One of THOSE days.

Some times I wish that I could be one of those people who roll out of bed, fresh faced and tidy of hair, bounce down the stairs, grab a travel mug of coffee and leap into the new day.  I however, am not that person and I don't mind admitting I am pretty bloody grumpy when I wake up. 

I wake up in a morning, usually fresh from some bizarre dream or other (the winner of last week was that I dreamed I was cuddling a ready made lasagne, it turned out to be my wheat bag for my sick shoulder), sporting a hair do that looks like it has been partying all night. It defies gravity and tangles itself up so badly that only the strongest of conditioner will coax it straight again. Then comes  the blow dry, the make up and the liberal application of coffee and toast. And thats the easy part. 

Afterwards its all repeated again, minus the blow dry and makeup with a four year old who has an equally as unfortunate hair line as me and the ability to sleep through a nuclear disaster. I used to find it easy to dress him, brush his teeth and bundle him in to the car still asleep if the day called for it but now I can barely lift him and have ensured many a painful pulled muscle trying to do so. Now there are arms and legs everywhere, crocodile tears and whines of "I am tired" and "I want to stay in bed, Mummy". He is hot and bothered and I am usually the same, the blow dry and the makeup already beginning to look tired. 

Always though, by 7.25, we are bundled up in the car, just five minutes before nursery opens its gates and takes the boy, who is now miraculously wide awake and generally chatting away happily, while I go to work. Generally to listen to other peoples kids complaining and whining all day.

Despite the whining from my own and others kids I love to go to work. Working has made me a better parent. I am more patient and more rested. My brain has something other to do that play and be repetitive all day. 

I was very disappointed in myself when I realised, not that long in to motherhood that I wanted to go back to work. I was lucky, I had taken two years off with a view to taking some more if I fancied but then I found myself in a new situation, that of a single parent, and the need to go back to work was not just one of want but one of necessity. The necessity to work has been one of the best things to come out of a traumatic situation. By brain is stimulated and I have made new friends. I now look forward to coming home and hearing about his day, rather than already knowing because I was there all the time, I tell him about my day but more often than not he is more interested in raiding the fridge for a pre-dinner snack or watching Scooby-Doo. I tell him anyway. Then we eat, he takes a bath - washing himself, the walls and the carpet in one fell swoop and then we settled down to stories, or sometimes a treaty half hour on the iPad (we are both suckers for Angry Birds). 

I was having a discussion with my friend the other day about parenting. He has no kids of his own and admits he has a completely different view on parenting than me. The side of parenting he has seen has been as the fun Uncle - the wind them up and send them back to their parents wound like coiled springs type - the reality, as he is finding is, completely different. You wind them up, then you have to deal with them when it all gets too much. The saying "it always ends in tears" it probably the truest sentence ever uttered. He is very much like I was before I became a parent, full of ideas and opinions but when the opportunity arises to demonstrate them with a real life kid, it quickly becomes apparent that much of it will be tossed out with the bath water. 

It makes me laugh now when I think back to what kind of mother I WAS going to be. I was going stay at home, barefoot, making bread and meals from scratch - never letting a packet of sweets or crisps pass his lips, while teaching my kid absolutely everything while keeping a beautiful home - tidy but the sort that he would WANT to bring all his friends home to. 

After a few weeks it became apparent that it was not going to happen. There isn't anything like a real life toddler to bring you down to earth with a big, fat bang. I lived on sandwiches and baked beans and soup for ages because, quite simply, I was so tired that anything else felt like being a contestant on Masterchef. My temper was not quite up to Earth Mother standard, and I discovered that there was only so many times in a day that I could listen to a Fisher Price walking aid singing a song about a dinosaur without wanting to throw it out the window. I longed for a full nights sleep and a read of a novel. 

It is considerably easier now, we know each other better - I think that parenting is alot about getting to know each other. I had lived a pretty selfish life for almost 35 years before he arrived and he was small and unable to understand that it wasn't all about him too. He has a little temper that he is slowly learning to control (even though it runs amok when he is tired or hungry) and I have learned to try to let it run and burn out.  I love the fact that its me he runs to after nursery or when I collect him from a friends house and that each and every day he tells me how much he loves me and gives me a vice like cuddle before he falls to sleep. I love the fact we can sit at the table and play game after game of Connect 4 and Snakes and Ladders, make a disgusting brown mess out of coloured paint and play the adding up game with just about anything. I know he isn't particularly bothered when I tell him about my day but I know he loves the fact that if he is tired and just wants to get under his blanket on the sofa I will be under there with him too.  I can pretty much count on him these days to let me have a good nights sleep and if he doesn't then I know its because there is a reason behind it so I don't care to mind. 

I don't think there is ever a feeling of love like the one you have for your kids. 

Oddly enough, since returning to work I am actually starting to feel like the mother that I thought I would be. We eat well,  play well and we have even been known to throw a bit of bread dough about from time to time. My home could be tidier but I am willing to let that go for weekends of playing in the park - I can still see over the top of the ironing pile so its not that bad......

Life smells pretty sweet.......

Food Envy

It never ceases to amaze me some of the things that my son will eat. When I was about to become a parent people use to love to tell me that "food will be the one thing you argue about most". Well, they were wrong. We argue about lots of things but not about food. 

We have issues with green stuff of course - have yet to meet a four year old who will entertain a bit of cabbage or a sprout - but pretty much of anything else he will at least have a go at. 

I had been thinking about the half kilo of mussels in my fridge all day. Lovely fresh molluscs drenched in garlic butter served with a simple salad or a little spicy rice. I practically drooled over the steering wheel of my car when I pulled in on the drive knowing that in just a few minutes those blue-black shells would be on my plate. 

Or so I thought. 

Within seconds of the shells hitting the bottom of the pan a small, smiley face had appeared at my side.  Moments after that he was tucking in at the table; empty shell in one hand, using them in a pincer fashion to prise the next one out.

There is nothing that gives you as many bragging rights as a kid who eats. Particularly one who's favourite food is mussels. And its great fun to see who can stack the shells the highest. And, note to self, next time buy twice as many! 

A Cycle of Cardboard

It its safe to say that in recent weeks my life has become a cycle of pack a box, unpack a box, put box in car and take to be recycled. It is something of a chore, but it is a good feeling to see a new life unfurl. 

Maisie cat, scaling the heights

For anyone who has ever moved home then you will know what I mean when I say, stress, mess and a lot of sleepless nights. I have moved a couple of times before and, aside from flitting from my parents into my first home when all I had was a TV and a Christmas tree, I know how much time it takes to pack up your life, shove it all in a van and hope it arrives at the other end unscathed. 

This time I was downsizing from a life of three to two. By the time I had actually signed on the dotted line and paid the deposit I had spent three months of evenings (when the child was in bed as, apparently, its great fun un-packing everything when mummy had just packed it) sorting, eBaying, packing and brutally culling the endless cupboards and drawers (and a sizeable garage) that seemed to have amassed such a load of rubbish in my 10 years of ownership. I donated to charity boxes of crockery that were still boxed up from our last moved. Full sets of dinner plates, serving platters, cups and saucers in a curiously late 90's print, never to be used again. I even found a box of old drinking glasses still in their wrapping paper. Broken when they arrived, shattered when they left. 

Train to Germany, 1991

I spent hours going through a box of CD's that were cold and damp, their paper inserts curled and tatty from being read so many times. I came across albums that I had thought so great on their release and some that still held such a special meaning to me. Carefully they were alphabetised and put into storage boxes. Ready to be put in a new corner of a new loft. 

There were boxes of photographs, of good friends, old friends and boyfriends past. There were school trips, teenage nights out, first festivals, first jobs, weddings and babies just born.

I am practically on first name terms with the council workers who run my local tip. Every Wednesday for weeks I have loaded my car, sorted my rubbish in to landfill or recycle (more of the latter thank goodness) and exchanged pleasantries with them while they look at me in a slightly bemused manner, surely wondering how much more stuff I have to get rid of. 

To say that packing up ones life is a cathartic experience is an underestimation. It has a soul cleansing feeling. Out with the old and unused and in with only the things you need. 

Good-bye a-ha, 2010

I have been in my cosy new place for a few weeks now and my stress levels have dropped dramatically. Yes, I have bought new things, of course I have but I am relishing my new life without ten sets of everything. I can't believe that I had rice cookers, pasta cookers, a variety of blenders, even a box of logs in the garage (presumably a hangover from my ex-husband who thought they might come in handy one day) all gathering dust and spider webs, all doing absolutely nothing. 

I still have boxes here and there. After 6 weeks of not knowing what is in them, I can probably say that I can live with out them. Whatever they may be.