A Little Relief

It's the morning after. I'm tired. So darn tired. And the car's movement is making me more sleepy.

'...and this is the order of the day,' he continues at the wheel, 'we're going to test drive (this car) and (that car), and (this car) is brilliant and it's got (this) and (that) and (all this other stuff), and I can't wait to try (that car), it's completely electric, just like a toy...'

'Uh huh.' I look out of the car window, blinking at the sunshine. The flowers lining numerous front gardens merge forming seamless lines of colour; red and yellow, and orange and purple. I feel quite dizzy. And my head is mulling over the last 48 hours. Or I should say it can't escape immediate history. I am not very present. I am one of those merging flowers.

The memories are random and shoot like darts. Wine at 11.30 am. The Wensleydale on sticks. The straps of a new bra digging into my shoulders. The faces. The numerous hello's. But not enough time. The amazing discovery that jeggings are really rather comfortable. And the not-so-small matter of winning an award. It hasn't sunk in. I am still in shock. I remember shaking. I remember squeezing the hands of two close blogging friends. I remember saying s**t and thank you into the microphone. I remember all the hugs. I remember the celebratory curry. But most of all I remember the aftermath; sitting dazed on the end of the bed in the hotel room, responding to tweets, watching fireworks pop and sparkle and cascade through the opened window.

But one word forms at the core of my thinking. Enough. And another. Overwhelmed. And more follow, stringing themselves together like spaghetti. You've earned it. It's time to step back. You need to reassess. One of the things I enjoyed the most about Britmums Live this year was sitting outside underneath a colourful canopy of soft artificial flowers. There were flowers in wellington boots and flowers in watering cans hanging from the clear ceiling. It gave the conference a festival feel, especially with the wine and cake. And being in this space gifted me a quiet moment to reflect. I've been writing this blog for three years now. What now? Where next?

I've been forging plans. To do's for the house renovation. Lists for the summer; fun activities, the reduction of piles of admin neglected in the paperwork basket. In the months ahead, I want to read and work on my novel. I want to spot faces in puffy July clouds and water the over growing flowers. I want to spend time listening to the blackbird's charming song. But most of all I want to spend an uninterrupted summer with my daughter; it's about me and her before she begins reception this September. So I have decided to take a two month break from blogging and social media. I will probably check-in here and there, and I do intend to continue reading my favourite blogs, but I may not comment as much as I usually do (sorry). My head and heart needs this. I will be back in September with #oneweek; I fancy one last cycle, one final hurrah.

It feels a relief writing the last line of this post.

Thank you to everyone who reads Older Mum in a Muddle, and for all your lovely comments and support. Have a wonderful summer!

#Once upon a time - Alchemy. Part Two.

Once upon a time .....

I followed him up the stairs. He didn't smell too good, smelt of fags and ash; over his top lip, strands from his moustache - a fat wiry brush - hung, curling, tinted in a colour swatch of nicotine yellow. A long term smoker. Forty a day probably. Every other step, a cough and a wheeze, an asthmatic rattle all the way to the top. I remember only counting twelve steps.

'So this is it, ' he said, clearing his throat in the ball of his fist, 'take a look around.'

First a bed room, strange angles. Then the bath room, nice size, loving the position of the window. Another bedroom, this will be the master. And through a final door into a vacuum of space and light. That's when I knew, decided right there on the spot. Why wasn't Younger Partner with me?  The roof had been scooped out like a pumpkin; wooden beams crossed the ceiling and where suitcases and roof racks and boxes of bric-a-brac would once have been stored was a mezzanine kitchen. An eat-in kitchen in the roof? Now I loved that idea...  

A first property bought together. The first night; glasses of champagne, fish and chips out of the paper, a gift of chocolate cake from the neighbours downstairs. The joy of discovering a new area; Chiswick, Shepherds Bush, Turnham Green. The best Thai restaurant on Askew Road.

We lived here for seven years.

This wasn't any ordinary flat, this was a crucible made of magical stuff; where gold was fashioned from waste basket junk, where sapphires poured from the bathroom tap, where dreams bubbled in fairy wisps of kettle steam...

I shed my skin a dozen times. I ditched the DJ'ing, spent five years retraining as a psychotherapist. I never worked so hard; the late nights at college, weekend workshops, seminars, clients, personal therapy, essays, case studies; all juggled with full time jobs, those soul sucking rent payers. I found myself under proposition one warm July evening. A Friday. 'Would you marry me?' Younger Partner asked, propped on the edge of the chair opposite; his expression earnest, puppy dog eyed, a tad nervous. 'Pardon?' I replied, 'could you say that again?' 'Will you marry me?' he repeated, this time his cheeks burning lanterns, 'Er... er... yes, yes of course I will marry you.' I exchanged Ms for Mrs. Under the living room beams, early March gliding through the panes, my best lady and I were plucked, pruned, kneaded and painted; two wedding dollies immaculately sculptured for a big big day. I grew a bump, solid with fluctuation and hard movement. The day I carried her over the threshold, into the living room, it was if she'd always been with us; right from the very beginning. I battled the closing walls of post natal illness; our home a muted sunken place; my life pre-baby, a flaky shadow, alien, a distant memory. I began writing. This. A blog. A new existence; words, words, words... and I bade farewell to my thirties; hello to middledom and swathes of silver hair. (and cake).

There were parties; Younger Dad's infamous thirtieth. The beer stains. The bass. A five course New Years bash. A first birthday, a second...

And almost a year ago, after the sign said sold and the paperwork cleared, we moved.

So much change, different people.

If you like my writing, you could do two wonderful things for me (pretty please);
1. Vote for me in the MADS (best writer). 2. Preorder my anthology, Seasons Of Motherhood (published in March). Thank you.

Out to Lunch

Have you ever sat in a jar of marmalade? I have. These last few weeks. Sticky. My skin ripening, a pale orange tone. I have a sallow complexion, I like to think almost olive, although I suspect many Southern Europeans would laugh at that assertion.

The heat. I love the heat, the giddy temperatures, the smell of sun cream, lolly pops, chilled beer. And after such a shoddy spring, I can't bring myself to complain about the dial soaring past thirty-one degrees. I hope it continues long into September, when golden leaves shine like the sun, and I'm a shrivelled satsuma.

With all this ghastly summer stuff going on, I've barely been near this blog. Writing is very much an indoor pursuit. And the words ain't flowing with the sunshine.... it's like scratching sentences with a fork.

Today, Little A and I stood on a cliff, below the waves and a little boat made for two, across on the horizon, the very faint view of another coast line. A signpost lent next to our spot. It pointed in the direction of the far away land. It said 'Autumn Term'. So Little A and I must navigate ourselves through the summer sea - there will be calm, there will be storms, but we must work as a *captain-second mate team (*I am the captain) if we are to reach the other shore in one piece. There will be play dates and parks and butterflies and fairies and tea and cake and lazing and staring at the skies....

And with so much to enjoy and do, I am taking a much deserved break from Blogland over August. I simply want to sit back and relish the time with my family. The garden awaits. As does wonderful mummy-daughter time. There are my summer reads, brand new, stacked on the book shelf. And there is my novel..... the only written words these next six weeks.

I will return - if I can stay away that long - on 9th September with One Week which will only run for three days from 9-11 September as I am going to a Writing Festival, and actually, if I'm honest, I'm worried I've run out of ideas to extend it to the usual five days.....

So until we meet again, when the nights are drawing in, adieu and farewell.

XXX

Ps. I am also cutting back on my blog reading, so please don't be offended if I don't comment as often over the next month or so. I will be back!  

Tasting Better

I have to say, that I like being forty two. It tastes better than forty one. Maybe I prefer even numbers or maybe forteee twooo just sounds better, rolling off my tongue with an air of grace and sophistication and cleverness, or so I like to think. I barely uttered forty one to anyone but with forty two, I generously hand out the number like it's my Twitter handle (or my blog page). I simply like being forty two; it's how a good curry should taste the following day or a perfectly brewed cup of tea or a moist, crumbly slice of cake. It wears well on my skin, a realistic fit upon the comfy rolls of flesh. Perhaps I'm accepting middle age? Perhaps I've stopped resisting the linearity of time? Or perhaps I'm completely deluded? 

Twenty years ago, I'd just stepped into my twenty third year. It seems offensively young now. With stars and hope and intensity in my eyes - amplified by precocious swagger - I thought I had life sussed. Dream on younger self. If I could wind back time, I might impart the following wisdom to the more arrogant, impulsive version of me...

On the other hand, what's the point? I could share such philosophical insights as to the paradoxical nature of existence - how life is as random and meaningless as it's connected and laden with synchronicity - but I know younger me won't pay the slightest morsel of attention. Just know this twenty two year old fledgling, it generally all works out in the end, and stop blowing all your money on records, you need clothes too!

Anyway, returning to the present, my birthday falls exactly a month before Christmas, and is usually a rain soaked affair. This year I awoke to filmy blue skies and a pale yellow sun at half mast, a sure sign it was going to be a fine day. And I wasn't disappointed, my birthday haul included a stack of novels and a brand new camera no less! Who's a lucky hen then?

Younger Dad, Little A and I went for a stroll in our local park followed by a succulent roast beef lunch with all the trimmings at a local gastro pub. It was a very relaxed celebration, and as Younger Dad had taken a week off work, it turned out to be a very eventful week indeed with some surprising and not so surprising realisations...

(You'd better be paying some attention to this twenty two year old me.) 

I'm now a veteran at handling episodes of vomiting. Little A began throwing up on the night of my birthday. It began in earnest at 3.00 am - I will wake up and throw up and wake up again, and then, I will throw up and vomit and throw up again - with the last hurl around 8.00 am. Apart from the initial burst of undigested scramble egg, no other changed sheets were necessary. How so? Well I cocooned myself in a warm duvet next to her cot, and as soon as I heard a sniff of a stir, a croaky "mummy", I grabbed her in a torpedo hold, raced her to the bathroom - making it by the skin of my teeth - so that she could take aim over the side of the bath. By 9.00 am Little A had returned to life, raring to go on a bowl of Cheerios...    

As mothers, WE DESERVE the finer things in life. I don't feel I need to add much more to this other than I spent quality time rehousing my sullen wardrobe and treating myself to skin care luxury. I felt very worth it indeed.  

Little A is very, very loud... 

"THE DOGGEEE IS GOING TO GET STICK MAN. THE GIRL IS GOING TO GET STICK MAN. STICK MAN'S IN THE SEA. LOOK, IT'S SANTA CLAUS - IT'S SANTA CLAUS MUMMEEEE. IT'S SANTA CLAUS!!!! I'VE BEEN A GOOD GIRL - I'M GOING TO GET PRESENTS TOO!"

These were just some of  Little A's urgent cries during her very first trip to the theatre. In case you hadn't guessed, we took her to see a very charming live performance of Julia Donaldson's Stick Man. It was a joy to witness my daughter's sheer exuberance as she whooped and cheered and added her commentary throughout the unfolding story. And so wonderful to view the show through her captivated eyes.

I CAN roll with the punches. Change usually bothers me, especially if it's big change, and I will procrastinate until the final hour. But by the end of last week, our flat was on the market, and by the end of tomorrow we will have offered on another property. Not in a million years would I have predicted this as the outcome of my birthday week. And I have really surprised myself at how, so far, I've taken this turn of events in my stride. It feels very good. The timing is right. It's full steam ahead as we've boxed, cleared stuff out, booked decorators and carpet cleaners, made our flat spacious and presentable. So it's been a very busy time in our household, and the main reason I've been so quiet on the blogging front of late... 

Do you like your age?
What things did you learn last week?

Reader Appreciation Award

I am a loyal friend, I am also a loyal blogger, and maybe this is why I was recently applauded by both the wonderful Midlife Single Mum and Bibsey for encroaching upon their comment boxes with ebullient regularity. I need to add at this juncture that I'm neither a stalker nor will I go all single white female on you - does anyone remember that film? Anyway, it's good to feel appreciated. Now I just need to work on Little A. I actually think this is a lovely award, but have to admit to cheating a little; as usual with these things, you have to answer a specific set of questions, some of these I just couldn't think of interesting answers for, so I've included a selection of the award's questions and made up a few of my own. You can find the original questions here.

Where do you do most of your writing/blogging?
In a perfectly square room bedecked with crammed book shelves and a lone, distressed bureau by a window overlooking rolling hills, green pastures and a lazy river dividing the neighbouring valley. I WISH. No, I type - ahem - my magic from the kitchen table overlooking the mess of toys in the lounge and a street littered with fallen leaves and the odd page from the Metro floating on the wind. I can usually be found at this locale during nap times - when they actually happen - and on most weekday evenings when Younger Dad is buried in homework.

Lately, I've taken to writing atop a cushion on the living room floor. As you can see, it's next to the radiator so I get the added bonus of extra heat. I seem to use this location more and more when Little A has quiet time reading books on the sofa - the best alternative I could muster to the flagging nap times - and during her hourly allowance of CBeebies before tea time where she'll pull up a cushion next to me for those late afternoon mummy snuggles.    

What is your favourite time of the day and why?
In all honesty, and this is going to sound very selfish, any time of day I get five minutes to myself - so that's during Little A's nap/quiet times, and when she's clothed in sleep. I also really enjoy late afternoons with Little A; this is the time we pull out the paint, scissors and glue (just look at our recent scary creation with the googly eyes and ferocious teeth), and when we cuddle up in front of the TV.

Have you ever Googled yourself and been surprised at what you've found?
Well, if I search my actual name, Google lists my counselling website, and a variety of pages from this site. But more interestingly, according to 192.com, I am the only person with my name in the UK, so that's Internet proof I am totally unique, and why it would probably be a good idea to keep this blog anonymous, and write the novel I keep threatening to pen under a pseudonym.

One material possession  you could not live without?
My humble Dell laptop of course!

What is your dream car?
The Nissan Figaro is my Grease Lightning. It's neither fast nor practical for a toddler in tow BUT the Figaro is so aesthetically pleasing to my eyes. It's classy, rounded, quirky, for the lady wot eats cake about town, and I want one, and in olive green purlease. I don't think this car has ever been scrutinised on Top Gear, it's far too feminine!

Who would play me in a movie of my life?
Well this prompted me to ask the question - which brave actress would want to play me? Then I thought there might be a few '80's actresses dying to reinvent their career, so I thought Cher, no, not really, but Jodie Foster could pull off the roller coaster ride of my 20's and 30's with convincing aplomb. Fava beans and a nice Chianti anyone?  

Do you have any siblings?
I am the eldest of three. I have two brothers; one is a dancing doctor, the other is a rather talented fine artist and actor. But I was the one who loved books and music!

What is your Star Sign?
I am a Sagittarius - enthusiastic, honest, determined - make of that what you will. It just so happens I share the same sun and moon signs as Jane Austen, mmm. I'm not sure where I stand on astrology - my character completely changed after childbirth, and I must take this moment to thank depression and trauma, two happy symbiotic friends, for twisting my melon.  

Do you have any pets?
No, but as some of my readers know, I would love a pug! I have been keeper though to ladybirds, caterpillars, hamsters, fish, a west highland white terrier, a sliver grey tabby, and a very mardy ginger tom.

Any guilty pleasures?   
Okay, so I'm into the whole vampire thing - are you still reading? - and I'm a fan of True Blood. And I don't think I will ever tire of The Apprentice - it's so cathartic. Then there's chai latte, lemon drizzle, chocolate bread and butter pudding...

Now I want to take the time to thank those readers who've really stood by me over the last year, and some newish readers who've recently come along for the ride. Don't feel you need to respond to this, I know one reader in particular who is days away from welcoming her second child! (psst Mummy Plum)

Mummy Plum
Older Single Mum
Caught Writing
Lynsey The Mother Duck
Hello Wall
Multi Layer Mummy
3 Children and It
Three Years And Home
The Puffin Diaries
The Pretty Good Life
Bachelor Mum

#One Week - Autumn '12 - And...

One Week pushes me into paying greater attention to the world around me; the colours, the changes, the unnoticed detail. But this project is turning out to be something else entirely, more than just a nature trail, it's becoming a kind of rite of passage - a personal festival - marking the events, crystallising my reflections, honing my intent throughout the wheel of the year...

This autumn, Little A has cuddled and demanded and lashed out and cuddled some more. She's rough and tumbled and tip toed and danced. She's learnt the difference between 'like' and 'not like', and used her new found understanding as sharpened weaponry with divisive aim. The other day, when I frustrated her with another "no", she retorted with, "I don't like you any more, I want my daddy instead."

I didn't take it personally, it's to be expected, but I was quite taken aback all the same.

As she races towards three, I suspect a new era is approaching, the dawning of a parental favourite...

'The age of daddy' 

I'm secretly hoping this is the case, it might let me off the hook for a while. I might capture some time to read that book, to buy that jumper, to watch that box set, to write that novel...

Meanwhile, I have written and written and attended Blogfest and caught a cold and made casserole after casserole and dreamt and laughed and moaned and upped my medication and had my greedy fingers in the biscuit tin and seen wonderful friend after wonderful friend, and realised..... it might be a rather good idea to chill my boots and indulge myself in a few worthwhile things, like reading a good book, like having a hot bubble bath, like seeing more friends, like going to the cinema, like S.T.O.P'ing and enjoying the moment with a fine glass of wine.
  

As winter beckons with bare, frozen arms, I turn to autumn to thank her for showing in such simple, fluid, colourful ways, how to reestablish my equilibrium and enjoy the fruits of this year.


This is the final day of the seasonal linky One Week. I wanted to say a big, big thank you to all those lovely bloggers who joined in, and those who commented in support of this new blogging project.

One Week will return next winter for another five days, 25 February - 1 March. So get your cameras at the ready and imaginative hats on!

For more details about One Week, take a gander here. You can join in for one, two ... or the full five days...

Badge Code ...

<a href="http://older-mum.blogspot.co.uk/p/one-week.html" title="One Week"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8436/7807711152_c1a4245128_m.jpg" width="225" height="169" alt="one week"></a>

S.M.I.L.E.

Last week I decided upon a wee break from the blogosphere. And what did I fill the empty hours with? Well, playing nurse to a cranky little girl with a chest and ear infection, and bemoaning that I too had a blocked nose and spluttering cough. Maybe succumbing to a virus has been a blessing in disguise, as it meant an enforced break, to a degree, from this here blog.

So it's time to cheer away the Autumn sniffles, return to writing, and what better way than deliberating over the many silver linings from the past few days (and coming weekend).

Restyled, therefore I am. I really should have my haircut more often. A six month gap between visits to the local coiffeurs is a gap too long. As my hair flows beyond my shoulders, it's all too easy to tie it up in a knot and forget about the tangled growth. Ashamedly, and to the tut tutting from my late Grandmother, my scalp has rarely seen the tooth of a comb. So on Saturday, I removed the hair band, sat back with an out dated, over fingered magazine, and let the hairdresser sculpt my tresses. I never seem to finish the complimentary tea and Nice biscuit, my attention always seduced by the pages of Hello. Anyway, I was delighted with the results. Three inches taken off, my hair now bounces like a newborn lamb on a trampoline. A good hair cut always make me feel good, brand new, years younger. This morning, I dyed away the grey, and with that, all my neurotic worries about ageing, and my impending *cough* *cough* 42nd birthday wafted into the ether. Now all I need is a new pair of jeans (and tops, and jumpers, and shoes, and knickers)...

Blogging Conference. This Saturday I'm attending the Mumsnet Blogfest. It was a spur of the moment decision. I really, really enjoyed Britmums Live, and when I found that a number of my blogging buddies were going, I thought why the heck not? It's a date for me and my blog. And to anyone going, please hunt me down. I'm a very friendly, approachable sort of gal. I even have a nice S.M.I.L.E. Sold? I hope so! Additionally, I'm very much looking forward to meeting the faces behind some lovely new blogs I've had the pleasure of recently discovering; Grandad Came To Tea, The Pretty Good Life.

Novel Idea. I've had bursts of inspiration for tucking and tweaking some of the plot lines of my novel, Four Gigs. I find that it's really useful to let thoughts percolate in the background, and then ta daaa, my mind surprises me with improvements to the original story lines. I've also had a canny idea for developing my characters; a scrapbook on Pinterest. Instead of a lengthy exercise of cutting images from magazines, I like the idea of quickly collating all manner of character (facial, clothes, diet, hobbies), and location (streets, buildings, landmarks) details using a Pinterest board. I'm genuinely excited at how my imagination is shaping the story, how I find myself slipping into the shoes of my main protagonist, viewing the world as she does. I'm not ready to start the writing just yet, there's still some further research to do, but nevertheless, I'm raring to unleash my fingers on the keyboard...

To buggy or not to buggy. For nearly three years now I have pushed Little A around in a three wheeled Mountain Buggy. Given that I live in London and to my knowledge there are no mountains, in fact, not a whiff of a mole hill, I never thought this was the most practical choice of pram. I don't know why, but while I was pregnant, I handed over the most important decision on baby gear - the buggy - to Younger Dad and a battered copy of Which Magazine. I was hormonal. I was completely mad. But I wasn't totally wrong in trusting my husband's judgement either. The Mountain Buggy has been reliable, sturdy, fulfilled its purpose. It's also very, very heavy. This week though, there was a new arrival in our home. I am now the proud owner - thank you ebay - of a super folding, light weight Maclaren. At last, I can manage the crowds in Westfield. At last, I can tackle The Underground. At last, the escalator is no longer the enemy. At last, a whole new social panorama has opened to me.

A new blog. Last Friday spontaneity got the better of me, and I created The Adventures of Parsley Pug. It's a frivolous space for the sole aim of writing children's stories. Many, many moons ago, I conjured up the character, Parsley Pug, and Younger Dad has been pressing me to write the stories ever since. I doubt I will post that often, I don't expect many page views, but then I'm not that bothered, as this blog is personal, for me, my imagination, my sense of wonder, and fun.

One Week. This week, virus permitting, I've been gearing up for One Week, which begins next Monday. I've edited my photographs and somehow managed to pen a few words through the barricades of a fuggy head, tiredness and heaps of snotty tissues. So come to think of it, I haven't strictly had a break from blogging. Anyway, if you are at a loss for inspiration, please join in!

Now that was a shameless plug!

I'm linking up this post with Reasons To Be Cheerful, it's been a while!

S.T.O.P.

The red traffic light tells me in plain language. STOP.

The slow cooker hints at a life in third gear, not fifth.

I've been told on a number of occasions now that I'm looking a little pallid.

The mirror confirms my skin isn't in the best of shape.

Yet again, I've neglected my wardrobe. Two pairs of jeans are in the bin, the third is cultivating a significant breach in the right knee.

Recently, I've fallen into a pattern of three posts a week. I don't know how this happened, although I suspect a latent desire for a surge in stats. I convinced myself writing practice is the overarching drive, which I'm sure, overall, it is. Or maybe superstition is tugging at my taupe jumper; I'm simply averse to the idea of an October tally of thirteen posts!

Still, something had to give. I can't keep up the pace I've unfairly set myself. So it was with sweet relief (and worry) that at the beginning of this week, I found myself clueless as to what to pen. My head, a blank. My imagination, in a stupor.

Between you and me, I was secretly pleased I was unable to join in this week's 100 Word Challenge as the prompt, a ghoulish recipe - in keeping with Halloween - didn't feel suited to the short story I'm telling. Then I did something liberating. I have a back log of memes I've been tagged in dating back to the beginning of this year that, embarrassingly, I haven't responded to, probably never will, and barring a chosen few, I just deleted them all. Yes, all. I do feel chastened by guilt at my impetuous action - and I am very sorry to those *bloggers who kindly thought of me - but it was the right thing to do. I felt relief. Maybe it's the time of year? Like nature in her current riotous dismantling, I'm offloading baggage. (*Please don't let this put you off tagging me, I just needed a clear out).

You see, this week, I've needed a little space, some downtime, some small separation from my laptop.

On Tuesday morning, whilst delighting at crisp blue skies, Little A and I decided an outing to Kew Gardens would be a jolly fine thing to do. There, we busied our time in the children's outdoor and indoor play areas. Apart from an alarming few moments where I thought I'd lost Little A, my feet frozen to the floor, waves of head spinning panic wracking my limbs, we had a deliciously wonderful mummy and daughter time together. We luncheoned on fish pie, ham sandwiches and a necessary slice of lemon drizzle. Little A befriended an older girl who clung to a cream teddy. And, to my surprise, she conquered the big curly wurly slide; "again, again Mummy, let me go again," she cheered triumphantly with rosy zeal in her cheeks.

But it wasn't until we strolled peacefully down paths lined with fiery autumnal bursts and the odd Japanese Pagoda Tree, that I found myself attuning to a more peaceful rhythm. And then, in the quiet, in the moment's chill, ideas for posts greeted me like welcome friends.

When my inner voice tells me to S.T.O.P, I need to pay a little more attention. Having a weighty expectation of how much I should or shouldn't write is no good for my creativity. "Just stop Older Mum", I hear the voice gently prodding. Okay, I will. Besides, I need to conserve energy for One Week!

So in an effort to trim my ambition, this will be my one and only post for the week.

Do you respond to every meme you've been tagged in?
When do you like to take a break from blogging?

Why Do I Blog?

I'm feeling a little out of sorts to day. I had a dream last night in which I punched holes, large and gaping, through the walls of my flat (Younger Dad won't forgive me). And I'm starting to realise this might be linked to something I've been mulling over, a question that keeps swimming to the front of my mind, and won't go away, the question is this ...

WHY DO I BLOG?  

Recently it's felt a lot like hard work. Like all the colour has rinsed out of my enthusiasm, and ideas. I've lost something ... some sparkle ... now what's the word I'm looking for? ... some SPONTANEITY. This morning I was re-reading a few of my very first posts, like this one, and this one. And you know what? I felt rankled. My writing was so free, so much more in the moment, unplanned. And something of that magic dust has lost itself somewhere, somehow. Don't get me wrong, I like the style in which I write, it's detailed, it's descriptive, but if I'm really honest with myself, I think it's lacking a little life. A little chutzpah. Maybe I'm just having a bad day... 

Lately, I've become a little too obsessive with prose, and words, and sentence structure, and like the dream, I need to take a hammer to the self inflicted walls I've imposed upon myself... And smash my tendency to perfectionism (it's taken hours writing some posts). And smash through my tendency to self criticism. 

Break on through to the other side sister.

Then there's comments. In the early days no one commented on my posts. No one. And there was something quite liberating in that. I could really write what I wanted. No need to impress (self imposed). No expectations. Nothing. Now I do love comments. The more the merrier (keep the blog love coming). I really appreciate the support, and the new friendships I've gained (my readers are lovely). And, it satisfies the narcissist in me - that self interested part that likes the external mirror to say, 'you're okay'. But I have noticed a subtle pull in my compulsion to write - do I blog to write or do I blog for comments? For the approval? For the affirmation? Of course I blog to write, but inkling tells me I need to step away from the attraction to the latter. That's not a healthy reason to pen a post.

So, why do I blog? Why do I spend hours in front of a flat screen? Well, it was never my original intention. The reason I started my first blog was to make some extra cash (don't snigger), but then I discovered the joys of the written word. And I couldn't stop. Plain and simple. Blogging has helped me to work through the residues of traumatic birth, depression, has helped to reconnect my mind and body, to excavate treasure from my thoughts, my imagination, to re-route my creativity, and to feel human and intelligent again after the birth of my beloved Little A. In a nut shell, and not to sound too cliched, I blog to both find and re-invent myself. I blog to breath. And now, blogging offers a blank canvas, a public tool for learning to write, a hope that I might dare to pen a lengthy story one day...

Writing this felt like a breath of fresh air. I really, really needed to do this. It's the most impromptu post I've written in a long while. (and it only took me 45 minutes).

Time to put a cuppa on, and spell check.

Positively Cheerful - One Year On

Every week Michelle at Mummy From The Heart hosts Reasons To Be Cheerful, a little space where like minded souls can enthuse about the great and the good in their lives. I haven't joined in for a while - I've been both busy and lazy - but this week, as it's so sunny, and as I'm celebrating a significant landmark in my blog's history, I felt compelled to share my positive cheer with you ...

Firstly though, some good news about Little A. Her settling in period at the new nursery went swimmingly well; it was me who was treading water. The first morning Little A spent some time viewing her new surroundings from either the security of my lap or with her arms wrapped like vines around my knees. Several occasions she tried to cajole me, tugging earnestly at my hand, into investigating the various themed play areas, but I kept gently reminding, "mummy's job is to sit on the chair". My ploy worked well and it wasn't long before Little A overcame her shyness and began exploring the new faces, wendy house, paints and plasticine, fish tank, dinosaurs, and outdoor area with its sand pit and push rides on her own. There were no tears or tantrums on the mornings I waved my goodbyes. In fact, it was quite the opposite; she refused to leave when I collected her. One morning I was met with "I didn't miss you mummy". Oh, thanks. I must be doing something right if she feels this secure in my absence. I can now breathe easy and enjoy two mornings sacred leave a week from being a mum.

Yesterday, I accompanied Little A on the nursery summer outing to Holland Park. As the heat was so intense, not that I'm complaining after so many waterlogged weeks, we shaded ourselves under the canopy of trees lining the sports field. It was a lovely chance to relax in the glorious weather we're having and meet some of the other parents. My enthusiastic little Olympian took part in her first official running race. And then again, and again, and again. I held her hand as she giggled her way to the finishing line. She didn't care about the winning. She was bowled over by the taking part.

This week marks the first anniversary of my blog, or blogoversary as its affectionately known as. A year ago, the 25th July 2011 to be precise, I sat down at the kitchen table and wrote a small tale about a large dog that'd frightened Little A. At that moment, I couldn't predict if I would still be blogging a year later. But here I am, twelve months on, tapping away on the keys, and with not one, but two blogs. And I have to say I'm very proud of what I've accomplished. I've discovered such a great outlet for my thoughts and creativity, swapping music for words. Who would've thought I'd end up attending a blogging conference let alone consider writing a piece of fiction. I think the first anniversary is an important one; it mirrors that I've made a dedicated commitment to my blog and writing, and long may it continue.

But do you know what I've really enjoyed and appreciated over the last year? Well it's you, my dear faithful reader. Your comments and support have been a joy to read, have spurred me on, and kept my new dream, of becoming a writer, alive. And even though we may not have met, I feel I've become acquainted with you, your essence, through reading the honest and eloquent words written on your blog. I met a small handful of you at Britmums this June. It was like a blind date with someone I already felt an easy easiness with. Like the snugly feeling when I wrap my feet in a pair of Uggs. Or the first comforting tastes of a scoop of vanilla ice cream. So, I wanted to take the time to say thank you for discovering my little home on the internet prairie and sticking with me. To my readers old, and new, a cyber high-five.

As my blog is a year old, I wanted to celebrate by challenging myself with a new creative project. I used to be an avid cyclist. One of the things I appreciated the most about my two wheeled adventures was bearing witness to the passing of the months; snowdrops and ice in February, daffodils and puddles in April, roses and downpours in July or russet leaves and foggy drizzle in November. So with that in mind, I'm going to dedicate five consecutive days each season to posting a photograph(s) and a few words which capture the spirit of the time of year. I'm naming my project One Week ...

And even though it's Thursday, I'm also linking up with Hello Wall's, Wednesday Witter.

All Change ...

So far, this has been an emotional week. It hasn't helped that I'm clouded by premenstrual tension. As I write, another storm hovers menacingly in a whirlpool of murky yellow grey over the rooftop of our flat. The cloud is circling like the base of a UFO from a science fiction movie. It's reminiscent of the mother ship in the Spielberg classic, Close Encounters Of The Third Kind ...

Anyway, the main reason I'm feeling down is because Little A finishes her time with her childminder, L, tomorrow. She was due to end the beginning of August. But a few days ago L received some very upsetting news and she's leaving the country with her immediate family this Saturday. They'll be gone for three weeks. So it has all come to an abrupt end.

This sudden turn of events has made me reflect upon the importance of L in our lives; the positive and nurturing impact she's had on both Little A and I.

When we set out on our quest to find a suitable childminder, L was the first person we interviewed. Little A was only two months old and spent most of her time watching the world from the encasing comfort of a sling bound either to me or Younger Dad. Even though we met a handful of other very competent caregivers, I knew in my bones that L was the right childminder from that initial meeting. She was warm, sturdy, down to earth and possessed an easy friendliness I felt immediately comfortable with, and trusted. It also helped that L had superb references, and that the select mothers I spoke to held her in high regard. So the decision was made.

Little A began her settling in period when she was ten months old. This lasted a month; an hour here and a couple of hours there, until I felt assured that Little A was in safe hands. She began her first full day a couple of weeks shy of her first birthday. From there on L looked after her one day a week.

She's been going to L's for just over a year and a half now. In all that time Little A hasn't fussed when I've relinquished her in the morning. At the end of the day I'm always greeted by a jubilant little girl with a bagful of artwork. L has given Little A constant care and attention, consistency and love, and bowl upon bowl of Cheerios. Her flat is a treasure trove of toddler fun; the living room lined with boxes of stikkle bricks, books, dolls, teddies, make believe costumes, and there's a tent for extra special hide-away mischief. Every week L and Little A frequented playgroups, parks and duck ponds, and Little A's imagination stretched with music, painting, glue and pipe cleaners.

For this I am very grateful because sometimes I fall down in my mothering. I'm not always the responsive or patient parent I'd like to be. In many ways L has been like a special aunt; flexible and on hand in times of personal difficulty and illness, and there have been plenty of last minute requests for help.

And for me, that one day a week, that free space on the calendar has gifted a moment to breathe. Those eight child free hours have granted a space to recover, a space to write, opportunity to see clients, time to read, time to swim, and to reconnect with friends over lunch and a glass of wine. Most of all its helped to claw back my sanity and a clearer sense of myself after nearly two years hidden under the canopy of post natal illness.

And for that I am so thankful.

I'm going to feel very sad when Little A and I wave our last goodbyes. I keep reminding Little A that tomorrow is her last day with L. But she will remain in her happy world as she doesn't really understand. I however, will most definitely shed a tear.

Next week, Little A starts another settling in period at a local nursery. She was going to start in September but we moved the date forwards owing to the latest developments with L. For now, she's going to go two mornings a week, until, when she's three, the blessed fifteen hours of Government funded childcare becomes available. I'm nervous about the change. But I keep reminding myself that Little A's time with L, her nine year old daughter, and the other toddlers L cared for, has buoyed her with the social confidence for her new adventure.

In the meantime I will write L a glowing reference.


Although its Thursday, I'm hooking up with a new linky, Wednesday Witter hosted by Hello Wall.

A Bus Strike and a Clubbing Experience

Typical. There was a bus strike. I was completely unaware of this until a helpful passer-by politely pointed at the electronic sign above my head. In red neon it shouted the words all commuters dread, INDUSTRIAL ACTION. Why the heck hadn't I noticed this before? Oh no. Not today. Not at the start of Britmums Live. I'm going to have to walk the long walk to the tube. And fast. Until the moment that stranger had redirected my attention, I'd been sitting absent mindedly on the unyielding plastic bench of the bus shelter for nearly twenty minutes, my faith in London transport still intact.

It was on my hurried half-run to the station that I finally became aware of the distinct lack of public transport snarling Uxbridge Road, and the unusual throng of frustrated looking pedestrians busying like ants in the same direction as me. How had I not noticed these glaring clues earlier? Then providence gracefully stepped in. I glanced intuitively over my shoulder and spotted something heavenly. A lone double decker. And it was rumbling towards me. I was luckily within an ear shot of a bus stop and flagged the renegade vehicle. A gasp of calming relief escaped my mouth as the bus indicated and pulled to the curb. It was packed but I squeezed on between stiff Summer raincoats and bullying shoulder bags. I'd made it ...

... And I was on time for the pre conference meet up at the coffee shop. But a large chai latte couldn't assuage my nerves. Britmums Live was my first blogging conference and it seemed like one giant blind date. Only this date had a narrative twist. I don't think I've been in a situation where I'm meeting someone in the flesh for the first time and they already know many intimate details about my life. What would my cyber friends think of me? Was there a believable and fluid congruency between my written word and the real life me? Would I lose some of my on line mystique? I needn't have worried though as this weekend I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with a group of welcoming, genuine, warm, and thoroughly supportive women.

And the conference? Well I spent the first hour overwhelmed and rooted to the spot like a stunned rabbit caught in head lights. I don't remember drinking the peppermint tea or eating the lemon cake I held in each clammy hand. I do remember intently gazing at many chest lines trying to decipher names and blog titles on conference badges. I remember uttering "Oh I know you" and "I really like your blog" an awful lot. I also remember a lively conversation about the merits of True Blood and Twilight. Vampires are useful ice breakers. Adrenaline though can have a very over powering and surreal effect on the senses. So much so that the entire two days often felt like a nostalgic throw back to my DJ'ing days. The excitement of meeting so many new people and absorbing the collective positive energy of the 500 bloggers present had more in common with a clubbing experience. I found myself riding an ecstatic high.

The stuff that stole my interest included call to action keynotes from Ruby Wax and Sarah Brown, serenely dozing babes in arms that invited broody yearnings, workshops on the Path to Getting Published and How to Create and Market Your Own eBooks which appealed to my writing aspirations, copious glasses of prosecco and canapes proferred during the BIBs Awards party, and the Bloggers Keynote ...

The Bloggers Keynote was a truly powerful, and empathic experience. It was a joy to listen to each chosen Blogger's selected post. Their spoken renditions breathed life and electricity into their written words. Hayley from Downs Side Up received a standing ovation for reading this moving post about her beautiful daughter, Natty, who has downs syndrome. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

And now its all over and I'm genuinely sad. I find myself in a melancholic haze. I think I'm having a post clubbing come down. For the first time my humble blog and I felt a part of something much bigger; a blogging community that is making a difference.

Life is about relationship, and it doesn't matter if this takes place on line. Because behind that computer screen resides a real person with history, worries, triumphs and losses, aspirations, hope, tragedy and illness, and love. And the energy of that human experience pulsates through the written word. And in that there is always connection ...

See you at Britmums 2013.

Cheery Cheerfulness and Tossed Salad Chic

At last the sun appeared less shy this week and brazenly brushed aside the clouds. Still I've never known a Summer this UV challenged. And today its raining again. So I've decided to ignore all things damp, drizzly and wet and instead focus upon this weeks nuggets of positivity. I'm linking up with Reasons To Be Cheerful hosted by the lovely Mummy From The Heart where you'll find other posts that sparkle and shine .....

My Blog. I don't know if you'd noticed but its had an eye catching overhaul. I'm very pleased with the finish. It's simple, welcoming, clean and a little quirky, which is the look I was after. I really like the broken cassette tape, scruffy converse trainers and the splash of muted teal. The inspiration for the header was mine but the wonderful Violet Posy applied all the technical wizardry. And didn't she do a fabulous job? I spent most of last week frantically emailing her my ideas and demands for the perfect looking site; "could you add one more piece of scrunched paper over the r? ", "can you rotate the tape a little more? ", "the font size isn't quite right" .... I don't know how she put up with my constant requests and obsession with the tiniest of details. It must be tricky for a web designer to accurately interpret a client's ideas. Violet Posy's idea of 'quirky' could have been a world away from mine. Incidentally, I put the L into Luddite. You won't catch a me tinkering with the html and css That's why I had to bring in a learned soul to assist me with injecting some visual magic into this blog.

Fathers Weekend. We celebrated all things Younger Dad during Saturday as we were going to be with friends on Sunday morning. Anyway Younger Dad received a book, 'My Daddy Cooks' from Little A while I gave him a gift of speciality coffees. I made a firm family favourite reserved for birthdays and special occasions; pancakes oozing with full fat butter, maple syrup and bacon. Dee-licious.

On Sunday we went on a reconnaissance of Hertfordshire towns in a bid to choose the location of our next home. Letchworth, Hitchin and Harpenden all looked rather habitable but probably out of our price range. What we happened upon in Letchworth though was, oddly, Britain's very first round-a-bout. It was situated in the middle of a sleepy junction that was surrounded by generous grass verges and post war styled detached homes. I'm not quite sure how this historically recent town can lay claim to having the oldest round-a-bout. There was however a wooden sign post in the middle of the traffic island pompously proclaiming its ascendancy over every other round-a-bout in the country. It must have existed long before this leafy middle class enclave did. Younger Dad was going to make a left turn but I ordered he drive an honorary lap around ye olde circle of grass. I wonder if the National Transport Museum houses a chunk of turf from this slice of Letchworth's traffic history?

Somewhere near Harpenden we visited a Sunday Open Farm. Little A delighted in the daddy sized tractor wheels, sheep shearing and new born chicks. Younger Dad took her on a tractor and trailer ride. I waited by the sidelines with two beefburgers smearing grease on my fingers, the napkins were useless, while they took the tour of the fields perched on farm yardy hay bales. Both lunch and I had gone cold by the time they'd returned after a surprisingly long twenty minutes. Little A's enthusiasm had waned. So had mine. It was time to hit the road.

Britmums. Its finally arrived. My first blogging conference. I know I'm going to feel completely overwhelmed. You kindly read my words but what on earth will you make of me in real life? That's the part I'm nervous about. Now I haven't gone overboard with The Outfit. The ensemble I'm wearing is both casual and comfortable.

So dear reader I present to you the look I'll be rocking this weekend.

I call it Tossed Salad Chic, a thrown together medley of high street reliables from Gap, Next and M&S .....

Tossed Salad Chic