Inspired by the blog post The Holiday Card No One Ever Sends, I’d love to reflect on the wonderful, albeit tumultuous year, our family had.
We didn’t send out cards this year wishing our loved ones, near and far, a wonderful Holiday Season. We were nearing another year of raising a young family on our own and by the time November rolled around, we were both too exhausted to muster the energy to have another stylized photo shoot (picturesque nature background, coordinating outfits, and a perfectly stolen moment with all of us smiling).
In the spirit of enjoying the last day of 2013, I’d love to share all the growing pains and joys that our family did experience.
This year we…
Almost moved into a beautifully restored rijksmonument (a designated national heritage site of the Netherlands). It was an authentic, historical herenhuis (gentlemen’s house) complete with original 17th century marble floors, crown moldings and a lovely rose garden. The 2nd floor drawing room was a writer’s dream come true with a picturesque view of the river Vecht and an endless source of inspiration as time stood still. It was a house that could easily be featured in Apartment Therapy.
On the day of officially signing the lease, I backed out. I wasn’t ready yet to leave our beloved apartment right in the very heart of Utrecht. Part of me was not yet confident in moving to a Dutch village inconveniently removed from the strong, social support network I’ve come to rely on. And most of all, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of living in a home that needed to be treated like a museum while chasing around a precocious toddler.
We cried at the loss of a dream and were close to running on empty. Our then 10 month old son still wasn’t sleeping through the night.
Two months later, we found the right home in Dutch suburbia. The moment we moved in, our baby slept through the night. Makes me wonder if perhaps there were actually ghosts that were haunting our son in our previous home.
Just a week shy of moving, our son turned one and was baptized. We celebrated it in Pinterest worthy fashion with about a hundred friends and family. Stay tuned for those pictures to pop up on my blog.
We soon realized that a house had a lot more responsibilities than an apartment. Our lives was inextricably linked to simply doing chores associated with Dutch suburbia- mowing the lawn, grocery shopping on Saturday (stores generally still closed on Sundays), dropping off diapers and glasses at the local drop-off site. Let’s not forget the daily grind of child rearing, cleaning, cooking, and laundry. Rinse and repeat.
We laughed through the tears from utter exhaustion of being a young family with absolutely no extended family close by (otherwise known as built-in childcare services) to lend a helping hand.
We argued and questioned our decision in regards to raising our son so far from my family. Never a day would pass when I would momentarily think about the City by the Bay.
We, did, however, regularly count our blessings.
We vacationed in Italy, first hopping over to Milan to meet our son’s fabulous godparents, jet-setting with them to their villa in Sardinia and then heading over to our regular playground, Monterosso al Mare (Cinque Terre) where we were greeted with open arms with our amici.
Our son started walking. And I finally relented to the reality that no matter how many Montessori-inspired play things I would buy for him, he was more concerned with exploring the world around him. Most of all, he simply needed my undivided attention. Days would simply be spent playing a simple version of hide-and-go seek (him hiding behind his blanket or behind the curtains), reading books, cuddling and going for long, leisurely walks.
Our house became the half-way house for all the neighborhood kids- a place where we would bake cupcakes, make water balloons and spend the endless summer days in the garden. They adored our son (the only baby) and welcomed us into the neighborhood. Our house started to feel like home.
And though I wrestled with the idea of whether or not being a stay-at-home mom was the right choice, simply looking at my son erased my insecurities away. He won’t remain small for long.
I finally acquiesced to hiring an au pair, letting go of my unrealistic expectations that I could be a supermom who do everything on my own while my husband chased his dreams of entrepreneurial success. It wasn’t fair either to our son with both parents running on empty. There should be no shame in having hired help.
I started writing, giving myself permission to use my voice. People actually liked what I had to write (Thank-you for visiting my little space on the internet).
I made tons of new, fabulous friends, strengthened existing friendships and mourned the apparent loss of ones that were dear to my heart. Friends coming and going like a revolving door is a unique risk one takes living the oh-so-glamorous expat life. An optimist at heart, I’m keeping an open door for kindred spirits that I’ve lost touch with, confident that we’ll find each other again in this crazy journey called life.
We found a new church and hope to build a closer relationship to God.
Each time my father would have a Skype video chat with my toddler son, my heart would break into a million tiny pieces. My son has a grandfather who completely adores him and worships the pitter patter of his tiny feet. He would happily babysit him on a regular basis and simply love him for all that he is – there would be no pleading, no begging, no compromises for our son to simply be a regular part of my father’s life. But my father lives an ocean and an entire continent away.
For the first time in my life, I confronted the idea of death and my own mortality. Only one person I was ever close to passed away, but I never once questioned the idea of heaven. Growing up Catholic and being religiously sent to Catholic school for 14 years guaranteed a degree of obliviousness to the possibility of eternal oblivion. Moving to a very secular country and becoming a parent led me to re-examine my faith and entertain (foolishly) what happens after we take our last breath.
By the time December rolled around, right at the arrival of our fabulous au pair, I decided to finally breathe. I stopped writing. I started picking up the pieces of our home and designated a couple hours a day setting our house (and my mind) in order. I never had the chance until now. It took a month. Having an organized home (and alone time) is really great for the mind. I highly recommend it.
I worry about my husband working long days to make his company a success. I get temperamental, running short on patience as the holiday season comes around. I quickly offer my apologies, telling him how much I’m proud of him. And pray.
One of my closest friends (she’s like a sister I never had) asked me a simple question (a perfect Christmas gift in disguise, snapping me out of my neurosis about death): “Would you live your life differently?” My answer was a resounding “Yes!”. You only live once.
Our life may have several inconveniences and far from perfect, but there’s no shortage of love in this family. And as far as I’m concerned – our love for one another and our son makes us truly blessed and immensely lucky.
I’m ready to write again.
Thank-you 2013 for a memorable year. 2014 we’re welcoming you with open arms. Wishing everyone a wonderful last day of the year and a very blessed New Year!
