... and counting...

I sit in the basement of the house I grew up in. The walls that watched me grow and cry and dream. Cupboards and drawers and closets are filled with my 'left behinds,' from this trip and the last, and the ones before that. A bedroom that's been flooded more times than nights it's been slept in almost, a house under construction that has recently been named "My parents' " as it ceases to be "Mine."

Who would think that leaving this time would feel as tough when I've left before, when I've been gone so long already. 

But this time there will be a whole country, an ocean and 7 hours between myself and my family. As of Wednesday I will not touch my native soil for over a year... maybe more. Yet I go to my roots, the 'before there was me' place, and that is thrilling.

I will get to know the family that I know in 10 day spurts from every other year or two over my 26 years. Find out if my Uncle David makes me want to cry, just like he made my mum while they were growing up. Have dinner every week with my Gran and Grandpa so that they just might not be surprised by how blue my eyes are. Meet my cousin's knew baby and actually have a connection. Become friends with my family. And introduce them to the me that is so much more than the actress granddaughter from the colonies.

So as I pack up my bags and pack away what won't fit, this posting becomes my weightless, space saving, time efficient journal. For those who actually might read this, apologies in advance for it's sappiness. Or attempts at sarcasm (which so rarely translate).

But I invite you along on the journey and I learn and meet and grow... 

... and hopefully, of course, have Gerard Butler's beautiful babies!