… Has changed. Once again.
The old plan was emigration - and quickly. I was going to extend my degree with a PGCE and teach out in Western Australia. The kiddies would have little bronzed bodies, sun-bleached hair and Aussie accents. They’d head straight for the beach after school and Craig and I would have shorter working hours. Our contact with our families would be solely through Skype and no longer would I have to take a daily ear-bashing from the MiL. We’d grow fat from BBQs and make funny YouTube videos of scary spiders that would go viral making us millionaires.
*Sigh*
Sadly this is no longer on the table. I have a chronic condition that the NHS kindly pays for month by month and it will be better managed here in the UK.
Our dreams may have been somewhat scaled back, but they aren’t dead in the water. I’ll still be slinging a satchel over my shoulder, booking the kids in after-school clubs and retraining at the local college. Stay-at-home motherhood has been fun but given my aversion to crafts, cooking and all things housewifey - I’m not so hot at it. I miss the stress and ruthlessness of the office and need to get back to work.
Rather than fool myself that I have the patience and nurturing instincts required to be a teacher. I’m planning on going back into human resources. There’s something about in-house recruiting, packaging job benefits and attending disciplinary hearings that I really miss.
This house I sit in now was only ever meant to be a temporary home. It’s fine for us for the next 4 years whilst we build up to something bigger, but won’t suit the kids when they’re walking talking adolescents. It would be remiss to stay here and trip over one another when they start getting sassy and popping Do Not Disturb signs on their doors. I can’t see Craig and I ever having more children (these two regularly make me homicidal) but I still literally crave space for myself, even now.
So in four years’ time we’ll be trading up, moving out of Reading and out to the country (I might not be able to pop an ocean between myself and the MiL, but a few counties will do).
The problem? We’ve had our fingers burnt before when moving and know how tough it can be selling a home.
In fact, Craig and I have missed out on tons of houses due to frayed chains, reluctant sellers and changeable market conditions. We’ve now let our property out to tenants and have moved into rented property ourselves to get as close as possible to Dexter’s school. Although I’m thankful on each and every school run, I still often worry whether we’ve done the right thing. I’m happy with our tenants; they’re contactable at all times, pay on time and inspections suggest our home is being well-maintained - however I’ll still toss and turn at night. Until I’m in a C18th farmhouse with a hot tub, 5 bedrooms and free-range chickens, I’ll still panic about our home.
Never-the-less the plan is in place. Ahead is a fulfilling life of hard work, treats and harmonious times with the family - no matter how stroppy they might be. Heidi might not marry a guy called Hayden on Bondi Beach - but who cares? Plans change.
