Spring in my step....

Another month has come and gone and whilst I keep up some pretense that I'm in control of my life and know exactly what I'm doing, most of the time the organisational fairy inside me is shaking her head in disgust. Where are the weeks and months going?
This is the part where I apologise to any of my full time working mom friends who I've ever made sarcastic remarks to like 'how hard can it be?' or 'I'm sure it would be different for me' or 'I'm usually quite organised so I'm sure I'll be fine'. She bows her head in shame.
Turns out full time work, full time business owner, mostly full time mom, new house and two new (kids) was just too much for me. So as I said something had to go, and sadly for some this had to be full time work. She grins from ear to ear.

It's been five months since we arrived in South Africa. I can't decide whether I feel like it feels like five months, five days or five years. 

This month has seen the addition of eight little legs to our family. Yes, I wish sometimes too I'd got a spider in a box.

Raffles arrived in our family little over a month ago (a maltese) and a week later Lord Poppy (a labrador). They have settled too well and already chewing up everything in sight and causing more chaos than I ever imagined. Somedays I feel myself giving in, and giving up. I must have bought Afrikaans dogs because they just don't seem to understand me. I feel much more content at looking after a five day old baby than I do a five week old dog. Surely it can't be that hard?

Tomorrow is the first day of Spring and I CANNOT tell you how excited that makes me. After 12 months now in warm clothes and two consecutive winters we are all very ready for summer. And so much is happening in Summer it gives us so much to look forward to. We are already planning for Granny to visit, Lindsay's wedding, Emi's 3rd birthday and Granny and Gaga to arrive for their five month South African stint.
I have recently done SO much work for Little Prints William that I'm slightly nervous but very excited about what the Spring and Summer might bring me. I have started painting school murals, corporate logos and next month will be my first (and second) ever designed, decorated and baked for baby-shower and birthday party. I will definitely post photos from both events. Next month's baby shower is 'In an English Country garden' and will be an afternoon full of beautiful flowers, bunting, champagne, home made meringues, scones, sandwiches and tea. Surely that's reason enough to have another baby? No?

 

                                         


Someone asked me a few days ago about how much I enjoyed living in Singapore and how I would rate having a family there. When it came to details of the kids, hospitals and doctors I suddenly got brain freeze. I couldn't remember who the OGBYN was who delivered both my kids. I sat for hours thinking of his name. Nothing. And then I got really worried. This was the first time I had forgotten something as significant as that. Was my time in Singapore being deleted from my short term memory and slowly being transferred to the long term memory box probably never to be opened? Did that mean anything? I eventually remembered his name but the fact that I had forgotten it in the first place made me unsettled. I don't want to forget, just yet.
Maybe in a years time when I have found my feet here, but not yet. Please. Stay in my short term memory box. Just for a little longer.

I'm still on my friend finding mission in Joburg. Keeping up your guard for so long can be quite exhausting! Next weekend Claire arrives so I'm taking her onboard to roam some markets and bars and who knows what will happen. It'll be just like 1997 all over again. I bet Claire cant wait;) I cant!

Till then..

I resign...

The role of super-mommy is now vacant. I have officially resigned. Quit. Staged protest and walked out. I'm done.

In my head I had, have, this wonderful idea of how I'd like my life to be.
I would be super confident working mom running my small, but successful business from my quaint self-designed and decorated studio. Sorry did I say business, I meant brand. I would flutter between meetings, art lessons and my painting studio where I would design and create new paintings and products that, in no time would find their way to the bookshelves or Barnes and Noble and the counters of Best Buy Baby and Mothercare. Of course in-between all this I would be raising my three beautiful children, cooking them delicious home made organic meals every evening, reading them stories, baking delights they would take to school and show off proudly, sewing their own clothes; and at the end of the day I would retire to my husband, feed him a lovely home cooked meal before settling down to continue knitting the jersey and crocheting the blanket I started for the charity I volunteer for.

Or something like that....

Sadly I feel that more often than not these days I've bitten off more than I can chew. And whilst I'm sitting at the desk of the investment bank I currently contract for, being bombarded with insults on my ability to 'book meeting rooms properly' I have to try my hardest not to a)cry b)walk out or c)slap those involved in the face. Of course b and c would result in me no longer working for said investment bank which would mean I would achieve above but somehow easier to think than do.

Most days now I come home, to a house that is a mess, boxes and piles of clothes still lying around from when we moved in (almost 2 months ago) and heaps of laundry and dishes to sort out, thanks to the maid who we hired doing a runner almost a month ago. So instead of home cooked meals my kids come home to two minute noodles, spaghetti or rice dishes that are usually quick and easy to cook, limited after dinner activities, most times this is them watching me tidy up toys and preparing dinner and they head to bed, unread to, often unbathed and very occasionally even in the same clothes they wore to school.
(Yes, not likely to win mother of the year award for that one)

Most evenings I'm annoyed and tired and instead of appreciating the time I get to spend with the kids, I'm frustrated that, more often than not, I'm the one doing dinner time duties and even more frustrated that I haven't got to the gym for yet another day, despite my gym clothes living in a bag in my car.

This week has been even more emotional for me than usual. Amongst other things yesterday was 'due day'. Due day for baby no 3, that sadly we will never meet. I woke up yesterday morning at 2:56am as per usual (I really need to think about getting a new body clock!) and from 2:57am until about 8pm that night I could not stop myself crying. I know it wasn't meant to be, it wasn't part of God's big plan but the pain is still there. Even as I write this I cant stop the tears. I have to believe that tomorrow will be better, and the day after better, and the day after that even better. And not long from now sometime in the near distant future I will be able to think about this time without bursting into tears.

Joburg has certainly made me realise that moving country isn't that stress-free after all. New York seemed a breeze compared to this and I keep wondering why. Why did I find myself after three months in Hoboken so much more settled than I do now? After all we have a house here - officially as of today. In the past five years we had moved country four times, flats/houses 12 and now we finally own our own home. So what's so different? Is it working full time? Or could it be the fact that I have yet to meet or make any friends?
Is all this anger channeled into frustration because I'm so lonely? If I had someone to bitch to, drink with or hang out with would it make everything else better?

Finding friends since we moved here has honestly not been easy. I knew this before I moved here- it's not your typical 'expat' country, but I never thought three months down the line I wouldn't have met anyone. And those who know me know it's not through lack of trying. I met my two best friends in New York in the street and online. I fear the longer I leave it, the harder it will become and I will no longer be the new girl with a valid excuse for being all alone when having my nails done on a saturday afternoon.

Change is not easy for me but I feel something has to be done, so I resign. I can't be the super-mommy I so long to be and maybe I have to accept that. I should forget about baking cupcakes when I come home, preparing home made meringues for friends and offering to get involved in work or charity activites I know I have absolutely no time for. Maybe giving up on being super-mommy will make me a better mommy. I think the kids sure hope so.

So with that, its off to bath. I'm not sure we can go three days without a scrub.

Welcome to Johannesburg

After months and months of chit chat, phaffing, decisions and very very cold weather, we have finally arrived in Johannesburg. (Ok, so it's already been about 8 weeks but hey, who's counting...)

The flight over from London was a little shy of AMAZING - both kids in their business class seats, fed, watered and tired out from personal entertainment in the business class lounge, slept for almost 90% of the 11 hour flight, only waking 45 minutes before landing. I woke up to drinks and a continental breakfast being served to my four year old son- at which point I thanked the steward for looking after him so well to which he replied ' Your son rang the bell madam and asked for some juice and a croissant'
Being home is everything I expected and could have hoped for. Beautiful weather, amazing blue skies, beautiful sunsets, family, friendly people and cheap beer and wine. What more could you ask for?

We spent a very busy five days in Natal before embarking on the five hour car trip to Johannesburg. As the skyline appeared in sight I was almost speechless. I hadn't been to Johannesburg since 1994 and even then had little experience with this incredibly big city. The first couple days where overwhelming to say the least.

But it's been almost two months now since we arrived and already I am starting to feel like a local. I think I drive like one too. Driving around the city has seemed fairly easy- I say this as I am renowned for my somewhat 'crazy' driving so maybe I fit in. (I've only got lost a handful of times and had to reverse off the motorway once to avoid ending up somewhere I was warned NEVER to go to)

As usual before arriving our relocation agents had sent through a couple of options for serviced accommodation for our first month. I couldn't place areas/ suburbs in my head so when it came to the decision I was happy for anything, as long as it was safe. Safety was always an issue and I think will always be for anyone contemplating a move here. Johannesburg has one of the highest crime rates in the world and, even as a native South African, I was incredibly nervous about what to expect.
It's hard to ignore the risks or forget where you are when driving around the city. Six foot walls with barbed wire, electric fences, security gates and guarded streets are constant reminders of the potential threat we live with here. Yet despite that I don't feel unsafe.
Fair enough our apartment here has four security guards, about six doors - two which require four did-get codes, fingerprints and keycard access before you even get to your front door, but driving around in the day or night has never been an issue.
I can't say nothing will happen but I hope that without us being too relaxed we might never encounter anything bad or experience the horror stories that seem to be more urban legend at the moment.

How can this place be so dangerous? Everyone is so friendly...

When I first moved to Singapore I was young, a bit naive and an 'expat virgin'. I loved the city but always felt alone or unwelcome- until I had lived there for a good few years. Moving to New York was incredible and it seemed natural to go back to a western english speaking country. I have and always will say that Americans have to be the friendliest people in the world. It was so easy to make friends, chat to shop assistants and feel welcome.
South Africa has been a mix of both. Although I look local, and occasionally sound local, I sometimes feel very alone. Without walking around the city, meeting in parks or going to local library/coffee shop meet ups it's been tough trying to meet 'friends', but shop assistants, helpers, workers and the general public are some of the friendliest people I've ever met. I often think that despite the hardship, their living conditions and their fortune - or somewhat misfortune- some South Africans still have so much to smile about. It's hard not to drive around this city feeling a little sad for those less fortunate and grateful for what you have. I think maybe that's what makes people here so grounded or down to earth.

I came here with little expectation, worried that I'd be building myself up for something I wouldn't like but it's everything I expected and I couldn't be happier. I love this country and hopefully in two weeks time when we move into our new house, it'll finally feel like home.

 Joburg Lion Farm

 First father son rugby match at Loftus

The cousins reunited.x

Goodbye Blighty

Thinking about these past three and a half months in the UK words often fail me. SO much has happened yet oddly enough I have very little to show for our time here. In ten days time we're on the move again, this time I hope, for the last time. At least for a while. I am so excited that our move date is finally here and that, without seeming strange, I can begin packing up. Leaving Singapore was hard. Leaving New York, the hardest thing ever. So it feels quite strange that leaving the UK seems a complete breeze. I will board the flight next Saturday with a huge smile on my face, partly because it's a business class flight courtesy of Pete's new firm, but mainly because I cannot wait to go. 

I have decided I am moving to South Africa with little or no expectation much like I did when we moved to Singapore in December 2007. If anything I am just hoping this move will end my run of bad luck. That's what I've decided to call it. Bad luck. Not fate, or the result of poor decisions, just bad luck. 

On September 19th last year when I received that phone call to say that Pete had been let go and was on his way home, I thought my world had ended. And for about five months it did. The last five months are five months that I hope in five years time are forgotten. I hope that in time I will only remember this time for the few happier moments it's bought me and possibly the few new friends I've met. The rest has my permission to be deleted. 

Bad luck and I don't really mix well. For anyone who really knows me, knows that I thrive on happiness. I am the jokey sarcastic, never very serious South African you invite along because I don't stop talking, love singing, and am usually willing to do anything as a dare. I love my friends and family and will often always put their needs before those of my own. So throw me, job loss, homelessness, miscarriage, hospitalisation (x3) and loneliness in five months and something was bound to go wrong. The little social butterfly that I always loved being, died. And maybe that's where the problem began. I moved to the UK with all this, for want of a better word, hate, and never really got past it. 

I ignored friends, hated being around my kids, didn't want to really celebrate Christmas, was miserable over New Year (that was partially allowed) and made every excuse to stay indoors, be antisocial and while away the days in my PJs watching kids TV playing lego. 

I apologise to all my UK friends for being so useless. Free accommodation in South Africa is on offer to make up for my thousand and one excuses. 

Yesterday saw my last and hopefully finally disaster unfold with Emma getting chicken pox and us having to cancel our week's trip to Hoboken to go see friends. Fighting with a Virgin Atlantic agent on the phone about ticket refunds and cancellation policies made me realise how bitter I sound. I'm sure 'Debra' didn't need to hear my life story but she got it anyway. And despite her umming and aghing at the appropriate times, I still got what I expected. Nothing. I guess there are some things you just cannot change no matter what, but maybe now I've realised that being down and miserable about them isn't the way about it. 

Maybe i've only realised this now because I know that I haven't got to endure the miserable weather or loneliness for much longer but either way, I'm hoping that I can leave for South Africa with a little more love and a little less hate than I did leaving New York arriving here. It's a start and a new beginning I'm really really looking forward to. 

Being an expat..the good, the bad, the ugly

I'm sure there aren't many people who haven't, at some point in their lives, thought about living abroad and becoming expats.

I was born in South Africa and lived there until the day I received my university results, aged 20. I decided, like most of my friends at the time, that life in London was way more exciting than the sleepy town of Pietermaritzburg in Natal. I moved not fully understanding what I was getting myself in for- and I never appreciated at the time that even then I was becoming an expat. Because I had British nationality through my dad I never quite saw myself as a complete foreigner. I was British when it suited and South African the rest of the time.

I only ever felt like I became an expat when my (British) husband and I accepted the opportunity to move to Singapore in December 2007. Being an expat wasn't something I ever wanted or longed for but at the time, after battling the UK system for months trying to buy a house and eventually breaking a long chain and upsetting a lot of people!- we decided that it might be the best thing for us. To get away.
I still remember sitting on the floor in the kitchen of my tiny Putney flat googling 'Singapore'. I had absolutely no idea where it was. And I thought to myself, 'I don't even really like noodles'
Now, 5 years later I feel I'm officially an expat and an experienced one at that too.

Four sticky hot years in Singapore gave us a lot of stamps in our passports, two beautiful children and some amazing memories but the lack of seasons, strange Singaporean culture and the feeling that we needed to get back to 'real life' made me want to leave. In November 2011 we luckily got offered the opportunity to move with my husband's firm to New York.

New York!!! Like anyone (any fashion loving shopping addictive girl) would turn that down! New York!! Seems my husband had little choice but to say yes.

And we moved. Again. We left our lovely life, our beautiful friends, our amazing helper and all the gorgeous beaches only a 50 minute flight away. At the time I never looked back. Even in the cold, dark, windy days battling the crowds of Times Square I never once regretted our move.
I love New York.
But sometimes things weren't greener and I often wondered why I'd left my beautiful life in Singapore. Days morphed into months and I spent much of my New York life alone with the two kids. I'm sure my husband worked more hours in one year in New York than he did in all four in Singapore. We saw him through sleepydust getting ready for work some mornings and then again on the weekends. But even then with his blackberry glued to his hand and ear he was never really around. Work consumed him. Work was ruining him. When he was home he was tired, moody and hated doing things with the friends I had become to rely on in my weeks of solitary confinement.

I began to realise a few things:

- Kids don't need to bath everyday
- Drinking wine from 4pm on some days and going to bed at 7pm with the kids is completely acceptable
- Fruit pouches of squeezie baby puree are really meant for babies, not mommies who can't be arsed cooking

Summer was amazing; full of beautiful hot days and cool evenings and with a great circle of friends and lots to do, we kept ourselves busy, oblivious to the trouble bubbling underneath us.

It's obvious that I LOVED, LOVE New York. I'd give my left leg to go back.
But I've learnt that with being an expat - or trailing spouse- sometimes, somethings are out of your control.
On September 19th 2012, only 9 months after arriving in the US, my life was thrown upside down.
We had suspected, but we never fully anticipated that after only 9 months they would do this to us. Would they really move us all the way around the world, spend thousands of dollars on relocation and then just wave us goodbye? Had they not invested too much to make it that simple?
Um, I guess not.

The last few months in Hoboken/ New York for me are a bit of a blur. My husband wasn't sad to leave his job and in some ways he looked forward to leaving the US, but for me, it was literally the end of my life. I had made some amazing friends and made myself a life that I absolutely loved and never wanted to leave. We had only recently sold our Putney flat and paid the deposit on a penthouse apartment in Hoboken. I wanted nothing more than to live there - forever!

Sadly as an expat I had little choice and we where given 90 days to leave the country. So we moved. Again.

Now almost four months have passed since my husband lost his job and after moving back to the UK, losing our flat, leaving my friends and my life, living through a hurricane and more recently losing a baby, I have started to wonder why I ever wanted to live abroad in the first place.
If I had opted for my little cottage with white picket fence in a small dosy village in the English countryside five years ago, would I be going through all this 'drama'?

Somedays now in our 'inbetween assignments lul' I feel completely and utterly lost. When I left South Africa, I never really thought about what it really meant, and despite living in London for a good nine years before moving to Singapore, and being married to someone British, London or the UK, isn't home to me. But then neither is South Africa. Am I truly nomadic?

On returning to the UK in December my husband got to business of trying to find a job, and I got to work trying to be positive about our move and the prospect of a life in London again. But only two weeks after arriving things took a turn and he was offered a job - abroad. This time in South Africa.
So we move. Again.
I'm not so unsure about this move. I mean, I know where it is, I like steak, braai-ing, beer and rugby and more importantly than anything I have family in South Africa. But is moving back to South Africa the end to my expat existence?

Expat life can give you many things. Good things: travel, amazing life changing experiences, friends you never would meet anywhere else; Bad things; stress, loneliness, isolation in foreign cultures, the feeling like you don't belong; uncertainty; and Ugly things: job loss, leaving a life you love, losing friends and everything that goes along with it. I think you have to accept everything and be prepared to have highs and lows you never would leading a more 'ordinary' life.

I love being an expat but I often have this feeling like ' God, do I really have to do this all over again'. Will I love Johannesburg as much as Hoboken? As much as Singapore? Will it better than London? Only time will tell.

You gotta baby in your tummy mummy?

I sat on the floor in my parents guest bedroom in front of one of those floor to ceiling mirrors staring blankly at my emotionless self for what seemed like hours. I'd gone upstairs to sort boxes. It's been just under a month since we arrived back in the UK and still half our things are stashed bagged under beds or boxed in the garage. I was trying to find a turtte and a suspected missing Kate Spade bag and instead beneath summer clothes and endless piles of socks, my fingers wrapped round the tiny heart shaped black board I'd bought the day before we left Hoboken.

When I was pregnant with William I overlooked so many things I wish I'd done. I forgot to keep a pregnancy journal and never bothered taking photos of myself pregnant, so now, almost 4 years later, my big bellied self is all but a distant memory. Thankfully being a boy he probably won't care about those sorts of things so I'm OK.
Then Emma came along. I knew she was a girl from week 17 so straight away I started creating, what I hope one day she'll appreciate, a journal of my pregnancy and everything about what I was feeling or experiencing being pregnant. Photos, keepsakes, timelines, memories you name it. But somehow again, self conscious me forgot belly shots.

When I found out I was pregnant with baby #3, whether it be boy or girl, I wanted to make myself take belly shots. If this was going to be my last child, and pregnancy, I wanted to remember in years to come what it felt like, and remember what I looked like every week I was expecting.

Sitting in front of the mirror with my little chalkboard it felt odd. Look at me. Nothing's changed. I still look exactly as I did two weeks ago. And yet everything's changed. I can't hold the board up and scribble 13 weeks because there's nothing in there. Last week I was pregnant. This week, well, I'm just slightly podgy really.

It's been one week and I still keep asking myself, has this seriously just happened? After everything else I've been through recently. Really?
Leaving my life in Hoboken was possibly the hardest experience I've had to live through yet. Life there suited me, and leaving my friends, the town, New York and the States will always be, one of the saddest memories I have. You only have to mention the word Hoboken to get a tear out of me. But behind all the sadness and the hurt was this tiny silver lining of hope that 2013 would be a better year. Because regardless of what happened next year, I was pregnant. I was going to have another beautiful baby....

In the run up to Christmas it was easy to pretend like we where on holiday. The kids where easily amused by the decorations, lights and the growing number of presents under the tree which William could easily identify as his. They love being with Granny and Gaga and despite the horrible english weather and lack of outdoor activity they seemed settled.
Christmas came and went and I looked forward to New Year. 2013 would be better. I was sure of it.

But mother nature had other plans and on Saturday 29th December, one day shy of 12 weeks, I lost baby #3.

What followed this discovery was a week of NHS (National Health Service - or free crap half decent medical service for all my American friends) torture. Three days in hospital, half a dozen doctors- two who didn't speak any English- and New Years Day in the Critical Treatments Unit ward- because after 16 hours in A&E (ER) they had no idea where to send me. New Years Eve 2013 has a lot to live up to.

Now, a week later, I'm almost back to normal, expected to get on with things as before, and yet, i feel completely different. I'm not pregnant. There are so many emotions I have, and don't have that I feel completely overwhelmed to write anything down. I am almost speechless.
When Emma keeps running up to me giving me cuddles and poking me in the tummy saying' You gotta baby in there mummy', I have to keep a brave face, force back the tears and try make something up that will change the subject. She'll soon forget. Me, I'm not so sure.

Do you remember the first time you found out you where expecting?

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant for the first time like it was yesterday. It was a Friday, June 20th 2008. I was living in Singapore at the time and my husband (Pete) and I had only been married two years, living abroad four months and trying for three weeks.

It was Friday lunch time in a swelteringly hot Singapore and as I sat down with my good friend from work to gossip about my recent trip away to Melbourne I commented how 'unwell' I felt.
'Are you pregnant?' Lin asked, eyebrows raised as I politely declined a glass of wine with my meal.
I was. But I didn't know that yet. The tiredness, headache and reluctancy to drink was more a result of a big night out we'd had the night before to celebrate a birthday which from memory involved far too much gin and tonic, shots, a thai strip club, the four floors (those in Singapore will know this) and very bad karaoke in a club not offering karaoke. Home at 4am, up at 6.30 for work. I was hungover.

But leaving lunch I suddenly started to wonder if it was a possibility. We'd only just discussed trying to start a family. I did the calculations in my head and I was possibly two or three days late. Could I be?
I marched straight to the local pharmacy, bought the kit, tucked it into my bag and sat out the rest of the day at work till I could sneak off home. Like a kid at school I clock watched till 5pm to the second, grabbed my things and legged it out the door. Once home I forgot all about the test and continued my daily routine of undressing, dressing and heading straight to our roof top pool for evening sundowners. On cue around 7pm Pete joined me and as we lay in the infinity lap pool staring out into the twinkling lights of Singapore city I remembered the test.
'But you told me it would take months?'
Ok, yes, so I may have said that because it can take months, sometimes years. I wasn't to know.

Ten minutes later downstairs in our apartment, I drank a gallon of water, weed on the stick, myself and the floor, and then waited. I didn't even need to wait 30 seconds. It was a big fat plus sign. Shit. I didn't believe it. So I tried the second stick. Same. Shit.
Without leaving our glass-bowl bathroom I picked up my phone and called Lin.
'So I've heard of false negatives but do you get false positives?' Lin had three children to date so I figured she'd know this kind of stuff.
'Nope. OMG, You are pregnant. Congratulations' and with that, she hung up.

I opened the bathroom door, walked the plank, I mean passage to where Pete was casually sitting enjoying a beer on the couch watching Friday night sport and passed him the test stick.
'Gross, didn't you wee on this?' He looked down at it and for ages didn't say a word. I tried to work out if he didn't understand or if it was just a delayed reaction to work out the best thing to say.

And then finally....'Are you sure?'
'I think so. But if you want I'll go see a doctor tomorrow' To be honest I wasn't convinced myself.

And that was it. We sat in stunned silence for the rest of the evening until my hungover tired sleepy head couldn't take anymore and like two real party-going twenty somethings we went to bed, at 8.30pm.

The next day and a quick trip to our local chinese doctor resulted in confirmation of what I expected we both already knew. I was pregnant. Almost 5 weeks. Due February 2009. Baby #1 was on it's way.