Dave Ramsey finances. I like a big old buffer, financially. I don't want to live in a flood zone, or somewhere with tornadoes, or cyclones, or earthquakes, or tsunamis. 

I'm a planner. I have a calendar filled with side notations and sometimes I even color code the calendar. 

I fold my laundry into item specific piles for each person in the family. The bathroom cabinet is organized by category (shampoos, first aid, bath salts). 

I LOVE home organization stores. And once, when I went to a tea shop and saw hundreds of teas all organized in their little drawers from floor to ceiling, I nearly fainted from the excitement. It was all so symetrical and tidy and BEAUTIFUL. 

Because I have this passion for order and risk-avoidance, I'm not really sure how to access real risk. Can you be over-insured? I don't know.

We are wanting to buy a house this year. The Sydney house market is crazy expensive (we'll just leave it at that). We have found a house that I really like and that we "could" buy, as in, we could get approved for the loan, but it would be a stretch.

We are thinking about making a low-ball offer, but it would still be a stretch. I think. I mean, I can't really tell how dangerous it would be because how can you forsee all that might happen?

If we put the majority of our savings into a house purchase, the next week we might suddenly need to move back to the U.S. or help a family member, or have all our posessions wiped out by a giant tidal wave!

I know I live on the safe side 100% of the time. I don't do risk. Right now I'm trying to figure out if this is "good risk" or "bad risk"? What would Dave Ramsey do? Maybe I need to call him and find out.

 

3 Weeks In

We are three weeks into this new life - life with schoolchildren. Small Sun is at kindy and Sprout is at a new preschool, three days a week.

The first week Small Sun's school ran half days for the kindy kids. That meant I was dropping him off at 8:50 am, racing to preschool for Sprout's 9:00 am start, then home until a 12:30 pm pick up, then the 3:00 pm pick up. Madness, I tell you, madness. I'm SO glad that is over.

Small Sun's school runs a "park and ride" program where you can leave your child at the designated (supervised) door of the school. Most families don't begin to do that until about Term 2 (12 weeks in), but Small Sun wants to do it now. He has an older friend who does it, and has decided he is ready. We received our windshield ID signs today and he is eager to be dropped off in the morning. We'll see if he changes his mind in the morning, but it sure would make my life SO much easier!

There are still a lot of mothers standing around in the schoolyard before and after school, asking each other the standard "how are you going?" and "how is Small Sun going?" We're not supposed to compare, be we notice how many stickers each child has on their chart. Many of the mothers are spending a lot of time concerned over whether or not their child has a friend yet. They turn their worried eyes to include me in their conversation, but I stay silent.

I don't worry about friends for Small Sun. It seems that he is already best friends with half the class, and working on the other half. Other children may be reading already, writing their letters and numbers beautifully, or playing an instrument. Small Sun isn't there yet, but friends he has. Joy and confidence he has in spades. I'm in the child-development camp that believes that is the most important thing in starting school. Structured learning can really take off in the classroom if he is happy, at ease, and confident.

Sending my two children off to their different classrooms has given me a chance to witness how tightly bound they are to each other. Several days on the way to preschool, Sprout cried hot tears, missing her brother SO much. 

True to form, little Finch placidly accepts being shipped from one place to another, and endures the grocery shopping and errands with me. I'm trying to give him the special one on one attention he has never had as the third child, and he enjoys it, but he lights up and runs to the door when I tell him it is time to get Sprout from preschool. He has even started to say her name (as best he can), over and over again, as we drive to get her.

Stay-home parenting is such a splendid beast. There are days I strain against the responsibilities I carry - so many of them mundane and tiresome. Then there are days when Finch is sleeping and the other two are gone and I gasp "I missed it, I missed their childhood! Everything is quiet and they are gone and I wasted it wishing I could just go read a book somewhere."

I have taken to heart the advice older mothers gave me when I welcomed Small Sun home. "Cherish the moments" they said. "Stay present in each day." "The years are short, and the days are long."

I've tried, all this time to stay clear and focused and present. In the last year I've felt myself tire and lose focus. I've spent a lot of time fantasizing about vacations by myself, going back to school, or just eating or using the toilet without interruption. I find myself resenting all the little interruptions and getting annoyed with the current state of my life. 

But it's nearly gone, this season. How do I hold on, and not let it slip away?

Coming home from their long day, Small Sun and Sprout are exhausted, hungry, and feral. At first they greet each other with warmth and color and ask about each other's day. Then, during the ride home, things begin to deteriorate. Sprout, especially, is unfamiliar with managing herself after such a big day. She has been yelling at me a lot. Things like "I don't like it when you forget, and call preschool, 'school'!!!" 

I'm doing my best to keep everyone on track, to keep them from melting down. I rush them in to unpack their bags, change out of their school clothes, and sit down for afternoon tea, trying to avoid catastrophe by filling their little stomachs. It only sometimes works. 

That is what it is like, three weeks in. Busy, tired, but starting to find our footing in the new schedule. 

Hot as

It is 8:34 at night as I sit down to type, and it is hot as.* I put on makeup this morning before taking the kids to school. It must be on my chest by now. The sweat is a flat sheet that comes down from out of my hair, crossing the arch of my forehead, sliding around my eyes, and accumulating around my nostrils until I take my hands and swipe them from my nose outward, trying to evenly distribute the sheen. 

February in Sydney is August in Nashville. Except I don't have air conditioning in Sydney. We spend the day in and out of the car, racing from car to building, looking for a place under a tree to park in the shade, keeping the blinds closed tight from seven a.m. on, fans are on high all day, we are hiding from the blatant, forward heat. 

Today it reached 41C(105.8F). Yep.

There was a total fire ban today and along with the morning news we were warned that today is a high fire risk day. That's Australia. They're always warning us the the sun will scorch us, the air is going to choke in our throats, or a fire will burn us up. Yet, I love this place.

Nearly three years in, I could lie on my lawn just hugging the earth. Every day I've been eating tomatoes hot off the vine. This place, as much as it hurts me at times, nourishes my soul.

Heat tends to bring out the worst in me. I get blurry eyed and mean, to be honest. But even at 8:53 in the evening, and  32C(89F), I love this country. I love this place.

*Australians have picked up a New Zealand slang habit. You just pin "as" on the back of anything to say that it is good, or okay. "Sweet as", "hot as", etc. You can also tack "bro" on the end for added emphasis.