Some Words on 'Me-Time'

As I have mentioned a couple of times I have been hit with a bout of redundancy. After much initial musing my husband and I agreed not to disrupt the kid's routine by taking them out of a nursery where they are happy, for fear that we would loose their places, and in light of the fact that I would be looking for another job sooner rather than later.

Accordingly for the last four weeks I have been in the enviable position of being at home, child free, and with all the time in the world on my hands during the day.

Here is what I planned to do:

• Go swimming.
• Ride a bike everywhere.
• Go to daytime yoga classes.
• Meet friends for lunch.
• Go to the cinema.
• Blog lots.
• Read lots.
• Bake.
• Get a facial/manicure/massage.
• Spend one on one time with each child for one day a week.
• Take the children swimming, to the cinema and theatre,
• Save the pandas, understand the theory of relativity, and buy a pair of jeans which make my bum look pert (although I do realise that these last aspirations were idealistic and impossible to achieve within a relatively short period of time).

Here is what I have done:

• Avoided going swimming.
• Not taken the bike out of the shed.
• Not looked for a yoga class.
• Met a friend for lunch - once.
• Been to the cinema - once
• Written an average of less than one blog post a week.
• Read Grazia on a weekly basis and the family section of the Saturday Guardian twice.
• Barely turned the oven on (although I did bake 30 cupcakes for my son's birthday party).
• Been nowhere near a Beauty Salon but have tried to find my tweezers several times.
• Spent time with the children at GP and dental appointments.

In fairness it wasn't the best timing in the world to have arranged major structural building work to take place whilst I've been off work, rendering the house unsafe for little people to be around and meaning only my bedroom and the cellar are accessible during the daytime. Now to my utter shock someone has decided they would actually like to employ me, starting next week. My little oasis of idleness and self indulgence is therefore drawing to a close.

So I would like to share with you a little wisdom garnered from this experience of serious 'me-time'. To all the working mums and stay at home mums - you are fantastic. To keep all those balls up in the air is a spectacular feat of imagination, endurance and organisational skills.

I know when you are up to your armpits in meetings/laundry/nose-wiping/nappy changing/report writing it feels like nothing more than drudgery and 'me-time' is an aspirational luxury you can only dream of. But 'me-time' is only valuable when it is in the form of brief respite from an otherwise hectic life. In the absence of the day to day chaos too much 'me-time' feels quite frankly a little dull and meaningless. I have missed the kids and my husband during the day, and I have missed work, my colleagues, and purpose.

And so I am enthusiastically looking forward to resuming normal service. The rush to get four people dressed and out of the house in the morning. The commute, the interaction, the drama of working life. The thrills and the spills, the chaos and the mess are what make life interesting. You can keep your 'me-time' for now - I'm back in the rat race.

source: www.volacci.com

It's Not What You Say, It's The Way That You Say It......

So there we were, a full carload, on our way to Blackpool to pick up a second hand fireplace which we had bought off ebay. The kids had dozed off in the back and my husband and I were listening to a programme on Radio 4 about Bob Newhart, the star of the first ever comedy album (The buttoned-Up Mind of Bob Newhart) and a famous US comedian. The album was a runaway success and credited with saving a then floundering little company called Warner Bros records back in 1960.

His style was to perform short phone conversation monologues, and if you have a spare few minutes to relax with your eyes closed and a nice cup of tea, theres one at the bottom of this post. In the programme he was interviewed about his deadpan style of comedy and I was particularly taken by his comments on the power of the well chosen word.

Imagine Mark Anthony about to make his seminal speech to the people of Rome following the assassination of Ceasar. It is likely that the citizens of the empire would not have responded quite as strongly to his invective if, instead of the famous;

"Friends, Romans, Countrymen. Lend me your ears."

he had instead opened with:

"Er.....excuse me, excuse me everyone. Could you come here a minute? I've got something to say..."

I am frequently amused by the modern flim flam of language, typified by those Marks and Spencer food adverts.

"This isn't just burger and chips. It's hand mashed meat byproducts, hand seasoned with your full years recommended salt intake, and lovingly deep fried by artisan operated catering machinery."

My husband and I were recently reduced to giggles when shopping in Debenhams as an enticing loudspeaker announcement was broadcast inviting us to visit their cafe and enjoy free range bacon on hand sliced bread rolls. Is it really a valid marketing strategy to boast that you have an employee stood in the kitchen slicing open bread rolls for the bacon butties?

Next time you feel that your life is a little on the mundane side, and needs an injection of glamour I suggest you take inspiration from these strategies. I decided there and then that we were no longer on our way to buy a second hand fireplace. We were sourcing a pre-loved vintage period piece.

Equally I am no longer killing a bit of spare time by blogging but am actively participating in creative community interaction. I am not going to have beans on toast for my lunch but instead am going to enjoy pan cooked pulses in a tomato jus with a fresh baked side of granary batch loaf. I am not sitting here in holey jeans and a baggy jumper but am modelling a creation of hand distressed vintage denim and a one off piece of individually designed artisan knitwear.

Try it for yourself. It's amazing how interesting our lives really can be.

Liebster Blog Award

Thank you to Lory at motherblogging for bestowing the above award upon my humble, little blog. To receive a compliment from someone who's writing I admire and regularly read brings a shy and bashful smile to my face.

As this is a spread-the-love-type of award, there are conditions in accepting it:

1) Create a post on my blog and add the Liebster blog image.

2) Link back to the person who gave me the award and say if I accept.

3) Choose 3-5 of my favourite blogs, link to these in my post and tell these lucky bloggers that they've been tagged.

The aim of this award is to bring lesser known but great blogs to light and so I am pleased to nominate the following favourite blogs of mine as recipients of this award:

Hannah Grage - open your heart to Hannah and her mom Carrie as they take you along on their fight against leukemia. Hannah is as cute as a button, with a will of steel and the soul of a rock star. She handles her illness with incredible bravery and stoicism. Carrie is one of my favourite people out there in blogland and her incredibly generous comments on my blog always make me smile. Inspirational.

My Mummy Wrote This For Me - a beautiful blog written by a mum who has survived breast cancer and writes about it in such a powerful way, including this post - an amazingly honest and powerful piece which has stayed with me. A beautiful blog with wonderful writing.

Parklover - I suspect this blog may have a larger following than is intended with this award but am nominating it in any event. I am fairly new to this blogger with her amazingly comprehensive guide to enjoying life in the outdoors with a young child. Whilst the blog is geographically based in my neck of the woods (mostly the northwest of England) it is utterly inspirational about just getting out there in all weathers and enjoying being outside with your little ones wherever you live. Love it.

Multum in Parvo - this mum writes with searing honesty about her divorce, and about the courage of opening herself to a new relationship with her fireman. Another blog I am new to but which has hooked me from the start. Her writing is truthful, genuine, and at times laugh out loud funny.

Manana Mama - as she has just been nominated as blogger of the week by the BMB blog I suspect she may not qualify as a lesser known blog for long, but nevertheless I will just pass this award on before her followers hit triple figures. She writes with a wistful, dream-like quality and her use of language is wonderful. Wisdom and humour permeate her writing and I always love to read her posts.

Do check these ladies out if you get the chance and bloggers please feel free to nominate your own favourite little gems.

Four Years

Some four years ago I was two weeks overdue with my first child. I was huge, hormonal and desperate to be rid of the squirming intruder inside my belly which seemed to show no interest in exiting at the appointed time. Two sweeps, two pessaries and 36 hours of gas and air assisted labour later and my boy arrived at 12.07 am on 7 March 2007.

There is nothing like the first few weeks with your first baby. Equal parts awestruck at the miracle you have created and sheer terror at the enormity of motherhood. Slowly you find your groove, and before you know it the first year has passed in a blur of nappies, sleeplessness and a love you never knew you could experience.

Then comes the milestones of walking and first words. Then the emergence of a strong willed little individual with their own opinions as to whether they should comply with your entirely reasonable requests. Another year passes in a whirl of delight at your little one's achievements and battles for supremacy.

Then came the terrible twos and, in our case, the arrival of a little sister. This combined with a 7 month extended potty training period made that year a challenge but nevertheless the charm of that little person never fails to win you over after even the worst day. A little smile, a whispered "Love you mummy" and a fierce hug will never. ever. ever. fail to win me right back onto his side. Another year passed.

Then the threes hit. Somehow I thought they'd be more straightforward but I was wrong. He's a handful. A bundle of bouncing, wrestling, mischievous energy. Cheeky, clumsy, impish, monkey child, leaving a trail of smells, noises and chaos in his wake. He cannot stay still for a moment, has to touch everything. And the questions....dear god....the questions. From morning til night;

"why, where, how, when, which, why...".

This is the year when I first started to hear my parents words coming out of my mouth;

"Because I said so"

"I said NO"

"I don't know why it's like that. It just is"

And my personal favourite invented by my great-grandmother and going back over a hundred years in my family history; "Because why is a crooked letter and you can't straighten it". (I don't believe it is intended to make sense, just to stump the average three year old into silence.)

I wouldn't change him for the wold. Not one single part of him.

Happy fourth birthday my dearest, darling first born. My son. My boy.

Struggling With A Case of the What If's.....

What a weird, weird week. For the first time in my adult, post-education life, I am jobless although admittedly I did manage to prolong the student years for far, far too long. More accurately I am redundant, albeit voluntarily before anyone starts feeling excessively sorry for me.

The word 'turbulent' would accurately describe how I have felt this week. I've veered from ecstatic appreciation at being able to laze about watching films on the sofa, to guilt at the fact that I have not already managed to clean the house from top to bottom with nothing but my tongue and some bicarb of soda (by way of bad housewife self-flagellation), then to despair that I may never get another job again and have now condemned my family to life in a small rusty caravan with nothing but pot noodles and a dodgy one bar electric fire by way of comfort.

I may be slightly over-egging the pudding, but if I were an actress in a film this week I would be Joan Crawford in one of her great over-acted melodramas, Mildred Pierce perhaps, but without the scary eyebrows and hopefully without my children writing a tell-all memoir about my evil parenting methods in 20 years time.

The thing that stops me from just sitting back and enjoying this time off is that I struggle to live in the moment. As soon as I achieve one thing my mind is racing to criticise for not having achieved something else.

"Oh wow I have just mopped the floor for the first time in....well nearly ever to be honest. Aargh but the kids have not eaten anything but carbohydrate for the last two days...."

You see? Why can't I just be rightly proud of my new shiny floors (who knew that was their real colour) before I race to lament another example of my failings in life? I know I'm not alone in this and it is an affliction which most of us suffer from as it is just too hard to keep all those balls up in the air at once.

There are so many things I want to spend this bonus time doing but when push comes to shove the only thing that counts is to spend time with the important people in my life; family and friends.

So I am forcing myself to try to live in the moment and enjoy this for what it is, but there is that little niggling voice at the back of my head which keeps asking:

"What if you never get another job again?"

So I am going to use every tactic in the book to force myself to relax into this period of downtime. I am not going to give in to the 'what if's' with their nebulous, all encompassing anxieties. A quick stab in the leg with a fork by way of aversion therapy should put paid to that, so whilst my redundancy may leave me with permanent markings akin to the crocodile people of Papua New Guinea, I will at least be able to tend to my wounds in an entirely relaxed, anxiety-free frame of mind.

Free Will, Ageing Armpits and a Truly Original Valentines Present

So the last few days have been revelatory in many ways.

My 19 month old daughter has just discovered free will in a big way. Every parent reading this will need no further explanation and can just nod in empathy remembering their own particular moments of public humiliation at the hands of a tantrum wielding toddler. I have been there before with my son, yet somehow I thought my daughter would be different. I had convinced myself that her amenable, giggling babyhood was indicative of a truly sweet and placid temperament. I am an eternal optimistic fool.

The difference this time is that I know it will not be for ever. This phase does come to an end. My son is now peeping shyly around the corner of becoming a reasonable human being. He is within touching distance of rational thought and basic decency....if he can only......stretch that bit.....further........ we'll be there.


In the meantime I will ride the crest of my daughters moods and it will all be fine. She may look like she has come straight from a Mabel Lucie Atwell illustration, but she has the fire of a true warrior. Let battle commence.

Leading me to the second revelation of the week. Historically I've not really given much thought to my armpits. They get a daily dose of deodorant and are casually threatened with a wafting razor and that's about it. I now realise I should have paid them much more attention. I should have revelled in their tautness; the tight hollow between arm and torso. I should have gloried in their smooth contours because seemingly overnight they have become the first part of me to significantly and irrefutably look OLD.

At some point between September (when it was last hot enough to wear a vest outside) and Saturday night, gravity has extacted such a precision targeted almighty pull on my armpits that I now officially have an armpit wattle.

I noticed this as I tried on a sleeveless dress to go to my friends 40th birthday party. The dress always looked fine on before but this time something jarred. It took me a few minutes of squinting and trying different angles in the mirror before I realised what the subtle difference was. Before I had nice armpits, now they look very much like the photo I chose for this week's silent sunday;

My armpits have now been formally retired from public view. I am distraught.

And the final word is reserved for my husband. I love you so very much. You are thoughtful, loving, supportive, generous and do all the laundry. You are my hero and I know that your heart was truly in the right place. It reflected my love for history and collecting quirky and interesting anecdotes about places. At any other time it would have been the most wonderful present, but somehow buying me a guided tour of Manchester's underground sewer system for Valentine's Day seems to err slightly on the side of unromantic.

I'm just saying.

(I love you. x)

Listography - 5 Favourite Movies

So this weeks list over at Kate's is 5 favourite films. Here are some of mine;

Raiders of the Lost Ark.

I remember being taken to see this film at the cinema. I was 10 years old and I fell deeply and irrevocably in love with Indiana Jones. The film had everything. Drama, spookiness, adventure, romance and a fantastic score. Everything. And I even loved the heroine - a truly worthy match for Indy. And what about the ending - was there ever a better ending to a film? What the hell was in those other boxes????

Up.

I love this film. It was the first film I took my son to the cinema to see and it was also the first film my daughter sat and watched all the way through, cuddled up on the sofa with me and her brother not moving once. It has the saddest, most bittersweet start to any kids film you could ever see and the most random assortment of character, but still manages to be truly uplifting. Beautifully animated with an amazing soaring orchestral soundtrack it is a wonderful film for all the family.

Uncle Buck.

This is frequently repeated on TV and every time I watch it with my husband we end up laughing. The downside is that upon meeting any annoying person with a facial growth we have an entirely un-pc urge to quote Uncle Buck by telling them to; "Take this quarter, go downtown, and have a rat gnaw that thing off your face". Fortunately I never have because that would just make me a very bad person.

When Harry Met Sally.

Just the perfect romcom, and the start to a huge girl-crush on Meg Ryan. My husband and I visited the famous Katz Deli when were on honeymoon (location for the faked orgasm scene). We got a bit scared by the huge choices on offer and the impatient, shouty New York deli staff so left without ordering anything, but I still managed to pay homage to Meg with a bit of a hair toss and a moan.

Gone With The Wind.

Unadulterated melodrama and tragedy. I first saw this when I was around 10 or 11 and my mum took me and a friend to see the film. She sat inbetween us and by the time of the interval (back in the days when there were such things) my friend and I had had sobbed so uncontrollably at Scarlett's civil war traumas that both of mum's sleeves were soaking and she was dreading the appearance of Bonny Blue Butler and her tragic demise in the second half. Scarlett has to be the ultimate heroine. Dazzling, beautiful, flawed and with a steely inner core. And the book isn't half bad too.

Silent Sunday - Bit of a Turkey

My contribution to Mocha Beanie Mummy's Silent Sunday

Nightbreath On My Cheek

My boy has been feeling under the weather and for the last few nights, just around bath time, has come a small plaintive request;

“Mummy, I still feel poorly. Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

My husband sighs and shakes his head but his eyes betray his smile. He is smiling at the simplicity of the boy’s request; at how little it takes for him to feel safe and cared for. He is also smiling because it means he will have to squeeze his large man-frame into a very small toddler bed located upstairs from everyone else, and will therefore enjoy a night undisturbed by the random cries, snores and snuffling which usually punctuate our sleep on an exhaustingly regular basis.

My son’s eyes light up when we agree that he can sleep with mummy;

“Just for tonight though…” I warn him with little effect.

Once in his pyjamas he scampers into the bed positioning himself firmly smack bang in the middle and waits expectantly for his bedtime stories.

Usually a minimum of three stories and as many songs is required before he will agree to surrender his grip on his day, but when in mummy’s bed he needs much less knowing that he is on slightly uncertain ground and better not push his luck if he is to avoid eviction by an exasperated mother.

Stories and songs complete he snuggles down contentedly.

“You coming to bed soon mummy?” he asks.

I assure him that I will be up very soon to check on him.

“Will you give me a kiss when you come up?”

I tell him that I always do, and he is happy with this.

His eyes close, and his long eyelashes rest on his perfect cheek. His breathing slows down and becomes regular. I pull the door shut and walk downstairs to the rest of my evening.

Later, when I come to bed, he has crept over on to my side hugging my pillow tight. He is hot underneath the thick duvet, and when lifting him onto the other side of the bed I let some air under his pyjama top to cool him down. His hair is damp on his forehead and he smells like wet puppy and fresh baked biscuits rolled into one. As I lift him he stirs and throws his arms around my neck holding me tightly. I whisper reassurance and as I get into bed next to him he relaxes his grip and snuggles in close, his face against my face, his arms and legs a jumble of limbs trying to slot comfortably into me.

I remember back to when that body did fit snugly into mine. When I would spend evening after evening hypnotised by the activity inside me, wondering whether it was tiny hands, elbows or feet that were causing my stomach to undulate of its own accord. I marvelled then at the sheer miracle of this tiny life and I marvel now at the love I have for this small, loud, exasperating, chaotic, wonderful child I am so lucky to know.

I lie there with his hot nightbreath beating against my cheek and cannot sleep. I am not comfortable and every attempt I make to move slightly away from him causes murmured protest. So I lie there simply loving my boy as he twitches to the rhythm of his dreams, and I listen to him breathing in and out, in and out, in and out.

Just for tonight though….

Listography - 5 Most Annoying Kids Programmes

So this week's listography subject over at Kate's is '5 Most Annoying Kid's TV Programmes'.

To be honest I'm going to find this one hard as I don't allow my children to drain their brains in front of the tv. I'm too busy hothousing the 1 and 3 year old into appreciating classical literature (so far they love Dostoevsky and Flaubert). I've been using flashcards to teach them French and Cantonese Chinese, and encouraging their creative side with patchwork quilting.........oh who am I even trying to kid?

Too much time is spent with the mind numbing tv babysitter which is Cbeebies, and to be honest it would be far easier to come up with a list of the kid's tv programs I do like.

Anyhow as I'm sure many of the major annoying culprits will be fully outed by other contributors I'm including some vintage options in my listography:

1. Any Timmy Mallett programme, ever, even if he was just doing a guest appearance. No need for explanation is there?

2. Little House on the Prairie. I loved these books with an all consuming passion. I still have them, but their translation onto the screen with that toothy, saccharine, wholesome Melissa Gilbert just annoyed me with it's bad acting, overt sentimentality and never-bloody ending episodes which after the first couple of series were absolutely nothing like the book. Nellie Oleson's hair was scary and used to give me sympathy ponytail-too-tight headaches. Little sister Carrie just smiled her gummy smile and barely spoke a word ever and big sister Mary's 'Ooh look, I have a major visual impairment' over acting was just horrendous.

Of course in real life they now all have drink problems and have starred in a few dodgy porn movies.*

3. Any program containing Roland Rat. As with 1. above, I'm sure no further explanation is really needed.

4. Moving on to current times I hate, with a passion, Big Cook Little Cook. Even more so since I found out that they are an actual stand up comedy partnership called Electric Forecast. It's not so much the inane repetitive storylines, and terrible song and dance routines which make me shudder. It's more that I have a sense of the palpable waves of self-hatred emanating from these credible performers as they realise the creative depths to which they have sunk in the name of regular money.

5. Come outside. The one with Nurse Gladys Emmanuel (showing my age) and her perky little dog. So far, so nice. And then she goes outside and climbs into her light aircraft just to visit the bloody library. Then invariably looses the dog. So not only does she show scant regard for her carbon footprint, but she is also a negligent pet owner, and on that basis she has to be included in this list.

* This is absolutely not true. No not at all. It was a joke. Not, I repeat, not intended to be taken seriously. Not libelous at all then.