I’ve held it together for the day. In a strange house, with my three children, whilst hubbie had his first day in a new office. I’ve answered all the questions. I’ve calmed all the nerves. I’ve been a strong Mamma. I kissed my husband goodbye with a smile. I worked out the washer and did two loads, hung them out to dry in the sun, whilst dipping in and out the pool to watch over my youngest, not yet old enough to swim unsupervised. I cooked my children a healthy breakfast, of ‘dippie’ eggs, fresh from the chooks in the yard. I ran a bath, fixed technological glitches, mopped up puddles from wet togs fresh from the pool, read books, made cars, trains and planes talk in imaginary worlds, and still welcomed home hubbie with another smile. Then back out he went, to dance with the banks, an expat with no credit history in the US of A, knocking on doors, with money to invest. And then, then, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I needed to cry, to stop a while. To feel the ‘me’ buried deep beneath the smiles.
There she was. Hidden for a while, not lost forever. A few more weeks and her family will be settled in a permanent home for a year. Familiar possessions will arrive off a ship from New Zealand. Children will make friends, so will she. They’ll be time to run, time for yoga, time to be, her, again.
