Tea and Cake and The Art of Being Alone

I spent a lot of time on my own when I was young and single. Totally unaware of how lucky I was to have that kind of freedom, I spent many nights on the sofa with my cat, pining for a hand to hold. I lived alone for quite a few years and there were weekends when I could go a whole day without having a single conversation (with someone who actually talked back, as opposed to the cat...). I was far too young to be so alone, but rather than actually do anything about it I frittered away my early twenties, in a granny flat, cat on my lap, Bridget Jones style, lamenting over where I went wrong with Mr Oh-so-wrong. I was self-sufficient and independent and the whole lot of it was character building and I'm grateful for it, but deep down, until I met my husband, I was seriously quite lonely.

Since moving to HK I've had to get used to my own company again. Being married to a pilot you don't really have much of a choice! My husband can be away for long stretches of time and before J was born I had a lot more time on my hands that I had to try and fill. It sucked when we first moved here, especially in those very early days before we had TV or internet connected, but after a few nights of sleeping smack bang in the middle of the bed, I learned to adapt and capitalise on that time on my own. I still sit on the sofa, dog in my lap, but now I take the opportunity to watch trashy TV shows that my husband wouldn't approve of, or eat more than my share of chocolate ice cream when he's away. I've also been known to take advantage of his absence and rearrange the furniture on a solo night at home (sad, but true). It took me a while, but after all those years of buying meals for one, I learned to really like being alone. Then I buggered it up by having a baby and ensuring I would not be alone again (not often anyway) for a very long time.

Out of necessity, J and I were constant companions for most of the first year of his life, which was lovely at times, but quite a struggle at others. I longed for a bit of space and on the toughest days I took to spending a really long time in the shower, just to have a moment to myself. Of course, the whole parenting thing has been a lot easier for a while now, and our little man is at an age where he is genuinely great company. We can hang out, play, and have something resembling a conversation, and I miss him when I have to leave him behind for any length of time. I've chosen to forego time to myself, and my skills in the art of being alone have been all but forgotten due to lack of practice. On Sunday afternoon I found myself in Elements mall, sitting down with a cup of tea and cake all by myself, and for a moment I returned to that awkwardness I used to avoid so desperately. I used to hate eating alone, or even being anywhere in public alone, engaging in something that should be shared, like eating in a restaurant, movie watching or shopping for homewares. I sat there for a while, unsure of what to do with myself, wishing I had a book, or at least a magazine to hide behind so I'd look less alone, like I did once upon a time. But times have changed and as soon as I took that first bite of cake and realised no one was trying to climb into my lap, there was no Thomas the Tank Engine DVD blaring in the background, and best of all, no one to share the cake with, I was ecstatic! It was a short-lived, but blissful return to the days when I could be by myself and be ok with it.

Don't get me wrong, I never regret a minute spent with my son (and for the record, I do miss my husband when he's away!), but these days the only time I get to myself is very brief, and is usually spent doing something practical and boringly necessary, like having a shower or going to the doctor. On Sunday I had a moment, and I embraced it with open arms, relishing the opportunity to just sit and be still and eat cake, all by myself for a change.

Then about halfway through my afternoon tea I felt the pitter patter of baby feet from the inside, reminding me that I'm never truly alone anymore, and I won't be for quite some time. And that was even sweeter.

Top Tip...Oh, Never Mind

Yes, I realise I'm Top Tipping on a Wednesday again, but I think the fact that I'm managing to post anything at all this week is an achievement beyond expectations. And now for the bad news, I don't actually have any real tips, it's more of a general ramble that you may or may not get something out of... If you read my last post you'll remember that I have started a new full-time job this week. It's been tough, tougher than I imagined and I am so exhausted that I'm struggling to put together coherent sentences at the moment. I woke up on Monday morning so nervous that I thought I might throw up, and since then there have been several moments where I was tempted to simply walk away and never look back. I hate leaving my little boy and I hate being so tired when I get home that I don't have the energy to play with him. My son has a birthday party to go to tomorrow and I didn't have time to buy a present for the birthday girl. He has a party at playgroup on Friday and I'm supposed to provide party food, but all I can manage is a plate of orange slices because I don't have time to go shopping, let alone the energy to bake for 15 fussy 2 year olds. An awful lot of things have had to give this week.

So far I like my job, but I'm not loving it yet. I might in time and I really hope I do, but until then the cost-benefit ratio is swaying in the wrong direction. I read an article recently about working mums and how they juggle everything. I really admire mums who work full-time, cook dinner, bake for school parties, buy beautiful presents for their friend's kids or their kid's friends, and still manage to find time for themselves and moonlight as the Toothfairy, but I know these women are few and far between, and if you look beneath the surface you will see that there is always something missing - I don't believe you can do it all, no matter how much you may want to. The article I read interviewed a few mums who had tried to balance work and kids but ultimately they hadn't enjoyed working nearly as much as they enjoyed watching their kids grow up. Hong Kong, as far as I know, is quite unique. It's really all or nothing when it comes to work. You either work 15 hours a day, 6 days a week, and you live for your job, or you're in HK and your husband's on such a great expat package that you don't need to work. I don't know many people who would call themselves wealthy, but at the same time I don't know any women that would say they don't have a choice and have to work because they need the money. I'm lucky that I've had a choice until now, but I've had to compromise and now I'm working for a new kitchen - there's always a catch whichever side of the fence you're on.

In the article I read, the mums who did work and loved it were dedicated career women who could afford to hire helpers and tutors and a whole army of people to raise their kids for them. Part-time work is rarely an option here, unless you work for yourself, but cheap labour is everywhere. Personally, I understand how important a career is to some people, even though I've never been one of them. And I know my son is going to start school in a few years, and he'll need me less and less, and one day I know I'll need to find something to fill in my days, just for me, other than being a mummy. But I struggle to understand why people have kids if they don't plan on playing a major role in their lives. When your child speaks fluent Tagalog and is more attached to the helper than to you, there's something wrong with the picture. I know I'm making a fairly broad generalisation here - I know a lot of mums who work long hours and are really involved and committed to their kids (and they bake). They're not the ones I'm talking about here.

So, my whole point tonight, my tip for the week, is for mums who might be thinking about going back to work, or those like me who are working but aren't convinced that it's for them. If you're going to do it, find something you love. You need something that you enjoy so much that it outweighs the 'mummy guilt.' In my whole 3 days as a working mummy I've also realised that organisation on the level of a small military operation is required. One of my anonymous commenters on my last post echoed many of the concerns I've had about leaving my little guy with someone other than me every day. I'm still not keen on the idea, partly because I am a control freak, but mostly because I miss him like crazy, and genuinely want to be with him myself. I've realised that the only way this new arrangement will work is if I'm comfortable with what's happening at home. My husband has been around a lot this week, and will continue to be. I am home for breakfast and dinner, and I have my son's days planned to the minute so there is never a moment where someone else has to decide what he'll be doing. I choose his clothes in the morning (including a back-up outfit) and I send and receive several text messages a day with updates on how it's all going. It might sound like I'm a little nutty but maintaining that level of control is what is keeping me sane this week. So, my final tip for this week is to find someone you trust, if you have to leave your kids with someone else while you go to work. And don't worry about seeming over-the-top or crazy - do whatever you have to do to make it work, if you really want it to work. If you don't, that's ok too.

Top Tip Tuesday - Find Your Place

Hong Kong is the ultimate 'city that never sleeps.' It's chaotic and hectic, and if you thrive on crowds, noise, traffic, heat and a daily assault on all the senses, then you'll love it. But for those of us that find it just a little overwhelming, it can wear thin at times.

I wasn't here long before I realised that you need a release if you're going to live here happily for any length of time. For some, myself included before I had children, getting away from it all on a regular basis means getting on a plane as often as possible. For others, like the city slickers that flock to Lantau's beaches every weekend, it's possible to get away a little closer to home. Some hit the hills and hike the city out of their systems, while others prefer hiking around the malls in their spare time. From extreme sports to extreme partying; you can find it all right here in Hong Kong if you know what you want.

When I was pregnant and grounded I used to treat myself to regular massages and pedicures. It was a great time out, and more often than not, one that I like to share with a friend. My favourite places for such indulgence are Feel Good Factor, Iyara, Happy Foot, and Landmark Mandarin Oriental. Today I needed something more - I needed to sit in a quiet, dark room where no one knew me and for 113 minutes to forget where I was. So for the first time ever, I went to a movie by myself. It was exactly what I needed, and cheaper than a pedicure (therefore husband approved!). I'm also getting out of town and heading to Manila again for a few days, because I still think that getting on a plane is the only way to really "get away from it all." You need to find something that works for you, find a place or an activity, that helps you cope with the madness of this crazy city. What do you do to stay sane here?

Trading Places

My recent trip to the UK gave my husband and I a unique opportunity to walk in each other's shoes for a week. When he comes back from a trip we're always trying to out-do each other with tales of jet-lag and baby-related exhaustion. He complains about how hard it is to spend so much time on a plane, turn your body clock on its back and then fly back and have to readjust all over again. Meanwhile, after 4 days and nights on my own I'm usually tearing my hair out and ready for a break. Generally speaking we both find it difficult to sympathise with each other.

So, ready to prove him wrong about, well, everything, I arrived in London completely wiped out after 12 hours flying. I didn't even have to work on the flight, but I was still unmoved. When I switched my phone on there were two text messages from home; J had developed a fever after I left and had coughed all night. They were on their way to the doctor. On the one hand I desperately wanted to turn around and come home - it was hard enough to leave as it was - but on the other, I couldn't help but think that it was about time my husband found out that our days weren't all playgroups and cuddles.

J was sick, really sick, the sickest he's ever been according to D. I received updates several times a day and my heart broke a little bit each time my little guy refused to look at me on Skype. Apparently he asked for me constantly and was absolutely miserable. I hated being so far away knowing he was so unwell. I had to concede that my husband had been right about that one.

I did however, think that I had proved him wrong when I managed to adapt to the time zone change almost immediately, and I had as much fun as I imagined him having every time he was away. Once I got into the swing of things, had some time with friends, saw some sights, and shopped up a storm, I realised I'd gone too far to not enjoy myself. I consoled myself and eased my mummy guilt with the thought that J would be just as miserable if I were at home; his father wasn't doing anything that I wouldn't have done myself, and that made being away not nearly as hard as I had imagined. Despite the time zone change and the fact that my hosts had 15 month-old twins, I slept better than I had in 2 years. I didn't have to worry about anyone else, there were no decisions that had to be made about who was going to eat what and where we were going to go or what we were going to do. As I'm writing this my little man is upstairs asleep but the dog is beside me, desperately trying to get some love. At home there's always someone who wants a piece of me, and it was really nice to be away and keep all my pieces to myself. I do not wish to have a job that takes me away all the time, but I do envy my husband for those days he gets to himself. That hasn't changed.

I was, however, desperate to get home and if I could've made that plane fly any faster I would have. When I came back (after a god-awful flight which you can read about here), I was relieved but a little bit disappointed. J and D met me at the airport and my snotty, sweaty little guy didn't run and leap into my arms as I had imagined, he just kind of stared at me and seemed very uncertain about who I was and why I was there. Eventually he wrapped his arms around my neck and didn't let go, but he has made me work hard to earn back his trust ever since. My husband has always complained that it takes at least 2 days for J to love him again when he gets back from a trip, and I've never minded so much, because it usually means that Mummy is his favourite person for that time. But when it was the other way around it was like a knife in my heart. Yes, that definitely sucks.

Then there was the jet-lag. D had warned me that it would harder at this end, something about going east, but I thought that missing a night's sleep on the way back would exhaust me so much I'd sleep like normal. I was so wrong! The first two nights I did pass out at 8pm, but then I'd wake up around 11 and be fully awake for about 4 hours. Then I'd go back to sleep and find it impossible to wake up in the morning. Being the jet-lag veteran, and all-round good guy that he is, my husband had a lot of sympathy and patience for me - far more than I deserved. He took care of a still-sick J, let me sleep when I needed to and dished out melatonin tablets when I was desperate to get back on track. I only ever give him 24 hours grace when he comes back from somewhere and after that he has to get his act together and be a fully-functioning member of the family. I wasn't sure if he was so kind because he knew what I was going through, or whether he was hoping to earn brownie points and more sympathy for the next time he goes away, but either way, he put me to shame.

At the end of it all I had a new perspective on what it's like for my husband to have to travel internationally for a job. It's definitely hard work, and I would hate to not have a choice about it. But, as he succumbed to the same flu that plagued our son, D declared "you win!" He readily admitted that my job is indeed harder. So, while I enjoyed my time away immensely, I'll be leaving the jet setting to the professionals from now on. Because I realised just how much I love my job, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

The Comfort Zone

I am a bit addicted to this whole blogging thing, so I'm always thinking about topics and how I'm going to write about certain things. I really wanted to write a lot about my recent trip to the UK, and the whole time I was there I was on the lookout for interesting things. I had a great time, and I could write pages and pages on what I did, what I saw, my impressions of the place, and my friends, but I'm not sure how many of you would be interested in reading about it. So, what did I take away from the whole experience that I'd be willing to share...? Apart from the vast differences between this trip and the last time I was in London, eleven years ago, there was only one thing that really stood out. There's this little song and dance I do before I go away, especially far away. I do love travel, but I am rather set in my ways, so there are always moments before I go anywhere when I think I would much prefer to stay home. Especially when I'm particularly happy with my home life. Sometimes it's the fear of the unknown, or the sense of upheaval that comes with packing your bags and leaving the familiar behind. Other times it's just sheer laziness, but either way it's a battle to get myself out the door.

Being the first time that I was leaving my son behind this recent trip was no exception, and dragging myself out of that comfort zone caused me a whole lot of angst. I was due to fly out at midnight on Wednesday night but the flights were looking pretty full. Rather than risk not getting on I made a last minute decision to leave on the afternoon flight. I hated the thought of my little guy waking up from his afternoon nap to discover that while he was sleeping his mummy had left the country. I almost pulled out a couple of times but once I was on that plane there was no turning back. The crazy part was that I had wanted this trip. I needed a break, and I've been moaning for months about how hard it is being stuck here while my husband gallivants around Europe and North America (yes, I know it's his job, but it seems so unfair that he has so much fun doing it!). Eleven years ago I travelled because I desperately wanted to be somewhere, anywhere other than where I was. Today I'm living somewhere that feels pretty damn far away from where I started out, but I still feel that same urge to get away. Maybe not as strongly or as often, but the fact that travel is more available to us now, makes me feel like I'm missing out if I'm not taking advantage of it. And yet, at the last minute I really wanted to stay put.

While I was away I read an article where a mum talked about the way motherhood is a series of compromises. She said that there is always a part of you that misses the life you had before children - the freedom and fun and sleep. Then there's the part of you that wants to spend every waking moment with your child, the part that feels like something is missing when your little one isn't with you. You're always torn between the two. I could really relate to that internal battle. In indulging the part of me that needed time out, I was missing out on a week with the little person who is my reason for getting up in the morning. A big part of me was worried that I would miss J so much that I wouldn't enjoy myself, and I wondered whether or not he would forgive me for abandoning him temporarily. But there was also a tiny part of me that worried that I would enjoy being away too much, that I might just decide to hop on a train to Paris and leave the daily grind behind. It was becoming clear to me that maybe it wasn't just the comfort zone holding me back, but the way I was over-thinking everything.

Despite my reluctance to leave I had an amazing trip, and I left to come home feeling like I could've stayed longer.  I didn't have a terrible time but I didn't have such a great time that I couldn't bear to come home again. I think that having a child has made that comfort zone just a little bit more comfortable, but I needed to get out of it to realise just how much I like being exactly where I am. I got a lot out of this trip, but I'll have to fill you in later on how things went down at home while I was away....

London Calling

I’ve written several posts lately about getting away on my own, sans bebe, and I’ve finally committed to doing it. I’m off to London this afternoon and I’ll spend the weekend near Edinburgh with good friends, G and S and their twin girls. This is my second trip to the UK, but given that the first was 11 years ago, I’m expecting things to be a little different.

When I was young, growing up in a small town, all I wanted to do was see the world. I knew it was out there waiting for me, and I couldn’t wait to be a part of it. Three years at uni, learning more about the world, and life, than I had in my previous 18 years of existence, only increased that desire to be somewhere other than where I was. I didn’t have the financial backing to follow through with any of my plans so I worked, and I waited, and at the tender age of 21 I had enough in my pocket to buy a return ticket to London and a 2-week tour of Europe. I did plan to live and work in Ireland for a few months, but the announcement that my 18 year old brother and his younger girlfriend were “in the family way” made me think that perhaps it wasn’t the right time to be worrying my parents with an extended stay abroad…

I left home one very cold September morning, feeling slightly ill at the prospect of finally achieving one of my greatest ambitions. It seemed I had spent so much time convincing everyone around me that I was going to do it, that I forgot to think it through. My mum said I was positively green as we waited at the airport. I said my goodbyes and arrived 12 hours later in Tokyo, where I spent a night before flying for another 12 hours to London. Thanks to a very helpful travel agent my airport transfer and hotel had already been booked and there really wasn’t too much I had to think about. I spent two days seeing the sights of London on my own, and the most adventurous thing I did was buy a ticket on one of those red double-decker buses that travels all day in a loop, and you can hop on and off when and where you like. I was blown away by London, but somewhat disappointed too. I found the people quite rude, and when I was charged 5 pounds (back then the equivalent of $15 AUD) for soggy cereal and burnt toast I wondered why on Earth I had wanted to come all that way.

My first Grand Tour took place in the year 2000. It was a new millennium and it seemed like everyone, everywhere was ready to party. I was 21 and everyone kept telling me the world was my oyster. I had the time of my life on that trip, despite being completely clueless, and I can’t believe that I made it as far as I did back then. I always give myself a pretty hard time about the sheltered life I lead, but looking back I have really come a long way. I was so naïve then that I didn’t know that the airlines offered transfer services from the international to the domestic terminal, instead I rushed out looking for a taxi to get me there for an exorbitant fee. I remember getting off the flight at Heathrow and seeing people heading for the Tube station with their backpacks. They seemed so intrepid and I was envious of their ability to so seamlessly blend in with the locals. I’d never been on a commuter train before, so even something as simple as that was beyond me. I’ve since mastered the Hong Kong MTR and the New York Subway, and it might seem crazy, but I’m incredibly proud of myself for it.

I might know more of the world these days, I’ve certainly seen more of it now, but if anything that makes me more apprehensive about getting on that plane. There’s an ignorant sort of bliss that comes with the naivete I possessed 11 years ago, and it cushioned me while I travelled alone, filled with wide-eyed wonderment. It was a world before 9/11 and the attacks that came after, a world I had very little understanding of but one that seemed benevolent enough. Now the world is a little darker, people are less trusting, and I have a whole lot more to lose. It took a lot of courage (and a pinch of stupidity) to do what I did all those years ago, but I’m feeling pretty damn brave for leaving my boys behind and heading abroad on my own again, even if it is just to the Scottish countryside for the weekend. I can’t begin to tell you how high my levels of separation anxiety are right now!

The first time I travelled there was no such thing as Facebook, no iPhones, no constant link to the rest of the world (which may not have been such a bad thing). I was so thrilled to be on a plane that I didn’t care that I was squeezed between two rather smelly, hungover strangers. I doubt I even realized there were other ways to travel. But today I’m travelling in business class no less. I have the Tube app on my iPhone, pounds in my pocket, and I’ve booked a nice hotel in South Kensington (no more backpacker's hostels or bed bugs for me). And there’s not a travel agent or safety net in sight. I have lunch and dinner plans with friends on Thursday and just the fact that I now know people who live in London feels like an achievement. Turns out the world was my oyster after all. 

Love and Marriage (Lost Post #3)

This post comes from way back in September. Before you read it I have to say I adore my husband. I'm very lucky that he is such an involved dad. We were never at each other's throats, even though this post might give you that impression. This post was written at a time when our nerves were frayed and we were seriously sleep deprived, and had maybe temporarily forgotten how much we adored each other. The post is incomplete, but our story won't be...


This week I have had lots of time to indulge in my favourite pastimes, one of which is blogging. That's because my husband is in London and, at night after J goes to bed, I have the evening stretched out before me with nothing to do but whatever takes my fancy. I always achieve an awful lot (and eat more than my fair share of chocolate) when D is away, and I have to be honest, after two weeks of having him at home, I was quite looking forward to this trip. I know I sound like a terrible wife, and if you have a husband who works a regular 9-5 job and is never at home, you're probably hating me right now. But trust me when I say, you really can have too much of a good thing (the good thing in this case being my husband).

It wasn't always this way. Back when I was young and single, all I wanted was a boyfriend; someone to watch movies, hold hands, and dream of a future with. When I finally got a boyfriend and I decided he was "the One" I spent an awful lot of time wishing we lived together. When that happened it was a natural progression to wishing we were married. Naturally, a year or two after we were married, I started talking about babies. I was always looking for the next step, wanting a little more. I believe that you have to have something to look forward to, something to work towards. Since we became parents the one thing I've been wishing for is for my husband to be at home more. Last year when I was pregnant, D took on a second job. Mostly for the extra money but also because he is the kind of guy who needs to be busy, and he felt that he had too much time on his hands. His second job ended up being more work than his actual career. He worked 9-6 on his days off and still took calls once he was home. He worked every day of the week and, with a newborn baby at home, I found it really hard. The final straw came when he went to work for a day and was on call at his "proper" job. He called me at 4pm that afternoon to tell me he'd been called to fly to Vancouver that night and would be home as soon as possible. I was furious! He'd been gone all day and would only be home to have dinner and pack his bags before going away for 4 days. We both agreed that it simply wasn't worth it. We were both exhausted and cranky, and D was missing out on too much of J's growing up.

It took a couple of weeks but eventually he worked his way out of the 2nd job and now it's more of a hobby. I got my wish, and I have my husband at home, sharing the parenting, when he's not away on a trip. He's home a lot... To those of you out there going it alone most of the time, this probably sounds like a luxury, and it is at times. But it definitely creates a new set of challenges. A good friend warned me when I was pregnant that a little one can really test your relationship. She said that we should be prepared to fight more often. I like a good heated debate but my husband is such a pacifist he could work for the UN, so I had my doubts about that. After a couple of sleep deprived weeks we realised it was true, and it continues today. We do fight more and most of the major disagreements we've had over the last year have occurred at times when we've spent a lot of time together. I'm not sure if that's because we've had time to realise that we disagree or if we're both worked up because we're getting on each other's nerves. I think it has more to do with our levels of fatigue than fundamental differences of opinion, but we've both realised the importance of being on the same page when a little person is involved.

We generally agree on how we want to raise our son, which is a great start (apart from the whole christening debate, which remains unresolved!). But what we've realised through our attempts at co-parenting is that we could work on our communication skills. Shouting commands at each other over the baby's screams or grunting apathetically with exhaustion aren't cutting it apparently. One particular incident that highlighted this concerned J's routine. From the day we brought J home from the hospital I was completely focused on how our days were going to run. I let him call the shots for a couple of months and then decided that we needed a routine of sorts. Feeding, playing and sleeping were all mapped out in a very flexible, but consistent plan, based on the little man's changing needs. The trouble was, it was all in my head. I explained to our helper what I was doing each day and she knew what was going on because she paid attention, but my husband would come home and have no idea that we'd just spent 4 days teaching J to self-soothe. It wasn't until I overheard my husband comment one day on how lucky we were that J napped and ate at roughly the same time every day, and that it was purely by accident, that I realised I had never explained to him that I had been working my butt off while he was away. Initially he had no idea that J and I were like a well-oiled machine, following a carefully orchestrated routine, and I was terribly upset that he couldn't see how hard I had worked to achieve that. I now have J's routine written down on the fridge and I make sure everyone in the house knows when I make changes, but it's taken a huge effort on my part to remember to talk about it (I'm a bit more relaxed 6 months on!).

We had an argument recently over something fairly inconsequential, but because we hadn't communicated how we each felt about it, it escalated to the point where I ended up sending D an email to let him know exactly what was on my mind. I was so sleep deprived and emotional that any time I tried to talk to him I just got upset. It's not an approach I recommend, in fact, it seems crazy now, but our whole world has been turned upside down this year, so it makes sense that the way we would normally do other things has changed too.

P.S. Marriage, like parenting, is a work in progress. And something we've learned since I wrote this post is that dates and mini-breaks are essential!

Modern Dilemmas

Lately I've been faced with a bit of a dilemma; whether or not to go away with my husband, sans bebe. I think it says a lot about how lucky we are, if this is the biggest thing we have to worry about, so I'm grateful for that. I don't expect any sympathy for the fact that I have to decide whether or not I can face a trip to Milan (oh, poor me!) but I'm sure that most parents, at some point, need to get away and can at least relate to that aspect of my problem. I know if we still lived in Sydney and had a somewhat normal life we'd probably have left J with his grandparents months ago and headed off to the coast for a weekend. The fact that we're talking about an international business class trip might make me sound spoiled, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Before we were Mama and Dada we did a bit of travelling together and I went on two of D's work trips. Back then he was mostly flying to North America and the Middle East so I tagged along to New York and L.A. and we had an awesome, but brief, time. At the time I was working, and spending 32 hours on a plane for a 48 hour layover required more stamina than I could muster most weeks, so I didn't go away as often as I could have. As soon as J was born and I was grounded, D started flying to places like London, Milan and San Francisco, and he's had some incredible travel experiences without me, much to my dismay. As he's due to do his upgrade in a couple of months these trips will soon become a thing of the past, and I'll be a little less envious when he's flying to Taipei and back in a day. For a while now we've been talking about taking advantage of the great rosters and the option of me going to work with him once again, since Hong Kong's proximity to the rest of the world is one of the main reasons why we moved here in the first place. This month D was given a Milan trip with 2 whole days there. We talked about a side trip to Venice, and when we realised that it was a few days before our anniversary, it seemed like it was meant to be. Then we calculated that we'd be away from J for 4 nights, 3 days, and it seemed like an awfully long time to be on the other side of the world. We talked about taking him with us but the thought of a 12 hour flight with a 15 month old and an 8 hour time difference ruled that out pretty quickly. Putting him through that just because we couldn't be away from him seemed more selfish than going without him. We tried to justify it to ourselves in so many ways. It'd be good for us, he'd be fine, we'd make sure everyone in the neighbourhood knew we were away and ask them to check in. We talked to other parents about it and it seemed that everyone felt pretty strongly one way or the other, there were very few sitting on the fence with us. There were those who were quite happy to take off for a few days and leave the kids with the helper, and they wondered why we were even talking about it, "book now," they cried. Others hated leaving their kids for even a day, and wouldn't dream of going so far away without them. Their faces would twist into an agonised grimace as they said, "oh, no! I couldn't do that!" and looked at me like I was clearly a terrible mother for even thinking about it. People with more than one child were more likely to support the idea, and the older the kids are the easier it is to leave them apparently.

I was torn, and then D announced that if we were going to go we'd need to organise our wills and make sure we had decided who would take custody of J if anything happened to us. Suddenly our little trip to Venice took on a whole new light - I pictured the infinite number of ways we could come to grief (those gondolas are floating death traps!), and it suddenly seemed less appealing. So in the end D left last night, without me. He still plans to go to Venice and even though he was trying to appear disappointed, he was buzzing with barely contained excitement as he packed his bag. As it turns out, it wasn't meant to be; I have tonsillitis and wouldn't have been able to go anyway. Surely it's better that I chose not to go rather than being forced not to at the last minute? I would've been bitterly disappointed if I'd gone through all that angst, decided to go and then had to can the whole thing.

I know a certain friend was hoping I'd jump in and take the trip to Milan so that he could use it to encourage his wife to do the same. What I think would be a better solution would be for us girls to go away together and leave the dads in charge (sorry, S!). I wouldn't need any convincing for that kind of holiday; I'd be perfectly happy on the other side of the world if I knew J was with one of his parents. You see, this whole debate has got me thinking about the kinds of travel I really want to do, because these days it's a pretty big investment. I've realised I'm less keen for global adventure, and more interested in some quiet time somewhere else. Top of my list is obviously a family holiday, just the three of us. A parents-only break would be a nice treat if we could tear ourselves away. But deep down I'd really love to go away by myself. Just for a weekend, a few days, to get some sun, sleep, eat a meal without being interrupted and lie idle by a pool. Sounds fab doesn't it? And a lot easier to commit to.

For now we've decided on a trial baby-free getaway, somewhere close by instead, and next week for our anniversary we're off to Macau. We'll be gone for a night and the ferry trip is only an hour. So we could be back in a heartbeat if we needed to be. I have to admit, I'm ridiculously excited about it already, and if it all goes well and we cope without our little man for 24 hours, we'll see what the roster holds in May.

In other news, I've put my time lying sick in bed to good use, and I've given the blog a facelift. I hope you like it.

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

* I wrote this post earlier today but have been inspired to edit it after reading Maxabella's "Things I'm Grateful For". I was going to write a whole new post but decided that this post gives a good summary of things I'm grateful for. Like my gorgeous husband and my amazing son, who put up with me and make my job so easy. I'm grateful for fab friends, near and far, who are there for the good, the bad and the ugly. And finally I'm grateful for the opportunities that have been presented to us in this crazy, exhilarating city I now, sometimes reluctantly, call home. On a smaller scale I'm very grateful for aspirin, peppermint tea and the burgers at The Gallery in Tong Fuk...

I spent yesterday at home with a serious hangover. My first proper hangover in about two years, and it hurt, bad. It was one of those head-splitting, room-spinning, stomach-churning, lie on the bathroom floor in the fetal position hangovers. The kind that requires asprin, soft drink and greasy food to recover from. The kind of hangover that I'm only now, 36 hours later, seeing my way out of. I'm actually blogging in bed, in my pyjamas, it's that bad! But it was so completely, without a doubt, entirely worth it!

Last week wasn't a great week. We had some not-so-good news from home which was like a kick in the teeth. J is still teething and grumpy so we haven't had a lot of sleep. I've also just generally been feeling pretty sorry for myself lately; a combination of not getting my own way on a few occasions, feeling fed up with our pathetic excuse for a kitchen, helper jealousy, and post-holiday/winter in Hong Kong blues (with a pinch of PMS thrown in for good measure...). But I've also had a few reality checks this week too. Reading about the devastation and flooding in Brisbane and yet another tragic shooting in the States made my problems seem pretty insignificant. So instead of feeling sorry for myself I moved onto feeling like a whiny, selfish, spoiled expat - which doesn't help anyone either. Realising that my moodiness was contagious and was bringing everyone else down, I decided that it's all relative and it's ok to complain about little things occasionally if you keep them in perspective. I also decided that I needed to do something radical and fun, and nothing could be more radical for a bookish, stay-at-home mum like me than a night out in downtown Hong Kong.

Thursday night was a birthday celebration for a friend. I was a reluctant partygoer initially, fearing an almighty hangover, and vowed to "take it easy" but my friend K and I missed the ferry from Mui Wo and HAD to have a mai tai at the China Bear while we waited for the next one. At that point I gave myself permission to unwind and see where the night went. Well, the night went a lot of places and ended at 3am, a time when I'm normally being roused from a deep sleep to retrieve a dummy that's fallen on the floor.  We kicked off the official celebrations with dinner in Soho, followed by strawberry daiquiris at Soiree, several bottles of Prosecco at Lei Dou, vodka jelly shots somewhere random in Lan Kwai Fong and late night dancing at Insomnia. Before you start to think I sound like I do this all the time, I have to admit that this was only the second time I've had a big night out since we moved here, I am really quite sedate most of the time. I couldn't, and wouldn't, have done it if I'd had to get up and function on Friday, but my husband's at home and I had a commitment from him that I would be absolved from all parental responsibilities for 24 hours so I could get out and have some fun. And I did just that - I partied like someone who only goes one night out a year! It was so great to get dressed up and to carry a clutch instead of a nappy bag. I loved having a really good catch up with girlfriends and oh, how I've missed grown-up conversations! And did we dance? Yes, we danced like our lives depended on it. In our group of 8, all but one of us was married and half of us have kids (we have 7 kids between us to be exact), and 3 of us have birthdays this month, so it was a well deserved night out with much to celebrate. I haven't had that much fun in a really long time. Sad, but true.

I do realise how lucky I am that I have a husband willing to take over for that period of time, that I didn't have to work on a Friday and that I have such a great, fun group of friends, but I want to say to all the mums out there, if you need a break - take it! I feel fantastic for having had some fun (or at least I will once my body stops protesting!). I love everyone after a drink or two, and I'm still basking in that benevolent glow, despite the hangover. Around 5am yesterday I woke up, spooning the dog, and feeling like a terrible mother because I forgot to buy milk before I went out and I kept waking up every hour or so until 9, at which point I realised there was no anxious knock on the bedroom door, with my husband shouting "babe, there's no milk!!", no distressed cries of "mumumumum!" from downstairs; all was well and under control. So I took an aspirin and went back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that I'm not a terrible mother, just a lightweight when it comes to drinking.

While we're on the subject of celebrations, it's my birthday tomorrow. When I was a kid my birthday always fell around the end of the summer school holidays, sometimes it was even the first day back at school, and I hated it. I've struggled with the fact that it's now a winter birthday, and most years I have to compete with Chinese New Year. This year it falls on a Sunday; apparently the most inconvenient day to have a birthday in Hong Kong. We learned that it's absolutely impossible to get a reservation for brunch anywhere special on the last Sunday before the new year, as every Tom, Dick and Harry are out celebrating the upcoming year of the rabbit. Our friends can't come out anywhere either, as most helpers have their day off on a Sunday. And to top it off my husband has to work tomorrow night, so we can't even have a drink together (although that's the last thing I want right now!). But believe or not, I'm not complaining one bit! We're having breakfast in Mui Wo and my husband's going to make his amazing flourless chocolate cake for me and we'll have roast lamb for tea, just the three of us; and it will all be lovely. At my age, tea and cake are the perfect way to acknowledge a birthday, and I've done more than enough celebrating this week!

Letting Go

I'm sitting in my living room at 10am, still in my pyjamas, surrounded by toys and debris, there are dirty dishes in the sink and the laundry basket is overflowing. But I've decided not to care. My Christmas present to myself this year is permission to let go. Granted, it's only been a week that I've had to do all the work myself, but while my helper's away I've been killing myself trying to maintain the standards of cleanliness that we're used to, forgetting that our helper's sole purpose is to keep the place clean. I have several purposes at the moment and I've had to admit that I can't do it all. So I'm going to stop trying to. 

I have friends in places other than Hong Kong, who don't have helpers, some don't even have family close by, and yet they manage to look after their kids and keep the house running while their husbands are away, sometimes for 10 days at a time. I've marvelled at how they manage to keep it all together and maintain their sanity. Most of the mums I've spoken to about this say that the only way to cope is to give up something. One mum, a friend of a friend, always looks immaculate, but her boys are little terrors. She's decided that discipline and behaviour aren't a big deal, preferring instead to spend a little time on herself. Others aren't too fussed about the housework, putting that way down on the priority list. Socialising and quality time with your husband are also put on the shelf at times. I've realised this week, that I could do without a helper but something would definitely have to give. I worked my butt off on Tuesday to make sure the house was tidy when my husband came home that night. I know for sure that if I didn't have a helper, I would not make this effort every week. I'd probably leave the house in a state deliberately so D could see what it's like most of the time he's away. The dog would end up completely neglected, and there's no way I'd ever iron anything. I probably wouldn't be able to work either, but that would be a sacrifice I'd be willing to make. 

The best part about the last week has been the amount of time I've spent with my amazing little guy. We have had so much fun together and I've absolutely loved every minute of it. Despite being ridiculously busy, I've had more time to sit on the carpet and play. And rather than leaving J at home while I go to the shops, I've been taking him everywhere with me. He's fabulous company and I'm so grateful that we've been able to spend this time together. I've learned that, until now, I've been occupying myself with a lot of stuff that's just not important, and that's what I'm letting go of. I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself to try and keep everything running smoothly and make everyone around me happy. I want to be liked and respected and keep up with the mums around me who always look good and have beautiful homes and great hair, and still have time to go to work and look after the kids and bake cookies on the weekend. Now I know that they've probably made a lot of sacrifices to maintain that lifestyle, I don't feel so bad.

If I've learned anything this year, it's to value what's important and make the most of it, you just have to work out what that is. I can keep trying to 'do it all' but if I really think about it I think I'll find that I really don't care if the floor's clean or the washing's folded. So I'm going to spend the next couple of days tidying, baking, shopping, wrapping presents, and preparing an amazing Christmas dinner. Not because I have to, but because I want to. If I can spend the day with my gorgeous son and collapse on the sofa at the end of it with my husband, mince pies, mulled wine and tacky Christmas movies, I'll be very happy indeed. 

A Topic Close to My Heart

Today I’m going to talk about boobs, among other things. My male readers will be disappointed to know that this post won’t be as titillating as you’re hoping, but reading it might encourage you to help out someone you know. 

I know many mothers, and women in general, who don’t take the time to look after themselves. They get so busy juggling work and family, and running around trying to do everything for everyone, that they forget about their own needs. Sometimes it’s as simple as not making time to have coffee with a friend or getting a hair cut, but other times we ignore minor health issues because we don’t “have time” to go to the doctor. Admittedly I can’t put myself in that basket yet. I’ve been a complete hypochondriac since my son was born, mostly out of fear that something terrible will happen to me and I won’t get to see him grow up. I think it stems from a need to worry about something, and worrying about myself is far less terrifying than worrying about my boys.

One of the things that drove me to the doctor’s office in a state of panic this year was a lump in one of my breasts. I was still breastfeeding at the time, so I knew it was probably related to that, but in the back of my mind was a niggling doubt that it might be more serious. After driving myself crazy looking up my symptoms on that most professional of medical databases - Google (I know, REALLY bad idea!), I saw my GP and she referred me to a specialist. I had an ultrasound and they actually found two more lumps, which did nothing to allay my fears, and the doctor drained them on the spot. He assured me it was “probably nothing” and sent me home to wait for the results. It was the longest three days of my life! In the end, the doctor was right, they turned out to be benign cysts, but I need to have another ultrasound in 12 months time, just in case.

Breasts seem to be one of those body parts that most women are never happy with. They’re either too small, or too big, lopsided or droopy. We envy others who have what we want, and half the time they’d prefer what we have! I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with my boobs. I’ve been flat-chested all my life; the boys at school teased me and said I resembled an ironing board! It didn’t help that my Mum laughed out loud when I told her I thought I needed to start wearing a bra… As an adult I’ve learned a few tricks to avoid looking like a 12 year old and I’ve accepted that bikinis are not for me. When I was pregnant “the girls” looked impressive but failed to live up to expectations when it came to breastfeeding. Then the thought that something might be wrong with them made me realise just how attached to them I am (figuratively speaking).

This experience frightened the living daylights out of me and has made me much more vigilant in checking for lumps on a regular basis. I don’t have a family history of breast cancer and I’m in a low-risk category, but I don’t want to take any chances. And neither should you. There are a number of great events in support of the Breast Cancer Foundation this month (including the sale at Bralicious, which I went to a few days ago) and I’m urging all of you, whether you’re a teeny-tiny A cup or a magnificently buxom DD, to check for lumps, have mammograms, do whatever you need to do to keep yourselves fit and healthy. And husbands, if you’re still reading, don’t let your wives use the excuse of not having enough time. Take care ladies and have a great weekend x

Mummy and Me

I missed a post last week as I had to work, so I'm getting in early and doing a Sunday night edition :-)

I've just had the pleasure of spending most of the weekend with my little guy all to myself. He is just such good company at the moment that I want to spend every minute with him. He started crawling this week and I almost missed it. I was supposed to be working on Wednesday but, thanks to a typhoon, I got to stay home. J has been sitting up and leaning forward, ready to crawl for a couple of weeks now. We had been watching and waiting, praising him every time he got close to getting up on all fours, and I was thrilled when he finally did it. If I had missed that milestone it would have been my last day at work. I did still go to work on Friday though and was in complete turmoil about it all day Thursday. Even though I really enjoyed the one day of work I've done recently, it still felt wrong to be leaving my little man at home for a whole day.

I had to drag myself out of bed on Friday morning and was so miserable I contemplated calling in sick at the last minute. I was teaching PE for the day and I knew it would be fairly easy; the kids love sport and are generally very well behaved if you promise them a game of dodgeball at the end of the lesson. I also got to wear comfy clothes, so it was an ideal day really. Despite that I was almost in tears as I waved goodbye to J and vowed I wasn't going to work again. But once I got on the ferry I was fine. I had my ipod, a cup of tea and a book, and the best part about it was that for a brief time, no one demanded anything of me. The rest of the day followed in a similar fashion. I had an hour for lunch, and I got to read the paper! I was sitting in the gym waiting for the next group of kids to arrive, relishing the quiet and the fact that I was completely alone, when I was overcome with guilt. I was enjoying myself just a little bit too much. I found myself volunteering to do more work and I momentarily considered maybe applying for part-time jobs!

I felt disloyal, like I really should've been missing J a lot more than I was, and I wondered if all working mothers feel that way at some point. If you have to work because your family needs the money, do you spend the whole day wishing you were at home? If you have the luxury of being able to stay at home, is it ok to want to work? Am I going to have this great internal battle, and feel torn between my need for time out and wanting to be with my son, every time I go to work? Or will I eventually accept that I'm allowed to do something for myself occasionally? When I finished up on Friday, rather than being exhausted at the end of the day like I usually am, I felt elated and recharged. Granted, I didn't work very hard, but the whole day had been good for me. J got to spend a whole day with his dad, and his mum came home happy, it's a win/win situation as far as I can see. So, I've decided that I'm going to keep working while it suits me, or at least until I miss a milestone or two.

I'd love to hear from other mums trying to balance work and family. Have a good week x

Not So Yummy Mummy

One of the things I love about Hong Kong is the emphasis on self-indulgence. Shopping is the national pastime and there is no shortage of beauty salons and cheap massage parlours (sorry, “parlour” is such a seedy word but I don’t know what else to call them!). Many places offer a number of services and you can get an eyebrow wax, foot massage, and manicure while someone’s cutting your hair. The best part is that it’s all available for much less than you would pay at home. While I was pregnant I retained more water than the South China Sea, so foot massages and pedicures were a weekly occurrence. Now that my bump buddy, and frequent foot massage companion, G is back in the UK, and I have an 8 month old to chase at home, I have less time and no real excuse to pamper myself. And it’s starting to show… There are days when I look in the mirror and feel like I may as well be wearing a paper bag, I feel that frumpy. At the moment my hair is about an inch too long and I’ve resorted to pony tails and bobby pins to tame it. My eyebrows resemble the very hungry caterpillar after his weeklong binge, and I don’t even want to talk about what’s going on south of my knees. The most attention my feet have had lately was when my GP froze off some disgusting plantar warts. Hmm, attractive.

After J was born I was shocked by the way I looked and the toll pregnancy had taken on my body. I'd gone from feeling gorgeous and glowing to fat and flabby in a day. It took me seven months and a nasty stomach flu to shake off the last 8 kilos of baby weight I was carrying around. Getting back to my pre-baby weight definitely helped me feel better about myself, but I still can’t wear my wedding ring and I think it’s going to take a mortgage-sized diamond to make my knuckles look remotely feminine again. Having said all that, I do think it’s a small price to pay; I may have to give up my dreams of becoming a bikini model but I wear my stretchmarks with pride, like beautiful battle scars. I’m proud of my body and what it achieved; I made a human being and brought him into the world! I have a beautiful son and I don’t have time to get a haircut because I’m making him a priority: not because I’m a martyr but because he makes me happy.

For me, getting a pedicure was always about more about indulgence than aesthetics. Spending time sitting quietly, reading a trashy magazine while someone painted my toenails an outrageous colour made me feel good. I guess that’s why it was so easy to give up. I have someone else to worry about now and I feel guilty just thinking about sitting around being pampered. Hang on… maybe I am a martyr after all. I shouldn't feel guilty I know, it's not like I'm spending entire weekends at the spa! I realised today that it’s not so much the grooming that I miss but the “me” time, so you’ll be pleased to know I’m actually writing this from the comfort of Thai Pailin Massage in Mui Wo while a lovely Thai girl tortures my toes. My feet feel great and I’m inspired to take a little time out more often. Now about those eyebrows…

All By Myself

Twice a week our son goes to a playgroup at the local church hall. It’s very informal but they have toys and snacks and a big space for kids to run around in. Occasionally someone comes in and plays a guitar and they sing songs. J is the youngest child by several months but he is at an age where he needs an outing every day, and it’s an easy way to entertain him for a couple of hours. It feels like lazy parenting but he loves it so I don’t feel too bad about it. L goes with him and I get the impression that she relishes the opportunity to spend some time with him on her own. She has three children of her own in the Philippines and she misses them terribly so while she is with us she treats J as if he is one of hers. She always dresses him up and combs his hair (making me feel even lazier when I take him out with breakfast in his hair), and I know she gets a buzz when people comment on what a gorgeous baby he is. I know some mothers who occasionally go to the playgroup but it seems to be an opportunity for the helpers to get together and socialise as well. I left J and L there earlier in the week while I did some shopping and when I finished early I went to the church to check it out. There was a flurry of talk in Tagalog when I walked in and I felt slightly uncomfortable, as I was clearly the subject of the conversation. L assured me later that they were all saying that I was very beautiful and that my son is very lucky to have such attractive parents! I decided that regardless of whether or not that was true I would believe her and leave her to it in the future. Yesterday my brilliant husband suggested that we could take it in turns to drive J and L down to the church and wait for them, so that each of us would have a few hours at home by ourselves one day a week. This is clearly one of the best suggestions he has ever made and I wholeheartedly embraced the idea. Today it was my turn and it was fantastic! I listened to music, proper grown-up music, and I surprised myself by clearing a number of items off my to-do list. I even made the bed, put on some washing and had a shower. I was half way through a cup of tea and an episode of Samantha Who? when they all arrived home. It got me thinking about how I filled my days before J was born. I don’t remember ever being that productive in such a short space of time before I had a baby. Has being a parent made me more efficient? Or is it that I once had the luxury of taking my time? I’m honestly baffled by the thought. I only worked part-time while I was pregnant, some weeks I didn’t work at all. I must’ve watched A LOT of television. When J was a newborn we had a lot of trouble with breastfeeding and he would feed for 2 hours at a time sometimes. Time to myself was never an option. In those early days I would spend half an hour in the shower because it was the only time of the day when no one asked anything of me; no one dared! I relished those moments to myself, even if I had to wait until 4pm or later to get them. These days, even though the demands are different, I am still very busy and I sometimes find myself missing my freedom. There are days when I would like a cup of tea and a sit down, and at other times I find myself wishing I could drop everything and go to New York with my husband for a weekend on one of his work trips. I’d love to get dressed up and go out with the girls and dance all night. I’d like to have friends over for dinner and spend hours creating a fabulous meal instead of ordering a quick pizza. I miss being able to read a book in the middle of the day or make a last minute decision to see a movie. But the truth is I never did any of those things when I had all the time in the world so am I really missing anything? I have to remind myself that I was bored quite often and lonely at times. Now there’s never a dull moment and our house is filled with laughter and toys and cuddles. I appreciate every minute I have to myself because they’re so rare but more than anything I love every day that I spend with my son. The time I spend with him is so much finer than any time I ever spent on the sofa watching TV or reading magazines. It even beats a pedicure and a quiet glass of wine, although once in a while that would be nice too. Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy! I’ll be back on Monday x