By ALLISON RUSHBY
All the sayings about change are positive.
Change always comes bearing gifts.
If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.
A change is as good as a holiday.
Well, I’d just like to say… bullshit. When you’re a mother with a very nicely honed nap, swimming lesson, playgroup, library time and grocery outing schedule, change is often something to be feared, not applauded.
Still, my husband and I dreamed that dream of change a few years ago. Over and over again, we brought up the ‘moving overseas’ subject and then swiftly told ourselves it was too hard, it would put us too far behind financially, that it just wasn’t the sensible thing to do.
But then, staring down the barrel of 15 odd years of kiddie scheduling, we faltered. Suddenly, a big serve of sensible didn’t look so appealing. And, just like that, we revisited going overseas for a short stint. What did we have to lose, after all (as it turned out, only thousands of dollars and our combined sanity…)?
So, when my husband came home one day and gaily informed me he fancied applying for a job in Cambridgeshire in the UK in order to do some further medical training, it wasn’t entirely a surprise. Still, I did what any self-respecting mother would do…
I panicked.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like England. I loved England. And, being half English, I’d traveled there many times. In fact, I loved travel and, while it was no longer as easy with two kids in tow, I now spent many happy hours with my nose buried in travel memoirs instead.
It was always inspiring to be able to read about someone else’s amazing journey while you were stuck at home, making endless sandwiches for tardis-like lunch boxes…
However, the reality of doing something similar myself was extremely confronting. After all, there was one thing I’d noticed in every single one of those travel memoirs – none of them had included travel with children.