Of the end of the holidays
by, 10/Sep/2013 at 10:39 PM (36985 Views)
The holidays: the strangest time of the year in my opinion. Quite aside from the kids that are out of school and frantically being sent off to camps and grandparents', from parents trying to stagger their days off to make it work, from the overabundance of people lying on a sunny beach, lawn, or bench, quite content not to move a muscle... the summer holidays are special. Half the city is out of town, and as a result, the pace of one's life slows considerably... unless, of course, one doesn't live in a city, but in one of those seaside resorts where the population triples for those few short months. Aaaah... the holidays. Best and worst part about them, they come with an END. And the end, this year, has come.
The end of the holidays is a beautiful time: new beginnings, new phases in one's journey, be it entering a new year at school, or returning to work regenerated after a good and well-earned break, or... whatever. There is an introspective element to it. In this post, I plan to talk about what the last 3 months have been like for me, as well as what I foresee for the next few.
Now, I realise that this comes under the heading of "my personal life", and as such, that it is nobody's business, and nobody's interest either. My words in this post, unlike my previous post, may appear to be of no relevance to the plaza. Yes, yes, I know. Well, this being my blog, I am going to indulge my introspective bent here_ and you're welcome not to read if you don't want to.
For me, this summer has been one where many of life's convoluted cycles came to a complicated close. It was, if truth be told, an all-family cycle, one that required my full attention. In a sense it all began seven years ago; at that time, I, the relatively new Fimby, was posting to let the plaza know that, sadly, my father had just passed away, and that I was leaving my plaza boyfriend behind in our future city to go to his funeral. And now, seven years later... I went back to said city, to celebrate a certain symbolic memorial service, which I combined with the formal introduction of my and my now-husband's daughter to that side of the family. It probably doesn't sound like much, but I think everyone can agree that, in terms of emotional energy... it's pretty loaded and convoluted, and rife with the family gossip of eons.
To give you a very small idea, in just the last few weeks, I have had discussions about my father's death, the aftermath, his descendants, their futures, their professional hopes, the role I can play with them, the to-migrate-or-not-to-migrate dilema, my child, the name I chose to give her, why I chose to give her this unconventional and untraditional name, as well as all the logistical points of organising flights and venues to bring 50-100 people together in one place for the naming ceremony. One thing it was not is easy, and this is discounting the more common issues I have otherwise been facing, and which are challenging in their own right.
And this, of course, while trying really hard to make sure that none of the closely involved family members realised that, in addition to organising all this, I was absconding to the bathroom or leaving the kitchen at strategic times, wearing looser clothing, and generally, trying to ensure that nobody guessed I was pregnant before hubby and I felt up to making the announcement. I can proudly say that I am one of those few women who have thus far managed to be discreet about morning sickness, by the by. And, while we are at it, I can also say that Faldras and I are having our second child sometime in the spring of 2014.
Ahem. It all went well, it all was lovely... most people only worked out the rounded stomach and general queeziness AFTER being informed of its cause (yay me)... and thankfully, life can now go back to normal. I do so crave normalcy at this point.
But what is normalcy, right now, for me?
Welp, firstly, it's kindergarten for our daughter. We DID agonize over this (is it too early? is it right?), which we largely made so that she would actually learn the local language from a native speaker, and early. But, if truth be told, it has proven to be an excellent decision, because, at 10.5 months, our daughter simply enjoys the company of other children, and the professional attention of carers whose job it is to ensure that she gets to feed the ducks or play dress-up or throw gniocci at the other kids. And of course, when she comes home, both daddy and mama are rivalling for her attention.
Thus far, it has gone excellently; in turn this has enabled us, the still-newly-minted parents to get our minds back into "I am a separate person" gear (something young parents all over the world will recognise, I am sure).
Second, it's a slow return to my pre-partum condition. Not because I am pregnant, but because my attention isn't being split four ways every minute of the day, something which allows me to really clear items off of my list... achieving them more competently.
Third... it's a period full of hope. I am HOPING the next baby is healthy (and would be rather pleased if I managed to find a nice name for him/her too). I am HOPING my various other problems get sorted. I am HOPING that morning sickness will soon abate. I am HOPING that the next Hobbit movie will be nice (and that with my daughter in Kindergarten, hubby and I will be able to go SEE it). I am HOPING to be done with the drama that has been a constant in my life since January of 2012. I am HOPING... oh, a lot of things that I probably shouldn't discuss. But that again is the main characteristic of my post-holiday time: hope, hope, hope.
As a point of fact, my first "hopes" have already materialized: baby has learned to sleep in her own room (1) and the building manager sent a technician to repair the broken blinds, bringing our apartment to... "near functional" state. Not bad for 10 days, right?
Anyway, as far as the plaza goes, what you can HOPE for from me is increased presence and more decisive action on my particular part. And of course, more rapid responses to the PMs that have (I am ashamed to admit) piled up in my inbox.