Musing on a Monday {Smell the strawberries & blow out the candle}

Saturday morning and following a chain of events I found myself in the kitchen crying - as you sometimes do when you're a 39 year old highly strung and emotional female. The children were upstairs, but they still managed to hear me. My girl came down, tiptoed up behind me, wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tight.
She quietly said to me;

"Mummy, to stop crying you should smell the strawberries and blow out the candle."
 

Musing on a Monday {Falling out with my 9 year old}

This weekend I had planned a cosy Saturday afternoon of a walk round Lacock Abbey, to find the tree decorated by my girl and her class, followed by mince pie making and putting up the Christmas tree back home.
I'm always one to make plans with a picture perfect image of how the day will pan out just how I want it to. Which will then, of course, be documented by the obligatory snaps on Facebook and Instagram show casing what a perfect family we are.
Well, most of that went to pot.
Instead, I executed some of my parenting skills to the highest level of crapness and fell out with my 9 year old.
Yes, me, 39 years of age, old enough to be a little bit more grown up about things managed to argue, shout and sulk - just as well as any 9 year old girl.
You see, she was 'too tired' to help me as I struggled, lodged in the loft door with a Christmas tree wedging me at the top of the loft ladder. So, I shouted at how ungrateful she is and 'thank you very much for helping' - in an obviously sarcastic matter highlighting that, yes, I am clearly the grown up in this stand off. Slamming of doors followed whilst I managed to slide the tree, and myself, back down the ladder to safety.
Loft dust washed off I announced we were all going out.
But no, going to the Abbey is now far too 'boring' for a 9 year old girl.
Which obviously I accepted calmly and didn't* in any manner shout back that '9 year olds are not in charge in this house and I bloody well am'.
Then she took shelter, from the 'worst Mum ever who always shouts', under her desk.
I sat downstairs and sulked.
The husband stepped in, with his 'good cop' badge shining brightly to calm the situation, and went to speak to her. My attempts to calm the situation resulted in being told 'I'm so mean' with the offer of a hug refused - that was like a dagger to the heart so I went downstairs biting my lip so I didn't cry.
Meanwhile the boy put up the tree, then some footsteps were heard coming down the stairs.
The girl tentatively came in, giving me the evils on her way, and joined in with hanging some baubles.
Her mood gradually shifted.
I grabbed her for a hug.
And all was well.

x x x

* I did

Mummy, do I look pretty? {Parenting Girls}

Earlier today I was sat in my conservatory listening to the chatter and giggles of my 9 year old daughter, her friend and my boy as they played 'schools' upstairs.
I love these moments and it proves to me that they are still very much children throwing themselves into the world of imaginary play with no worries or concerns interrupting them.
However, I want to go back a few days to when my daughter came skipping into my room in a summer dress, hair tied up in a side pony with a questioning look on her face and she asks,

"Mummy, do I look pretty?"

 

Part of me wanted to respond with this; 

 

"Why does it matter? You're 9, you shouldn't have to worry about how 'pretty' you look, that word shouldn't be in your vocabulary. Why aren't you pulling on grey joggers and beat up trainers and throwing yourself around on the floor playing goalkeeper like I did at your age? Who do you think you need to be 'pretty' for? What crap have you watched on the television that makes you think you have to look 'pretty'? Now stop being so silly."

 

But I didn't.

I simply replied;

 

"Of course you do. But being pretty isn't everything in life."

 

And off she went.
 

Did I screw up there?

Should I have sat her down and explained her future role in life as a strong independent female who shouldn't feel the need to be led by society's expectation of her to look preened and 'pretty'?

Am I a hypocrite and sending out the wrong message whilst I put my make up on every day but can't actually explain to her that I do this as I lack in self confidence to go out bare faced?
Have I actually 'learnt' from my own mum who would have laughed off such a question and made me feel tiny for daring to ask?
Should I have wrapped her up in my arms and told her she is the prettiest girl to have ever walked the earth, because that is what I always wanted my mum to do and say to me?

I feel caught.
Caught between the realisation that she is feeling exactly how I felt - albeit much later in life for me at the age of 12 onwards - and the pull of my desire to tell her to stick two fingers up to the norms and 'expectations' and pressures in life.

So, which way do I go?
Where is the balance?!
What would you have responded with?

x x x

Just me and my boy

I love being a mother of two but sometimes it's just lovely to have one of them to myself.
Last weekend the girl was invited to a sleepover at a friend's house.
I'm loving her growth in confidence and the fact that she is developing new friendships at school.
I'm also freaked out by the speed at which they are both growing.
Rare time alone with the boy always makes me think back to the days when E had just started school and A was just 2.
I was a SAHM - life was so much easier then.

 

My boy led the way through the gate into the field at the end of the lane. We stopped to look around at the wide open space; space for children to run, space for dogs to be walked, space to walk through the leaves, space to throw them up and let the wind catch them on the breeze.
I'm so sad that this space, and much more here, is threatened by more than 500 houses.
We carried on through fields of animals, picking up sticks and pretending to be Harry Potter making magic.
We looked up at the pylons, always an imposing sight and always rather worrying when the passing clouds makes them look as if they are about to tumble.
We walked around the fields chatting about the train line and a passing diverted train with endless carriages.
We walked around the fields hand in hand appreciating what we have on our doorstep.
We walked around the fields enjoying being mummy and son.

Time with my boy took me back.
Time with my boy is so precious.

How long will it be until he doesn't want to hold my hand?

Linking up to Country Kids...

x x x

Childfree time {Me & him}

Being a parent is hard.
It can be stifling.
All consuming.
Tiring.
Monotonous.
Relentless.
Yes, this sounds negative but it is true.

Parenting is hard when you don't get a break.
Not just a break from the children to go to work but a BREAK...with the other important people in your life.
The other half.
The other half of you that can get forgotten.
The other half of you that you love, and loves you - warts and all.
The other half of you that made you a parent.

Time away from the children is needed.
Time with just the other half of you is needed.
Childfree time is needed.

Eventually we got some.
Over 24 hours of time to be me and him, not mummy and daddy.

We walked and we talked - just like back in the day.
We watched the barges meander by, took in the surroundings and spotted my dream home across the water.

We went to a pub for ale and cashews - just like back in the day.
We didn't have to clock watch - just like back in the day.
We wandered around the supermarket picking out comfort food in the form of pies and fancy mashed veg - just like back in the day.

And then the kiddos came home.
I had missed them but felt good, not guilty.
I love them unconditionally.
I love him unconditionally.
We just need some childfree time to appreciate that.

x x x

The Simple Things

I often think I try too hard as a parent.
Always needing to please.
Always thinking about how I can go that extra mile to make an amazing day.
Trying to make the best moments to establish those childhood memories.
But sometimes it's just the simple things that they love.
A scoot round the block and an hour at the little park down the lane.

 

Walking through the leaves, making our own trees, perfecting our fine motor skills by threading leaves with care and hoping that the big green space doesn't get covered by hundreds of houses jam packed in as tightly as can be.
Not a penny was spent but they loved it.
Quality time with me.

What are your simple things?

xxx

A mad week

So this half term has been a wee bit stressful with a series of events giving me weepy eyes, an exploding head and a minor panic attack over letting people down.

I had the intention of covering a full time teaching post from Easter, a decision we didn't make lightly and could only commit to with the help of my in laws who were going to move locally from France to help out. Well, basically be our wraparound childcare so I could get to work before the children turned up - that's kind of important.

Unfortunately a not very pleasant illness has been diagnosed so the in laws, quite rightly, are staying put in France where they are already swiftly being dealt with by their local health service. We now sit and wait.

Meanwhile, the reality set in.

BOOM! Slight panic attack and tears.

"How the hell am I going to get to work and teach 5 days a week and get the children to breakfast club and pay the crappily high fees for after school club where they don't even get a hot meal and then get home to get them a meal and plan my work, and I always said I would never put the kiddies in round the clock childcare to go to work, and, and, and...."

Discussion with hubs ensued and the conclusion was met; I couldn't do it. Ok, fine, I couldn't do it.

Sad board update

So, the husband asked the teacher at school this morning about any incidents regarding the sad board from yesterday. And guess what? Nothing happened. Alban was "just joking".

We had a little chat tonight about when it is appropriate to be "just joking" and when it isn't. I tried to explain that the idea of him being on the sad board made me sad. I'm not sure he really got it.
I called him a toad.*
His reply?
"That begins with t, t, t, t, toad. I can put that in my sound book!"
Big sigh.

My son**

A nicer looking toad.

x x x

* in an affectionate way

**not really

Mummy, I was on the sad board today.

I can't recall how the point of conversation started tonight but as Alban was getting out of the bath it emerged that he hadn't been put on the smiley face chart today. Fair enough I thought, I didn't put every child deserving of it in my class today on my smiley star list.

"I was on the sad board" he states.

Eh? The sad board? My little boy on the sad board??

"Why were you on the sad board?" I ask carefully.

"I didn't do the right thing" he boldly says.

Eh? My little boy didn't do the right thing??

"What did you do wrong?" I ask.

"I put the cars away in the wrong place" he says bluntly.

What?? How the heck is that punishable with the sad board?

"I had to stay in at play and have some thinking time" he adds.

"Really? So you put something in the wrong place and your name was put on the sad board AND you missed play to have some thinking time?" I ask confused.

"Yes" he says matter of fact.

Eh? Really? Can this be right? At this point I thought I would let it go.

Just before bed time I mention that I will speak to his teacher tomorrow.

"I was just joking" he says

Was he? Why would he say he was on the sad board if he wasn't? Is the sad board actually an 'I'm feeling sad' board - Alban was off school yesterday poorly so maybe was feeling a bit low this morning?

But, the whole 'thinking time' sounds like something the teacher would say, I'm sure I've had children sitting in for a bit at playtime to think about their actions.

If it wasn't true where has he got this 'I'm joking' thing from? Is he turning into a liar? If so why?

Tomorrow I am sending the husband in to ask questions. Yes, he is going to go and bug the teacher first thing in the morning but this is bugging me and I need answers.

x x x

Crystal Ball anyone?

 

I'm generally not into fortune telling and all that but I really need a crystal ball. Now.

Changes are afoot, these changes could be huge and could impact us greatly.

The husband wants to take a risk. I don't. I want security and the knowledge that the mortgage will be paid every month with money to spare. We are bickering about what to do. He says I'm negative. I don't see much to be positive about though.

I have my dreams but I'm also realistic. Maybe I'm too serious. Maybe I'm too boring. Maybe life is too short and one day I will look back and regret not trying something new. Maybe in ten years time I will look back and think 'Why the hell did we do that?'

I have a headache thinking about it.

Crystal Ball anyone?

Back to work - the good, the bad and the ugly!

So, I have successfully completed my first week at work. I am no longer a SAHM and the house is still standing, the children aren't psychologically damaged and the world hasn't stopped turning. AND, I haven't felt guilty about my decision.

I have just been sitting here quietly, whilst Alban chills in the front room with a DVD - wasn't he doing that in a past post?! Bad parent! - thinking about this past week. I had panics about returning to work. I had panics about changing Alban's preschool setting this late in the academic year. I had panics about abandoning Edith to Breakfast Club. The usual things to get my knickers in a twist about. I know it's only been a week but already I have found some pros and cons to going back to work. Here they are:

The Good

I feel like a person again, not just a mother and a housekeeper. I have valued the time so much as a SAHM but I needed a change.

I can put my past training to good use. I am a trained primary school teacher and am now working as a TA so I feel I am actually contributing my skills and knowledge again.

I love being a TA. I knew I would love it and it feels great being back in a primary school but with the weight of teaching stress removed from my shoulders.

The Bad

Alban is shattered. He crashed out for two hours on Tuesday afternoon but I know he will soon get used to the earlier starts and new routine. We are only getting up 40 minutes earlier and I have shifted his bedtime - the lazy toad.

People tootling along at 40mph along the derestricted roads. GET OUT OF MY WAY, I AM TRYING TO GET TO WORK ON TIME. I hate being late.

Stressing out about the drop off at preschool / drop off at Breakfast Club / drive to school. The nursery car park is a complete pig and is far too small for the morning rush so we get there 10 minutes early and wait in the car. Sad I know. But, I hate being late.

Stressing out about parking at work. The car park is very tight and the spaces are all angled back on themselves so you have to do some snifty manoeuvres to reverse in in order to get out again. Things like this make me worry. I seriously need to calm down a bit.

The upcoming realisation that I will be working more hours throughout the week and taking home less money than I did teaching for 2 days a week.

The Ugly

Mmmmmmmm. Errrrrrrrr. Erm. Nope. I can't think of anything.

Oh, here's one - when Edith and Alban are feeling under the weather and I'll have to make the decision to send them to school or have to take a day off work. That's when I'll start to feel guilty either way.

How have you felt if you are back at work after being a SAHM?

SAHMs - do you want to go back to work?

Working mums - do you regret your decisions?

I would love to hear your comments.

x x x

Motherhood - a need to scream

It's 8.15 on a sunny Spring Sunday morning. The birds are singing and I just want to open the window and SCREEEEEEAAAAAAAAM. Loudly. But I won't. I'll just let it build up in my head.

I went downstairs to make a cup of tea and sit for a while. On my own. Two minutes later the husband has sent the children down. I'm annoyed at this. I feel like the Pied Piper with a trail of children behind me all the time. I am now back upstairs banging these words out while they are in my head before the children realise I am not within 2 metres of them. All I want now is space. And peace. And quiet. I'm not going to get it. The husband is in work today. Tomorrow I have planned to take the children to Sheffield to see their big cousins. Right now the thought of driving them all that way in the confined space of a car makes me want to poke cocktail sticks in my eyes.

I feel suffocated. That's the word I've been looking for all this time when discussing things arguing with the husband. Why has it only just come to me now? I feel suffocated by being a mum and all that it entails. I am fed up with everything being on me. Childcare, school run, washing, ironing, cleaning, supermarket shop, taxi for clubs. Child is ill - I have to sort out the logistics for getting the other one to school, preschool, clubs.... Husband stays out - I'm here for the children.

I resent his freedom. The freedom to decide he'll just pop into the pub on the way home from work. The freedom to say he's going out with his work. The freedom to not come back and stay out all night. The freedom to go out on a 'quick' bike ride. The freedom to go to work during the holidays. Sometimes I feel it's avoidance.

I think I've been suffering from SAHMitis, a common condition I fear, where Mums, or Dads, that stay home get fed up. Simple as that. But after the Easter holiday I will no longer be carrying that title, I'll be going back to work 5 mornings a week. So what's my title now? Working Mum I guess. Will that give me the perks of freedom that Working Dad has? I doubt it very much for I'll be working part time. Bringing in a few extra pennies for the household pot. The children will still be my responsibility pretty much 100%.

I know I made the choice, with my husband, to have children and I would never change that. My children are my world. I know there are women absolutely desperate to have children whom, for whatever reason, it is never going to happen. I thank God that I have never had to go through that emotional turmoil. Reading this article in yesterday's Guardian made me feel guilty at first for all of the above, then it annoyed me. Yes, I had the choice to have children and was blessed to get pregnant when I wanted to. But Motherhood is a damn sight harder than I ever dreamed it would be and I have the right to have a bloody good moan about it without being made to feel guilty about it. I apologise if that sounds harsh but if I didn't moan I would be an absolute wreck and a pretty shitty mother. Which I am not. I am a good mother but at times I find it suffocating.

Here endeth the moaning. For now.

Thanks for listening x

I would love to hear your opinions on the Guardian article and any of the above.

 

The vicious circle of tiredness

I am shattered. Zonked. Shagged. Done in. However you label it, I am tired.

And it's all my fault.

I have a simple solution......go to bed earlier. BUT, and this is a big but - hence the capitals, bold and italics - I can't do it. I cannot get myself up the stairs at a sensible hour. Even when I'm hanging at 8.30 when the house is finally quiet I cannot bring myself to waste that precious time by sleeping.

Precious time.....oh precious time. Time when the house is quiet. Time when the children are asleep. Time when I can switch off.

My precious time in the day has now gone. Going back to work means no more taking the children to school and preschool and coming back to an empty house. After Easter I'll be getting up earlier, dropping the children off, whizzing off to work, picking up Alban, grabbing myself some lunch, having some time with Alban and then the school run at 3.15 and all the chaos that entails.

So, when 8.30 comes around and lunches are packed and the kitchen is tidied and any ironing is done and my jumping around the lounge like a loon* has all been completed, I need my 'me time'.

So I stay up. Late.

Then wake up. Tired.

And so it begins again.

I am in a vicious circle of tiredness and don't know how to fix it. Where do I find my 'me time' apart from right at the end of the night?

*exercising

Guilt / Asking for help

It is 2.40 p.m. on a Thursday. I should be sitting in church watching Alban in his Easter service. Instead I am at home looking after, a rather grumpy, pox girl. Shit happens. I knew the pox was on its way and I am sure that Alban won't even notice that I'm not there. Yet I still feel guilty for not being there for him.

I have just recovered from the panic to find someone to fetch Alban and bring him home. I initially planned to drive up and get him as 2 hours ago Edith was feeling fine, then she suddenly went downhill and is now crashed out on the sofa. This is where more guilt kicks in.

If I am stuck with the children I have to call on other Mums. I feel bad for always asking for help. One Mum had Alban for the morning last week so I could go to my job interview. She is also bringing Alban home today. She herself doesn't have family around and I am also going to ask her to have Alban again next week so I can get into school before I start after Easter - I had planned to go tomorrow but am now on pox nursing duty. Obviously.

That Mum is currently my hero heroine.

I get frustrated not having any family around to call on. Most of my Mum friends do. Some of them seem to have half of Melksham as their family network / support group. Jealous? Sort of.

What's happened to E?

My Edith, my girl, my beautiful daughter. I dedicated a Gallery post to her back in November last year and I am still so, so, proud of her.

She is still stubborn.
She is still beautiful.
She is still shy.

My love for her is never going to weaken but lately I've noticed a change in her.
She seems to have real anger inside her that explodes in a huge shouting episode. It is clearly all my fault.

"I hate you."
"Why are you always so cross with me. Everyday you are."
"I want Daddy."

She is five.

Sometimes it is like she is 15 running on hormones. I am absolutely dreading that time to come.
I didn't have the closest relationship with my mum always feeling I was second best to my siblings, the closest in age to me being my elder brother who was a Mummy's boy.
I have always been worried about this repeating with my own children.

Alban is a Mummy's boy. Edith is becoming Daddy's girl.
I am worried.
I feel like I am treading on eggshells with her.

With Alban it is clear cut. I'm not saying he is an angel by any means but I always feel confident with my expectations of him. With Edith I always fear a problem will arise.
An example: last night she was asked to move her flip flips from the lounge and put them away. Simple. But this resulted in her disobeying my request which escalated into her stockpile of phrases, "I hate you" "Why are you always cross with me......" You know the rest.
Yes, I know she gets tired. Yes, I know she misses her Daddy when he's away overnight - this is regularly 'used' as a tool, "I want Daddy" on replay to wind me up. Yes, I know I'm not the most patient of people and probably rise to her a lot quicker than other mums might. Yes, I know I shouldn't shout as I am acting more like a child as well!

I'm just hoping it's a phase.

She will have to get used to Daddy being away on a weekly basis and hopefully once that is part of the routine she will settle more.
I also hope it's the start of chickenpox. I know that sounds mean but Alban has just had it and I need an excuse for this behaviour.
So for now any advice from you would be gratefully received.

I'm linking this up to Mum Of One's #ISpy meme.
Obvious what it is really.
I'm desperately trying to spy my old Edith.

What will I subject my children to?!

Parenting - it's a tricky old time. We do all we can for our children; feed them, clothe them, love them, drive them everywhere for their endless clubs and activities. We try our best to raise them to be respectful, caring, loving and thoughtful. Yet ultimately at some point they will be ungrateful for the experiences that we have provided them. They will be embarrassed by us. They will moan about the things we have subjected them to.

My parents subjected me to rubbish cars, no interest in modern music, bad hand me down clothes, church every Sunday - I'm not anti church but our church was so booooooring for kids, long long long walks whatever the weather, over cooked vegetables, Radio 4...the list goes on.

I, on the other hand, am a cool sophisticated parent and so far my children have got parents that have driven a Mini Clubman, have great taste in music, find great hand me down clothes, don't go to church as we are far too shattered on a Sunday morning, take them on short walks to the park, cook vegetables perfectly, listen to a range of radio stations....the list goes on.

I have, however, found a couple of things that my children have been subjected to and if this is all I can find I think I'm doing a pretty good job so far.

I present to you my first bit of video on my blog. Please excuse the dodgy editing, spelling error and all round lack of professionalism - I clearly need some lessons from Mammasaurus - but it's a start:

My parents would never have taken me to any kind of musical gathering, unless it was orchestral, but I am sure one day my two will not allow us anywhere near them at such an event. So I'm enjoying it all for now and just know one day they will look back and create a list of 'negative' things that we subjected them to!

What have you subjected your children to and how does it compare to your childhood experiences?