Chronicles of a Trailing Spouse...

A couple of months ago I wrote an article for a Perth magazine about the experience of moving to a foreign country, and the difficulties of coping without family around. In it, I advised building up a network of friends to compensate for lack of family. I also suggested getting out and about, joining groups, and generally keeping busy to avoid the inevitable homesickness which goes along with adapting to a new culture. Yeah I'm wise like that. Or as my family would argue, annoying. But then that was before DH went away to work up in the Pilbarra, leaving me to adapt to my new life and surroundings alone. Before he left I spent my days busily darting from class to coffee morning; ferrying kids to music and drama, as well as occasionally driving into the city to meet him for lunch. I had defeated culture shock! I laughed in the face of homesickness! I was FINE! I had adapted with as little fuss as possible! My life was a smug and self-satisfied...

After five months of humming and hawing, we've finally decided that in order to keep our collective sanity intact, we really do need to move out of our tiny treehouse. It has served it's purpose well; we have settled into our little community (by which I mean I know three people), the children are happy in their school, and the beautiful surroundings have provided a dramatic backdrop for our introduction to life in Australia. However, the truth is that pretty as it is, the house is really not much more than a glorified apartment, something which really doesn't work for a family of seven (albeit with the largest member absent two thirds of the time). It offers so little privacy that when I shower the children tend to gather in the bathroom to ask me questions through the misty glass (the bathroom door doesn't close) and our living room also serves as a kitchen/dining/dressing/occasional-conjugal-quickie-before-the-children-notice-room (there's no pri...