Showing posts with label staying sane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label staying sane. Show all posts

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.



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. 

Monday, 18 November 2013

A quiet connection...

I have a new Monday morning routine. Kids dropped off at school and nursery I head to my local cafe and meet with a lovely friend.  Laptops on, coffees and smoothies ordered, we set to work. Heads down, brows furrowed we mean business.  I get on with whatever it is that I'm writing and she works on reports and her 'stuff'.  We probably don't even quite know what the other is doing. It really doesn't matter.  Our Monday morning meetings give us both a focus, a break from the distractions at home and the week gets off to a super postive start. Maybe it's the feeling of uninterrupted time after the demands of the weekend or the blueberry and papaya smoothies that do it, whatever the reason,  I come away feeling energised, ambitious and appreciative of the way my working life is finally taking shape in a way that I'd always hoped it would.
Every twenty minutes or so we stop for a little chat - how was your weekend, how are the kids...the usual. Today we, unexpectedly, went a little deeper and found ourselves talking about the very reason we met.
Her cancer story started a year before mine.  We were put in touch by a mutual friend when I found myself facing the chemotherapy she'd not long finished. She was rocking a cute, post chemo, pixie crop and my hair had just been chopped in preparation for impending baldness. 
Over the tricky months that followed we'd meet for the occasional coffee, raise a latte glass to celebrate the return of our eyelashes and get the tissues out when one of us, usually me, was having a wobble.  Cancer aside, we slowly but surely became real friends.  We both get it.  And it doesn't need to be talked about as much these days.  But when it does... well, we just shut the lid on our laptops and order another blueberry smoothie...


Tuesday, 6 August 2013

Hit the road Jack...

Ssh.  Don't tell anyone but I'm off.  I'm hitting the road in the morning and heading north.  There's food in the fridge, custard creams in the tin and about ninety six episodes of Fireman Sam that need watching.  Big brother away with Papa, I'm pretty sure they'll be fine, my three.  I have arranged for adult supervision in my absence but I doubt they'll need it and certainly won't appreciate it.  As the main, constant grown up in their life my presence seems to have very little impact on how they spend their time, what food they choose to eat or the hours they sleep.  I sometimes wonder if they even notice I'm around,  hell bent as they are on destruction.  Except when I'm on the loo, of course. Or in the bath.  Or stark naked rummaging through my knicker drawer. Then I'm required. IMMEDIATELY.  Waiting is not an option. Just two minutes will not do.  Dripping wet from the shower?  Pans bubbling and boiling ferociously in the kitchen? Who the hell cares.  They have called (yelled and shrieked) and I must stop whatever I'm doing and act. Or else. So, in the morning I'll go, slip away and hope that two days spent somewhere else will restore, refresh and revitalise me. 
I've told them mummy's going to have a sleepover.  They think that's great.  I think it's great too.  Not only great but an absolute bloody necessity...

Monday, 12 November 2012

A little time out...

I definitely need to get out more. And so does my nine year old.  We are slowly but surely morphing into our very own version of George and Mildred and I think some time apart would do us both the world of good.
I caught myself this morning, on the way to school, arguing with Jake about whether one of my favourite games from childhood Connect Four was actually called Connect Four instead of Four in a Row which is how he knows it.
'It's Connect Four, Jake!  That's the official name!' I stated almost angrily turning out of our drive and onto the main road. I heard myself and how ridiculous I sounded.  Offical name! Jeez.  Take a chill pill, lady and look around you.
A mini break from me is in fact coming up for young Jakey and I'm relieved for him. This time next week he and his classmates will be on their way to Ufton Court in Berkshire.  He's dreading the prospect of being away from home for two whole days while I'm thrilled that he's going to have a change of scene with all his mates, no lessons and more importantly, no nagging mum.  In his wobbly moments we are focusing on all the fun stuff he'll get to do - the archery and brass rubbings, the late night mischief and less on the fact that the boys are required to wear tights, ballet shoes and horror, dance with girls when they all take part in a Tudor style banquet.
It'll do him good. Another little snip on the invisible umbilical cord that still connects us.  Who am I kidding?  That cord is made of steel.  The reality is that Jake will no doubt be absolutely fine and I'll be the one pining, looking at the clock and first in line at the school gates waiting anxiously for his return.
In the meantime, I think it's time we stopped grumbling at each other at the supermarket, cosying up on the sofa night after night and got back to engaging in some good old fashioned activities more suited to a mother and son. Ludo, Monopoly and Snap.  We won't mention Connect Four.





Thursday, 21 June 2012

Sing out, sister!

It was choir last night.  Without doubt, the highlight of my week.  For two hours on a Wednesday evening in a church in south London I get to be a different me.  I've always loved singing and even though I'm no great shakes it doesn't seem to matter and I'm pretty confident that my sessions with Rock Choir  do more for my seratonin levels than most anti depressants ever could.  As I stand in  my section, upper alto as you're asking, and sing 'Mr Blue Sky' for the umpteenth time I honestly feel just..great.  I don't think about the triplets or Jake or the unpaid bills or the complications with a certain ex partner, I just sing.  I do find myself thinking of cancer though, from time to time.  It's not as morbid as it sounds, I just sometimes step outside of myself and remember the journey I've been on.  From newly diagnosed and terrifed to physically fragile and worn down by the physical effects of chemo and then the slow, slow, slow path to rediscovering some kind of normality, whatever that is.   There were days, not so long ago, when I couldn't imagine ever feeling 'normal' again let alone doing anything that didn't involve scary hospital appointments and nappies ... and now, once a week, I'm lucky enough to be able to take my place in crowd of sixty or so enthusiatic singers all there for their own personal reasons and all united by a love of belting out reworked pop classics.  It might sound strange but that one weekly session somehow carries me through the next seven days when I really am just 'mum'  - often jaded, stressed, ratty and being pulled in a million different directions by eight clamouring hands.  So, once a week, as we all sing our hearts out and launch into 'Build Me Up Buttercup' I get  a real sense of possibility and hope that maybe, step by step, I can shape a new life for myself and my amazing, incredible children.  Step by step, day by day and song by song...