Unfolding our own myth


I wake up and fumble blindly for the alarm, while my brain tries to disengage itself from sleep and my reluctant limbs exit the warmth of the duvet, one by one. It's the middle of the night outside, pitch dark and cold. I walk to Immy's room, bury my nose in the sleepy warmth of her neck. 'Morning beautiful. Almost time to get up', I whisper. I switch on lights as I head downstairs, the cat wrapped around my ankles, reminding me that she wants breakfast and the day has officially begun.

Lunch packs, school bags, drop offs and pick-ups. Dinner, homework, bath time, story time, bed time.

These daily rituals used to drive me mad. But I am savouring them now, when every 24-hour window that passes is easing me out of this comfortable, familiar life, and closer to our biggest adventure yet.

In 11 weeks, we're moving to Melbourne.

Such a little sentence that holds so much change.

We're folding up our life, piece by piece.

I'm decluttering, getting rid of everything I don't love, keeping the things that make this home precious to us. The car is sold, the house is being packed up slowly, carefully, thoughtfully. It's a sanctifying process. Touching long-forgotten items, stumbling on old photos and cards, dusting off a million memories. Lovingly recycling books and music that I've outgrown, giving away neglected clothing, shredding old documents. Opening up, scaling down.

There have been so many questions.  Do you have work? Where will you stay? Will you live together? What about school for Immy? Why are you going? What about your family? 

As with most things, we don't have all - or really any - of the answers. And that's okay. That's how we like it. Things just have a way of working out. Rob has been there for almost a month. He starts a new job on Monday. He's staying with friends. He's exploring, and figuring things out. We text and Facetime every day.

And in the meantime, we're enjoying the little things: changes of season, friendship and small adventures that continue in and around the moving preparations.

:: Autumn showing off her russet leaves and bright blue skies.

:: Farm capers. I stumbled on this photo taken on a previous visit to the farm, and just loved the messy hair, weird hands, crazy faces.

:: An end-of-summer music festival.

:: She's so excited about learning to read. She wants to read absolutely everything. Signs on the side of the road. Labels on food packaging. School books and story books, which she reads over and over in that sing-song way that small children have. I hope so much that this is the beginning of a love affair with books.

Side note: it took me a while to figure out that the writing in the heart did not, in fact, say Rose the RABBI.

:: A sleepover with her bestie. I took them for manicures and frozen yoghurt, and even though the nail polish was already chipped by the time we reached the other end of the mall, it was worth it to watch them choose their nail colours and hear them giggle hysterically in the next room.

:: A quick Knysna trip. It rained most of the weekend, so we stayed indoors. We had long afternoon naps tucked up in bed, while the grey drizzle pressed up against the window panes. We did venture out once or twice, mostly for food and a bit of fresh air.

:: Coney Glen adventures. It was our first time exploring this moody little bay. We climbed rocks, drew in the sand, and watched the tide coming in. The sea boiled below us, and the clouds drew in above us. I promised Immy we'd go back on a sunny day at low tide, to explore the rock pools and coves along the bay.

:: Cozy Sunday lie-ins on a sun-dappled bed.

:: Airport goodbyes. It was all fun here until the actual goodbyes came. She clung to Rob's neck like a monkey, and cried bitterly in the car. It was heart-wrenching.

:: And this. A Mimmo's Sunday: vanilla ice-cream, salted caramel and Oreos. We ate our way through the first inch, and then scooped out all the ice-cream to get to the salted caramel and biscuit bits at the bottom of the jar. It's crazy delicious.

Also: this is my favourite Instagram photo of her, ever.

As I type this, I can hear Immy mumbling in her sleep, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the cat curled up next to her. My candle is flickering, and I'm sifting through magazines and papers, whittling things down to fit into a 20-foot container that will meet us in Melbourne.

This life? It's just being transplanted to another place. A new home, a new city, a new adventure.

We're ready.


“Don't be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” 
- Rumi