The Pink Ribbons

As I enter the house it hits me like a wave, silence. Closing the door behind me there is no need for my usual plea of ‘Please take off your shoes’ or ‘who left their bag in the door way?’ There is nothing, just me. My girls are with their other family. Thoughts flash through my mind of them eating tea, having a bath, a bed time story and cuddles. But it is not with me. I try to push them away but they persist, reminding me that someone else is in my place. My girls are making memories with another family, memories I will never be a part of. I want to cling to my daughters, never let them go, but it is too late, they are already gone.

Walking into the kitchen I see the usual jobs to do, the dishwasher to empty, washing to go in the drier, but there is no need to rush today. I could sit down with a cup of tea, read a book, maybe watch some TV. There is no panic for tea, no complaining of hungry tummies and tired cries. The jobs could wait. I feel lost, my direction unclear. I simply stand, listening to the quiet, hearing only the soft hum of the fridge and the rain drops gently tapping on the window.

Then I catch sight of the little pink ribbons. They are tied to the cupboard doors. The memory of IK, the day before, carefully cutting the delicate pieces of fabric and fastening them to the handles floods through me. ‘So you remember me whilst I’m with Daddy’ she had told me. ‘I could never forget you’ I had replied. The she hugged my so tightly, as if she was trying to cram a weeks worth of cuddles into one precious moment. I held her closely, breathing in the warmth of her little body and the smell of her strawberry shampoo. Then she was gone, back to her task of leaving me little reminders. Looking at them now I can see her smile and my heart aches for her.

I shift my mind into doing mode. Experience has taught me to keep busy, make the most of this quiet time, not to dwell. The images of their other family threaten to surface again so I start to tidy away; crayons, dolls, a dinosaur all in the wrong place. Socks, jumpers and hairbrushes discarded earlier in the rush to leave. Picking up a pile of books a scrap of the pink ribbon falls away, too small to have been tied up, it gently floats to the floor. It was probably saved for a picture or a treasure box, perhaps to put in a dolls hair.  It future purpose would have been important to her, or so I tell myself. I will keep this precious piece safe till she returns, hoping, as always the other family will the do same with her. 

Word of the Week - 29th March 2014

I have read and enjoyed a few Word of the Week blog posts recently, including my sister-in-laws, and it is such a lovely idea I wanted to join in. (For those who don’t know Word of the Week is a weekly linky were you can reflect back on the past week and sum it up in one word).

So my first word of the week is:

PATIENCE

And my goodness me have I needed a lot of it this week. As mothers I think we all know that we could do with an unending supply, however this week has been a true test.

First CJ has been poorly. Always horrible when one of them is struck down by a bug, and time at nursery means they seem to be coming thick and fast. This time started with a phone call to come and collect her after a projectile vomit incident. Fever, lack of appetite and restless sleep have left her feel understandably miserable, and has made my already demanding 2 year old, exceptionally needy.

So it is not just me who has needed extra patience this week, IK has too. I always find it hard splitting my time fairly between the two girls, but when one is poorly and in need of extra attention, it becomes even more challenging. My big girl has coped admirably though, understanding the need to wait. She has learned over the past 20 months that I might not be able to help her immediately, but it will always get to her turn. She is also very good at helping me with little jobs, so she can have what she wants quicker!

One of my favourite quotes at the moment is

“Patience is not our ability to wait, but how we behave whilst we are waiting”

I think patience is such an important skill for my girls to learn. So much of what we want in life requires it to some degree or another, yet despite the frequent opportunities we get to practice it, how many of us can truly say we are patient? I know I am not. However, I want to be and I know that the best way to teach my children anything is by example.

Whether it has been waiting for the delivery man with the new bed, waiting on hold for plusnet to resolve my problem (which they haven’t!), or waiting for the girls to put their shoes on so we can leave the house, I have made a conscious effort to be calmer, to practice patience. So even after a stressful week at work, a poorly child and yet more wrangling with various organisations I feel surprisingly calm and in control, an unexpected outcome of trying to be more patient.   

Today was the Day

Today was the day shower was icy cold and I had to clamber into the loft to fiddle with the boiler

Today was the day I spilt the bag of used cat litter on the kitchen floor

Today was the day I left the five year old sobbing at the school gate, over emotional having been told off for pushing her sister off the step

Today was the day my tights got stuck by the velcroe on the five year old’s book bag, leaving a big hole.

Today was the day the nursery worker had to peal the two year old from me, screaming ‘mummy don’t leave me’ as I walked out the door.

Today was the day I forgot my coat in the rush to leave the house and then it poured with rain at School pick up time

Today was the day the two year old shredded half a roll of toilet paper

Today was the day she then scooped out the lip balm and smeared it round the toilet

Today was the day I bought the washing in wetter than in went out

Today was the day the two year old fell asleep on the sofa at 4pm

Today was the day more tea went in the bin than into tummies

Today was the day both girls went bed at 6pm

Today was the day the two year old decided that crying would be more fun than sleeping, before eventually nodding off on the landing.

Today was the day I decided having a glass of wine in the week was ok

A Change of Address

Moving in Stressful…..there are no two ways about it. It is well discussed and possibly the only thing in life I have experience that is worse,  is divorce. Last time I moved I was doing both. When the girls and I relocated one hundred and twenty miles north it was in the immediate aftermath of my marriage break up so the actual move was a drop in the ocean of my stress levels. I packed what we wanted and simply left the rest for the ex to do with as he pleased. That whole period of my life was such an emotional strain that I rather foolishly believed this move would be relatively stress-less, after all this was a move for all the right reason, something I had chosen to do, a positive step forward. Oh how I was wrong.

Our previous home was a blessing at the time. Facing the prospect of living alone with the girls, I wanted to be closer to my family. Relocating meant I had to leave my job so buying again so simply was not an option. What I hadn’t counted on when applying for rental properties was the stigma attached to being a single mum supported by benefits. Overnight I had become a stereotype, not desirable to rent to and seemingly no longer socially acceptable. The experience was both humiliating and humbling. So when my previous landlord said he was happy for us to live there, I was grateful and relieved in equal measures.

Three doors away from a pub, on a busy road, no garden, only two bedrooms and in serious need of some TLC, it was a long way from the beautiful house we left. But I had no other options. My wonderful family worked tirelessly in the weeks before we moved in to make it a nice home for us. So despite it being far from perfect I was very grateful for it and we have some lovely memories there. However after our second Christmas I knew the time was right for us to move on. I could live with the noisy neighbours, the 1970’s stone fireplace, the random concertina bathroom door and even the small courtyard but in my heart it would always be the house we had to live in, not the one we wanted to.

As soon as I saw our new house listed on the internet I knew I wanted it to be our new home but the timing was dreadful. I have been very busy at work doing extra hours to get an important project done, CJ had chicken pox and we had a week to Disney booked (more about that next time) all in the month before we moved. I was therefore much less organised than I would have liked and the actual move became quite chaotic. I had a lot more ‘stuff’ than I had first thought. I am not a horder but even so we do not ‘live lightly’. In addition I now have twice as much furniture, it really is amazing how much you can fit into a small house. Once again, my long suffering family were there to help, with only the promise of a Chinese to soften the blow. 10 van loads later and everything was in our new place, but that is really just the start of what needs doing.

I have never listened to so much hold music in my life, I have wrangled with the phone company about why they have given me a new phone number when they said I was keeping the old one; the electricity company about how I wouldn’t be paying a £100 bill for the month before I moved in; the council about the council tax bill, which at the third issue is still wrong and currys about why my brand new dishwasher didn’t work. The boiler decided to stop heating the house, some of the sockets don’t work and the previous occupants removed the pluming for the washing machine. And obviously there is still the Mummy ‘business as usual’ to carry on with; the school run, swimming lessons, ballet classes, reading, spellings, washing, ironing, food shopping, cooking……

Despite the niggles and the seemingly endless ‘to do’ lists, life in our new home is great. We have a drive, which after 18 months of on street parking with two little ones is wonderful, a downstairs toilet complete with a sink the girls can reach and by far and away the best part; the garden. This week I have been cooking tea, watching the girls play in the spring sunshine, a complete joy. But my happiness is not just in our new physical surroundings. Yes they are making our day to day living lovely, but it is also the satisfaction of knowing my hard work has bought us here. I made the decisions, dealt with the stress and solved the problems, alone. Now, more than ever, I truly believe I can build a strong and happy life for my family of three, and I don’t need a fourth person to do it.

Valentines Day…..The Single Mum Way

That day of the year that all single girls hate (whether they will admit it or not) Valentines Day, was upon us again. Loved up couples seem to be everywhere you look and it can be hard to retain your resolve that single life is perfectly ok when it feels as though everyone else around you is part of a happy twosome..

So what are a single girls choices for valentines day? Go out with other single friends, bravely declaring ‘we don’t need men’ whilst downing shots and surreptitiously eyeing up that bloke at the bar who gets better looking with every short of tequila. Or sit at home with the every reliable combination of wine, chocolate & Bridget Jones’ diary. I am not officially too old for shots and as much as I love Bridget, I do just want to tell her to pull herself together. So how does a single mum spend Valentines Day?

Well my day started at 4.30 with CJ coming into my bed, followed closely by the cat. They both quickly fell to sleep, I did not. 6.00  and I hear IK talking to herself and realised we are going to all be up long before the sun appears on the gro clock. 10 minuets later and IK joins us in bed complete with blanket, books, a doll and snotty kisses. And so beings another normal day, apart from a trip to the out of hours doctor with IK meaning by the time I make it to bed I have been awake for a full 24 hours. #exhausted

An important rule for all single people should be Stay Off Facebook. It is full of pictures of flowers, chocolates, sweets, romantic meals that have been cooked and couples tagging each other in gushy status updates. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m truly not bitter or annoyed with anyone who is in a relationship, in fact it is quite the contrary, I am genuinely pleased that so many of my friends are happy, but an entire news feed of slushy updates and pictures of teddies holding hearts is a bit nauseating.

So my rainy valentines day simply involved lots of cuddles with the two people I love most in the world, chocolates (provided by me which meant I got what I wanted and I didn’t have to share them) and lots of giggles with two good, and single, friends. Not about how we don’t need men but randomly about mix tapes and sandwich fillings..

Being single can be tough, but then I also know being in a relationship can be hard work. Its would be easy to get into the ‘grass is greener’ mentality but the truth is it usually isn’t and being with the wrong person can be a very lonely place to be. Plus, there are a lot of things about being single that I like; I don’t have to share my chocolate buttons, I don’t have to watch any sport, or anything on Dave, I am more independent, better(ish) at making decisions and I also believe I am now a better mum..

So, would it have been nice yesterday to have been spoilt by that special someone? Absolutely. Am I sad and lonely? Definitely not, I may be single but I am certainly not alone.  

"I'm back......

…..to let you know, I can really shake ‘em down."

Unfortunately, unlike the lyrics to the song, I still can’t dance, except after a few glasses of wine, when obviously I become awesome. But by popular demand, ok two people casually mentioned it, I am back blogging.

I’ll be completely honest; I have lacked the motivation for anything recently. The changes in our lives with work, school and the girls spending less time with their Dad have taken all of us time to get used to. Life suddenly feels like Groundhog Day. Alarm, bath (shower is broken) girls up, battle getting them dressed and hair done, breakfast, battle over getting teeth cleaned /shoes on / coat on, walk to school battle over walking quicker / holding hands / not stepping in the dog poo. Work. Pick girls up from school. Home, reading, spellings,  battle over how much TV they can watch / who’s turn it is with the light up Cinderella doll / who’s the red monkey is. Cook tea, battle with CJ over getting tea eaten, wash up, bath, bedtime, tackle washing / ironing / tiding, lay face down on the sofa wondering why I’m so tired & stressed. Go to bed and set the alarm. Sound familiar?

Settling in for another night of TV and chocolate buttons, I feel a new guilt and anxiety that I should be using my child free time to better use. Surely I could be doing something productive (because I now seem to think the first 12 hours of my day haven’t been productive enough) I should be working towards providing the girls and I with a better future, because I know no one else will.

I have, however, become very good at convincing myself I don’t have the time / I’m too tired / its ok to just relax after I’ve been working all day together with the old favourites of I’m just not good enough and I’m being totally ridiculous.

But then I was given a little reminder of how to achieve a goal. I dropped and this time completely smashed my phone. Granted this was annoying but it forced to sort out the thousands of pictures and videos that were on there. There were three of CJ leaning crawl, then stand, then walk. Watching them made me think, how is it my child knows the key to success and I don’t. She knows its all about perseverance, getting up when she fell and trying again. I, it seems, have forgotten. As adults how often do we fall, or even just stumble and then sit on our arses and not bother even trying to get up? The even bigger question is what will I regret more, the criticism, the potential failure or not having given it a damn good try?

So this is me, metaphorically, getting off my arse, because if I want to write, I have to, well write. There will undoubtedly be days when the sofa and naff TV will win over doing something more productive, or when what I write may only be good for the bin, but I have two of the best reasons in the world to achieve my goals. So I will keep on getting up, and not just to get more chocolate buttons.

Used Cars and Shiny Suits

Buy a used car as a single woman? I think I’d rather go skydiving.

That moment when something goes wrong with your car, whether it is a complete breakdown on the motorway or a funny knocking sound coming from the engine area, you know it’s going to be a pain, and you know it’s going to be expensive.

Recently my car has been making more weird noises, things that are supposed to open don’t and intermittently where there should be a digital dashboard there is only darkness. The dilemma – do I fix the things that are wrong or do I cut and run, part exchange it whilst the faults are still relatively minor?

My car is a family wagon, 7 seats of fun with all the cubby holes, cup holders, tray tables, high road tax, massive petrol bill and poor manoeuvrability your average family could want. (ok so that last one is more about the driver, but it’s big and hard to park) It made sense when we were a family of four plus dog. Now we are a family of three it doesn’t seem to fit with us anymore. This could be down to its size but I suspect it has more to do with the fact the Ex chose it.

So decision one made, the beast has to go. Decision two, what to replace it with? As images of slimy car sales men, dodgy back street ‘Eastender style’ garages and trawling Autotrader flash through my mind I start to feel a bit perturbed. Being a single woman the chances of being ripped off seem inordinately high. I could ask my Dad to come with me, I know he would but he is so busy I would feel guilty. I could ask the man in my life but as I don’t think we are at the ‘car shopping’ stage that’s a no. I could ask my brother, but as he is currently a 40 hour and four plane journey away, this is not a viable option either. I guess it’s just me then.

Bull-by-the-horns style I set off to look at used cars. My criteria: 5 doors, room for the pushchair and shopping, cheap road tax and must look pretty. Now scoff at the last one if you will, but I want something I like after driving round for two years in the ugly monstrosity the Ex’s kindly picked for me. A few helpful sales men later and I see it. Shimmering red, cute and slightly under my budget, it meets all the requirements. A test drive later and I’m sold so the Sales Manager and I set about the merry dance that is negotiation.

He is wearing a shiny suit I can only assume he bought from Car Sales Men R’Us, informing me of how much he has spent on new tyres and the extra warranty. I look disappointed at the amount he offers for my car, he points out the dent in the back bumper (don’t know when I did that) and the fact he is offering 12 months tax. We finally meet in the middle, but something stops me from signing on the dotted line. I tell the shiny suit I’ll think it over and get back to him.

Prudence is no bad thing but this is more that that, this is indecision. Something is bothering me that I can’t put my finger on. A cup of tea and half an hour of chewing my mum’s ear off about the pros and cons of it all and I realise what it is. It’s not the car or the deal, it’s me. The responsibility of making all the decisions for our family can be a heavy burden. Everything from what we eat, to where we live is down to me. It can be great, there is no compromise but there is also no support and reassurance of the eventual choice.  Whilst I am not walking my life’s path alone, the two little hands that hold mine look to me for guidance. It can be daunting but I have to trust my own judgment, accept that I won’t always get it right and forgive myself the mistakes I make.

Driving my shiny new car home I feel a bit of pride at the deal I negotiated.  It’s another miles stone (no pun intended) in my single life. Another thing I have proved to myself I can do. Now fingers crossed everyone I haven’t just bought a lemon.

You know you have a toddler when

You wake up in the morning ready for battle and go to bed at night not sure who won

You feel the baby days fading away as nappies, pushchairs and quiet milk feeds all slowly disappear

You sound like a broken record, the stressed out mother you used to judge in the supermarket and, worst of all, your own mum

You start thinking the male Cbeebies presenters are cute and find yourself singing the Pepppa Pig theme tune in the shower

You are ‘that’ parent allowing your small child to wee in a lay-by, behind a tree, down a drain or pretty much anywhere

Your handbag is filled with crayons, stickers, baby-wipes and raisins, your lip gloss is dusty in the draw, no time for that now

You have to hide to eat a biscuit but have an audience when you use the toilet

You get passed a banana phone and actually speak into it

You think 7am is a lay in and a complete impossibility

You find Weetabix glued to your jeans at the end of the day and realise you have been out like that, but you are too tired to care

You need at least 20 minuets notice to leave the house and popping to buy a pint of milk feels like an epic journey

You wonder what you used to do with your time and money, what peace and quiet is and where you sanity has gone

You can’t remember what your carpets look like because they are always covered in toys, but it fine because you haven’t got the time or energy to hoover anyway

Your are word perfect in The Bear Hunt and Hairy Maclary but can’t remember anything else

You start counting down the hours till bed time at 10 am and wonder if it is ok to have a glass of wine before they are fast asleep at night

You smile through gritted teeth when well meaning people say ‘enjoy this age, it goes so quickly’

You see a glimpse of the child they are growing into and it makes your heart melt

You know your love for them is infinite so you try to have patience and understanding

You know you have a toddler when your looking forward to the time you can reflect with rose coloured glasses at these stressful, crazy, funny, difficult days 

A Passion for Writing

How often do you have the opportunity to indulge a passion? Well last week I did just that on an Arvon writing course.

Wet and late was not how I had planned to arrive after six months of anticipation, but no one told the M62 or the Yorkshire weather. Winding my way through the narrow lanes, the weather getting worse, the light fading and the directions getting evermore complicated I begin to question my judgement at booking this in the first place. But when I finally arrive the warm welcome calms my anxiety, reassuring me of my choice for a week away.

The Arvon foundation runs residential courses to assist writers with unlocking their creativity. I chose Beginning to Write at Lumb Bank, a house set in the stunningly beautiful West Yorkshire countryside that once belonged to Ted Hughes.

Our tutors for the week are as contrasting as they are inspiring. The irrepressible poet, Lemn Sissay, energetic and funny; the wonderful and insightful Hannah Pool a journalist and author. Both equally passionate about writing and helping others develop their voice and style. They guide us through the stimulating workshops with a good mix of technical information, enthusiasm and humour.

Living at Lumb Bank with the 15 other students is an experience in it’s self. Sharing creativity and talent along side cooking and washing up, they become a surrogate family; warm, nurturing, good fun and with the odd strange one (mentioning no names, you know who you are). As the week rolls on, the wine and conversation flow more easily and lasting friendships are formed.

So what did I learn? I have a voice, inspiration is everywhere, self editing is vital and most importantly, write something, anything, every single day and trust the process. Would I go again? Without hesitate. Before the course I packed plenty of guilt with my laptop and wellies, leaving the girls with their Dad for a week felt very selfish. But I have come home with so much more than a technical improvement in my writing, I have focus, motivation and a new, wonderful feeling of being at peace with myself.

The Terrible Two

Well life has certainly got away from me over the last few weeks; I can’t believe that we are already at half term. The last few weeks have gone by in a blur of getting up, dressed, breakfast, out the house for school, doing my day job, rushing home to pick the girls up, then swimming, food shopping, book reading, tea cooking, laundry doing, pack lunch making, bath time, bed time and then me lying face down on the sofa in a state of complete exhaustion!

In between all of this the terrible two’s have hit our house in a big way. CJ is developing into a playful, cheeky, loving little girl, but with this comes the steep learning curve that she can’t have everything her own way. She is also into everything! If she not tipping a box of 6 50 piece jigsaws on the floor, she is climbing on the table, emptying the bubble bath on the floor, picking the cat up by her tail, jumping on the sofa, running off or taking all the baby out the packet. She can often be found in ‘time out’ and the most commonly used phrases in our house at the moment are ‘CJ no, Mummy said no, now put the cat/snack basket/jigsaw/bubble bath, anything else she can get her little fingers on, down’ The selective hearing usually kicks in and so this is then closely followed by ‘CJ that behaviour is not ok’

But far worse than all mess she now makes is the tantrums. A word that will strike fear into heart of any parent with a toddler. There haven’t been many (yet!) but she can go from sweet to horrible in less than a second and will communicate her disapproval at the word ‘No’ in the most vocal and animated way possible.

So it came to be that during a recent trip to Sainsbury’s CJ could be found screaming, face down on the floor, myself and IK watching on. Now you might think that I would be embarrassed by this behaviour but actually on this occasion I wasn’t. You see firstly I have lived through this stage with IK and we both came out the other end relatively un-scathed so I have hope it won’t last forever. Secondly I understand that a tantrum is not necessarily her being badly behaved at her age it is really just an overflow of emotion. CJ is a strong willed little lady who is learning how to deal with life and trying to find where her boundaries are. When she doesn’t like those boundaries she can’t always cope with the flood of emotions that brings, so it overflows out of her in torrent she isn’t yet able to control. I’m sure we can all relate to how she is probably feeling, although for most adults it is not usually over a Peppa Pig magazine and I personally try to keep the face down screaming in Sainsbury’s to a minimum!

But that said, I will not be dictated to by a two year old, even if I do love her more than life itself. So it is my job to teach her that yes these emotions are difficult to deal with, but screaming / shouting / hair pulling are not the best ways to do this. That is hard for a two year old to understand so the only way I can communicated this with her is to try and ignore the negative behaviour and praise her on those occasions when she does listen or I do say no and she manages to carry on with life in more composed way.

However, the theory is great, but in practice some days my supply of patience is rather depleted and sometimes I’d quite frankly rather walk away and pretend the screaming child belongs to someone else. But this particular day I didn’t, IK and I stood there watching her, getting funny looks and the odd tut, then IK said the funniest thing ‘Mummy this is not ok is it!’ her tone exactly the same as mine (hardly surprising as I say it about 50 times a day). And I laughed ‘No IK it isn’t, but she is learning so we need to be patient with her, and she will stop soon’ which she did. Despite it feeling as though an hour of my life had passed it was probably less than two minutes. CJ stood up and looked at me, I asked her if she was finished, she said yes and we carried on with our day, without the Peppa Pig magazine that had started the whole thing.

So to those who’d tut whilst my littlest lady is behaving in this way I would say this:

‘I’m trying to bring this little person up to be a well mannered, well behaved, confident, thoughtful, happy young lady. I’m doing this incredibly difficult, demanding and emotional job, twice and alone. I don’t get it right every day and neither does she, but we are both trying our best to find our own way through the complicated journey of life. So I would ask for some patience and understanding, your dirty looks and tuts are as offensive to me as my child screaming is to you, so keep your opinions to yourself and if you really can’t…..just sod off!’

First days of School

Such a big day for every family. The first day of School. Almost since the day IK was born I have imagined what that day would feel like, watching her walk into school in her uniform. Some times I have wanted it to come quickly, usually on the days she has driven me slightly crazy, other times I have wanted to slow time down and keep her little and at home safely with me.

After applying almost a year ago and months of build up with leaving nursery, taster days at school and uniform buying, the day finally dawned. I watched my little girl dress herself in her uniform, so far from that small baby who was dressed in white baby grows, helpless and tiny. I brushed her long blond hair and tied it up, so far from the crazy mop of dark hair she was born with that smelt like baby shampoo and powder. I watcher her, walking hand in hand with her sister, down the street to her first day at school, in some ways so grown up, so ready for this big step and yet, still so much my little baby.

This day was so far away from what I had been imagining for the first three and a half years of IK's life. I had always thought we could go as a family, her Dad with us, hand in hand, sharing the pride of our daughter growing up, remembering the baby she was, wondering at the young woman she would grow into. The reality was different; it was just us three, braving another new adventure together. Her Dad was not there, he had completely missed this special moment in our little girl's life. It can never be re captured, but it is not the first important time he  has missed and it wont be the last. I wondered how both girls would feel looking back on their childhood and realising their Dad missed so many things. This is one of the hardest things to for me to come to terms with as a single parent. If we had both tired harder, would our girls be having a happier childhood, or was this outcome inevitable? Did his sudden departure merely save us from a few unhappy years before we eventually called time on our marriage? It’s a question I know there will never be an answer to. So I have to comfort myself that over a year on from our separation, both girls have adjusted to our new life and seem happy and content.

So I left IK in the classroom, looking slightly apprehensive but sitting ready to start this journey with the other children in her class. When I picked her up later she emerged with her usual happiness and seemed totally un phased by the big step she had taken. The funny thing about the first day of school was it is only the beginning. I had focused so much on the first day I had forgotten that she would be going every day! The world of the school run, packed lunches and homework will now dominate our lives for many years to come, but for now I am just pleased she has settled in so well 

Working, Weddings and Feeling, Well, Rubbish

Well it has been a while since my last post and that is because quite frankly life has got away from me a bit.

Working – Just in case you were wondering I didn’t take my own mug and I opted for a skirt and smart white top. It is so far so good. My first week was great, I got to meet lots of new people, drink lots of tea and drive a golf buggy. The second week was when the work started coming in, and it’s a good job I like to be busy because I think I will be. It has been more tiring than I thought, even though I am only working part time, and it is safe to say the housework and laundry have been slightly out of control, but if something has to give, I’m happy for it to be that!

Weddings – There is something quite surreal about attending a wedding with your ex husband. I will explain a bit more. One of the ex’s friends from school got married last week and it is someone I have know since before I even got together with the ex (a mutual friend thing that is too complicated to go into). So I was really touched when the girls and I were still invited to the wedding, despite having divorced his friend. We came to the mutual decision not to take the girls (small children + wedding = no fun for mummy). The wedding was beautiful and full of little individual touches that really showed the couple personality, my favourite was the song that was played during the signing of the register Stevie Wonder’s Signed Sealed Delivered (I’m yours), very cute.

The champagne and wine flowed, the food was lovely, there was much dancing and lots of fun had. But being at a wedding with the person whom you made those, supposed binding vows with was strange. It wasn’t awkward and we didn’t argue, it was just weird thinking how I’d felt the day we had got married and how it had ended. With him being so physically close, and yet our lives are now so far apart. There was a funny moment however when we were stood outside the reception having a chat about the girls and some mutual friends when a friend did a casual walk by, I think at the insistence of his wife, to make sure we were busy killing each other! It has been hard at times, to preserve our amicable relationship, and I know that it isn’t always possible; divorce is a painful and at times traumatic process that brings with it a lot of anger and resentment. But it has definitely been worth the effort, after all, we have at least 16 years of parenting our girls to do!

Feeling, well, Rubbish – The thing I hate most happened this weekend, D&V hit our house. It started with CJ and meant our plans for a weekend away visiting friend were out the window. After being up most of the night being sick she seemed ok, if tired. My mum took IK out for lunch then to play at hers so me and CJ could catch up on some much needed rest. Now I have more reasons than most to hate it when either me or the girls get sick, you see I used to suffer with emetophobia (a fear of vomit) It is a this point that many of you may laugh, but trust me when I say this fear, like many other, was debilitating and at times ruled my life. I would avoid any situation where I could potentially get trapped with someone being sick (train rides, limo rides, hotel stays etc) and I missed many birthday and hen nights. In fact it reached crisis point when IK got a tummy bug (and so did the ex) when she was about two. I was a nervous wreck and wanted to run away and leave them both. Not the caring, loving mummy reaction I would hope for. So I invested in a self hypnosis course specifically designed for emetophobia and whilst I felt generally calmer and stopped (almost completely) avoiding potentially sicky situations, I had not yet had to deal with either the girls or myself being ill (the last bout of D&V happened on daddy’s watch). So when I was calmly dealing with CJ and the unavoidable clearing up job, I did feel a bit of pride in how far I had come and that actually I was only concerned with getting her cleaned up and comforting her, much more the mummy reaction I would hope for. But it was inevitable I suppose that it would not stop with CJ, thankful it was after the girls had been collected by their Dad that the symptoms finally got the better of me and it was my mum who then stepped in. She bought me round some fizzy water and made sure I drank plenty and it was her soup that finally made me feel a bit better when my appetite returned a bit.

So, touch wood and fingers crossed, we are all ok, because this week is the big one, IK is starting School………

The start of something new

We have lots of exciting new things happening over the coming weeks, IK is starting school, CJ is starting nursery but before all that I am starting a new job tomorrow….eeeekkkk

After nearly 14 months of being a stay at home mum I am feeling both excitement and trepidation at the prospect of going back to work.

I have been really lucky to find a flexible job that will fit in around the times the girls are at school and nursery, meaning during term time I can drop the girls off and then be there to pick them up again. However as I am starting four weeks before the start of term I do need some extra help with childcare. The girls are spending some time with their Dad but I’m really grateful that my mum, sister and their other set of grandparents are also helping me out. So keeping my fingers crossed, everything should fit together nicely.

Since I was offered the job I have been focusing on the positives, becoming more financially independent, getting out the house for a few hours a week, meeting new people, and using my brain again for something more taxing than ‘what will we have for tea tonight’ Then it occurred to me, I’m going to have to use my brain for something more taxing than ‘what will we have for tea tonight’! After more than a year at home, what if everything I used to know, is no longer in my brain. What if I can’t still plan a work load, multi task and work as a team, as I said in the interview that I could. In fact this is the third time in last four and half years I have taken a year off work, meaning I have only worked a total of about 12 months since IK was born! But I’m hoping that it is like riding a bike and so I won’t have forgotten. (Although for the record I think I have forgotten how to ride a bike, so that is maybe not the best analogy!)

I know that the time I have spent at home with the girls over the last year has been really important. There has been a lot of change and insecurity and I think me being at home with them has helped all of us settle into our new home and lives. But now is definitely the right time for me to go back to work. This job is the first step in moving our lives forward; it is more independence for me and working towards my long term goal of buying us a house. But all that is for the future. My immediate concern is what should I wear tomorrow and should I take in my own mug! 

Busy Bees and Bad Behaviour

The girls and I have had a very busy 10 days. We have been to two birthday parties, a Christening, a play soft centre (as my gorgeous niece would say), the zoo, a rather crazy afternoon at a friend’s house and two sleep overs at opposite ends of the country. On top of this the girls have spent two days with their Dad doing what ever busy things they get up to with him. (It can still be a bit difficult to piece together exactly what they have done but I know they went for a Coffee and Cake and to look at bedroom furniture, the rest is still a mystery)

All of our adventures meant the girls spending a lot of time in the car, eating in many locations and sleeping in some new places. On the whole they did really well and I was, as usual, proud to say they were mine. However, IK and I did have a falling out at the zoo, for which she is only partly to blame. My friend and I had told the girls and her two boys before we went to the zoo, they could have an ice cream if they were well behaved. This, in hindsight, for IK was a mistake.

We had only been there about half an hour when the, “can I have an ice cream?” question arose. The answer was “no, you can have one after lunch.” The second the last grape was eaten at lunch time, “is it time for an ice cream” “No not quite yet, lets just wait a little while for your lunch to go down”. After what felt like the 100^th time of asking, I snapped and said if she asked one more time, there would be no ice cream at all. Inevitably 5 minuets later she asked again, so that was it, no ice cream. What had started as low level whinging and built steadily throughout the day into full on moaning, suddenly became an outright tantrum with shouting and feet stamping. At four and a half this is not behaviour I am happy to accept from her. 

And after about 15 minutes when she showed no sign on calming down I gave her a final warning, stop or we leave. Her response was to scream NNNOOOO at me. My response: we are leaving. So we did and at a rather fast pace we went back to the car, IK quite literally kicking and screaming all the way. CJ had fallen asleep in her pushchair by the time we got there so I opened all the car doors and told IK to sit in her car seat and I would talk to her once she had calmed down. 15 minutes of crying and shouting, followed by 5 minutes of quiet and she was back to her usual lovely self and ready to talk to me.

Reading this back now, I’m still not sure if I did the right thing. You see I can see I handled it badly from the start. Firstly I needed to have more patience with her, and a bit more understanding that after a busy week and a late night the previous night, she was tired. I should have also told her a specific time, such as an hour after lunch, or before we leave, for the ice cream. She still doesn’t fully grasp time and a woolly ‘later’ just doesn’t seem to work in her brain. She used to be the same when I said her Dad would be picking her up in a couple of days. As soon as I said she was going to see him, I think she thought he would appear at that very moment and then she would get very cross with me when he didn’t. In the end I got her a calendar and she sticks a sticker on the date he is coming and then we tick the days off until then. So I should know my daughter better, and for that I did and still do fell bad and its never easy to say ‘I got it wrong’ But here is the thing, I find constantly demanding, pestering, whinging, moaning, shouting and screaming unacceptable behaviour. She knows this already, she had a warning and didn’t heed it, so the consequence was we left.

I guess the thing about being a parent is you have to decide what behaviour is and isn’t acceptable to you, and then act accordingly. I suspect there are many people reading this who will think I am too strict; why didn’t I just get the poor child an ice cream (well I wanted her to eat her lunch, then she needed to let her lunch go down a bit, all of which I did explain to her) Those of you who know me will know I’m big on rules, routine and manners. They are important in our family and for the most part, it works well. As I am now on my own with the girls, I feel this is more important that ever as now the responsibility of raising them falls to entirely me. Whilst their Dad and I do communicate well, agree on most things and I know he carries on with the rules I have in place, they are my responsibility. I have to be set the boundaries, follow through with discipline, decided on what is and isn’t ok and what is and isn’t important. There is no one there to ask an opinion of, no one to talk though how best to deal with things, no one to back me up, no one to help out and no one to say if the rules are too strict or too lax. It is a massive responsibility to bear alone. Parenthood can be a daunting path for everyone and no one knows what is coming next, but when there is no one walking it with you can be overwhelming to say the least.

So IK, when you are reading this in 15 or 20 years time, I am sorry we left the zoo early that day. I fully accept my part in the incident; for not understanding you enough that day and for not having all the patience I needed to handle it better. I’m sure it is not the last time I didn’t get it all right. But I hope you now understand that we had these rules because I wanted you to grow up to be well mannered, well behaved and have good values. I wanted you to learn how to behave appropriately in many different social situations, I wanted you to learn to listen and I wanted you to respect other people. I hope I have got more right than wrong, and I know I will continue to be proud of both you and your sister.

Confused, so very confused

Ok so here is my confession of the day. I am seriously behind the majority of the word with regards to Social Media. Up until about three months ago my experience was limited to Facebook and I was quite happy to update my status with random snippets (interesting ones obviously) about my daily life, photos of the girls and generally keep up, and be nosey with what friends and a few random acquaintances were up to. Then I was introduced to the world of Twitter which is a different animal all together. I love that can follow anyone you want to which means I can keep up with what John Bishop (yum) is up to. Once I’d got my head round the # thing and that people I’d have never heard of were following, replying and re tweet things, I was away.

Now I consider myself relatively intelligent and I used to pick things up quite quickly, but two babies and a year as a SAHM means my poor brain is stodgier than the porridge I make. But this was one of the main motivating factors for starting my blog; to exercise my brain, to try and keep up with the world and to see if I can actually write.

But blogging is a BIG thing with a whole world of its own that I knew nothing about. It turns out it is not just emptying the contents of my head onto the World Wide Web. There are, amongst other things, content strategy, monetization, traffic generation, self hosting, guest blogging, pugins and communities to get to grips with. Whilst at the same time making sure what I’m blogging is interesting and has personality and integrity. I know a bit about Facebook and Twitter to promote my blog but what about Google +, Pinterest, Intragram, Linkedin and Youtube! There is so much to learn and I’m not sure where to start. I feel out the loop, out my depth and a bit like I’m the last one to the party! But my mum has a great saying for times like this “How do you eat an Elephant? One mouthful at a time!” This is certainly an elephant, so pass me the fork, I’d better get stuck in!

On to the next big thing

This week has been one of goodbyes as IK had her last day at nursery. This is a big thing for a little girl as she says goodbye to friends, teachers and her pre school days. In September, with many other people we will be entering a brave new word of the School run, uniform and stricter routine. We MUST be on time and will be tied to taking holidays and days out during School holidays, although with the governments plans to allow Schools to set their own term dates, who knows when that will be!

I wondered at the beginning of the week if I would feel sad collecting her from nursery for the last time, but I wasn’t. You see I’m not sad that she is growing up and moving on in fact I’m really pleased she is. She is much more interesting now than the baby that I bought home from hospital. She is growing up into a bright, spirited, inquisitive, fun and often cheeky girl. If she is thinking something she has to say it and if she feels something she wants us all to know about it! She loves food and has a very sophisticated palate with smoked salmon, olives and chorizo being among her favourite foods. As with all children she has her challenges, the biggest of which is her quick temper. Helping her to learn how to control and manage it has been our biggest source of anguish and distress over the last year and I have no doubt will continue to be over the coming years.  

So I didn’t cry when I picked her up for the last time that was until I read the card she had been given by her teacher. It was warmly and genuinely written and made me proud of how well my little lady is thought of. I do however think her first day of School will be an emotional business. Sending her off in her uniform for the first time, grown up and ready to take on the world (or Primary School at least) will certainly bring a tear to my eye. September will also see CJ starting nursery and I’m 99% certain there will be tears all round there. I must stock up on tissues in August!!

But before we get to the new beginnings there is the summer holiday to contend with. I, like millions of other mums (and dads!) will be wondering how to keep them occupied for 6 weeks, and in our case, on a budget as well. (So all tips / advice / suggestions gratefully received.)

Wednesday Words - I am Woman

Yesterday was one of those difficult days, when for no particular reason the girls seemed to have forgotten how to share or play nicely together. They spend most of the day falling out with each other, wanting the toy or book the other one had, shouting at each other, pulling each other’s hair and generally being unpleasant. It was hot yesterday, lovely if you want to sit and not do a lot, but when your trying to wrestle a toddler into clothes, or chase them round with sun cream or a hair brush its not as much fun.

By 10 o’clock I felt frazzled; the heat and horrible behaviour meant I was in a pretty awful mood myself and kept snapping at the girls, which did nothing to improve the situation. The day was in a downward cycle and I felt as though nothing could rescue the situation. But then a song came on the iPod, Helen Reddy’s I am Woman and IK shouted ‘Mummy it’s our song’

It is indeed our song and so I decided to share the lyrics today for my Wednesday Words. When we were first on our own it became our anthem, I’m a bit of a closet Country Music fan and the lyrics summed up so eloquently the way I was trying so desperately to feel.  We would put it on, turn the volume up and sing and dance together and it always made me feel better. We haven’t listened to it for ages but as we turned it up yesterday and danced round the dinning room together, I instantly felt happier and I realised I wasn’t trying to feel strong anymore because I do feel strong ….well most of the time!

You can bend but never break me
'cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
'cause you've deepened the conviction in my soul

Oh yes I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

Words and Music by Helen Reddy and Ray Burton

Potty training: a learning experience for both of us.

That time has crept up on me again. Some how CJ is now two and the signs are were there that she is ready give knickers a go. Over the last few weeks I’ve come up with a few reasons to delay it, holidays, day trips, parties but mostly it was just that I wasn’t ready. You see I’m not very good with mess in general and potty training is the ultimate in mess management. But I didn’t want to miss the window of opportunity, so I decided that when they came home from their last visit with their Dad we would get straight on with it. So on Friday we were in through the door, the nappy was off and the knickers were on.

There is a plethora of advice / theories / strategies on potty training. Pull up nappies, books, reward charts, stickers, fancy singing potties and who knows what else. All designed to make the process easier, or if you’re a bit cynical, to make you part with a bit more money. And with IK, we went for it in a big way! In fact I got myself into a right kerfuffle with the whole business ‘Was she ready?’ ‘What if she poo’d whilst we were in Morrisons?’ ‘How would I possibly manage the torrent of wee and poo that was about to surge from this small child’

So I turned to a good friend with two slightly older children for advice. She told me the best thing she had done with her second was to wait till he was really ready and could recognise the feeling of need to go, without her having to constantly remind him. It had made the whole process quicker, less messy and less stressful all round. Her words were wise and meant I decided to leave in IK in nappies for a while longer. So when 4 months later she asked me if she could wear knickers instead of nappies because the other girls at nursery did, she went dry straight away and has only ever had a handful of accidents.

However I promptly forgot all this on Friday and by the time bedtime arrived I was a frazzeled mess and so grateful to put a nappy on CJ. We had wee and poo in the knickers, on the chair, the sofa and the carpet.  Aaarrrrhhhh!!! I had found myself saying ‘Do you need a wee?’ or ‘Remind mummy when you need a wee’ about every 5 minuets which just upset CJ and she still wee’d everywhere but the potty!

So on Saturday morning I wondered if she just wasn’t ready and thought about keeping her in nappies. But I decided to persevere; I pointed out where the potty was, with more hope than expectation and then went for a shower. Much to my surprise, 5 minuets later, CJ walked in, sat on the potty and had a poo. No fuss, no bother and no reminding. A big kiss and cuddle for her and a light bulb moment for me. I had forgotten the wise words and I had been going about it all wrong. I didn’t want to ‘train’ her to use the potty when I told her to, I wanted her to learn to go when she needed to. I realised I quite literally had to let her do it in her own time.

So I gave my controlling side a stern word to give the poor little thing some space and a reminder of what my role was in the process; To show CJ were the potty was, gently reminder her if it been a while since went (and I mean an hour Emma, not 5 minuets), clean up any mess and most importantly congratulate her when she does well.

And she has done well, she had only one accident yesterday and today #veryproudmummy. Yes there will still be accidents and the inevitable ‘I need a wee’ usually at the most inconvenient moment, like when you’ve just put your shopping on the checkout or your stuck in town in traffic. But I know I will just deal with any mess, and maybe have to find a new supermarket to shop in!  

So I feel I can say that potty training has been a success, not just because CJ is now clean and dry in the day but also because she reminded me that as a mum sometimes it is important for me to relax and run with it and that positivity is always better than stress. Well done CJ, you clever thing.

And the Kitten make four

One of the things I miss most about my life PD (pre divorce) is Freddie, or Brown Bear as we affectionately called him. Freddie is a rather large, over excitable chocolate Labrador. The ex and I got him shortly before we were married and he was part of our family in a big way. He was a nightmare puppy, eating the fence, the shed, the door frames, the expanding foam out of the door frame, (which required a trip to the emergency vet on Christmas Eve!!) contact lenses, a pavlova, the contents of the bin on most days and more dog toys that I could count. But he was loyal, loving and a great excuse for a long walk. So when the girls and I moved it was with a heavy heart that I realised he wouldn’t be ale to come with us. My housing options were limited to a choice of one; it is small and only has a little court yard garden. I knew keeping him would be very impractical, but couldn't bare the part with him, so I was really pleased when my in laws, who have always had a soft spot for him anyway, offered to take him on. They have a lovely big garden, lots of doggy friendly walking on their doorstep and most importantly the time he needs.

So for the last year we have been a pet free household and it did feel as though there was something missing, apart from my ex husband! I’d been thinking about getting a kitten for a while, but I am a self confessed ditherer and now I’m on my own my ability to make decisions seems to be getting worse. So I asked my four year old, IK, for her opinion on the matter. Her eyes lit up, her smile widened and he said ‘Yeah mummy, lets do it’ Decision made! As this was about a month before went away I decided to be sensible and wait till we got back, however this did mean I had a whole 4 weeks of IK chatting about the kitten and asking when we would be getting it.

I called the lady at the local cat rescue place and her response of ‘Now you do know its going to be like having a new born baby in the house?’ still makes me chuckle. I assured her that after a puppy and two babies I was quite prepared for the work involved, but my only stipulation was we had to have a female. This is a house of girls and we are not ready for any male intrusion just yet! So just over a week ago Koko (IK 's choice of name) came home and so far she has fitted very nicely into our life.

Now the only similarities I can find between her and a new born baby is they are both small and both very cute. I feed Koko three little meals a day, she has a few toys she plays with and she sits on my knee for some fuss when it suits her. She likes to hide and so far I have found her in the bathroom cupboard, in the shopping basket of the pushchair, behind the sofa and in the dolls pram. She is fluffy and has the loudest purr I think I have ever heard but she is fairly low maintenance.

My memories of both of mine being newborns are a bit hazy but they were certainly not low maintenance. There was lots of crying, from me and them, explosive nappies, so much washing and not much sleeping going on at all. There was also a general feeling of confusion about what day and time it was, should I be dressed and when exactly did I last have a shower. I often found myself wondering if either the baby or myself should be eating something, that was if could remember when either of us last did. And then there was the big one, how were we going to leave the house, ever. Taking a newborn out for the first time is a gargantuan effort and a logistical nightmare that for many new mother, awash with hormones and overly emotional, can feel the equivalent of climbing Everest!

So I can say that without doubt, having a kitten is not the same as having a newborn. Koko is a long term commitment and does need love and attention, but nothing like on the same scale as a baby….thank goodness 

Wednesday Words

I’m a bit new to the world of blogging and Twitter and I occasionally feel as though I’m missing out on the party! But today I kept seeing #WednesdayWords and though I should investigate. It was started by a mummy blogger @crazywithtwins to share quotes, poems, lyrics etc (although I apologise to Emma now if this is quite right)

I like to join in so I thought I’d give it a go.  I love quotes; they can say so succinctly what I’m thinking, make me what to get off my bum and do something or move me to tears. A good friend and I often share inspirational quotes (together with pictures of glasses of wine and chocolate) to give us a lift during those difficult days. So my first WednesdayWords is for her. She has a difficult day to face tomorrow and I wish I was closer to help and support her.

I love this quote, it reminds us that everything that’s happens, good and bad, is what makes us, us. We have both tested the old adage ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ especially over the last year. But through all the tough times she has stayed positive, with a strong resolve to build a great life and it has made her the understanding, thoughtful, kind, generous and lovely person that I’m lucky enough to call my friend

“Everything that happens to us leaves some trace behind; everything contributes imperceptibly to make us what we are” 

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe