Tag: east end

I’ve been itching for a change for a while now.

No, it’s got nothing to do with finding a new job. I mean, I am likely to remain in this position for the next couple of years since a) I have no idea what to do with myself other than teach, b) nobody would hire me, c) I need the subsidised childcare.

(Although yes, changes are a brewing in the workplace, what with the change in management. I am adopting a wait-and-see attitude, the changes may not be pretty but necessary.)

One of the changes that I have been pondering is the change in our living quarters. Back when we first got the flat, I thought we would never move. There’s so much that I love about it – the light falling through our large windows, the airy balcony, the large living room space, the central location. And these are still what holds me back from shifting.

But when the boys came along and we hired a helper, the space is slowly taken up by their things and their needs. And this space is becoming less and less…comforting. No, that’s not the right word, my home is still a great source of comfort to me. Rather, I find more and more flaws in this home. And I think that I want a clean slate to begin again, so better design a home that’s more in tune with our current needs.

And yet I can’t bear to leave this place, our first home with all its light and huge windows and amazing location. Decisions, decisions.

I am currently typing this while sitting with my ass half out of my chair. Because my fat cat is occupying my chair and I decided not to move her out lest she starts her caterwauling outside the bedrooms again. She does this yowling thing almost every night, it drives us bonkers because, hello, SLEEPING BABIES.

Anyway, life is pretty much tiring these days. I am doing a lot at work and coupled with the lack of sleep, my brains are pretty much fried. Seriously. I wrote “Newspapers is not dead” in my lecture slides the other day and my kids laughed at me.

AND THEN I REPEATED IT ON ANOTHER SLIDE.

In a bid to prevent my brains from atrophying further, I am going to force myself to write. Write, write, write.

Well. Just the other day, we spent pretty much most of the weekend doing nothing much. We probably hit the supermarket and a park, and that was it. The rest of the day was spent at home. We had breakfast out and then I cooked lunch and it felt pretty good.

The thing is, when Aidan was a bubs, he hardly napped. Story of my life then. The only way to get him to nap was to baby wear him. And so, we went out. Every single weekend. We went out so that we could take turns to wear him and put him to sleep. And when he woke up, he was usually a delight and we would do stuff together. It was exhausting but that was our solution.

It has become our way of life. Come weekends, we’d pack our baby bag and hit the road. Sometimes, we go to the gardens, sometimes to the museums. Or a park. Or a mall to get my eyebrows done (do you really think I’d go to a mall to shop? C’mon!). Or a playground with a sandpit. I think we have forgotten how to stay at home.

But now that Aidan doesn’t really need a nap – although he does crash in the late afternoon for a short while – and Zac is pretty good at taking naps at home, I think we need to shift our way of living a little. Stay in, enjoy our lovely home and just be. There are recipes I want to try out and my three-year-old has his imagination to tide him through the day. The littlest is perfectly happy exploring the house and the man, well, he can survive happily on a deserted island as long as it has power and wifi for his gadgets.

Funny thing is, I actually love staying home. Don’t tell my kids but sometimes, I would take half day leave just to come back to an empty home while they are at daycare/grandma’s. I enjoy the quietness, the solitude, and the comfort of being, well, home.

Home is really where the heart is.

We finally sold our dining table today.

For a few reasons – space being one of them – we decided that our current table was not right for our needs and we decided that it had to go. And silly me, I sat on it for the longest time because I felt, well, sentimental.

It’s a good table. It’s a beautifully made one. We fell in love with it once we saw it and decided it was worth all that money to buy it. It’s seen us through several Christmas dinners, and New Year’s Eve dinners and birthday celebrations. We thought it was going to last us forever for it didn’t look like the sort of table that would be ruined that easily or quickly – it was sturdy, reliable and hardy.

But it had to go. And so I finally put it up for sale.

A lovely couple came by today, said they liked it and paid for it immediately. And when they left, I felt odd. Like, hey, my table was finally sold. Amid the sadness though, was also a tinge of relief. It was sold. No matter how hard it was for me to part with it, it had become dead weight, something that was dragging us down. We could not move on with our plans without it being sold, everything else was centered around it.

So yes, goodbye to my dining table. I feel a little silly writing about it but I told you I am a sentimental fool.