Lockdown conversations

It's amazing how attractive a trip to the local Sainsbury's becomes when the alternative is these four walls, isn't it?  Husband and I have taken to divvying up trips to the supermarket as a sort of illicit treat, now that it's our only way to get further from the house than the couple of circular miles we cover on dog walks

It's been great having him at home for such an extended period of time, but Husband's more frequent than usual assumption of Lockdown Hunter Gatherer duties has had some adverse effects.  Household snackage has gone up, mainly due to the fact that crisps and dips are being purchased at higher frequency than usual.  The cost of our shopping has increased (see previous note about snackage). The fridge was deemed to be ineffeciently filled, so has been 'reorganised'.  Not emptied out and cleaned, you understand; just reorganised (mainly to make space for beer). There have been suggestions made that the food in the storeage cupboard be itemised on a spreadsheet. (Be my guest, I said.  It hasn't happened yet, for some reason).  And a certain level of executive oversight on the contents of said fridge has been in evidence.

I give you Exhibit #1, m'lud.

Husband, standing in front the fridge, sighs disapprovingly: 'Look at this.'

Me:  'Look at what?'

Husband:  'These grapes.'

I look.  'They seem fine to me.'

He tuts.  'No.  Look there; the best before date.  It was yesterday.'

Me:  'Well, they are in the fridge, so... I'm not that bothered.'

Husband: 'But that's why they are at the front of the shelf - so we could see the date.  So that they could be taken out of the fridge and used.'

Me:  'Oh.  I see.  You're right, of course.  If only there was someone other than me who could open the fridge, check the date and take them out so they could be eaten.'


Reader, we left it there.

Crossing The Rubicon

The Potski Family have crossed The Rubicon.

The Rubicon, in case you didn't know (I didn't know in detail before I started writing this post - isn't the internet a wonderful thing?), was the river that Julius Caesar's army crossed in 49 BC in an act of insurrection against the Roman state preceding his eventual assumption of power, and was where he supposedly uttered the words 'The die has been cast' (according to Suetonius).

Well.  That seems a bit dramatic for what we've done; there has been no insurrection, we are not acting against the state, and the only place our words on this event are being recorded are here on this blog, but still; we have crossed a point of no return in our family's journey.

We are heading back to the UK.

And our particular Rubicon - at this point - was not re-registering Boys #1 and #2 for the next academic year of school here in Russia.

This may not seem like a big deal to some, but places at the school they currently attend are as common as hen's teeth; for every child who leaves there are many lined up to step into their spot, so it's not a reversible decision - but we've made it.

I have mixed feelings about moving back, to be honest.  On the one hand, we're not a family of serial expats; we haven't spent 20 years trekking around the globe, and it was always likely that after Moscow we would be returning to the UK, so it's not exactly a shock that we're doing this.  We still have a home there, along with family and friends who have been very understanding about our itinerant lifestyle during visits over the last 5 years or so, and it will be wonderful to be closer to all of them.  It will also be fantastic to be able to comprehend what's being said around me rather than just catching a few words in each exchange and hoping that where I miss the meaning, my general smiling and nodding will get me through without causing too much offence.

And then there's the fact that we are very much looking forward to the Boys being in UK schools (more on that another time), and giving them the chance to see the country as more than just a holiday destination.  They will be able to be more independent as they get older, in a way that expat kids in Moscow just can't be.  Children here often live in a bubble, and whilst they have incredible experiences and see wonderful places, the opportunities to do mundane things like get Saturday jobs or paper rounds just don't happen.  And I very much hope that they will no longer have to say goodbye to 30% of their classmates every July, when that year's rotation happens and families move to their next posting on the opposite side of the world.

That last one's a bugger.  I will not be sorry to leave it behind.

But on the other hand, we've had an amazing time here.  We've had some life-changing experiences and met some truly adventurous and outstanding people and made what I hope will be lifelong friends.  Living in Moscow has changed us for the better; it's made us less insular, less inclined to take one viewpoint and stick to it and more likely to look for the other side of the story.  It's made me both value the differences between people and also to understand that whatever you see on the surface, we mostly want the same thing; for our kids to be happy and healthy.

When we took the final decision to move here, back in 2009, Husband gave me the chance at the last minute to change my mind.  We could stay put, he said.  Or, we could move Russia.  Neither was the easy option; he was travelling to Moscow each and every week and was only back at weekends, so Monday - Friday the Boys and I were on our own.  On the opposite side of the scale there was, well, Russia, and all the challenges that living there would involve.

Having fretted about what we were planning, and having been second-guessing myself in the run-up to that conversation I was surprised by how easy it was to make the choice.  Because how many people in their early 40's get the chance to pro-actively make the decision to really shake things up?

So we chose to throw the deck in the air and make the move, and whilst it was tricky to begin with, 5 years down the line I think it was the best thing we could have done.

Here's to shaking things up.  May we all have the courage to cross our Rubicon from time to time, whatever it might be.

(But I would highly recommend that if you do, you ensure you will have access to wine.  And chocolate.)

It's not over 'till it's over... Saying goodbye to the baby years.

I am 46 years old.

I'm reminded of that every morning when I look in the mirror and seem to see a new grey hair blazing defiantly at me from what is still - for the moment - mostly brunette, or a new wrinkle when I hold my face 'just so' in the harsh morning light.  (Understandably I think, I tend to keep the holding of my face 'just so' to a minimum).

46 is not old.  There are still many things on my personal bucket list* that I fully intend to achieve, some of them, I hope, sooner rather than later.

I want to finish the novel I'm writing.  (I've reached 55K words, so it's no longer a distant dream but an achievable one, I think).  I want to find an agent to help me publish said novel (yes, still a distant dream, but I can always hope).  I want to climb dormant volcanoes in Indonesia, and walk in the Himalayas.  I want to speak Russian at least a little better than I do today.  I want to walk the Cotswold Way.  I want to learn to play the piano.

I want to go back to work in paid employment outside the home (not impossible, although it will be considerably easier to achieve back in the UK).  I want to eat sushi in Japan, and visit the red heart of Australia.  (I also want not to see any venomous creatures in that red heart...)  I want to go back with my husband to the hilltop in Kenya where we watched the sun set on Kilimanjaro during our honeymoon, and take our sons with us to experience the magnificence of Africa.  I want to finally get around to stretching the enormous dot painting we bought during our visit to Sydney 5 years ago over a frame and see it installed in splendour on the white walls of our flat in London.  And of course, I would quite like to lose half a stone.

All of these things are - one way or another - achievable.  Being 46 does not preclude any of them.

But what 46 does preclude, in my mind at any rate, is having another baby.

We have two amazing sons; our family is complete.  Adding to it is unthinkable; logistically, emotionally, physically.    I don't yearn with a passion for a third child; I do not want to go back into the mist and fog of those early baby days.

But every now and again, I have to admit that the thought that I will never cradle another baby - of my own - in my arms again makes me quite sad.

There's not much that I would say I am now too old to do, but having another baby fits right into that category.

It's not over 'till it's over.  But that?  It's over.


*With thanks to 'Talk about York' who got me thinking about bucket lists this morning

Filler...

Tonight, at bed time...

Boy #1, sitting on my lap: "Come over here, Boy #2.  I want a Family hug."

Boy #2 from his position lying studying the latest Lego catalogue on the floor of their bedroom (some things never change): "It can't be a Family hug."

Me: "No, you're right."

Boy #2:  "Because Papa is not here.  But I will come over for a Group hug..."

The Gallery: Family

This post is for Wk 102 of Tara's Gallery. Click here to see all the other entries...

When I was younger and child-free, I always imagined I would quite like to have 4 children.  Well - 2 or 4; for some reason an even number appealed.  Then, I met my Husband, got married, and had babies - but just the two.  We were agreed that 4 would be nice, but the timing just didn't work out and now I have to admit to being quite relieved about that.  So instead of a big rumbunctious family with 4 children, we just have our two boys.

The summer holidays have already started for us (you may have heard me mention that fact once or twice, on here and on Twitter), and we're staying put for the next couple of weeks or so before we head back to the UK for a while, unlike many of our friends here in Moscow who jumped ship the moment the school bell rang.  "How are you going to manage?" they ask, concerned for my mental health.  "What will you do with the kids, stuck in Moscow with no school?  Won't you go crazy?"

Well, no, I won't.  Because in addition to setting up 'playdates' with various friends, I know that there is one resource my boys will have.  Four years ago, when they were 4 and 2 respectively, we took them to Australia for 5 weeks.  Apart from a couple of days in the middle and at the end of our trip when we met up with friends, and the odd occasion when they teamed up with other children wherever we happened to be staying, it was just the four of us.  We had a limited number of toys for them to play with, and were in almost constant motion for much of the time.  You would think that we might have gone crazy then, but during the 5 weeks a wonderful thing happened; our Boys discovered each other.  They became more than brothers, they became friends.

Nowadays they're like any other brothers; they play, they fight, they playfight, they learn from each other, they comfort each other in the dark at night, they  tell rude jokes, they make each other laugh, sometimes they make each other cry, and then they make-up and start the whole thing over again.

 But no matter what, they are - and always will be, I hope - each other's family.