In a few days time, I’m turning 30 years old… What do I have to show for it? Absolutely nothing.

Well, not nothing exactly but barely anything material anyway. It’s difficult knowing that all that is important to you in the world is sitting in another country and all the possessions you keep can fit into 3 small suitcases. So what’s different about this birthday compared to the others? Firstly, I’m not with my husband and my children which is a totally foreign concept to me. My birthday is always a big celebration in our home, it begins with a birthday week and my husband has been known to buy me birthday presents everyday for that week, it generally ends somewhere between a braai and the pub with many shooters in between. Sadly, on my biggest birthday yet, the oldest I’ve ever been, I’m ‘alone’ and I hate it.

I’ve spent the last few days of my birthday week in tears, not because I’m sad about getting old but because I’ve learnt that what makes a birthday is those closest to you and not what you do or what gifts you receive. I, the Shevster, am losing all street cred for the many tears I’ve cried for my family that I’m longing for – so much so, I was going to buy myself a birthday present, a one way ticket home back to them – Home is where the heart is and England just won’t be home until they arrive.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the UK – it’s been the most amazing few days with a multitude of changes. My body is adjusting to the new climate, my stomach is adjusting to all the new food, my feet are adjusting to all the walking I’ve had to do and my mind is adjusting to the train commute and new job I’ve started. It’s quite a challenge being independent living with your family to being a guest in someone else’s home without said family, it’s taking some adjusting there as well – Thank goodness my housemates have been more than accommodating, they’ve been awesome. In just over a week I’ve given up everything I owned, left my family, moved to a new country, become a lodger and started a new job to which I have to commute on various trains – I’d say that I deserve some leeway on those tears, it’s mighty big steps in the right direction, no one said they’d be easy.

Before arriving in the UK I knew that I’d be joining the train commuters on the daily journey to work and back, it’s a given considering I don’t drive – Even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to afford a car, petrol and insurance is just as expensive as a rail commute – Yes, the trains run late or don’t run at all but there is always another one – At least I don’t have to sit in traffic. My commute is fairly simple after a few days of doing it, Nicolle drops us (me) at the station in Crowthorne, I then take a train into Wokingham and from Wokingham to Virginia Waters and finally ending in Chertsey where I have a 5 minute walk to the office. The whole journey in the morning probably takes approximately an hour and 10-20 minutes depending on the times. The return home is a little longer as I have a 30 minute walk from Crowthorne station to the house, my shins are already screaming this week! On my first day at the office, Scruff did the trip with me to make sure I didn’t get lost and since then I’ve been on my own – the return home was extremely daunting but I managed and got home in one piece. Since then, it’s gotten easier and easier and for the first time yesterday I got home without my Google Maps for train times and directions on my walk – soon I’ll be ready to venture out into the bigger stations, spread my commuting wings a bit.

The funny thing about the train is how you start noticing the same people on the same trains – So many people do these journeys every single day, reliant on these trains to arrive on time to make the connection onto the next one. When one train is late, your journey can go from 30 minutes to an hour and if you miss that connection, a wait at the station is a given. Having experienced these delays and waits myself, you can’t help but sit and watch the people getting into and off of the trains – It’s an awful time, all this commuting leaves you alone in your own mind with far too much time to think and miss family, so you have to think of something else to do and occupy your mind before driving yourself mad. Anyway, so I watch the commuters, judgmental I know.

It’s become apparent from my train-spotting (almost) that it is perfectly acceptable to wear leggings as pants – there is no longer a need to wear a top long enough to cover your ass and camel toe is the new ‘style’. It doesn’t matter if said leggings are see through either because it’s fashionable right? It’s the middle of autumn, starting to get a bit cooler in the evening and at 6pm sitting at the station, the girls are running around in ankle boots and mini skirts with coats longer than their skirt, no stockings and goose bumps galore. I’m quickly learning that the UK has its own fashion sense and it’s rather odd to keep up with. It’s also easy to watch people (or hear them) on the train as well… For example, my hearing OCD generally kicks in quite quickly after boarding the train, the sounds of people snorting and sniffing, slurping their coffee and biting their nails – it all drives me absolutely moggy. While the train has ‘Quiet zone’ signs asking you to keep your phone on silent or your headphone volume at a minimum, I always manage to sit across from the commuter who can’t read and instead has their music blaring that the whole train can hear it. It’s safe to say that shortly after getting on my train, I’m extremely happy to get off. What was exciting the first few days is now just a pain in the butt… It’s official, I’m a commuter.

On a more pleasant note, I got a bank account this week! Yay, I’m 30 and I have a bank account! (insert sarcastic snort here). What a mission… It is extremely difficult to open an account here without a utility bill, which I don’t have because I live with people and won’t have until I’ve got a bank account out of which to pay rent… A few banks later, I found one willing to help (Yay Halifax) and now I can starting earning my salary… Next step is my National Insurance number for which I have my appointment on the 6th of November and then a few weeks wait until I can rent my own little place, after payday in December, ready for Jp and the girls to join me in the new year (Which feels eons away!)

So this weekend we are headed off to Camden to celebrate the birthdays, I’m looking forward to it but truly long for next year, my 31st, when I have those that matter around me.

Now if this guy opposite me could stop snorting, that would be great…

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Never one to pass up an opportunity for a good read from a fellow reader and writer, at 3am it was a no brainer to start reading the book ‘John dies at the end’. Seldom do I start reading a book without having read at least the blurb however, in this case I knew nothing of the book’s origins let alone the genre – which is far from the usual I’m used to, I assure you. The clue should have been who the book was recommended for – with his desirably warped sense of reality, I have no doubt that this individual will know exactly where this book is going from page 1 – said with much love of course.

When I began reading the book, I gauged that I was dealing with some dark comedy here – knowing that this book has been made into a movie, I likened the style to that of Idle Hands with its dark plot relayed in a whimsical way. The first few pages in, I started to wonder if this wasn’t the kind of book that required some narcotic assistance for enjoyment. To put it bluntly, I quickly ascertained that I probably would in fact need acid for the continuation of the story. Truth be told the story telling is rather descriptive, I generally don’t have a problem picturing the scene and yet David Wong’s (not his real name) infinite adjectives allow for accurate imagery, however disturbing. By chapter 3, I was no longer needing acid, I had determined that in fact acid had already been pumped into my bloodstream and perhaps the next step would be rehab, all in only a hundred pages of black comedy and twisted plot.

So what’s the book about? Hell, demons, darkness? Despite the largely referenced religious injection into humanity and playing out of good versus evil, to me it wasn’t about spine chilling creatures, drug use or a Jamaican with a death wish. When you get passed the ‘Soy Sauce’ and the never ending make shift demonic creatures that will either try to kill you, inject you, possess you, drug you or just curl up and sleep on you, it was about the human psyche. For me, the book is one big mind f#@k and perhaps if it isn’t, a brief visit to a padded room will serve you well. One things for sure, I’ll never look at meat or turkey the same way. Suddenly, we are allowed a glimpse of what the world really is… and it’s pretty messed up.

Being an Anne Rice fan, it was difficult not to note that the story is told in a very ‘Interview with a vampire’ kind of manner. David Wong as Louis, Arnie as Daniel and Denny’s the venue where the character plays his story out. That said, you quickly forget the ‘story telling’ and become submerged in the events described by David, clearly imagining every darkness he brings to the table. You can imagine my surprise when the author references Anne Rice midway, another fan I’m sure. After my first few chapters I decided I would only then read up on the nature of the story, it was here that I deduced the story was written as a ‘horror’ novel – Something I would never have read if I had investigated beforehand, I am a bit of a baby when it comes to horror. Not only do I not do horror, I fair poorly with blood and guts and anything gory. As mentioned, it’s a rather descriptive book so there is no shortage of homosapien horrors and yet I read on, completely enamored with this unbelievable sequence of events that kept me glued to the ‘page’… In fact, I’ll never look at Ronald McDonald the same way and eating a sausage will take some courage.

Though it appears that David Wong is the protagonist from the start, John is truly an attention seeking character that quickly draws you in with his witty retorts and sarcastic undertones – he was calling the shots from day 1, the puppet master in control of the situation (well, almost) at all times and the class clown. Perhaps that’s why he is my favorite character, I can identify with his warped sense of humor, though we definitely do not share his non existent fear for the unknown. David’s version of events portrays John as somewhat of an annoyance to him, yet someone he would suffer without… It is through David’s vivid imagery that John comes across as cocksure, in control and grounded – hard to believe I’d say that about someone who sees dead things.

David on the other hand comes across as a character who’s been somewhat of a nobody, he is a follower, submissive and in a bit of denial. Don’t get me wrong, his character is not weak, merely introverted with a need to lash out every so often. I say ‘lash out’ loosely as perhaps shotgun fire and murder could be described as ‘losing his sh1t’ instead. What I do love about David is his frequent referral to music, the song playing in the background, giving the book it’s own soundtrack as you read on while singing back the tune subconsciously… Obviously, the demon annoying music is somewhat of a mandatory requirement but I get to sing along to Guns n Roses, even if the underworld hate it. His narration of the whole story is rather comedic without being an Adam Sandler movie, he grabs and holds your attention and many early mornings I’ve not been able to put the book down, no matter how many times the dog dies.

It is important to note that role reversal is fairly common throughout the book and nothing and nobody is as it seems, everything I’ve just told you about John and David could be wrong, misinterpreted or just made up. ‘John dies at the end’ is a book that leaves you just as bewildered at the end of the book as it did after the first chapter. For every answer, another question. Even though it is penned as a horror novel, I got through the book in a matter of days fairly easily, with the lights on of course, so don’t let its genre deter you. Just when you think the book is ending, it doesn’t – just when you think another death is in sight, it’s not and just when you think you’ve figured out the how and why, you’re wrong. All in all, a fascinating read outside of the realm of reality that doesn’t involve sparkling vampires or moon turning wolves.

Just remember, do NOT judge the book by it’s cover.

Movie time ;)

It was almost a month ago that I was fortunate enough to have gone to Reunion island for the Mascarun South Africa. If you had followed my blogs you would have been able to keep up with all the amazing activities we got to participate in as well as the love I developed for this beautiful, captivating island. Well, now you can see it for yourself as well. The Reunion Island Tourism Board put together this 5 minute video for us on our adventures in Reunion over the Mascarun challenge – Now I can share it with you in the hopes that it will inspire and motivate you to visit the island and have as much fun as I did. Happy viewing!!

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This afternoon I watched one of the most disturbing documentaries I have ever seen, Blackfish. The movie centres around ‘Tilikum’, an Orca living (existing) in Sea World in Florida who killed a while trainer and what transpired in the aftermath of her death. What was disturbing about this documentary was not the death of a human being but the utter disregard that people have for the lives of animals. As a race, we should be disgusted in ourselves.

I am not an animal rights activist, nor am I a vegetarian and admittedly I do not do enough for animal rights as I could be doing. I am just a regular woman with pets that I absolutely adore and love who is guilty of visiting zoos and aquariums, funding the idiotic animal circus that is this parade of the earth’s creatures. Something about this documentary on Tilikum has sparked a few things in me, one of which being anger. I am so angry that human beings feel they have the right to own and control such beautiful creatures – To take an animal from its natural habitat where it will be healthy and free and instead, lock it up in the smallest pools for most of its life for our viewing pleasure and then fool the public into believing that this is what is best for the animal.

A friend of mine has been battling with guilt around eating meat, something we have discussed at numerous lengths to gauge what exactly is the best way forward to do what she / we can, even in the smallest way, for animals. It is such a debated and controversial topic and unless you only eat fruit and vegetables exclusively, you walk a very thin line trying to aid the cause without doing any harm. Most of our conversations ended at a crossroads, unsure of the answers to the questions and what to do next. Where does one draw the line? Who decides that cows, pigs and chickens are good enough to eat but wanting to have your feline for dinner is frowned upon? We judge people in foreign countries for eating some of the things that they do (and consider a delicacy) whilst eating a steak from a cow that could also have been someone’s pet. I am not condoning eating domesticated cats in any way, but who is to say what animal ‘deserves’ to be eaten and which animal does not? If I, as a cat lover, do not agree with eating cats because I keep them as pets and could not even fathom the idea that someone could actually do that, would it be fair to say that people who own animals such as cows, pigs and chickens amongst others, would not eat meat from that animal as well for the very same reason? If this is true, could you then go on to say that someone who does not have any pets whatsoever considers all animals ‘fair game’ making the cat dinner sound a little more plausible. Rather than the above, the alternative is to look at a no meat option because let’s be honest, you cannot be a vegetarian but still eat chicken, fish and meat products – What makes that fish any less important than the cat in your house (If animal activism is your reason for being a vegetarian of course, I am generalising here).

But what about animal products?

You may have decided that you will no longer eat meat whatsoever, instead you will try to balance a diet of legumes and rabbit food, I for one could not stomach that way of eating. But surely, for the good of the animals, we should be avoiding their products as well? How am I saving a cow by not eating a beef steak but I will buy a litre of milk at the shop that was knowingly STOLEN from that cow after it was forced to reproduce non-stop for its entire adult life to maintain sufficient milk production, after all it is a business right? Is it fair that I will not eat the chicken but we will take their offspring (Yes, that is what they are) and eat it before it has a chance to be that little chicken? That aside, I will eat those eggs knowing that its layer was kept in a cage with 200 other chickens where they could lay egg after egg for the everyday consumer to keep up with public demand. How about my genuine leather belt, shoes or handbag? I do not want to eat the beef but I will still wear the skin of the animal because I like those shoes or I need a jacket in winter?

Let’s assume that after many discussions we deem it near impossible to avoid some, if not most of these scenarios. It is decided that perhaps we will continue to drink milk, eat eggs and throw a steak on the braai but instead we choose to investigate where our food comes from to make sure that the animal has been looked after well enough before having its throat slit or head chopped off. Will it help me to sleep at night knowing that the beef ribs I had earlier would have come from a cow that was free to roam the meadows and ate the greenest of grass, drinking the most pure water with many other fat and healthy cow friends? No, because while the cow has a somewhat nicer life, the end result is the same. That cow is being raised to be food, that cow will still be turned into a handbag and that cow’s milk is still taken to put into my cereal instead of what it is meant for, to feed its young. Even if it did make me feel better, this is what the world suddenly calls ‘free range’ and ‘organic’ – What should be natural and NORMAL is now a speciality – When did it become a speciality for an animal to roam in a field? Since when is it acceptable that this animal can only eat the best grass if it is raised in this way?

We moan when a registered voter doesn’t vote because they want to complain but will not actually do anything about the situation but it is easy to feel that way about not eating meat as well. What point is there to me, one person, no longer eating meat or derivatives? Just because I stop eating meat, doesn’t mean the rest of the world will. As long as there is a demand, the battery chicken farms will still exist and the milk stealing dairies will still go about their business, that is not going to change because of me. Then I have to hope that as long as I am eating the steaks and drinking the milk, the animal did not die in vain and someone who truly appreciated its sacrifice has ingested it instead.

What does this whole rant have to do with Tilikum?

At the end of the day, it is all the same. We keep and kill animals in the most inhumane way to feed the population. At the same time, we capture and imprison innocent animals for our selfish viewing pleasure. When will the realisation come that we are a selfish, cruel, disgusting species who live only for ourselves instead of for the good of others. Too many SICK things are happening in the world already, is it too much to ask to preserve the life of animals that cannot speak for or defend themselves? What does it say about us that so easily we abuse those that are weak and defenceless – If we cannot preserve animal life, how the hell do we have any hope of raising children that actually give a sh1t? In an age when we can send men to the moon, we cannot create a world without the unnecessary killing or abuse of animals for food or entertainment?

Call me a wishful thinker but I can only hope that day will come, when it will be just as inhumane to eat a cow as it is to eat a cat. I am not a vegetarian, I am not an animal rights activist and I have been to a zoo or two. I am not perfect and I do not have all the answers but I can only hope that things get better for animals like Tilikum and so many others that suffer at the hand of the human race.

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I do not mean F@#k Off Cos You’re Stupid. No, I mean FOCUS – Focus on what is going on around you, FOCUS on what is directly in your future, FOCUS on the end goal and everything you do will fall in line with that, right?

Easier said than done. In the last few weeks (By few I mean two) I have been all consumed by the administration necessary to move my family cross continent. While I understand the magnitude of what I am doing, I have not actually sat down and allowed myself to focus on this task at hand, instead I have been shifting attention to each individual task with the bigger picture in the back of my mind. I understand that what I have just said makes me sound like I have not in fact thought this move through, that is not the case (I do nothing BUT think about it), what I mean is that I have been so caught up in arranging my husband’s settlement visa, obtaining my children’s passports, selling everything I own in the world, leaving behind friends and family and finishing up in my current job. There are so many finer details to be thought of and arranged that I have completely forgotten to think about what is ahead, the fact that I am leaving the only country I have known in 24 years.

I was on the way home last night and in the car I was doing my usual moan to Erin about how there is just too much to worry about, too much too arrange, too much that needs organizing. Many a day I have questioned my decision and I am constantly in a state of anxiety about the visa’s and passports and of course, the what if’s. What she said to me (Thank you) was almost profound… I am not deserting my family, I am giving them a better life and when this is all over this terrible time in limbo will just be a distant memory. I definitely will not be crying about how long the visa process took when my husband actually arrives and we can focus on the future. What I should be doing now is preparing for an ADVENTURE that awaits me – Next week I get on a plane and fly, one way, to a new country. I will live in a new house with very different living arrangements, I will start a new job, I will have to get used to a new transport system and meet all new friends.  I will not be near to any of my immediate family and I will have entirely new surroundings to explore – It is an amazing future that awaits me, it truly is an adventure – One that I have not spent enough time getting excited about.

Yes, the next 4 months or so without my husband and children is going to be very difficult but at the same time, the adventure is going to be amazing! Relationships will be tested and resilience will be in question but at the same time the world will open up for me and I need to enjoy every second of it, there will be no point in moping around without my loved ones – INSTEAD my time will be put to good use preparing everything for their arrival.

I cracked a beer when I got home today, not because I was thirsty and not because I wanted a drink in a social manner. No, it was because the UK spousal visa that we have to apply for in order for J-P to move to the UK is driving me to drink.

Do not get me wrong, I am excited for this move (Really excited – Especially since I have now seen a picture of my new room for the next few months) and I understand that certain paperwork must be done in order for my husband to come back to my birth country with me, I am more than willing and able to co operate… but Holy Sh1t. On days like today, I wish I had married a British passport holder (No offence babe).

Look… there is a metric ton of documentation required for the visa. Most of which is pretty easy to acquire but the actual application itself is pretty daunting, to do it without the help of a reputable visa / immigration specialist is probably not a good idea because after playing Google detective and reading up on all the horror stories of failed applications, it will only mean taking a risk I am not willing to take – Anything that can delay this visa application is NOT a good thing.

The first visa / immigration agent I contacted basically blew me off without even reading or listening what I had to say. You see, you need to be able to support your spouse and earn the equivalent of GBP18600 per annum – While this is fairly easy to prove and apply for after working in the UK for 6 months, before that time the only way to go about this is to prove you have earned that money in the last calendar year (Start the rands to pounds conversion as the non bread winner, enough to make one sick). I made this difficult for myself admittedly by moving jobs 5 months ago and taking a drastic cut in salary, this of course affecting my financial requirement for the application – A battle that I now face in the eyes of the visa and immigration authority. If you know me, you will know that in fact I do not stop at NO and went on to the second immigration assistant for some advice, thankfully they were a little more forthcoming with information and I was able to get an actual calculation method to check if I did qualify with my current earnings on the GBP18600 stipulated – THANK THE POPE, I just squeezed it in to allow for an application at the end of November 2014, perfect right? After emailing all my calculations that I spent HOURS working on to this agent, she then came back and said that she would need copies of my payslips to verify this information (Just in case I fabricated my own amounts I am sure) which I then sent on to her as requested.

TWO DAYS later, I am still waiting for a response – After calls, emails and voicemails we finally managed to speak to another gentleman who said he would get back to us by tomorrow afternoon to see if we qualify – I cannot possibly understand that delay as I did their job for them? Anyway, not one for incompetence or snail’s pace, I decided to email a few other immigration agents to get a feel of who actually wanted to assist me and who did not – At the end of the day you would expect them to WANT to help when they make up to R10 000 in service fee out of me but hey, what is R10k anyway? Two of the agents I emailed responded – The first, an email detailing that I would no doubt have a successful application once I have been working in the UK for 6 months (Thank you for pointing out the obvious – Information I already have, am well aware of and am trying to avoid at all costs). The second, a company finally willing and able to assist and confident that my calculations are correct and we can successfully apply by the end of November 2014 – Best case, we have the visa in approximately 7 weeks, worst case 12 after application. Without hesitation we have set up our appointment with them, paid the appointment fee of almost R1000 just to see them and already have a file full of documentation to take with – Easiest clients EVER!!!

Now that we have finally found a company willing and able to assist, the mountainous administration is ahead of us  – From photo evidence of our relationship (Thank goodness for Facebook) to letters from loved ones authenticating our marriage, from a misplaced matric senior certificate issued 14 years go – J-P’s, not mine – to certificates and as much original paper work we can find. We have our work cut out for us, all the while I sit in the UK and leave this in my husband’s capable hands (I promise babe, I do think you are capable). This process is most definitely not for the faint hearted, or for the tight budgeted – The visa alone comes with a price tag of GBP885 excluding the fee for using an immigration specialist of approximately R10k as mentioned, added to the cost of an English test at about R3k and a TB test of R1k.. All in all, over 30 000 rand… A R30 000 well spent as far as I am concerned.

I could work in the UK for 6 months and then only do the application, it would probably be a hell of a lot easier – But the truth is, I do not want to be without my husband that long and so I am not willing to accept that. When you want something bad enough, you figure out a way to get it and it just goes to show that if you keep on and on and become a nag, someone will eventually come to your party! I may have had a few more beers by the time this visa comes through but the bottle of vodka at the finish line will be well worth it when it has been issued.

Admittedly, my poor husband does not get enough credit. In the lead up to my trip to the UK without him, my nightly insomnia is fuelled with the worry that without me, he just will not get anything done. A visa in the pipeline, multiple passport applications to be done and the next few months of being a single father, that husband of mine has his work cut out for him and despite his numerous attempts to quell the beast that is my OCD, I really cannot let it go. So what does one do when one has far too much time on one’s hands and enough anxiety to push an AA meeting to vodka? One makes lists of course. To do lists. Checklists. Bucket lists and blacklists. If it can be listed, I will list it somewhere – Suddenly excel and I are on amazing terms and short of detailing the number of breaths I have to take in a day to survive, all of my daily tasks are documented. So why the lists you ask? I can tell you for certain, it is not because I think my husband is incapable of doing as I ask, it is more a case of me worrying that I will forget to nag about yet another task I have given him to do.

One of the incredibly difficult things for me to deal with about our impending move is the fact that I just do not have control. I am in control of the basics, the finances, the movement and the choices we have made, the rest is in the hands of government departments and others. I can only do so much and for me, with the kind of anxiety that I am currently suffering, that ‘so much’ that I can do is just never enough. With my move happening far sooner than that of my family, I am forced to relinquish control to my husband for many of the things that I would normally handle and have been in charge of handling up until now. When I leave, he has to make sure he obtains everything required to apply for his visa, all of the documents needed for the girl’s passports, taking over the duties of looking after my children and making sure that everything runs as smoothly here as I hope to have things running over there, ready for them to come over as soon as possible. With all of these things that he has to do and arrange, I have sat night after night typing up to do lists and trying to get as much done before I leave as humanly possible – Driving this husband of mine absolutely bloody moggy, not because of his inability to do this without me, but because of my inability to just let go.

A spiky marshmellow is what I have been called by those that know and love me, or so they say. I tend to portray this tough, hard exterior and yet right now I am melting on the inside. I found myself waking up this morning thinking that today was the second last Sunday that I would spend in South Africa. I struggle to think of what it is I will miss about this country, barring family and friends of course, yet I know the day draws nearer to when I have to get on that plane and wave goodbye to my children and my husband for what will be a lifetime until they arrive. ‘I love you three’ will be something that my three year old says to me over Skype without the accompaniment of a snake love (It is a hug on steroids with the constriction of a snake of course, totally normal). Glee will not be in on in the background of my home while my husband pretends it is on for my 8 year old and that same 8 year old will not be coming to me to help me with her homework, or reading her stories to me while I am in the bath.

The universe has a funny way of giving us what we thought we wanted when we did not want it at all. Before you misinterpret that, understand that I am not referring to the England move as that is something that we want more than you could possible imagine. What I mean is that in getting what we want, we are faced with a separation that no one would ever have asked for and yet subconsciously, as a mother, there are times when my inside voices have screamed for solitude and peace and quiet. I have never been ‘on my own’, when I moved out of home it was with the father of my daughter and thereafter it has always been H and I, I have never had to be alone no matter how many times I frustratingly wished I could be. I have of course, always done everything backwards so it makes sense that the universe has decided that having a husband and two children means it is time for some ‘ME’ time – I am about to be alone for the next few months, whether I like it or not.  Trust me, I don’t like it but I will be damned if I don’t make the most of it – I am going to enjoy this time on my own, by hook or by crook and when my family arrives they will be more appreciated and loved than they could possibly understand – SNAKE love all around.

Making lists seems to be a way of taking my mind off of all this pressure, the fear of loneliness and the worst case scenarios that as a realist, are firmly cemented in my mind. All I can think about is what if the girls do not get their passports (Most unlikely, in fact improbable but still a thought), what if my husband does not get his visa (Again, improbable but realistic), what if things do not work out the way I have so cautiously planned and what if all my list making is in vain and no one bothers to follow my lists. What then? The fact that my lists could go ignored has me needing to make a back up list for myself, just in case.

I sound like an absolute nut job right now, I get it. If you were about to endure what I am going to be, you would be a nut job too. Nut job or not, I have to believe that my lists will be read and my OCD will not be in vain… Add control freak to your list of judgements for me, at least you can tick it off – Ticks always make the list look better.

Off to tick a list…