I've been home from France for exactly a week now. Despite that I have not actually been home in my own bed until last night, almost a week later.
It feels like I've been flittering around somewhere between Frenchy-land and mummy-world and not knowing quite where I fit in or were to settle. Part of me was slow to let go of the Frenchy chapter because I didn't want to feel like it was too over so I kept it alive by thinking how I would respond to something in french and by thinking about turning onto the wrong side of the road when driving and looking for baguettes. The kids were of course demanding my all from the get go upon my landing which abruptly put a stop to my cheese-o-colic and wine sipping ways. I was quite happy only thinking about my own tummy and eating and drinking myself to death.
The jet lag has made me woozy. The first evening back I didn't sleep at all. The trouble started right there. I would have been excited by my party pro-ess if I didn't have to exercise day long mummy duties. You can never catch up in Mumland can you? Amazingly the moment I fell into bed beside Mr Vick he transitioned back to the dad-who-slept-thru-all-the-vicklet-wake-up-calls-all-night-long despite having been most attentive during my absence. Those dads have got a real talent haven't they?
So why did I never make it back to my house when I got off the plane? Whilst I like to think we like draining out all the fruits of life by being big yes people what I actually think happens is that we simply are draining all the life right out of ourselves. We had a conference in Adelaide starting the very next day upon my flight home. Weeks prior it seemed a doable task to fly in, drive eight hours, juggle the kids and front up to a conference. Reality was hard.core. Eight hours in a car on top of 30 something hours in transit from one side of the world to another.... not so sinch. Yet, I fronted up and did all the things and grit my teeth all eight (plus) hours home from Adelaide. Needless to say, I was soooo ready to be home.
Falling into my own bed was blissful after two and a half weeks. There is so much comfort in familiarity and ones owned things. This can only be truly remembered after a decent absence. I am glad for the shift in perspective even if I haven't returned quite as bright eyed and shiny as I'd hoped.
I made dinner tonight. It didn't seem such a chore. I hung washing out. Quite liked it, but then again I am a step back and admire the washing hanging on the line kinda person (freak). I have not dragged my feet around as I've pottered about the house and picked up all the little things after all the little people so France has done something good for my soul. In fact France was good enough soul food to keep me happy and keep my spirits out of the gutter for at least three more days. Ha. Maybe.
I've been letting it all settle and trying to get my head wrapped around making school lunches again and kiddy drop offs and all the mum to do things. Blogging will unfold over the next two weeks as I sink back into it all. I have drafts saved but in truth the excitement was too great to get it onto the page in a coherent fashion as it unfolded. I would be a sucky travel blogger. I'll stick to moaning about motherhood instead.
You can catch up on previous posts from the french adventure here and here.