Plan B

Heya,

OK. What I should be blogging about is the Aussie Bloggers Conference, which I attended this weekend. And believe me, there is a post coming, a good one with photos and crap.

Right now, though, there are other things I need to write about. If you wanna read about the ABC right this very second, there is a hugely growing list of posts here… I really better get my act together before it’s all been said already.

Whatever. For now, please know three things. One, I had seriously one of the most awesome weekends of my life, right up there with my wedding. Two, evidently, that makes me a massive geek. I am OK with that. And three- for someone who *ahem* doesn’t drink, I consumed an awful lot alcohol on Saturday night… (jam donut shot, anyone?)

Moving on.

Fingers crossed, we are moving this weekend. The Purple House, which isn’t purple anymore but still feels purple, is half packed. The bits and pieces, the detriment clutter that made up our lives, packed into crates and boxes and dismantled and it’s such a relief, it feels like I’ve been holding my breath.

I’m so ready to leave my Purple Life behind. It breaks my heart, it hurts like my nerves are on fire… but I’m ready. That colour, it will follow me… I feel stained with it. Bruised.

It’s time for Plan B. Tony and I, we never had a Plan B, a seachange in mind, somewhere to escape to… we were so happy with our little life, most of the time, we didn’t need one. We had plans, as you do… we were going to move house in a few years time, when our kids started school. Probably to another house in the same suburb. And maybe, just maybe, have another baby, another tiny curly newborn…

And one day in the far distant future, we would retire to a lighthouse, somewhere on the rocks by the ocean… and he’d grow bonsai and I’d knit ugly jumpers and drink lots of tea.

So easily pleased. That’s irritatingly devastating- I had everything I ever wanted, and I very rarely asked for any more.

I don’t want for much, right now, if I’m honest. I want for Tony, for his smell and his arms and hearing him laugh, sharing my frustrations with him over a child that will not sleep. (Walking through Kings Cross, Saturday night, the heat of nocturnal life, all dressed up in the pouring rain… the ache for my husband, for the physical presence of him, the size of him, was so real it bit at me, nipped at the straps of my heels…)

But other than that, the huge whole in my life that I just cannot fill…?

Plan B, for the moment, it’s very simple.

I have at least three months left in limbo, waiting for the financial knots to untie themselves.

HomeTown seems the perfect place to be.

I want to spend the next three months somewhere quiet, surrounded by people who love me unconditionally, family that I grew up with. Give my kids a chance to run and play and laugh with their cousins, the way I did as a child- it brought me so much pleasure.

I want to walk with my kids, and That Bloody Dog, on the beach every afternoon, and bring them home for sandy bubble baths before we snuggle up in flannel pajamas in front of the TV.

I want to keep a small house clean and tidy, things in their place.

I want to face paint again… the coastal markets run in a different town every weekend, and business would be slow enough in winter to read books and watch the passing parade of people between paying customers.

I want to dress my children in clothes from the abundance of second hand shops in HomeTown, mixed with discount surf wear.

And I want to let my little hippy Bump dance in the rain without shoes on, out on the grass, the way she likes to do.

I want to cook muffins for my kids, and the guests I’m hoping will come from the suburbs on the weekend, to sleep in my spare room and drink coffee on my veranda.

I want to take my children for bike rides along the River.

I want to grow flowers, to put in a vase in my kitchen. It’s probably the wrong time of year for that, but we’ll try anyway.

And in Spring, perhaps we’ll know where we’re digging in, where we’re growing our roots… then we’ll have a veggie garden, and grow plump red tomatoes, warm and smooth and ripened by the sun.

Simple pleasures.

All that, it feels like a lot… but it really doesn’t seem too much to ask for, not now, not After…

How can I not be happy again, one day, when I am so easily pleased?