"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………