Wednesday, 22 October 2014

Six minute segments of love...

I played with the children yesterday.  Monsters.  I turned the lights off upstairs and chased them.  All five of us ended up in a pile on my bed.  Theo reached such a level of hysteria that at one point I wasn't sure whether he was going to be sick, wet himself or simply punch me round the face.  It was fun. Really good fun.
The whole little episode probably lasted for about six minutes before we headed back downstairs. They took up their default positions on the sofa and I headed into the kitchen to find a gold star to give myself for being the kind of mum I want to be.  Even if it was just for six minutes.
Earlier that day I'd also cooked.  A lot. It's called batch cooking, don't you know. I didn't.
Hearty stews, crumbles and casseroles now fill my freezer. This is a very big deal. We ate hotpot for dinner.  Hotpot.  And it wasn't Betty's it was mine.
As Louis and Jake fought over the last helping and I scraped the crunchy bits of potato from around the side of dish for Missy Ella - well, I felt like Olivia Walton and the lovely Lynda Bellingham rolled into one. I literally bustled around the room as I cleared the plates away and made a mental note to buy myself a pinny and a rolling pin. 
So, this is what being a good mum feels like.  I'd kind of forgotten.  It's felt like a monumental task lately, one I've not felt up to.  Too exhausting, too demanding, too much of everything. 
Yesterday, I realised that I don't need to get it right all of the time. I just need to try a bit harder for some of the time.  I'm never going to be that mum who gets rid of the telly and throws away the biscuit tin in favour of home schooling and a sugar free diet.   There will always be bad days and days when I feel lazy and resentful and like I want somebody else's life.  And that's allowed, sometimes...don't you think?
Power parenting, I think I'll call it.  Short, intense little bursts of one hundred percent focus on my four.  That's got to be better than the painful, sloppy, what's the minimum I can get away with type of approach I've had of late. 
It's definitely a learning curve this raising a family thing.  Shame I can't get together with Olivia and Lynda for a coffee. They'd sort me out.












Wednesday, 17 September 2014

Where my head's at....



I’m torn.  My three are hurtling towards five with grubby knees from the school playground, a million priceless questions and spaghetti sauce down their jumpers. Jake has started secondary school and is on the brink of a whole new chapter.  They are all still the centre of my universe and I theirs and for that I’m truly grateful but…there’s a but and I’m trying to figure out what it is.
I’m mum, mummy and sometimes mumma and I love it.    Occasionally Louis refers to me as ‘stupid lady’ but that’s only when he’s really cross.
They need me as much as ever and I most certainly need them.  But something is missing.  The balance has gone awry. 
Is it wrong to admit that there’s an increasingly large part of me that’s fighting for some airtime?  A part of me that wants to not just be mummy and remember what it’s like to be Em?
As my trio are growing, I think I am too.  Or changing or… something. 
But how do I make room for something more?  Is it wrong to even want something more?  Shouldn’t being ‘mum’ be enough?
The choir I sing in once a week is great for my spirits and a lovely break from the routine.  The friends I adore keep me going and make sense of the world when all I see is chaos.
My health is good, I remain cancer free and am no longer dealing with constant drama from a certain person.  Life is good.  I believe life can be great.  I’m just a little restless, wondering what the final piece of the jigsaw might be.
I sometimes look at Ella, Louis and Theo and wonder how they got here.  I mean, really…how is it that these three high spirited imps have taken root so firmly in my heart but continue to challenge me like nothing else.  What a different parenting experience to any that I’ve known so far with Jake.  These three are wild and strong and noisy and yep, challenging.  Really, really challenging.
Ours is not a calm and ordered home though I used to think I was calm and fairly ordered.  Emotions are expressed at top volume, objects are thrown and tears are shed.  Every single day.
I spend a lot of time thinking I’m getting it all so terribly wrong but then I look at them rolling around like lion cubs, falling off the sofa and into fits of giggles. I look at Ella reaching out to comfort Louis or Theo in a rare moment of softness.  I look at Jake being the most incredible big brother and how much they all idolise him. 
‘I like you, mummy,’ says Theo at least once a day and I breath a sigh of relief.
I like you too, Theo.  I like all of you.
I guess we're doing okay....
 

Friday, 13 June 2014

A Konfession...

There comes a point in the evening when I don't want to get another glass of water or break up another fight.  I don't want to pick up a fallen blanket and I definitely don't want to start looking for a headless toy pirate that could be absolutely anywhere in the little shoe box we call home. 
There comes a point in the evening when I don't want to hear the word, 'mummy'.  I know.  What a horrible thing to say.  There comes a point when I've simply had enough.
Sometimes the tiredness is so great that it clouds and smothers all of the beautiful moments.  Sometimes the responsibility of lone parenting, of being the one who holds it all together is just too much to bear.  And so, my solution? Another early night.  But not til I've spent an hour or so lost in the world of Kim Kardashian and her band of K-something sisters.  The programme has become my drug of choice.  My moment to exhale at the end of the day when all I can do is sit, slack jawed and empty headed.  I have nothing left to give and Kim, Khloe, Kourtney and momma Kris are kind enough to ask nothing of me.  One, two, three episodes back to back are all it takes to calm my frazzled nerves, regulate my breathing and sedate my over stimulated mind.
There.  I've said it.  My name is Emma and I'm struggling to Keep Up.   Night, night.



Wednesday, 19 March 2014

Love you, Ella Bella xxx

It had been a bit of a morning.  There were tears (mine) and tantrums (all of ours) but as we parked up outside nursery I was determined to turn things around and try a parenting technique I'd been reading about. 
Love Bombing it's called - an attempt to influence a person by lavish demonstrations of attention and affection. I really did have the best of intentions but instead fear I've damaged Ella irreparably and think I'd better start saving right now for the therapy she will no doubt need in approximately thirteen years time.
All in a row, they sat - Ella and her two sidekicks looking like butter wouldn't melt after two and a half hours of carnage.  My nerves were jangling,  run ragged doesn't come close.  I took a deep breath and turned to look at their snotty little faces. 
'Right, you lot,' I began in my best stern voice. They only bothered to flick their eyes towards me because they were still tightly buckled in their car seats, otherwise I would have been wasting my breath.
'Now, listen to me,' I continued without the merest flicker of softness and turned first to Theo sitting next to the window behind the passenger seat.
'I love you!' I pointed at my (youngest by a minute) little one and broke into what I felt must have been the warmest of smiles before turning to Louis and continuing, 'and I  love you and..'
At that moment Theo leant over and whacked me crossly on the arm which wasn't the response I was expecting.  It threw me off course and that's all I can say in my defence because mid way through yet another broken 'moment' and as I took my keys from the ignition and went to open the car door there was a plaintive whisper from the least plaintive little girl I've ever met.
Big, fat, silent Bambi tears slid down Ella's cheeks.
'But what about me?' she whispered and my heart quite simply broke a little. 
Confusion quickly turned to shame as I realised I hadn't bombed my one and only girl with the same declaration of love as her brothers.  I'd been interrupted, distracted, side tracked as happens so frequently and now, there she sat, feeling fundamentally unloved.
It was the whisper that did it. And the glistening eyes.  That's not the Ella I know.  The tough, fierce, scary girl that seems to be the boss of not only me but everyone she meets.  She cuddles less and so somehow I find myself cuddling her less.  She is sparing with her kisses so I have to remind myself to
kiss her as many times as the boys.  She doesn't seem needy and she doesn't seem insecure.  She isn't needy or insecure but she still needs to be told that she's loved.
Oh God, just shoot me now.
I'm not giving up on this love bombing idea.  As we walked into nursery and I gave them all their goodbye cuddles I don't think I've ever squeezed Ella so tight.  I muttered to myself as I walked away, head hung in shame.  Bad, bad triplet mummy.  This job is hard.
I'm sorry, gorgeous girl. Promise I'll make it up to you. You'd better watch out - there are more love bombs coming your way this afternoon than you can shake your stinky blanket at...

Monday, 24 February 2014

And off I went...


Attempt number three at trying to create something vaguely resembling boobs of the same size has just taken place.  And so, once again, I'm back home from hospital, wearing a sports bra to bed and having to make do with the briefest of showers rather than my daily full soak while the bandages are still in place.
I shouldn't complain.  I know I'm very lucky that my wonderful doctors aren't just telling me to pull myself together and accept the wonkiness.   I'm extremely fortunate that, last Thursday, I spent three hours under the knife for corrective and cosmetic purposes rather than because I'm unwell.
It still gets me down though.  I start acting like an ill person the minute I'm settled into my hospital bed and the lovely nurse comes in to check my blood pressure for the first time.  And, once the sexy backless hospital gown goes on? And the super duper knee length anti embolism stockings?   Well, it's like I've never been away...
I actually quite enjoyed being put to sleep this time though.  Brenda, my friendly anaesthetist, took a different approach to normal as she gently placed the mask over my face and told me to take some deep breathes. 'Where would you like to be?' She asked me. 'Right now. Anywhere in the world...'
'Somewhere warm,' I mumbled with a shocking lack of originality as I stared up at the fluorescent lights overhead and gulped in the familiar smell of sleep inducing gas.
And that's all Brenda needed. 
'You're on a bea-u-tiful beach. The sky is blue and the sun is shining.
You're lying on the soft, white sand without a care in the world and all you can hear is the sound of the waves lapping against the shore.
You're completely relaxed. Your whole body is relaxed. 
Completely and deeply re -'
The next thing I knew I was back in my room, morphined up to the eyeballs and vaugely aware that my left boob was now strapped so high that it was practically touching my chin. 
Job done.  Again. Or not...
Ah well, if I find I'm still the proud owner of two totally different sized breasts we can always try again.  As long as Brenda's there, to hold my hand and take me travelling as I drift off into a deep, pain free, oblivious, sleep.  It was a rather lovely trip....

Sunday, 12 January 2014

'I should probably warn you I'll be just fine...'

Well, I'm not having this.  No way.  2014 is going to be my year, a great year not a year with bollocks and stress and genuine bloody trauma.
So, can we just rewind please?  Pretend the last few days never happened, go back to say, the second or third of the month when everything felt fresh and new and full of limitless potential.
Christmas tree gone, pine needles hoovered up and half eaten tubs of brandy butter discarded I was ready.  The much needed antiobitics were finally working on whatever it was that laid me low during the festivities and I was gathering myself and my thoughts together ready to make this the best year yet. Pharrell Williams was on repeat and I'd made a choice to be Happy.
And then this week happened.  And I'd like to state clearly to the entire flipping cosmos that it's a no from me.  Uh-uh. Nope. Not a chance.  Enough.
It's taken me a while, years in fact, but the penny has finally dropped.  I've drawn a line in the sand and there's no going back.  Liberating, really. 
So, it's onwards and upwards and whatever happens, I'll handle it.  And, when you think about it, probably good to get the rubbish out of the way before the first month of the year is even in double digits. 
2014?  Mine starts again tomorrow.

Monday, 2 December 2013

Daring to dream...

My weekend away did me good.  I say weekend.  It was two whole nights but just one whole day of child free-freedom.  Over in the blink of an eye but oh, so necessary and... medicinal.  I was giddy on the train journey there. Fidgety and fitful. I was glowing.  If you'd seen me you might have thought I was on my way to meet a new lover.  Now, wouldn't that be nice...
We talked about that very subject. My soul sis and I.  As we sat with wine and crisps and then wine and chocolate.  We talked about everything.  I was feeling hopeful.  Optimistic that my life, maybe even as soon as next year, could feature someone new. Someone lovely..someone sane. 
And then there was the book. The book I'd decided to write.  By the spring.  Easy peasy.  The best selling book that would change my life, secure our future and make my loved ones proud.
And then I came home.  And three of my four little angels really made me pay.  For daring to venture north and away from them. For daring to embrace the bliss of two consecutive nights of uninterrupted sleep.
Ella screamed and squawked at me. Theo, my placid, angelic little cherub seemed to have been possessed and Louis...well, Louis was Louis.  I was shocked at how unpleasant I became within minutes of being home.  I'd lost myself again.  The giddyness had gone, the bathroom sink was still blocked and the bin in the kitchen was overflowing.
This morning, I sat and thought about my idea for a book. Fidgety and fitful?  More like stuck in the mud.
Book? Book, schmook...
Maybe I just need a day or two to settle back into the routine.  A day or two to adjust to the contrast.
I wouldn't be without my four for anything.  But god, it's nice to spend some time with me every once in a while.