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The next two years passed fairly uneventfully, my darling girl. You and I found a routine, and we comfortably followed it. You continued to grow into the most beautiful child I could imagine, and I was happy, finally coming to terms with my divorce from my parents years earlier.
I enrolled you in a two year preschool program when you were three, and suddenly found myself with four hours a day free, Monday to Friday. Unsure what to do with myself, I increased my workload with Abaigael, effectively working a double 'heavy load.' The work continued to interest me, and I watched our college funds grow each week. I was also able to treat you more often, although I was careful not to spoil you. With the extra work, I found that we could live a little less frugally, a little more comfortably. We continued to live in the same small apartment, sharing a bedroom, and continued to walk or catch buses everywhere. Living as close as we did to your preschool, to my university, and working at home, I found I rarely needed a car for any reason. On the odd occasions that I did need a car, Fern was happy to lend me one.
As I had done every night of your life, I continued to tell you your fairee tale before you went to bed. Often, you would sleepily say the words with me. We had both memorised the words of the story, were both calmed by its familiar cadences and information. I knew that it would not be long until you started asking me for more information about your father, but for the time being you were content with the fairee tale.
You loved preschool. You fit in well with your peers, making friends more easily than I ever had. The teachers assured me that you were a joy in the classroom, easy to teach and eager to learn and participate. I was happy that you fitted in so well, that you were becoming such a good student. Even though my little student was only three or four years old.
Each day, we would walk the two kilometres to your preschool. You would walk proudly in front of me, wearing the little backpack that contained your recess, lunch and a jumper. Proud to be like the big kids from the mothers walking group, the kids who had already started primary school. You couldn't wait to get to preschool in the mornings, and I had to drag you away each afternoon.
In your second year of preschool, I started applying for graduate schools in North America. I was concerned about up rooting you from your home, but knew that the education I would received in these universities I was applying to was far better than the education I would receive in Australia. I was continuing my study of gender sexuality and culture, and looking at writing my PhD thesis of something about religion and teen pregnancy. My ideas were not fully formed, and I didn't expect them to become fully formulated until after I was accepted into an institution, after I began to discuss my topic with my supervisor.
Looking at the research focus of the universities that interested me, I immediately ruled out McGill. While it was very well respected, the gender studies focus went in a different direction to my interests. Toronto had many positive aspects, but I was not sure that I wanted to live in such a large city. Cornell, in Ithaca, New York, offered everything I wanted. It was in a small enough city that I knew I could live there comfortably, had a well respected gender studies department that meshed with my own interests, and had a decent school system.
The final consideration became the deciding factor. I wanted you to get the best education possible, and without good schools I knew that this wasn't possible.
I began contacting members of the faculty, assessing each for their compatibility and knowledge about my proposed project area, and their availability as a supervisor. Finally finding someone who I thought I would be able to work with, I applied. The application process was long, especially as I was requesting an unusual enrollment.
Coming from Australia, I knew that under my existing degree and educational system, I was able to go directly from my undergraduate degree into a three year PhD program. However, in the States, the normal pathway was an undergraduate degree, then a two years masters program before the three year PhD program. I really didn't want to waste the time on a masters program when I knew that I was already qualified to go directly into a PhD program. So, I had appealed to the university to grant me special enrollment, directly into the PhD program.
Three weeks before you finished preschool, I found out that not only had they granted me permission to enroll in the PhD program directly, they had accepted my enrollment, and were granting me a full scholarship and bursary program. I was due to start in 7 months, half way through your kindergarten year.
Knowing the amount of planning required to uproot both of us, I set about beginning the paperwork. Your passport was due to expire three weeks after we arrived in the US, so I had it renewed. My own passport had expired, so I had to have a new one issued. With both passports valid for at least the length of my PhD, and my university acceptance letters in my hands, I set about filling out the paperwork for our American visas. Why America makes the process so difficult is utterly beyond me, but then again, I'm not an immigration expert or anything.
Darling, you started kindergarten in Australia. Because the academic years in the Southern and Northern hemispheres don't line up, I had a choice to make. When we arrived in Ithaca, I could either enroll you to complete a full year of kindergarten, or to start you in the first grade. I agonised over this decision. Although, darling girl, once you started school there, I was unsure why the decision had been so hard, when it was obviously the right one.
I enrolled you in first grade.
This was the first time that you skipped a grade, although because you had completed a semester of kindergarten, I'm still not sure if it counts as skipping.
When you started kindergarten, you moved from the half days of preschool to full days of real school. You were so proud to be going to real school, to be carrying more in your little backpack than food. You were thrilled when we got your first school books, your first pencil case and pencils. I carefully labelled these, and you would read your name, proudly showing off your school supplies.
When I had decided to enroll you in the first grade, I had contacted the Ithaca school district, and asked them about making sure that you were caught up. They sent me the home schooling resources for kindergarten, and in the months between finishing school in Australia, in late June, and starting in America, in early September, we worked through the entire packet. You were amazingly bright, even then, my gorgeous girl, and you went through the curriculum for an entire year in mere weeks.
Before we left Australia, I had a long discussion with Abaigael. We talked about many things, and she reminded me of the person she had met when I first started working for her. We talked about you, and my plans for your life. How I hoped it would turn out, and what I hoped you would achieve for yourself. I told her of the college fund I had set up for you, and my hopes for your education. In the course of our discussions, we agreed that I would continue to work for her, in taking on either a 'light' or 'medium' workload each week. My wages would be placed directly into your college fund each week, and she would email me my group certificates and the end of each financial year. I left her office, she hugged me, something I had never experienced from her in my years in her employment.
"Good luck, Lilly. I see you achieving great things in life. Just don't neglect your own bliss, it deserves to be cherished," she whispered in my ear.
Touched, I thanked her, and returned to my packing.
I arranged to leave Australia in the middle of August, giving us time to pack up our apartment, and to find a new one in Ithaca. Once more, Fern came to our aid, helping us to clean and to pack, offering her garage as a storage area until we had found a permanent address. We packed and cleaned, giving much of our furniture away, selling the washing machine, and packing our belongings into boxes and bags, ready to be stored with Fern or taken with us. I ended the lease on our apartment two weeks before we left Australia, and we returned to the room at Fern's. She spoilt you rotten that fortnight, invoking her 'right as a godmother to spoil her goddaughter who she won't see for at least three years,' overriding my protests.
Fern drove us up to Sydney airport, crying as she farewelled us. She had become such a big part of my life that I found myself bawling as I hugged her goodbye. You tugged my arm as we passed through security, offering me comfort and love. "We can ring Aunt Fern every day, mum," you reasoned, sure in your sense of logic as only small children can be.
Our flight was uneventful, although I was glad not to be flying with an infant again. As a baby, my darling girl, you flew very well, but I found it highly stressful. Now, you were excited about the prospect of flying, excited about the aircraft, excited about a new place, and hundreds of other things. About half way through the flight, one of the flight attendants took you up to the front of the cabin, into the cockpit. You came back with you very own wings, and a look of awe.
Arriving in New York City, we made our way to our hotel. We were sharing a double bed, because I couldn't justify the exorbitant amount of money a second bed would cost in the city. We stayed for four nights, going to two musicals, to the Statue of Liberty, and Central Park. Basically, being tourists. You were enamored with the city, and I promised that we could visit again.
On our fifth day in America, we caught a bus to Ithaca, and found our couch surfing contact. We had arranged to stay with them for a week while I looked for an apartment. Arriving more than a month before the start of term, I had been assured that it would be easy enough to find something that matched what I was looking for.
The international advisers hadn't been wrong, and four days after arriving in Ithaca, we signed the lease on an apartment. It was bigger than the one in Australia, and for the first time in your life we had separate bedrooms. The apartment was located within walking distance of Cornell, as well as being close to a primary - elementary - school for you.
Over the next few days, we set about getting furniture for the apartment. I had talked to the real estate agents, and expressed my desire for a lease that I could extend. I really didn't fancy moving every year we were in Ithaca. The real estate agent was very helpful, and assured me that the lease could be extended as needed. "In fact," she confided, "the previous tenants were here for four years. The owners live in California, and don't like the weather here, but really like the income the apartment generates, and aren't looking to sell any time soon."
Satisfied that I would not have to transport any white goods too often, I bought a fridge, a freezer and a washing machine. I also requested that the toilet be fitted with a dual flush system. This initially confused the real estate agent, until I explained that they were standard in Australia, and could greatly decrease the water use in a home. I had the white goods delivered, knowing that the price of delivery was far less than the stress I would feel trying to get them up the stairs myself.
We spent the next few days scouring the shops for furniture. I was only after the basics to start with - a dining table and chairs, a couch, and beds for each of us - but knew that we would have to invest in more later, in things like bookshelves, chests of drawers, clothes storage, and so much more. I was due to receive a stipend from the university, and had saved a decent amount of money during the last few years, but I didn't want to spend too much of it, especially so early in our stay. So, in our treks, I was looking for the cheapest decent furniture I could find. We traipsed through Target and Walmart, through smaller stores and specialist shops, and through the various thrift stores in the city. Finally, we visited the antique store and I discovered exactly what I had been looking for. For myself, I found a gorgeous king sized sleigh bed, and for you we found a cute day bed with trundle. Both needed new mattresses, but the antique store said that it could deliver the frames free of charge. As we were leaving, I made one last sweep of the store, when I saw the perfect dining room table. It was large, flat, clearly well worn, would seat ten or twelve people, and came with two long bench style seats. Each end was supported by a single central leg, on a large foot. The only problem with it was a crack in the middle of the wood. But, it was beautiful.
"Could you tell me the providence of that table? It is beautiful, it just shines with life."
The kind lady who had helped us with beds turned to look at us. "That is an early eighteenth century monastery dining table. The legs are new, which greatly reduces the value of the item. And, of course, there is that crack. Last summer, we had an incredibly hot spell, followed by a huge electrical storm. The table just didn't handle the air pressure changes it seems, and so that crack appeared. In its damaged state, the table is almost worthless. I can give you, with the bench seats for, say… four hundred? We can deliver it with the bed frames," she said, clearly trying to sweeten the deal.
I didn't know much about antique furniture, but her price seemed too high for an item she had just described as almost worthless. Testing my luck, I decided to haggle with her.
"I'll give you three hundred for it. Including tax."
"After the deal I just gave you on the beds? Three eighty-five, plus tax."
"I thought it was worthless! Three ten, including tax."
"Three eighty-five, including tax."
"Three twenty."
"Three seventy."
"Three thirty."
"Three sixty."
"Three forty."
"Three fifty."
"Done." I handed my card over to her, and turned back to look at my new table. Despite the crack, I already loved it. "You have my number, your delivery men will call when they are at my place?"
Nodding, she handed my card back. "It truly is a beautiful piece, even with the flaws. I'm glad that it found such a loving home. Not everyone would have fought for it the way you did." Blushing, I thanked her, and we left.
Heading in search of the mattress store that I had found on the internet, we spent most of the morning trying out mattresses. I knew the type of mattress I preferred, and was delighted to find that it was known as the same thing here as all of the mattresses I had had in Australia. Selecting my hotel-motel mattress, I followed you around as you tried mattress after mattress. Eventually you settled on one known as the 'princess mattress.' To this day, darling girl, I don't know if you picked it because you really liked it or because of the name.
I ordered a king sized hotel-motel mattress for myself, and two single princess mattresses for you. Paying and organising delivery, I was delighted to find that they were able to deliver them the next day. Setting a delivery time, I felt glad to have found almost all the basic furniture we needed. We still didn't have a couch, but I figured that we could survive for a little while without one while I continued looking.
Returning to the apartment we started to put away the things we had bought - toasters, crockery and cutlery, sheets, pillows, doonas, towels. Enough to get us through the next few weeks, until we could figure out what else we needed.
True to her word the antique store delivered the beds, tables and benches at 4pm that afternoon. As we watched them bring the furniture up the stairs and into our apartment, I felt a surge of excitement. The furniture was beautiful, and was far better quality than anything I had been able to afford when we moved into the apartment in Australia.
You were so excited about all the new furniture in our apartment that you insisted on staying there that night, even without mattresses. "It'll be like a sleepover, mummy," you argued, and I gave in. We went to the couchsurfing house, and gathered all our stuff, thanking the host profusely before returning to our apartment.
By the time we arrived back that evening, I was exhausted, and ordered pizza, unsure what other take aways in the area delivered. Smiling, I figured it wouldn't be long until their menus started filling our mailbox. You were thrilled with the pizza, a rare treat when we were in Australia. After eating, you quickly fell into a deep sleep, overcome by the exhaustion and excitement of the day.
When the mattresses arrived the next day, and the beds were made, the apartment finally began to feel like home to me. Surveying the apartment, I felt a glow of excitement and happiness.
We were home.
Author's Note:
Isadora's day bed:
Cracked oak dining table: .
Bench seat .
Bench seat 2 misc%20furniture/benches/amish_church_
Sleigh bed images/wooden%20sleigh%