As a country-town raised city dweller, I always imagined that I'd return to country living once I had children. I couldn't even imagine how I'd go about raising kids in the concrete jungle. What would we do all day?
Oh god, surely not that...
Then I mummed 2 under 2 in the inner-city of Sydney and loved it. Walking out the front door with Maxi Taxi and Cappers rugged up, the 'big rig' pram whizzing in front, off to the library, or one of 34 cafes in reach, or the supermarket, or countless mates' places, or the pool, or 5 parks... you get the idea. I was in babyland heaven. In fact, I was so attached to striding out with the big rig that even my sister's place 3 suburbs over wasn't out of reach. But then the bairns started to grow up and got bored in the pram after approximately 45 seconds. And frequenting the 34 cafe's with 2 toddlers running riot became more chore than treat. And I really wanted my own park, not a shared park I had to leave the house to get to. So once number 3 (The Badoo) was expected, we knew it was time to move to a bigger place with a proper garden.
And then I remembered The Dream. I pictured myself on a cute little acreage in my cute little cottage with my cute little family - growing vegies, raising chickens, exploring creeks, swimming in spring-water fed dams, dreaming idly on my shaded verandah as the odd goat wanders by. There's gingham involved on some level. .