Visiting home; the art of juggling baby, family, friends and downtime

I’m back in the land of Aus this month visiting family and friends. It’s wonderful. I’ve had beach time, great laughs with some (sadly not all) of the people I feel so utterly fortunate to call friends and moments with these friends that make my homesick heart soar.  Really, I’m not just attempting to be poetic. When I am having a laugh with old friends, I really do feel like the proverbial pig in mud. This time, I think I’ve struck the balance between catching up with as many people as possible while still enjoying myself and not winding myself up into a tightly stretched rubber band.  This, many of you will know, is no easy feat. Particularly for me. I am one of those people that is incapable of enjoying their own party. So enjoying an entire visit home, which is a little bit like a series of back-to-back parties, can be quite a stressful experience.

There are some people, such as my fellow blogger Kate, who relish throwing a party.  Kate loves all the organising and the myriad spreadsheet opportunities her own event management presents, but most impressively of all, she actually enjoys the event. As hard as I try, I can’t enjoy anything to which I bear the heavy responsibility of having invited people. The stress of allocating time to everyone who has gone to the trouble of coming along is too much. My desperation to ensure everyone is having a good time means I can’t even enjoy the time spent with those I do manage to allocate time to. Linger too long at the chips bowl and like a boredom seeking missile, my room scanning eyes WILL lock on to your position. Its advanced intelligence collecting technology will convince me that you are trying not to cry into your beer whilst cursing my name and asking yourself why you came from the outer Hebrides (or across the bridge if you are in Sydney) to this totally lame excuse for a party. Actually you are probably just waiting for someone to bring out the salt and vinegar.

So it was with more anxiety than excitement that I had prepared for my visit home. I feared all the angst of an extended party with the dynamite that is family thrown in. However, my experience may finally be paying off as this particular trip home feels like mastering bike riding without the training wheels. The wind is in my hair, I have speed and I am riding steady. Like a diplomat the top of her field I seem to have negotiated the turbulent waters of the home visit and come away with a few Cuban cigars at the same time.

Firstly, I stayed where I wanted to stay rather than trying to please as many people as possible by staying close to where the majority live. We rented an apartment in North Bondi for our Sydney stay and the morning swims and immersion in the charming little community atmosphere helped with the jet lag and made me feel like I was actually on holiday rather than a tour of duty. Secondly, I came up with the genius idea of asking my parents to come up from Melbourne for the Sydney leg of our stay in a double headed attack on the guilt I felt for any time spent in Australia that was not spent with them in Melbourne, and the problem of what to do with the baby whilst flitting from one social engagement to the other. They enjoyed time spent with their new grandson, (with rare but undoubtedly fulfilling sightings of me and The Spaniard), and we were spared dragging less-than-happy baby (dealing with a change of season, an abrupt change in time zone and incisors breaking through his gums) to pubs, restaurants and cafes across Sydney. Sure, my mother looked fairly alarmed every time we left her behind with wailing child and list of things she might try but which we could not guarantee would be effective, but there’s no learning experience quite as productive as being thrown in the deep end.

I extended this exploitation of family to my sister for the Melbourne leg of our visit. She loves spending time with her new nephew, and I love her spending time with her new nephew…. and picking me up from the pub, and dropping me off at the cafe. Thirdly I’ve adopted the attitude of a martyr. If you have recently endured a 30 hour long haul economy flight with an infant you can not be expected to comply with the expectations of mere mortals, such as sticking to pre-made engagements. I realise there are an awful lot of people who have completed this particular challenge who did not die and were not awarded a special place in heaven, but that did not stop me feeling a lot less guilt than I am accustomed to when I was just too jet lagged or drunk or bloated from the eating throughout the back-to-back engagements to make one of my overly ambitious appointments. I was confident that people would feel sympathy rather than disappointment towards me if I couldn’t see them. If they didn’t – and I realise it is hard to grasp exactly how heinous something can be until you actually experience it yourself – I knew I deserved a bit of slack (I even heard myself saying in my head “if they knew what I’d been through”. How good is that?  In terms of martyr parlance? You should hear me say it. It’s really emotional. I’ve been practising).  So I was able to cancel when I needed to, not with ease, but at least without self-flagellation.

Finally, I’ve extended the shameless exploitation of family to that of friends.  I asked friends to host dinner parties on my behalf and in my honour. Sure, it feels a bit awkward at first not just inviting yourself to dinner but providing a list of other potential guests. However, I can assure you that with a little effort you can overcome any remaining urge to comply with social etiquette and manners. Dinner at someone’s home is absolutely the best way to spend time with friends, especially for the restaurant weary traveller. Nothing beats the intimacy and warmth of a home dinner party, even if it is at someone else’s home.

As much as I’d like to take all the credit, on reflection I also realise that a big part of the enjoyment of this visit is not so much a result of my dubious tactics, but the presence of a new baby. A new baby does much to alleviate the otherwise inevitable tension that comes with extended time with family. You don’t have to spend quite as much time listening to your parents and siblings bickering or re-telling stories for the umpteenth time.  Much of this is avoided due to the attention directed to the latest and most exciting addition to the family.

The other great thing is that it’s also a bit like having a double – when usually you’d be losing serious points for forgoing family time for a lunch with friends, you can actually win points for giving your parents, brother, sister or aunt exclusive time with junior.  It’s win-win.

Now, if I can just get home – solo this time with bub – without having a complete breakdown, I may be able to call this holiday a success.

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