Last week I asked this exact question over on Instagram: Would you pack up your family for a complete change of pace? Almost every single person who responded said yes.
It got me thinking because, while most of us crave a break, what that actually looks like is different for every family. For some it’s a week in the sun, for others it’s a camping trip, a staycation or simply getting through the summer holidays one day at a time.
If you’re a parent without much of a village around you, you’ll know that summer doesn’t always feel like a holiday. It can feel like weeks of juggling work, childcare, meals, trying to keep everyone entertained and wondering how on earth you’re going to make it to September with your sanity intact. Sometimes just getting through the summer is an achievement in itself.
Earlier this year we were lucky enough to spend time in Australia visiting my family, so we’d already had our big trip for the year. But the four of us still fancied getting away. Not for another holiday exactly, but for something that felt completely different.
That thought took me straight back to 2011.
Picture an Aussie girl and an Irish guy trying to navigate visas and somehow find a way to live in the same country. We were determined to make it work, but the paperwork had other ideas. Instead, we packed our bags and spent a year house sitting our way around France. Looking back now, it was one of the best years of our lives.
So earlier this year I found myself thinking, why don’t we do it again?
Fast forward to now and here we are, spending our summer in rural France.
If you’ve never come across house sitting before, it’s different to a house swap. You’re staying in someone else’s home while they’re away and, in return, you’re looking after the house, the garden and any animals they’ve left in your care.
In our case, we have one of the most beautiful gardens I’ve ever seen to keep on top of and two wonderfully opinionated chickens who demand breakfast, dinner and, I’m fairly sure, a daily chat. Once they’re happy, though, the rest of the day is ours.
It’s a world away from home. Instead of school runs and rushing from one thing to the next, our mornings begin by letting out the chickens, checking the garden and deciding what we’d like to do that day. Some days we explore a nearby town, other days we stay put. It’s slower in every sense of the word.
The only sounds we hear most mornings are birdsong, the chickens announcing themselves and the church bells from our little corner of the commune marking the passing of the day.
What I wasn’t prepared for was how strange that slower pace would feel.
I’m not someone who would describe myself as a risk taker. In fact, as our departure got closer, the doubts started creeping in. I’d be travelling solo with the kids for the first time. How would they cope in a completely new environment? Would they miss home and their friends? What if something went wrong? The “what ifs” became louder the closer we got to leaving.
Now that we’re here though?
I’m having a great time.
The funny thing is, none of those worries have come to pass. The kids have settled into this temporary little life far quicker than I have. They’ve embraced every part of it, taking their garden and chicken duties very seriously, while I’ve been busy trying to work out why slowing down feels so strange.
I don’t have access to the studio but the online shop is open and I’m still working. I’m still writing, replying to emails and keeping things ticking over. I’m reading more than I have in months. I’m cooking, planning little adventures for the kids and finding excuses to spend another hour in the garden.
There’s plenty to fill the time.
But there are no school drop-offs. No rushing to the post office before it closes. No after-school activities. No playdates to organise. No constant race against the clock.
The only real deadline we have each day is making sure our two feathered ladies are fed and happy.
You might be reading this thinking, What exactly is the problem here?
I’ve asked myself the same question.
The truth is, there isn’t one.
Life hasn’t suddenly become perfect because we’re in France. I did bring the children with me, after all.
Someone is always hungry. Someone else is convinced they’re bored five minutes after saying they weren’t. There are muddy shoes, forgotten water bottles, sibling squabbles and the usual negotiations over whose turn it is to do… well… anything.
The chaos of parenting didn’t stay at home.
It’s just a different kind of chaos.
What’s changed is everything wrapped around it.
There isn’t a school bell dictating the day. Nobody needs to be dropped somewhere at a certain time. I’m not mentally working through tomorrow’s to-do list while trying to get through today’s. The constant background hum of everyday life has been turned right down.
And that’s the part I wasn’t expecting.
For the first week, I kept feeling like I should be doing something else. As if I’d forgotten an appointment or missed an email. It wasn’t guilt exactly. It was more that my brain didn’t quite know what to do without the constant pressure of the next thing.
I suspect it’ll take me a little while to settle into this slower rhythm. Maybe by the time we head home it’ll feel completely normal. Or maybe it won’t.
Either way, I’m glad we decided to do something a little different this summer.
Not because we’ve escaped real life. We definitely haven’t.
But because changing the scenery has made me realise just how much noise there is in our normal pace of life.
For now, I’m going to enjoy the quiet mornings, the garden, the chickens and the fact that nobody is asking me where their shoes are while I’m trying to leave the house.
Although, knowing my family, someone is probably about to ask for a snack.
Or the chickens need something.
Possibly both.
Jo
