Right, I'm over it.
I'm reading the blog of a father whose little girl has schizophrenia (here). I'm reading another blog, by a fantastic woman who is fostering children, some of whom have serious mental illnesses, (here). Today, on my way home from an appointment, I popped into Sainsburys to pick up some new dummies for Jazzpiglet and to grab a magazine in hope that it would distract me this evening. While I was queueing to pay, I realised the young girl of about nine years old who was standing with her father in front of me, had a prosthetic arm. This little girl was bright, smiling, talking to the cashier, making jokes.
These people show strength in the face of huge challenges. I know that I too, show strength, in my own insignificant little way, but it's not in any way comparable to the struggles that these inspirational people face every day.
I am a lucky person. My health isn't great, but I don't have a terminal illness, I have all of my limbs, I can walk, I can ride a bike (sometimes, when my joints aren't seized up, obviously!), I can go out for an evening and can manage to stand at the bar for a while if there aren't seats available...I'm pretty ok.
My own family life is a little chaotic, I didn't have a great childhood...but my new family, my fiance's family, are amazing. They're supportive, caring, kind and generous people and I know that I can call my future mother-in-law just for a lighthearted chat or to ask for babysitting assistance. We do things together as a family, we cook dinner for each other (siblings included), Drew's brother's girlfriend is so much my best friend that she's actually going to be my maid of honour...lucky. Very very lucky.
I'm at the tail end of going through a shitty divorce...but I'm getting married to the best person in the world next year. I wasted four years of my life on an asshole...but all of my experiences have made me who I am today, and now I've finally got it together with Drew, the cliched 'love of my life'.
My kids are great. Heather's a total diva, Charlie is aggressive and highly reactive, Jasper is the loudest baby in the whole world, but they're good kids. I have a relatively easy time with them...sure, they push boundaries sometimes (they wouldn't be normal if they didn't), but for the most part they're spectacularly well behaved, polite, quirky, funny little munchkins.
There's plenty in my life for me to be thankful for. I know that mental illness isn't logical; I am aware that depression doesn't listen to "but you should be happy" arguments...but knowing, and reminding myself, of how lucky I am to finally have a stable existence filled with wonderful people, it definitely helps.
Thursday, 6 October 2011
A Rare Grumpy Post
Oh, hey! It's not often I do these; it's not often I let people in and share what's actually going on in my noggin, especially when it's all crazy nonsense.
So. I'll own up before I start. I was diagnosed with severe depression when I was a teenager, and I've swung in and out of it since then. I had a fair amount of stuff happen during my childhood and teenage years that therapists have assured me will have definitely contributed - I'm carrying a lot of stuff around with me, and sometimes it gets a tad heavy!
When I was a teenager, I also became anorexic. I didn't know that's what I was...all I knew was that I developed a (very private) conviction that people would think I was fat if they saw me eat anything. So I stopped eating at school. Then I stopped being able to eat in the morning before school...I didn't know why, I didn't think about it; I just didn't feel like I could. Then it snowballed to a point where I was barely able to eat anything. I didn't do it to lose weight, I didn't have a set of scales, I don't know what I weighed at that point. I do know that I still thought of myself as fat, ugly and worthless, that I compared myself to everybody else constantly and that I simply couldn't eat. Eating felt like failure. Starving myself felt like success, something I could be good at, something where I was winning. Being hungry meant I was doing ok. It was uncomfortable, but it was something I could control, a control that nobody could take away with me.
I don't think you ever recover fully from anorexia; through support, therapy and lots of personal effort you can learn to control your behaviours and handle your thoughts so that you're not plagued by the demons, but it's a lifelong battle. I'm currently waiting for a letter telling me who my new therapist is, as my last eating disorders specialist has moved on elsewhere and I'm in between people. I hate therapy, but I'm committed to recovery, so I'll keep going.
Right now, I'm not doing so great. There's nothing much wrong with my life - ok, I do have suspected Multiple Sclerosis, which is a total ballache, and I'm still carrying the memories of a lot of crap with me...but I have three beautiful children, a gorgeous, caring, loving fiance who I absolutely adore, a supportive family and some fantastic friends.
But this is the nature of depression. There doesn't have to be anything wrong for it to rear it's ugly head. I'm struggling with it like hell at the moment.
People with eating disorders often talk about the 'negative voice'. It's a strange thing to explain - it's not like actually hearing voices (or at least, it's not for me)...but more like your own internal dialogue turned evil. You know how if you drop something, or maybe if you walk into a room and forget what you went in there for, or if you accidentally put salt in your coffee instead of sugar, or anything daft, you have an internal dialogue that says "Oh for God's sake you're so clumsy!" or "What did you come in here for?" or "Well, I'm not drinking that!"? My internal dialogue is loud, critical and relentless. I constantly hear, from within my own head, that I'm fat, unattractive, useless, stupid, dull, boring, a terrible mother, that my lovely fiance could do better and that he SHOULD do better, that my friends don't care about me, that I'm a burden on people, that there is nothing physically okay on any part of my body, that I'm too lazy, that I don't do enough to help other people, that I'm selfish...and so on and so forth. I also develop a paranoid voice; my fiance will leave me, people don't like me, I'm so hideous that people are laughing at me, everybody thinks I'm ridiculous. I have this all of the time.
When I'm quite stable, I can argue back against that voice; I can rationalise and figure out that my fiance loves ME, with all of my crap and wotnot, that I'm at the lower end of a healthy BMI range for my weight, therefore I'm NOT fat (the negative voice tells me that I need to be underweight to be 'thin'), that I have friends who call all the time to chat, that I have friends who make the effort to make sure I'm ok and come pick me up and take me places if I'm having a bad day (so NOT fair-weather friends).
When I'm not as stable with my depression, I can't argue with the voice as well. I'm on the highest possible dose of sertraline; an anti-depressant which works on anxiety. Usually, it works. Sometimes, it doesn't.
I know when it's not working when I start to feel hopeless...I don't want to get out of bed, I can't be bothered with doing anything, I can't focus on anything and I feel emotionally numb. I have to plod on - my children need me, they need me to be their happy, friendly Mummy who cooks their dinner and listens to their stories and helps with homework and bathes them and tucks them in with a smile on her face. It's harder with friends. Drew knows when I'm struggling because I go off into my own world - he often notices before I do, because the things that usually make me laugh don't seem to even register, and I space out while he's talking to me. Most of my friends know that if I have a quiet day, I'm not being off with them, I'm just trying to battle my way out of a dark place that depression has gotten me lost in. I still try to be bubbly and cheerful, but apparently it's pretty obvious that it's an act. I make the effort, but it's not genuine and true friends know this.
Unfortunately, knowing that I'm acting like that, that I'm not as responsive as I'd usually be, that I'm being quiet and spaced out, that I'm not able to take part in conversations as actively as usual, makes me feel dull and boring...which gives that bullying negative voice something to pick on. It's a highly inconvenient cycle that's very hard to break out of.
Drew's away with work this week. I've kept myself busy all week, but today Heather and Charlie are with their Dad. Jasper's having a nap...and I'm left alone with the contents of my defective noggin. I can't watch TV, because it's just not interesting me enough. I'm trying to re-read the Harry Potter series but, much as I love it, it's not holding my attention. I have a wedding magazine, but I haven't even opened it. I'm battling anorexia again and feel awful because I had a doughnut earlier...the argument is raging in my head that this is FINE - it's all I've eaten today - and that I should have dinner later...while the negative voice is telling me that I'm fat fat fat and shouldn't even go into the kitchen again today. I want to get better, but it's a tough battle to fight. It's bloody exhausting.
I'm so sick of the crazies...
Apologies for the maudling post - I promise you faithfully the next one will be happy smily again. Honest!
So. I'll own up before I start. I was diagnosed with severe depression when I was a teenager, and I've swung in and out of it since then. I had a fair amount of stuff happen during my childhood and teenage years that therapists have assured me will have definitely contributed - I'm carrying a lot of stuff around with me, and sometimes it gets a tad heavy!
When I was a teenager, I also became anorexic. I didn't know that's what I was...all I knew was that I developed a (very private) conviction that people would think I was fat if they saw me eat anything. So I stopped eating at school. Then I stopped being able to eat in the morning before school...I didn't know why, I didn't think about it; I just didn't feel like I could. Then it snowballed to a point where I was barely able to eat anything. I didn't do it to lose weight, I didn't have a set of scales, I don't know what I weighed at that point. I do know that I still thought of myself as fat, ugly and worthless, that I compared myself to everybody else constantly and that I simply couldn't eat. Eating felt like failure. Starving myself felt like success, something I could be good at, something where I was winning. Being hungry meant I was doing ok. It was uncomfortable, but it was something I could control, a control that nobody could take away with me.
I don't think you ever recover fully from anorexia; through support, therapy and lots of personal effort you can learn to control your behaviours and handle your thoughts so that you're not plagued by the demons, but it's a lifelong battle. I'm currently waiting for a letter telling me who my new therapist is, as my last eating disorders specialist has moved on elsewhere and I'm in between people. I hate therapy, but I'm committed to recovery, so I'll keep going.
Right now, I'm not doing so great. There's nothing much wrong with my life - ok, I do have suspected Multiple Sclerosis, which is a total ballache, and I'm still carrying the memories of a lot of crap with me...but I have three beautiful children, a gorgeous, caring, loving fiance who I absolutely adore, a supportive family and some fantastic friends.
But this is the nature of depression. There doesn't have to be anything wrong for it to rear it's ugly head. I'm struggling with it like hell at the moment.
People with eating disorders often talk about the 'negative voice'. It's a strange thing to explain - it's not like actually hearing voices (or at least, it's not for me)...but more like your own internal dialogue turned evil. You know how if you drop something, or maybe if you walk into a room and forget what you went in there for, or if you accidentally put salt in your coffee instead of sugar, or anything daft, you have an internal dialogue that says "Oh for God's sake you're so clumsy!" or "What did you come in here for?" or "Well, I'm not drinking that!"? My internal dialogue is loud, critical and relentless. I constantly hear, from within my own head, that I'm fat, unattractive, useless, stupid, dull, boring, a terrible mother, that my lovely fiance could do better and that he SHOULD do better, that my friends don't care about me, that I'm a burden on people, that there is nothing physically okay on any part of my body, that I'm too lazy, that I don't do enough to help other people, that I'm selfish...and so on and so forth. I also develop a paranoid voice; my fiance will leave me, people don't like me, I'm so hideous that people are laughing at me, everybody thinks I'm ridiculous. I have this all of the time.
When I'm quite stable, I can argue back against that voice; I can rationalise and figure out that my fiance loves ME, with all of my crap and wotnot, that I'm at the lower end of a healthy BMI range for my weight, therefore I'm NOT fat (the negative voice tells me that I need to be underweight to be 'thin'), that I have friends who call all the time to chat, that I have friends who make the effort to make sure I'm ok and come pick me up and take me places if I'm having a bad day (so NOT fair-weather friends).
When I'm not as stable with my depression, I can't argue with the voice as well. I'm on the highest possible dose of sertraline; an anti-depressant which works on anxiety. Usually, it works. Sometimes, it doesn't.
I know when it's not working when I start to feel hopeless...I don't want to get out of bed, I can't be bothered with doing anything, I can't focus on anything and I feel emotionally numb. I have to plod on - my children need me, they need me to be their happy, friendly Mummy who cooks their dinner and listens to their stories and helps with homework and bathes them and tucks them in with a smile on her face. It's harder with friends. Drew knows when I'm struggling because I go off into my own world - he often notices before I do, because the things that usually make me laugh don't seem to even register, and I space out while he's talking to me. Most of my friends know that if I have a quiet day, I'm not being off with them, I'm just trying to battle my way out of a dark place that depression has gotten me lost in. I still try to be bubbly and cheerful, but apparently it's pretty obvious that it's an act. I make the effort, but it's not genuine and true friends know this.
Unfortunately, knowing that I'm acting like that, that I'm not as responsive as I'd usually be, that I'm being quiet and spaced out, that I'm not able to take part in conversations as actively as usual, makes me feel dull and boring...which gives that bullying negative voice something to pick on. It's a highly inconvenient cycle that's very hard to break out of.
Drew's away with work this week. I've kept myself busy all week, but today Heather and Charlie are with their Dad. Jasper's having a nap...and I'm left alone with the contents of my defective noggin. I can't watch TV, because it's just not interesting me enough. I'm trying to re-read the Harry Potter series but, much as I love it, it's not holding my attention. I have a wedding magazine, but I haven't even opened it. I'm battling anorexia again and feel awful because I had a doughnut earlier...the argument is raging in my head that this is FINE - it's all I've eaten today - and that I should have dinner later...while the negative voice is telling me that I'm fat fat fat and shouldn't even go into the kitchen again today. I want to get better, but it's a tough battle to fight. It's bloody exhausting.
I'm so sick of the crazies...
Apologies for the maudling post - I promise you faithfully the next one will be happy smily again. Honest!
Saturday, 1 October 2011
Wedding Stuff and Children and Wotnot
I'm having a good weekend. An epic good weekend.
First, last night, was the engagement party for two of my friends. Okay, there was a girl there who used to be full-on in love with my fiance, who slept with him once, who was practically obsessed with him and came damn near close to stalking him...so I had to keep my bitchface under control and not watch her like a hawk all evening. I do not like obsessive fawning girls when they are obsessive about my fiance. Even though I trust him and KNOW that he'd never do ANYTHING like that, it rubs me right up the wrong way.
Grr.
But, other than that, a good night was had by all! And, I've discovered that a berroca before bed, followed by a few glasses of water, then berroca in the morning followed by coffee staves off a hangover admirably. I feel tired, but fine. Awesome.
Today, Drewfus and I are off to look at a wedding venue. The wedding venue we feel will probably be THE wedding venue. I am excited. That's this morning.
THEN (oh yes, there's more) I'm going with my Maid of Honour this afternoon to try on wedding dresses. There will be photographic evidence. Oh hell yes, the cameria (aka my detachable limb) is coming too. I may have to try on a meringue for the hell of it.
THEN (still going), tomorrow my little Jazzpod is being Christened. It should be lovely; the curate of my local church is taking the baptism - she's younger than I am and absolutely wonderful, I'm really pleased that she's going to be there. We've got family and great friends coming along, everyone will be together, my sister and brother-in-law and their little son (my nephew!) are coming up from Bournemouth...the tiny cousins will be able to play together again and I get to see my sister...and I can introduce her to my friends. I know she'll love them and they'll love her.
It makes me happy.
However; it's 9am now, the car's at Drew's parent's house (half hour drive away), Drew's still in the bath which is prohibiting me getting ready at all, and we have to be at a little village just outside of Worcester at 10.30. Bournville to Redditch to Worcester in an hour and a half...yep, he needs to get out of the blasted bath.
First, last night, was the engagement party for two of my friends. Okay, there was a girl there who used to be full-on in love with my fiance, who slept with him once, who was practically obsessed with him and came damn near close to stalking him...so I had to keep my bitchface under control and not watch her like a hawk all evening. I do not like obsessive fawning girls when they are obsessive about my fiance. Even though I trust him and KNOW that he'd never do ANYTHING like that, it rubs me right up the wrong way.
Grr.
But, other than that, a good night was had by all! And, I've discovered that a berroca before bed, followed by a few glasses of water, then berroca in the morning followed by coffee staves off a hangover admirably. I feel tired, but fine. Awesome.
Today, Drewfus and I are off to look at a wedding venue. The wedding venue we feel will probably be THE wedding venue. I am excited. That's this morning.
THEN (oh yes, there's more) I'm going with my Maid of Honour this afternoon to try on wedding dresses. There will be photographic evidence. Oh hell yes, the cameria (aka my detachable limb) is coming too. I may have to try on a meringue for the hell of it.
THEN (still going), tomorrow my little Jazzpod is being Christened. It should be lovely; the curate of my local church is taking the baptism - she's younger than I am and absolutely wonderful, I'm really pleased that she's going to be there. We've got family and great friends coming along, everyone will be together, my sister and brother-in-law and their little son (my nephew!) are coming up from Bournemouth...the tiny cousins will be able to play together again and I get to see my sister...and I can introduce her to my friends. I know she'll love them and they'll love her.
It makes me happy.
However; it's 9am now, the car's at Drew's parent's house (half hour drive away), Drew's still in the bath which is prohibiting me getting ready at all, and we have to be at a little village just outside of Worcester at 10.30. Bournville to Redditch to Worcester in an hour and a half...yep, he needs to get out of the blasted bath.
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Noodle's Final Thought
Here; a Charlie tidbit yoinked off of facespace for your viewing pleasure. Charlie is obsessed with Harry Potter at the moment.
Charlie going through books; "Iss Harry Potter an the cup of coffee with fire!"
Hate when your morning coffee unexpectedly spits out your name, instigating a series of events which finally lead to you grasp a portkey that lands you in Voldemort's lap. Wrecks a whole day, that does.
On a related note, it's hilarious to say "Voldemort" when Heather's in earshot. At the tender age of five, he-who-must-not-be-named is a very real and present threat.
Charlie going through books; "Iss Harry Potter an the cup of coffee with fire!"
Hate when your morning coffee unexpectedly spits out your name, instigating a series of events which finally lead to you grasp a portkey that lands you in Voldemort's lap. Wrecks a whole day, that does.
On a related note, it's hilarious to say "Voldemort" when Heather's in earshot. At the tender age of five, he-who-must-not-be-named is a very real and present threat.
Divorce, Photography, Weddings, Neurologists, Stuff.
Wow I need to get better at updating this dang thing!
I'm child free today, after having a neurologist appointment last night for the ongoing suspected MS malarkey in which I was shocked with electricity and poked with multiple needles. Needless to say, I knew I might be feeling a tad wobbly, so arranged babysitters for the many midget clones. The upshot of the appointment is, huzzah, I don't have any major nerve damage. I do have a localised problem with my left leg which won't cause any problems, but seeing as I have a totally unresponsive nerve, I'll be numb for the rest of my life. I can handle that; maybe I could turn it into some kind of party trick. Or join the circus. Or something. Good and bad news; I don't have evidence of major nerve damage, BUT, I do have reduced reactions in my left arm, which the neurologist wouldn't expect from someone of my age. He can't diagnose underlying conditions, he can only refer for further testing. The reduced reactions are a sign of multiple sclerosis, so I'm being referred for an MRI scan. What with being claustrophobic and all, I'm not particularly looking forward to this one. Fingers crossed it'll be fast.
But anyway, I've had the day off as a result of all this medical nonsense, so I've been a busy bunny.
First of all, a telephone call with my solicitor about the impending divorce. Great fun. I've tried to keep the whole thing amicable, as I still have to see theadulterous asswipe father of my two eldest children and it's better for them if we're on friendly terms. He is making it difficult by being a conniving little weasel who appears to be trying to do everything on his terms whilst making me out to be the villain, despite it being him who had the affair and left me with two tiny children who were, at the time, three and less than one year old respectively. I've now finally found where the end of my proverbial tether is, and have decided to stop talking directly to him about any of this. He hides behind his solicitors all the time and doesn't offer me the simple courtesy of keeping me updated or having a normal, honest conversation, so he can have a taste of his own medicine for once. No more Ms. Nice Ex-wife. He can start receiving solicitors letters without any prior warning about things that I could easily discuss face-to-face with him. I don't want it to be this difficult, but he's backed me into a corner and, frustrating as it is, I've now lost my rag and am ready to just bloody well let him have it. My wrath, not my rag. I've lost it, y'see. Anyway.
Once I'd finished ranting at the poor solicitor type bod who has to handle my frustration and turn it into something legal and sensible, I decided it was time to work on some more advertising for the infant photography business. www.happyhappyphoto.co.uk, if you fancy a click. Ah, go on. You know you want to.
After sending myself cross-eyed staring at a computer screen for a few hours, I decided to...stare at a computer screen some more, working on arranging the Movember fundraising and end of Movember party, on behalf of the team of 'Mo Bros' I'm championing. Apparently I'm a 'Mo Sista'. It's an exalted title. Trying to organise a group of daft men who are calling themselves 'Hot Fuzz' will send me grey, I'm sure of it.
We've had a great time this week with the childrens. Heather's loving being back at school in year one, and I'm trying to find fun ways to supplement her formal education on limited funds. Charlie's eligible for his free nursery place from January, too, so we've started going to the local toddler group at the centre where he's on the waiting list for a nursery place. In the meantime, it's fun home-based educational activities with the dragon boy. My ex tends to take the kids to all sorts of expensive attractions and buys them plenty of treats along the way, but I just don't have the cash for that...but I've found that they seem to have the best time when we're doing simple things. Feeding the ducks, going to Church, walking in the park, riding scooters, splashing in puddles, painting, drawing, or just meandering round to the butcher who also stocks all kinds of local farm produce and freshly baked goodies.
This week we've had fun collecting conkers in the local parks - especially fun in high winds, with the conkers actually showering down around us. Heather enjoyed finding the nibbled ones; it seems she likes the idea of squirrels having a taste and then discarding them. Charlie and I went to the park on our own the other day, too, while Jasper was being babysat by his grandparents. It was cold, windy and drizzling but, wrapped up in waterproof clothes, he seemed to enjoy rampaging around even more than usual. We then went for a walk through the trees down towards the duck pond, where Charlie looked for Gruffalos, we listened to the ducks "laughing", picked up a few more conkers, watched a squirrel knocking acorns off an oak tree directly into the water, then investigated the curly trees on the way home.
Heather and Charlie in the park.
Jasper doesn't much approve of trips out in chilly weather, but he does look adorable in his Winter coat.
We've also enjoyed a very messy 'all-the-children-together' fingerpainting session.
Drew's on the way home now, having collected his rowing machine from his parent's house. We're both on a bit of a health kick - I put on 8lbs over the Summer holidays which, for a sane person, probably wouldn't be an issue, but with my disordered madness, drives me up the wall. Drew has a bet on the go that he can increase his weight to 13 stone while decreasing his body fat to 12% by his birthday in December. If he wins, I have to put on an Arnie night for him and his friends, where everybody (including me) has to dress up as Arnie, we have to watch Predator and have a drinking game devised by me, and I have to cook Arnie themed food. However, if he fails to reach his goals and I win...well, the boys aren't going to be happy. Matt and Luke will have to dress up in spandex and do the final dance from Dirty Dancing (complete with lift) down my long front path, then they all have to put on a stereotypical girly evening with Flashdance, cocktails and LOTS OF LYCRA. It'll be fun either way, but you can imagine the peer pressure Drew's under at the moment. I've used £25 worth of nectar points today towards buying a scales/body fat monitor, which should arrive tomorrow. I'm intrigued to know my body fat percentage; it's not something I've ever found out before.
Right, off to continue with the photography stuff before Drew gets home. T'ra a bit.
I'm child free today, after having a neurologist appointment last night for the ongoing suspected MS malarkey in which I was shocked with electricity and poked with multiple needles. Needless to say, I knew I might be feeling a tad wobbly, so arranged babysitters for the many midget clones. The upshot of the appointment is, huzzah, I don't have any major nerve damage. I do have a localised problem with my left leg which won't cause any problems, but seeing as I have a totally unresponsive nerve, I'll be numb for the rest of my life. I can handle that; maybe I could turn it into some kind of party trick. Or join the circus. Or something. Good and bad news; I don't have evidence of major nerve damage, BUT, I do have reduced reactions in my left arm, which the neurologist wouldn't expect from someone of my age. He can't diagnose underlying conditions, he can only refer for further testing. The reduced reactions are a sign of multiple sclerosis, so I'm being referred for an MRI scan. What with being claustrophobic and all, I'm not particularly looking forward to this one. Fingers crossed it'll be fast.
But anyway, I've had the day off as a result of all this medical nonsense, so I've been a busy bunny.
First of all, a telephone call with my solicitor about the impending divorce. Great fun. I've tried to keep the whole thing amicable, as I still have to see the
Once I'd finished ranting at the poor solicitor type bod who has to handle my frustration and turn it into something legal and sensible, I decided it was time to work on some more advertising for the infant photography business. www.happyhappyphoto.co.uk, if you fancy a click. Ah, go on. You know you want to.
After sending myself cross-eyed staring at a computer screen for a few hours, I decided to...stare at a computer screen some more, working on arranging the Movember fundraising and end of Movember party, on behalf of the team of 'Mo Bros' I'm championing. Apparently I'm a 'Mo Sista'. It's an exalted title. Trying to organise a group of daft men who are calling themselves 'Hot Fuzz' will send me grey, I'm sure of it.
We've had a great time this week with the childrens. Heather's loving being back at school in year one, and I'm trying to find fun ways to supplement her formal education on limited funds. Charlie's eligible for his free nursery place from January, too, so we've started going to the local toddler group at the centre where he's on the waiting list for a nursery place. In the meantime, it's fun home-based educational activities with the dragon boy. My ex tends to take the kids to all sorts of expensive attractions and buys them plenty of treats along the way, but I just don't have the cash for that...but I've found that they seem to have the best time when we're doing simple things. Feeding the ducks, going to Church, walking in the park, riding scooters, splashing in puddles, painting, drawing, or just meandering round to the butcher who also stocks all kinds of local farm produce and freshly baked goodies.
This week we've had fun collecting conkers in the local parks - especially fun in high winds, with the conkers actually showering down around us. Heather enjoyed finding the nibbled ones; it seems she likes the idea of squirrels having a taste and then discarding them. Charlie and I went to the park on our own the other day, too, while Jasper was being babysat by his grandparents. It was cold, windy and drizzling but, wrapped up in waterproof clothes, he seemed to enjoy rampaging around even more than usual. We then went for a walk through the trees down towards the duck pond, where Charlie looked for Gruffalos, we listened to the ducks "laughing", picked up a few more conkers, watched a squirrel knocking acorns off an oak tree directly into the water, then investigated the curly trees on the way home.
Heather and Charlie in the park.
Jasper doesn't much approve of trips out in chilly weather, but he does look adorable in his Winter coat.
We've also enjoyed a very messy 'all-the-children-together' fingerpainting session.
Drew's on the way home now, having collected his rowing machine from his parent's house. We're both on a bit of a health kick - I put on 8lbs over the Summer holidays which, for a sane person, probably wouldn't be an issue, but with my disordered madness, drives me up the wall. Drew has a bet on the go that he can increase his weight to 13 stone while decreasing his body fat to 12% by his birthday in December. If he wins, I have to put on an Arnie night for him and his friends, where everybody (including me) has to dress up as Arnie, we have to watch Predator and have a drinking game devised by me, and I have to cook Arnie themed food. However, if he fails to reach his goals and I win...well, the boys aren't going to be happy. Matt and Luke will have to dress up in spandex and do the final dance from Dirty Dancing (complete with lift) down my long front path, then they all have to put on a stereotypical girly evening with Flashdance, cocktails and LOTS OF LYCRA. It'll be fun either way, but you can imagine the peer pressure Drew's under at the moment. I've used £25 worth of nectar points today towards buying a scales/body fat monitor, which should arrive tomorrow. I'm intrigued to know my body fat percentage; it's not something I've ever found out before.
Right, off to continue with the photography stuff before Drew gets home. T'ra a bit.
Monday, 12 September 2011
WEDDINGS MADOOBRIES SO FAR.
THE DRESS.
I am way above budget, but this is it. This is the one for me. I must have it.
I am way above budget, but this is it. This is the one for me. I must have it.
THE SHOES
Not a conventional choice, but as the wedding is Alice in Wonderland themed, I love the quirkiness of these Irregular Choice "Toodle Loo" Heels.
SEATING PLANS, ROOM AND TABLE DECORATIONS
Table centrepieces will be mismatched teapots filled with red and white roses, with the odd red-stained paintbrush hidden here and there amongst the flowers.
I love www.theweddingofmydreams.co.uk for decorative ideas. The vintage royal crown board would be perfect for the Queen of Hearts! (Click here)
I would love to have playing cards tied to teacups as name cards for guests...I would have to see how feasible this would be!
Right, bugger this for a game of soldiers, I'm exhausted and off to do mindnumbing things now that all the childrens are sleeping peacefully.
Back from the abyss. Or from the brink of forgetfulness.
Oh hai!
I'd forgotten I had this here bloggy type malarkey. I just decided I'd try to put my wedding ideas in one place, due to epic 'leaving stuff lying around' tendencies which could potentially lead to the groom seeing prohibited information, had a brainwave that doing an online blog for this very purpose (or porpoise, if you're feeling aquatic) would be an excellent idea. So. I guess I'll just merge the two like a mouse with an ear on it's back and stick my wedding planning ramblings in amongst the other child-related nonsense. Righto!
I'd forgotten I had this here bloggy type malarkey. I just decided I'd try to put my wedding ideas in one place, due to epic 'leaving stuff lying around' tendencies which could potentially lead to the groom seeing prohibited information, had a brainwave that doing an online blog for this very purpose (or porpoise, if you're feeling aquatic) would be an excellent idea. So. I guess I'll just merge the two like a mouse with an ear on it's back and stick my wedding planning ramblings in amongst the other child-related nonsense. Righto!
Monday, 6 June 2011
Older Midgets Flying. Youngest Midget Destroying Eardrums.
Oh yes. My kidlets have developed superhero powers. Heather and Charlie have buggered off to Portugal for week with their Dad (hence the flying - see what I did there?), and Jasper has cultivated a battle hoot so piercing my sister now fears talking to me on the phone when he's awake. And she's partially deaf.
The midgets are probably best summarised through a series of status updates, regurgitated directly from Facebook into this 'ere blog. Short, succinct and to the point. Most unlike me. Laziness! 'ave it!
MEET THE MIDGET CLONES THROUGH THE MEDIUM OF FACESPACE UPDATE.
...is exhausted and overseeing the bathtime of two hyperactive midgets who WILL NOT STOP SINGING. Loudly. About everything. My head's a gonna pop.
Bathtime: The Musical. With songs such as "Charlie's eating the sponge" and "I'm going to wrap this duck in a flannel".
Seriously. Head explosion imminent.
Charlie: "What doin' Mommy?"
Me: "I'm sweeping, so there's no mess on the floor"
Charlie: "No mess and no dragons?"
We do have a significant dragon issue in this house. Conventional pest control measures are inadequate.
Charlie is batshit crazy. For the past two days he has been sprinting through the house and bellowing at full volume, and today has informed me "Jasper a helicopter...", and "Jasper a giraffe..." I'm exhausted, slightly deaf and am developing a twitch.
Heather found a wedding magazine. She has narrowed down a selection of dresses for me, has picked outfits for the bridesmaids, suggested a cake and is now planning floral arrangements...
Charlie: "Iss Yoda! He using the fork!"
Epic parenting fail. Jasper strapped to my chest in a sling, opened a drink for Heather and squirted it all over him. Oops...
Heather: "Shall we have some music?"
Me: "Good plan."
Heather: "Maybe we will have Miley Cyrus...?"
Me: "Miley Cyrus is dead. I put her in a bag with some rocks and she's now at the bottom of a lake. Don't cry, the world is a better place." (Okay, okay, I didn't say that. I have lied to get out of it though. I love the kid, but seriously: Miley Goddamn Fecking Cyrus!?)
Heather is doing a barbie fashion show. Scariest audience ever, comprising of two dinosaurs, peppa pig, yoda, woody, a Tasmanian devil, the penguin of death and gronckle the dragon. Lordy.
Yet more evidence of my kids being batshit crazy. Charlie ran into the kitchen when I was cooking:
Charlie:"Are you making FIRE?"
Me: "No...just cookies"
Charlie: (wandering off muttering to himself) "Charlie's spider make fire..."
God knows.
Charlie just threw two full-on tantrums. The first was because Jasper doesn't have three heads. The second was because the Liverpool Victoria logo isn't blue. He holds me personally responsible for both of the aforementioned travesties and is no longer speaking to me. Crikey!
Scrap iron van just went past. Charlie gasped and bellowed "OH NO! IT'S A BEAR! PLAYING A CRUMPET!" Got to stop giving my kids crack for breakfast...
When my daughter throws a strop she looks and sounds exactly like Beaker.
CHARLIE MAKES LOUD NOISES FOR NO REASON. Jasper does not appreciate this. Jasper makes loud noises of his own to express his displeasure. I have a headache...
For sale: one two and a half year old male human, dark brown fur, fully vaccinated, not neutered, partially house-trained. Very affectionate but quite demanding. Best suit someone with experience, as a fair amount of training is will be required to overcome EPIC ATTITUDE PROBLEM. Any takers...?
Its 4.45am. Jasper has decided to start his day early with energetic shadow boxing, squealing, grinning and slowly waving his own paw back and forth in front of his face (ultimate in entertainment, apparently). I'm knackered, but it's very cute.
Charlie was angry about being told to come inside and is too small to reach doorhandles. However, not one to be thwarted by simple obstacles, I just found him on a chair in front of the open dining room window about to escape into the garden that way.
Charlie: "I DONT LIKE IT!"
Me: "Charlie, what is the matter with you!?"
Charlie: *incoherent bellowing*
Me: "Are you angry?"
Charlie: *stamps foot* "NO NO NO NO I'M NOT ANGRY! NOT ANGRY!!"
Charlie: *roaring*
Me: "Are you a dragon?"
Charlie: "NO! I AM DUDE!"
...has an entire army of tiny clones to contend with today. It's vaguely reminiscent of the b-movies I'm so fond of watching. Have been outwitted by female clone and repeatedly bellowed at by eldest boychild. Smallest midget appears to be making a concerted effort to devour my arm.
...wishes Jazzpiglet would refrain from demonstrating his new favourite noise (something akin to the inhuman shriek of an enraged pterodactyl) at 4am.
Charlie is stripping Heather's polly pockets and running round the front room bellowing "I AM NAKED! I AM FLYING!"
Jebus. 4/5 year old girls having their first sleepover = woken up at 6 to something that sounded not dissimilar to a feral cat being strangled atop a keyboard.
Charlie: "I AM NOT ROLF HARRIS! I AM EUGENE!"
There you have it. That's the child-related aspects of my life summarised for the past couple of months. I'll do another update soon; right now I've got Jazzpig to mysen due to Drew working this evening and the older midget clones being on their hollibobs, but unfortunately seem to have caught some kind of evil bug and have been enjoying some fantastic digestive displays courtesy of the cup of tea I attempted earlier. Beautiful. So, needless to say, I'm not in a particularly wordy mood. Perhaps I will upload midget pictures for you. Maybe.
The midgets are probably best summarised through a series of status updates, regurgitated directly from Facebook into this 'ere blog. Short, succinct and to the point. Most unlike me. Laziness! 'ave it!
MEET THE MIDGET CLONES THROUGH THE MEDIUM OF FACESPACE UPDATE.
...is exhausted and overseeing the bathtime of two hyperactive midgets who WILL NOT STOP SINGING. Loudly. About everything. My head's a gonna pop.
Bathtime: The Musical. With songs such as "Charlie's eating the sponge" and "I'm going to wrap this duck in a flannel".
Seriously. Head explosion imminent.
Charlie: "What doin' Mommy?"
Me: "I'm sweeping, so there's no mess on the floor"
Charlie: "No mess and no dragons?"
We do have a significant dragon issue in this house. Conventional pest control measures are inadequate.
Charlie is batshit crazy. For the past two days he has been sprinting through the house and bellowing at full volume, and today has informed me "Jasper a helicopter...", and "Jasper a giraffe..." I'm exhausted, slightly deaf and am developing a twitch.
Heather found a wedding magazine. She has narrowed down a selection of dresses for me, has picked outfits for the bridesmaids, suggested a cake and is now planning floral arrangements...
Charlie: "Iss Yoda! He using the fork!"
Epic parenting fail. Jasper strapped to my chest in a sling, opened a drink for Heather and squirted it all over him. Oops...
Heather: "Shall we have some music?"
Me: "Good plan."
Heather: "Maybe we will have Miley Cyrus...?"
Me: "Miley Cyrus is dead. I put her in a bag with some rocks and she's now at the bottom of a lake. Don't cry, the world is a better place." (Okay, okay, I didn't say that. I have lied to get out of it though. I love the kid, but seriously: Miley Goddamn Fecking Cyrus!?)
Heather is doing a barbie fashion show. Scariest audience ever, comprising of two dinosaurs, peppa pig, yoda, woody, a Tasmanian devil, the penguin of death and gronckle the dragon. Lordy.
Yet more evidence of my kids being batshit crazy. Charlie ran into the kitchen when I was cooking:
Charlie:"Are you making FIRE?"
Me: "No...just cookies"
Charlie: (wandering off muttering to himself) "Charlie's spider make fire..."
God knows.
Charlie just threw two full-on tantrums. The first was because Jasper doesn't have three heads. The second was because the Liverpool Victoria logo isn't blue. He holds me personally responsible for both of the aforementioned travesties and is no longer speaking to me. Crikey!
Scrap iron van just went past. Charlie gasped and bellowed "OH NO! IT'S A BEAR! PLAYING A CRUMPET!" Got to stop giving my kids crack for breakfast...
When my daughter throws a strop she looks and sounds exactly like Beaker.
CHARLIE MAKES LOUD NOISES FOR NO REASON. Jasper does not appreciate this. Jasper makes loud noises of his own to express his displeasure. I have a headache...
For sale: one two and a half year old male human, dark brown fur, fully vaccinated, not neutered, partially house-trained. Very affectionate but quite demanding. Best suit someone with experience, as a fair amount of training is will be required to overcome EPIC ATTITUDE PROBLEM. Any takers...?
Its 4.45am. Jasper has decided to start his day early with energetic shadow boxing, squealing, grinning and slowly waving his own paw back and forth in front of his face (ultimate in entertainment, apparently). I'm knackered, but it's very cute.
Charlie was angry about being told to come inside and is too small to reach doorhandles. However, not one to be thwarted by simple obstacles, I just found him on a chair in front of the open dining room window about to escape into the garden that way.
Charlie: "I DONT LIKE IT!"
Me: "Charlie, what is the matter with you!?"
Charlie: *incoherent bellowing*
Me: "Are you angry?"
Charlie: *stamps foot* "NO NO NO NO I'M NOT ANGRY! NOT ANGRY!!"
Charlie: *roaring*
Me: "Are you a dragon?"
Charlie: "NO! I AM DUDE!"
...has an entire army of tiny clones to contend with today. It's vaguely reminiscent of the b-movies I'm so fond of watching. Have been outwitted by female clone and repeatedly bellowed at by eldest boychild. Smallest midget appears to be making a concerted effort to devour my arm.
...wishes Jazzpiglet would refrain from demonstrating his new favourite noise (something akin to the inhuman shriek of an enraged pterodactyl) at 4am.
Charlie is stripping Heather's polly pockets and running round the front room bellowing "I AM NAKED! I AM FLYING!"
Jebus. 4/5 year old girls having their first sleepover = woken up at 6 to something that sounded not dissimilar to a feral cat being strangled atop a keyboard.
Charlie: "I AM NOT ROLF HARRIS! I AM EUGENE!"
There you have it. That's the child-related aspects of my life summarised for the past couple of months. I'll do another update soon; right now I've got Jazzpig to mysen due to Drew working this evening and the older midget clones being on their hollibobs, but unfortunately seem to have caught some kind of evil bug and have been enjoying some fantastic digestive displays courtesy of the cup of tea I attempted earlier. Beautiful. So, needless to say, I'm not in a particularly wordy mood. Perhaps I will upload midget pictures for you. Maybe.
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Things Don't Always Go To Plan (The purpose of this 'ere blog)
I always said I'd have one baby. Just one. I always imagined my baby would be a little girl, probably a tomboy (just like me when I was a child), probably dark haired, probably heavily into her books and stories (again, just like me). I imagined trips to the park, taking her shopping for clothes, exciting, fun-packed birthdays spent with a my loving husband, her father, who would dote on her as much as I did. I would be a working mother, I would juggle home, family and career with astounding dexterity, and my own mother would be proud and amazed at the woman I had become.
As I write this, my fiance is upstairs putting my almost-five year old daughter and two-year old son to bed. Heather and Charlie, my two eldest, aren't biologically his. In fact, they're the product of an unhappy five year marriage which culminated in my soon-to-be-ex-husband beginning an affair when Charlie was only five months old, before buggering off with the other woman and leaving me to care for two children on my tod when Charlie was only eight months old.
Plan-failures 1-3: I had two children, one of whom happened to be male, then ended up with divorce proceedings on the go. Oops.
So, here I am, listening to the chaos slowly dying down upstairs as Drew claws back some control after the emotional torment of bathtime. But wait, what's this? Why, there appears to be an infant in a crib to the right of me!
Yep, Noodle done gone had another baby. Jasper, the result of the altogether awesome union of myself and Drew, is four months old.
Plan failure 4: I went and spawned for a third time. This is not sticking to the 'one child only' plot.
Heather, my little lady, is not the little girl I would have anticipated having. She is as ultimately girly as it is possible to be; everything in her world must be pink, and she actually cried around six months ago because Drew couldn't arrange for her to ride a unicorn (a normal pony just wouldn't do for this Princess, thank you very much). She can't be bothered with reading, but she loves to act and sing and dance and dress up in beautiful dresses and go shopping and watch films. She's brilliant; a caring, funny, unique little diva, but totally unexpected.
Plan failure 5: My daughter is a girly stereotype who only wants to wear dresses and is bored by books.
I suppose what I'm getting at here, in a long-winded, wordy kind of way, is that being a parent is impossible to plan for. It really doesn't matter how well prepared you may think you are, how much you know what your life will hold in store for you, there's always a chance that you could be served something that you didn't order.
I know so many people who have beaten themselves up for not feeling how they're 'supposed to' feel, doing the things they think they 'should' do, behaving the way they perceive they should. I know lots of women who've experienced the unexpected - unplanned pregnancies, divorce, unusual family situations or mental health issues.
I'm one of the many women who have been diagnosed with post-natal depression, and I know that when I had Heather some of my issues stemmed from feeling that I had failed for not feeling the 'overwhelming rush of love' which so many people bang on about, but which a large proportion of women just don't experience. With all three of my children I couldn't come to terms with the fact that my house was cluttered and messy and my hair was dishevelled when I had only given birth a fortnight before, putting huge amounts of pressure on myself to do more than I was physically able to because I wanted to conform to an ideal portrayed in the media. As my children grew older I felt that I was failing for not doing enough with them, that their lives weren't rich and enjoyable enough becaue I wasn't filling all of their days with wholesome activities and constantly taking them on educational trips.
Honestly, it's surprising I have any hair left.
With each addition to my brood my role as a mother has fit more comfortably against who I really am, and I've learned along the way, through knowing a lot of other maternal types, that we all do it differently. There's the right way, and then there's the real way. Parenting comes with a lot of myths, expectations and fierce competition and I've said many times that I wish I'd have had some more honest accounts to read or listen to when I was feeling inadequate the first time around. Little Hugo isn't necessarily more intellectually advanced than your kid, Brandon probably wasn't walking at three months and your next door neighbour probably doesn't cook all her baby food from scratch using only home-grown organic ingredients.
I know not everyone will agree with my point of view or how I do things with my family, but that's the point - we're all different; no matter how you handle life or what situation you happen to be dealing with, you can still be an awesome parent. I don't intend to preach (much), I will tell tales of my midget clones (they're insane, really they are), I may reminisce about past events, I might take inspiration from the lovely women I know, I mighy just ramble incessantly. We shall see.
Stick around and say hello, I won't bite (unless you ask me to politely).
As I write this, my fiance is upstairs putting my almost-five year old daughter and two-year old son to bed. Heather and Charlie, my two eldest, aren't biologically his. In fact, they're the product of an unhappy five year marriage which culminated in my soon-to-be-ex-husband beginning an affair when Charlie was only five months old, before buggering off with the other woman and leaving me to care for two children on my tod when Charlie was only eight months old.
Plan-failures 1-3: I had two children, one of whom happened to be male, then ended up with divorce proceedings on the go. Oops.
So, here I am, listening to the chaos slowly dying down upstairs as Drew claws back some control after the emotional torment of bathtime. But wait, what's this? Why, there appears to be an infant in a crib to the right of me!
Yep, Noodle done gone had another baby. Jasper, the result of the altogether awesome union of myself and Drew, is four months old.
Plan failure 4: I went and spawned for a third time. This is not sticking to the 'one child only' plot.
Heather, my little lady, is not the little girl I would have anticipated having. She is as ultimately girly as it is possible to be; everything in her world must be pink, and she actually cried around six months ago because Drew couldn't arrange for her to ride a unicorn (a normal pony just wouldn't do for this Princess, thank you very much). She can't be bothered with reading, but she loves to act and sing and dance and dress up in beautiful dresses and go shopping and watch films. She's brilliant; a caring, funny, unique little diva, but totally unexpected.
Plan failure 5: My daughter is a girly stereotype who only wants to wear dresses and is bored by books.
I suppose what I'm getting at here, in a long-winded, wordy kind of way, is that being a parent is impossible to plan for. It really doesn't matter how well prepared you may think you are, how much you know what your life will hold in store for you, there's always a chance that you could be served something that you didn't order.
I know so many people who have beaten themselves up for not feeling how they're 'supposed to' feel, doing the things they think they 'should' do, behaving the way they perceive they should. I know lots of women who've experienced the unexpected - unplanned pregnancies, divorce, unusual family situations or mental health issues.
I'm one of the many women who have been diagnosed with post-natal depression, and I know that when I had Heather some of my issues stemmed from feeling that I had failed for not feeling the 'overwhelming rush of love' which so many people bang on about, but which a large proportion of women just don't experience. With all three of my children I couldn't come to terms with the fact that my house was cluttered and messy and my hair was dishevelled when I had only given birth a fortnight before, putting huge amounts of pressure on myself to do more than I was physically able to because I wanted to conform to an ideal portrayed in the media. As my children grew older I felt that I was failing for not doing enough with them, that their lives weren't rich and enjoyable enough becaue I wasn't filling all of their days with wholesome activities and constantly taking them on educational trips.
Honestly, it's surprising I have any hair left.
With each addition to my brood my role as a mother has fit more comfortably against who I really am, and I've learned along the way, through knowing a lot of other maternal types, that we all do it differently. There's the right way, and then there's the real way. Parenting comes with a lot of myths, expectations and fierce competition and I've said many times that I wish I'd have had some more honest accounts to read or listen to when I was feeling inadequate the first time around. Little Hugo isn't necessarily more intellectually advanced than your kid, Brandon probably wasn't walking at three months and your next door neighbour probably doesn't cook all her baby food from scratch using only home-grown organic ingredients.
I know not everyone will agree with my point of view or how I do things with my family, but that's the point - we're all different; no matter how you handle life or what situation you happen to be dealing with, you can still be an awesome parent. I don't intend to preach (much), I will tell tales of my midget clones (they're insane, really they are), I may reminisce about past events, I might take inspiration from the lovely women I know, I mighy just ramble incessantly. We shall see.
Stick around and say hello, I won't bite (unless you ask me to politely).
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