It’s surreal to burrow your toes in the wet sand one minute – as the northern sun warms your face – then tunnel through the dark suburbs of Sydney on a commuter train the next.
It felt all … forgive the wanky word … discombobulating … to be back in Sydney last night.
I was a little bleak and out-of-sorts about it, especially when I discovered a note from the neighbours snarking about my bloody dog barking all weekend and could I please DO something about it.
Sigh. Suggestions (other than smothering) welcome.
It turned me into Grouchy Mum for the few brief hours I had with the kids before they head north with their dad for the holidays. And I’d been planning on being Fun Mum.
Let me rewind to the nicer bits of the day …
Followed by a lazy, delicious cider at the Brunswick Heads pub …
Brunswick Heads really is rather lovely …
And finally a little toe dipping at the beach …
I was tempted to immerse myself in the icy surf for an unprecedented second day in a row but, after my last stuff-up on a flight back to Sydney, anxiety demanded I play it safe.
Fortunately, I’ve finally mastered the whole web check-in thing and actually got a seat on the plane this time.
Equally fortunately, the plane landed on schedule, so I could bolt for the train then hobble home from the station – with my self-diagnosed shin split – to cuddle the kids, who’d been left in front of the tellie by Husband while he went to a board meeting.
He’d even – bless him – left me a carton of delicious homemade veggie biriyani so I’d have a hot dinner on arrival.
It’s a funny old relationship we have at the moment. Can’t last. Too civilised.
Forgive me now while I ramble off into a(nother) self-indulgent burst of introspection about my new life.
It’s weird, it’s wonderful, it’s scary, it’s bliss, it’s so much easier yet so much harder, it’s incredibly exciting and it’s infinitely sad.
I don’t trust who I am. I don’t know what I want.
I have no idea.
But I’ll work it out. I always do.
Song of the day: Dave Grey “Time bomb”