All Change

Although it’s only been a couple of weeks since we got back from our Easter holidays break in France, it feels like several months because so much has been happening.

The main change relates particularly to my husband, but has had a big impact on the whole family. Some time ago he had an idea for starting his own business. For a while it was just that – an idea. Then as it took hold he began to work it up a little more in his spare time. He chatted to friends who either worked for themselves or had relevant experience, and the consensus seemed to be that it was a good idea. He started to work on it a little more seriously during the evening or at weekends. Eventually we realised that this was a concept we both whole-heartedly believed in, and the time had come either to forget the whole thing, or put our money where our mouths were, and for him to quit his (steady, well-paid, secure!) job in order to pursue it properly.

We ummed and ahhed – it’s not a decision anyone can take lightly, but when you have a large mortgage, two small children and a wife whose writing career is yet to keep the family in anything other than a few extra, occasional treats, it really needs thinking about.

Then another university friend suggested that husband did some part-time, freelance consultancy work to pay the mortgage and the bills and put food on the table while he spent the rest of the time getting his start-up started. That made us feel a lot more secure than simply him quitting his job, and us living off our savings while the new business (hopefully) got going, and so that is the option we went for.

It has big advantages – the main one obviously being to keep the money coming in, but also for husband to keep in touch with an industry he has spent most of his working life in, and is still deeply interested in. It has also meant, however, that he has effectively been setting up two new businesses – one as a consultant, and one as a fledgling entrepreneur – and so life has been pretty busy.

Since we got back from France, he has been working two days a week as a consultant, and the remaining five on starting to get his business off the ground. The consultancy days don’t feel any different to me as he still puts on a suit and tie, leaves the house around 8am and gets back roughly in time for Anna’s bedtime. The other days, however, are totally different. For one thing he is working from home. In practice that often means working from a cafe round the corner (for some reason he doesn’t find a Weetabix-smeared dining table and a marauding one-year-old round his feet particularly conducive to work), but he might pop home for lunch, or be around at the children’s tea-time for an hour or so. The payback for this is that he is equally likely to be working at 10pm because he needs to make a phone-call to someone in America, or on a Saturday morning because at 5pm on Friday he promised to get some figures back to someone first thing on Monday.

His work-life and our home-life have suddenly become much more entwined. Apart from my writing, we’ve both only ever worked at management level for large organisations, and so it is a shock that suddenly the support systems you take for granted in that environment – HR, IT, Finance, Procurement, Legal, your own PA – just aren’t there. Anything that needs doing we either have to do ourselves, or pay (and at the moment that means out of our own pockets) to have someone else do it. Quite a learning curve.

And as if life with two new business and two young children wasn’t complicated enough, something about seeing my husband all fired-up about his exciting project has inspired my own creative juices, and I have started work on my third novel. You know, in my spare time.

So, there we are. Life is currently busy, exciting, demanding, chaotic, challenging, fulfilling, stimulating and somewhat exhausting, but it very much feels like the right thing to be doing, right now. Wish us luck!

train

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A week in Provence

My husband had a migraine yesterday. He’s started getting them periodically over the last year, and we’re still trying to work out the triggers, but one of them seems to be release of stress – he’s fine while the adrenalin is still pumping, but when things calm down his body protests. Apparently this is quite common, and the phenomenon is sometimes known as ‘weekend headaches’. In this case, however, the migraine came the day after we got home from a week’s holiday. I suggested that this time it could be straightforward nerves, as he is not only back to work today, but also starting a new job. He said it wasn’t, it was actually the release of stress after successfully completing our holiday, in particular the nine hour journey back from the South of France by train. Holiday planning and booking is very much husband’s job in our household, and apparently he was so stressed out by how annoyed I would be if he had messed up the bookings and we found ourselves stranded in Lille that it triggered a migraine. Oops. Note to self: Be nicer.

I wouldn’t say the journey home will go down as one of my favourite ever days. For a start we had been inadvertently booked in the quiet coach, and ‘quiet coach’ isn’t a concept you can really convey to a fifteen month old. Not an English one anyway. French children, apparently, not only refrain from throwing food, they have all taken a vow of silence. My attempts to exchange conspiratorial eye-rolls with other parents were met with frosty glares, and I actually thought the middle-aged woman across the aisle was going to spit on us. I felt slightly guilty about disrupting her journey, until I was pacing the vestibule area with Sophia and discovered that being a stickler for the rules on quiet carriages didn’t prevent her sneaking off to the loos for a sneaky fag or eight. Puh. However, none of this was my husband’s fault. And I didn’t shout at him. I just drip-fed Sophia raisins whilst internally exercising my A-level French to the max in order to compose cuttingly sarcastic comebacks which I would obviously never have the nerve to utter.

The week preceding the journey home was lovely, though. For a start we broke the outward journey with a blissful 24 hours in Paris, managing to cram in a walk along the Seine, people-watching and listening to live jazz in a street cafe, a sneaky coupe de champagne or deux, and a very decent amount of croissants, pains aux chocolats, quiche and profiteroles. Oh, and a four-hour stint kneeling on the wooden floor awkwardly leaning over the side of a travel-cot to which Sophia had taken exception, and would only consent to lie in if I stroked her tummy. Every 20 minutes or so she would look so deeply asleep I would think it was safe to withdraw, and every time eyes and mouth immediately snapped wide open. Finally, I discovered that singing to her had the same soothing effect without crippling me, so I lay in bed next to her, singing lullabies until fell asleep, and I assume she must have done too.

We were staying  the rest of the week in Marseille. Anna is now a huge fan of Marseille, largely because the flat we were staying in had a hammock in the bedroom and a treehouse in the garden. I was slightly less sure. The people were so warm and friendly, and the views from the many hills were spectacular, but there was a bit too much graffiti, noise, dog poo and dangerous driving for my lamentably Northern European sensibilities. However. We ate some truly fantastic food. Fresh seafood in a cafe where you chose what you wanted from an enormous ice-chipped counter, and then they cooked it for you fresh. With mountains of the best chips I’ve ever tasted. And home-made alioli. Stuffed vegetables and gratin dauphinoise from our local traiteur. Mille-feuille. Local strawberries. Cheese. Pate. Fresh bread and pastries. Ratatouille. Crepes. To be honest I’ve never totally ‘got’ French food before this trip, always finding it a little bit too rich and heavy and lacking in vegetables. Maybe my tastes have changed, but I also think that Provencal cooking has much more emphasis on loads of fresh vegetables to accompany the inevitable cheese/butter/cream fest, and I prefer it for that. Anyway, I came home 1lb lighter, despite eating like a pig all week!

We also had fantastic trips to Les Calanques – the dramatic rocky cliffs and coves around Marseille, Aix-en-Provence and Arles. The weather was mixed, but good enough that my beloved Saltwater sandals got their first outing of 2016 and we could introduce Sophia to the delights of paddling.

The nicest thing about the week, though, was some proper family time uninterrupted by the demands of housework, paid work, school and all our various mobile devices. Absolute bliss. And now my husband has recovered from the migraine seemingly brought on by terror of me losing my temper, we all feel refreshed and ready for the new term. salawaters