feelings Archives : Me, Annie Bee.

The hardest thing about being a parent..IMO

Anna — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 21:29:49 +0000

Order is restored! Or at least something resembling order is restored. Aoife is back at school, Rory is back at work and Seth is watching Toy Story 2 back to back whilst dressed as Buzz Lightyear. Standard. Having been a lazy bum and taking a couple of weeks away from blogging and shameless self promotion I’m a bit tired so I decided to ease myself back into it gently and go for a Top Ten. Here’s the Top Ten things I found hardest about becoming a parent, or more specifically a Mummy for that’s what I am. Child Birth Yes, I know this is obvious but I didn’t read past week 33 in my ‘How to be pregnant’ book. It wasn’t all “oh my gosh, I peed myself…no wait my waters broke”…*scream like a banshee*….baby after 30 mins. It took days, neither child was in a hurry. It was painful, I sparkled, I cried, I was rude to the midwife, it was undignified, it was exhausting! Shitty Nappies Again yes, I’d HEARD about them but nothing. NOTHING can prepare you for an explosive, up the back, out the sides shitty nappy. The one where you have to hold legs in the air, cut baby out of the vest and wipe all at the same time.It’s on their hands, it’s on their feet, at least it’s not on….no way, how did it get there? IT’S ON THEIR HEAD. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE. Not laughing at ‘not good’ behaviour Obviously the biting and wall drawing isn’t a laughing matter, but the sass. Well, as much as I don’t admit it to Aoife, it’s HILARIOUS. Like the time Rory asked her to pick something up, she replied “Give me a minute woman”. Or the time I put her on the naughty step and took away her treats. “Will I still have food & water?” “Yes” “Oh I’ll be fine then”. Sometimes you just have to walk away and laugh. Without them knowing of course. Sneezing Coughing, laughing, crying, sparkling, running, dancing, jumping. All not just hard, almost impossible! Appreciating the things that are important to them Instead of being a destroyer of dreams and imagination, you have to appreciate every leaf/pine cone/stone/receipt placed into your bag because it’s “really beautiful” or “magic” or “stone”. It’s so hard to not point out your dismay at your handbag or pocket being full of snotty tissues and detritus. Being a parent ALL THE TIME. It’s nonstop! Even if you get some time away you think about them and talk about them. If you don’t think about them then you think how you should take it easy as you’re going to have to go home and be up with them in the night. If you have the kind of children that sleep through then you’re still thinking about looking after them with a hangover. The parenting just doesn’t stop! Finding a babysitter. When you announce you’re pregnant with your first child all your friends will tell you how excited they are and how they’ll babysit. LIES. As soon as baby arrives it becomes “I’ll babysit when they sleep through” then “I’ll take them to the pub at 18”. It’s not like the Babysitter Club books I read as a child!! Guilt Mummy Guilt/Daddy Guilt, call it what you want. It’s intense! Before children I didn’t do guilt but childbirth brings this whole new emotion. Every decision you make leads to a feeling of guilt. Everything you say leads to a feeling of guilt. Every time you leave them, every time you don’t. Every time you tell them off, every time you don’t. “I am too hard on them, I’m too soft on them, I’m abandoning them , I mollycoddle them” OH MY GOSH. I will also put crying in here. I have cried so much more in the last 6 years than I ever did in my previous 32! I have even cried at Four Weddings and CSI. Dealing with your body and mind It changes so much, at first it feels like it’s not your own. It gets big, it starts to behave differently. If you’re breast feeding it can feel like it’s completely someone else’s. It gets fatter due to ‘baby weight’, loneliness, sadness, boredom, habit. Your mind can be vicious, making you question everything. Making you paranoid. Making you feel bad about you and your parenting. Mix the two together and it’s a pretty rough time. I’d love to say you deal with it like this….but I still don’t have an answer. Baby groups/School playgrounds URGH. All these other Mummy’s just being amazing, looking fantastic and coping. They breastfeed so well, they look amazing, their children behave, some of them have actual jobs as well as being a mum. Their children love Baby Einstein and only listen to Beethoven, in fact, give Sebastian a toy piano and he can compose a tune, HE’S ONLY 8 MONTHS OLD! They never look harassed and have never dropped the F-Bomb in front of their children. When you’re tired, feeling fat and lonely THIS is one of the hardest things, this leads me to Pretending OK, I know I said Top Ten but I don’t like to conform. Being a parent is pretending all the time. We pretend we’re coping, we pretend we know what we’re doing, we pretend we’re happy with our smock dress, we pretend we’re not comparing ourselves to every other parent we see, we pretend every single minute of parenting is a breeze. It’s a tough act to keep up. We should all probably drop the pretending and then my Top Ten would be a legit Top Ten. Aside from all that, this parenting lark is a piece of cake.

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Sweet child o’ mine.

Anna — Mon, 12 Dec 2016 13:41:18 +0000

In 2010 I was pregnant, I would have told you that if my child were a girl she wouldn’t always wear pink, if it were a boy he wouldn’t always wear blue. I would have told you that my child would always show good manners. My child wouldn’t have a snot encrusted face. My child wouldn’t have massive public meltdowns. My child and I would have an amazing, love fuelled relationship. My child and I would do many different activities every day. My child wouldn’t watch TV. My child would never be mean. My child would never act spoilt. My child would be a kind child who recognised that they were blessed with a loving family and a lovely life. Here I am six years down the line. Mine is the child who likes to lay down in the middle of the street, maybe even eating stones. Mine is the child who scooched along the floor on his back and got stuck under a clothes rail in Primark. Mine is the child trying to hold the hands of strangers to take them home. Mine is the child constantly looking for a means of escape. Mine is the child telling me how unfair I am because her pillows are all wrong. Mine is the child kicking the bath because we had the audacity to ask her to have a shower. Mine is the child who threw the biscuit across the playground because I bought the wrong one. Mine is the child who looks like their wardrobe exploded at them. Mine is the child eating yogurt covered raisins from the wet floor. Mine is the child who speaks to me in a way I would never dream of speaking to my parents even at this age. Mine is the child walking away from me when I ask for a hand. Mine is the child wearing clothes inappropriate for the season. Mine is the with pasta sauce in their hair at least I hope it’s pasta sauce. Mine is the child who doesn’t stop all day, every day. Until we need to be somewhere then he barely starts. Mine is the child who bites in anger. Mine is the child who walks under my feet so I trip up in public, usually in front of people. Mine is the child who ignores what I say in public leading me to talk in that low, whisper type voice that means business but is still dutifully ignored. Mine is the child having a tantrum because I have no snacks left. Mine is the child who makes other people look up from what they’re doing to see what the commotion is about. I am the mum often looking harassed. I am the mum, sometimes exhausted even though her children should be sleeping through. I am the mum who often wants the earth to open up and swallow her. I am the mum who tries hard to placate her children and make sure they don’t spoil your day. I am the mum who constantly reminds her children not to be mean. I am the mum who tries to encourage her children to have manners and be respectful to others. I am the mum who can feel your judgemental glare. I am the mum who sometimes feels like she isn’t coping at all. I am the mum who sometimes looks like she is letting her children run wild but is actually carefully selecting her battles. I am the mum who sometimes hurries home so she doesn’t cry in public. I am the mum who sometimes feels alone. Mine is the child who smothers me with kisses and cuddles. Mine is the child who tells me I’m the best mummy ever. Mine is the child who tells me they’re sorry they were naughty. Mine is the child who declares family time is the best time. Mine is the child who is still learning how life works. Mine is the child who makes my heart swell with pride simply by existing. I am the mum who forgets childhood is short and lets what others think bother her too much. I am the mum blessed with two beautiful, funny, clever, fiercely independent children. I am the mum lucky enough to snuggle up with her children and watch Mickey Mouse for the 50th time in a day. I am the mum who cries laughing at the funny things her children do. I am the mum who, probably, wouldn’t change a thing. Mine may be the child who often behaves in ways I swore they never would but I am the mum who now realises that childhood isn’t for practising to be a grown up. Mine are also the children who can’t stand still long enough to have a photo taken together.

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All good things must come to an end

Anna — Fri, 25 Nov 2016 17:06:13 +0000

And so, it is with a heavy heart that I have to announce the end of my 10 year relationship. It had it’s ups and downs. We had good times and bad. We’ve made dates, we’ve broken dates. We’ve shared good news with others and bad news too. We’ve been through so much together. We’d stopped making an effort. I wasn’t offered the same wonderful promises newer, younger, people were offered. It was my longest relationship and now it’s over…. I have broken up with my mobile phone company. So that’s it. Done. I know I instigated it but that doesn’t make it any less sad. Tonight I will drink the wine of sadness…. Tomorrow my newer, younger model will arrive 🙂

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Hey Wills, you’re not alone.

Anna — Mon, 21 Nov 2016 12:21:28 +0000

Last week, during a visit to Vietnam, Prince William admitted he struggled with parenthood. The internet was vicious! HOW VERY DARE HE? cried Twitter. “U don’t know meaning of struggle”* “This man has no idea what it means to struggle in life” *SLOW HAND CLAP* Well done the internet. You completely missed the point. I don’t for one minute believe that when William said he struggled he meant that he was strapped for cash or he was weighed down with laundry. He wasn’t admitting he found it a struggle because they need a new boiler but the kids need new shoes. He isn’t talking about a materialistic struggle. He is talking about a mental struggle. The one many of us go through when we question every little decision we make and action we take. When we second guess the impact the words we say will have on our children in years to come. The struggle of feeling like your wading through treacle rather than frolicking in leaves. The struggle of making decisions based on the impact it will have on a whole family unit rather than the impact it will have on yourself. The struggle of trying to encourage your children to be thankful, thoughtful, caring and kind little humans. It’s bloody hard work. The struggle of parenthood isn’t a working class/upper-class argument. It doesn’t matter how much money we have. It doesn’t matter how big or small a support network we have surrounding us. We can all find ourselves struggling for one reason or another. I’ve said it before, none of us go into parenthood thinking it will be a breeze but we can’t truly prepare for the impact on our lives whether it be our first, second or third (I assume). To sit behind a keyboard telling someone they aren’t allowed to declare parenting a struggle is a cop out. None of us have the right to decide that someone else can’t find things difficult because they have more money than us or a bigger house. It’s not for us to decide who is allowed to struggle and who isn’t. It’s also not for us to decide whose struggles are worse than others. It’s for us to support others who are struggling, if we can. Parenting levels the field. No matter how rich or poor we are we’ve all been sicked on. We’ve all discovered that questionable mark on our top once we enter polite company. We’ve all had pasta thrown at us. We’ve all questioned whether it’s a freckle or a speck of shit on our arm Give the man a break. He may be heir to the throne but he’s still a parent like the rest of us and I applaud him for admitting this. Wills, if you’re reading this, if you ever need a chat about this whole family/parenting malarky just drop me a line. You, Catherine and the children can pop round for tea and a chat. *No one is actually going to take offence at something written by someone who can’t even be bothered to write the whole word ‘you’.

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“Life is a journey to be experienced not a problem to be solved”

Anna — Mon, 07 Nov 2016 22:36:10 +0000

There are some things that I can’t dwell on too much or my brain has a small meltdown. Aeroplanes for example. How does a large coke can move through the sky with no strings? Space travel. WTF? How can a tin can LEAVE THE ATMOSPHERE WITH A HUMAN INSIDE AND FLOAT AROUND AND THEN COME BACK? Even more perplexing – WiFi How is the internet floating all around us. Invisible. All the information in the world is just floating about waiting for a device to pick it up. BOOM I get a headache just thinking about these things. There is only one thing more baffling than these freakishly impossible things. My children. Why, If I’m sat in the same room and ask her to do something she can’t hear yet if I’m sneaking a bit of chocolate in the kitchen she hears it from miles away? Why does he consider a headbutt a sign of love and affection? Why does she loves chicken (and “actual dead fish”) at school but not at home? Why does she like pasta, sauce, chorizo and bacon cooked in a pan but if I cook it in the oven it’s the worst thing in the world? Why is she too tired to get out of bed to shut her bedroom door but OK to come to the top of the stairs to let me know? Why doesn’t he want his socks on? Ever. He wants no one else to have their socks on either. Why doesn’t she remember what she had for lunch at school but know she ate it all up? Why does he announces the end of every meal by throwing his plate? Why doesn’t she remember what she did at school but knows exactly what one of her friends did? Why doesn’t she know the answer but does know that I am most definitely wrong? Why does she declare a love of cucumber but won’t eat it? Why does he store his drink in his mouth for AGES then spit it all over the floor? Why can’t she possibly write neatly or stay in the lines in her homework book, she most definitely can’t draw and label a picture but her friend’s birthday card contains a well written and perfectly illustrated essay? Why can’t she sit quietly for 3 minutes while the news is on but can be deadly silent whilst Shimmer and Shine is on? Why does she feel the need to alert me to her misdemeanors via the medium of song? She could get away with so much more if she didn’t feel the need to soundtrack her life. Why can he barely makes sentences but can repeat anything he hears? ANYTHING. Why do they love crap TV like Topsy & Tim or Max & Ruby* but not enjoy Hey Duggee quite as much as me? Why does she have to make really shrill noises when I hoover or use the blender? Why can she have 3 napkins yet still use her sleeve to wipe her mouth? Why does he decide he absolutely MUST pick up the very important stone the minute we’re about to step into the road? If I really have no hands free he must attempt to eat it too. Why, when they are tired, do they want to stay awake even more? Why do they always want Daddy more than me? (Especially if he isn’t here). Why do they insist on growing up so flipping fast? Why won’t they give me a minute just to stop and take them all in. *Seriously, where are Max & Ruby’s parents? Why is she, a mere child of a rabbit looking after her little brother. Grandma lives really close, why doesn’t she chip in or alert the relevant authorities? Also, Why is Ruby such a bitch to Max? All he wants to do is play with his truck or something and she won’t let him. Clearly the loco parentis responsibility has gone right to her head.

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Check your Dadding skills…

Anna — Wed, 26 Oct 2016 06:00:39 +0000

A few months ago an article was published about what makes a Supermum. I got myself rather cross, as oft I do,and wrote a post about Supermums (I get cross enough to blog not quite cross enough to declare myself ‘Livid from Leeds’ in a Daily Mail article with my very angry face on). The list comprised of ‘important’ Mummy tasks like Not being late for school drop off or pick up Baking cakes Ensuring the children had clean school uniforms Encouraging good manners Reading to your children See, I thought these were just ‘things you did as a parent’ but apparently not…. Today an equally patronising list was released. The Top 50 Dad Skills (with a Dad they’re skills, with a Mum they’re ‘things we do to show off’). The list was created after polling 2000, yes two whole thousand Daddies. I don’t know how these Dads were chosen, maybe they’re just REALLY good at Dadding. This “…huge list of ‘Dad Skills’ show just how many roles dads have to fill in the upbringing of their children. They’re fixers, builders, comedians, sportsmen, the list is endless” Well, not quite endless, it’s a Top 50 after all. The list comprises all the ‘important’ Daddy skills like Blowing up balloons Role play Anything to do with tech. DIY Flipping pancakes Barbecuing. Again I got rather cross, it’s another list of not fantastically important skills in the nurturing and development of our children. Rather it’s a list of what men think make them rather manly. I don’t understand why, in the 21st century, some people still feel the need to define themselves as good parents by how feminine or masculine they are. Our children love us regardless. They love us because of tickles and silly faces. They love us because we carry them if they’re tired. They love us because we love them. They don’t care if we buy a cake or make a cake. They don’t care if we fix a hole or pay a person to do it. They only care that we are there when they need us to be and sometimes when they don’t. As parents we have an important role to play and the only people we should be trying to impress are our children. As parents we (I) spend a lot of time doubting ourselves, we don’t need to be encouraged to compare ourselves to others. HOWEVER Just out of interest both Rory and I checked ourselves against the lists. I scored 57.5% on the ‘Supermum’ list and 58% on the Top 50 Dad skills list. Rory scored 47.5% on the ‘Supermum’ list and 58% on the Top 50 Dad skills list. Therefore, I have deduced that I am Bi-parent. I am equal part Mummy and Daddy. What about you?

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For my babies, a letter…

Anna — Tue, 18 Oct 2016 18:40:17 +0000

To my children. I may get uptight, I may seem sharp. I sometimes get cross. I often mutter “forfucksake” a lot under my breath. I get annoyed when you shout me at 3am because you need a wee and want company or even worse when you shout me then you’re asleep by the time I’ve dragged my tired arse to your room. I may spoil all your fun with comments like “get out of that box” “don’t pull the cat’s tail” or “stop leaping all over each other”. I might baby you by not letting you run off ahead with your friends. I may declare a need for wine on a regular basis. I may spend an afternoon wishing it were nearly your bedtime. I may sometimes wish for a holiday, just me and daddy. Or just me, I’m easy. I may seem strict when all you want to do is play. I may sometimes seem fed up or tired. I’m sorry. I spend a lot of time being climbed on and sat on, tiny, pointy elbows and knees jabbing me while you try to get comfortable. I spend a lot of time being hit in the face, sometimes it’s your frustration, sometimes it’s your eagerness to show me something terribly important. I spend a lot of time apologising to other people because you won’t share/you keep kicking/you walk into people/you don’t pay attention. I spend a lot of time listening to you tell me how unreasonable and awful I am because I won’t let you have this or do that (often after you’ve just had or done something pretty cool) I spend a lot of time hearing you shout at me for doing or making something wrong. I often hear how I am entirely responsible for you having the worst day EVER. I spend a lot of time defending myself while you laugh hysterically thinking knocking my glasses off my face is a great game.. I wish you’ll go and nap just so I can take an hour to sit quietly with a little bit of space. I feel like a terrible person for wanting that little bit of space. (Seriously though, an inch would do). I tell the other mum at school how grumpy and difficult you’ve been today because, y’know, naps are for losers. I instantly feel bad and wonder if I talk about your fantastic, hilarious and great moments so readily (these are abundant). I start to feel a bit warm on the inside and feel a tension rise when I feel like everyone is watching you shout and writhe in your buggy while I have no way of placating you. Once again I say to myself “roll on bedtime”. Believe it or not, everything I do is because I believe it’s the best for you. I may be right, I may be wrong. I want you to grow up to be well-mannered and I want you to be grateful for what you have. I want you to be nice people. I worry about how I’m bringing you up and sometimes my grumpiness is me fretting. Finally you’re both in bed, I pour a glass of wine and breathe a big sigh and I feel bad. I feel bad for every uttered swear, every sharp word, every exasperated yell. I wish you weren’t in bed so that I could give you a squishy cuddle and tell you I love you – I worry you’ll forget that. I hear you breathing gently (snoring) and I feel calm. I recall how I used to love the sound of you both breathing and snuffling in the night when you were tiny babies. I remember my heart used to feel so full of love that it could burst. I realise that now it still feels exactly the same. In fact, maybe even more love has squeezed in there. I realise that as you both get older and more independent we’re going to butt heads. You think you know better, I KNOW I know best. After a day like today it’s easy to think that my everyday is like this but as I sit here, feeling thankful you both went straight to sleep, I realise that today stands out and the fact that today stands out as such a bad day is because it’s actually a rarity. Yes We may have some shit days but by gosh kids. I love you so much, I wouldn’t change it*. I love you all the world with all my heart. Mummy *Well, maybe I’d prefer not to see you between midnight and 6.45am. Just a thought.

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Sowing the seeds…

Anna — Mon, 10 Oct 2016 10:49:40 +0000

The other day we took the children to Waitrose cafe for a treat (how terribly posh!?). As we sat, dragging the standards down, a dad and his son who looked about 11 sat at the table next to us ( I assume it was a Dad and son, it was definitely a preteen boy and his responsible adult). As I sat sipping my free coffee I overheard part of their conversation “Do you have homework this weekend?” “Yes” “Well, we’ll get it done when we get in… It’s important you work hard” “Why?” “Well if you don’t, you’ll end up with some crummy job. You don’t want to work in a shop or something crummy like that do you?” “something inaudible” “You want to go to university, you’ll have great fun”* That snippet of conversation made me sad and a little mad on a few counts and not just because the tone in the Dad’s voice made it seem like working in a shop was the worst thing this boy could ever do with his life. “You kicked a dog? Nevermind” “You work in a shop? Why you crummy little good for nothing…” I am totally for letting our children believe they can be anything they want to be . ANYTHING. They can be an astronaut, a teacher, a shop assistant, a waitress, a dental nurse. ANYTHING. We’ve just got to remind them that whatever they choose won’t make them better or worse than anyone else. It’s sad that the adult was instilling into the child that the shop assistant was only such because they didn’t try hard enough at life. If it wasn’t for the lowly shop assistant WHO WOULD SELL HIM HIS ELDERFLOWER AND POMEGRANATE JUICE EH??? The other thing that really sat uncomfortably with me was what if this boy didn’t WANT to go to university in the future? Not everyone does, but would he have the niggling feeling that he was letting his Dad down because he isn’t aspiring to greatness? Will he be considered a failure, deemed to have not worked hard enough? He is basically being told that you work hard, go to university and get a ‘good’ job or you don’t work hard and you get a ‘crummy’ job. Or. There are two very different kinds of people, hard workers and slackers. That’s not how life is. Some people work hard, have ‘menial’ jobs and earn less money. They’re happy because they have a great home and family life. Some people work hard, have great careers, earn lots of money and are terribly unhappy because they’re too busy to enjoy their life and family. Us adults need to remember that we’re also responsible for moulding the minds of our small humans. We’re responsible for making sure our children grow up nice, kind and open minded. We’re responsible for making sure our children treat EVERYONE with respect and as equals. We need to remember that throw away comments can manifest and grow in a negative way. I wanted to say to that little boy “Yes go home and do your homework, try your best at everything you do but remember, you’re just a child. It doesn’t last long so just enjoy it. And when you grow up, do whatever you want to do as long as it makes you happy. Be the best you, you can be.” *Or as my brain heard it “Son, you can either be an obnoxious twat like me or someone who serves obnoxious twats”

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Hi 1993? It’s me, you!

Anna — Tue, 20 Sep 2016 11:17:21 +0000

A friend posted this on my Facebook timeline…. “.on reflection…having lived a fun and interesting ‘couple of years’* since your teens, what 10 things would you tell/teach your 15 year old self if you could? (I imagine your 15 year old self will only listen to you) ❤ *maybe more than a couple ? x” My 15 year old self existed in a town called Hartlepool in 1993/4. 1) Drop this tie-dye/flares shit. It’s shapeless and unflattering, the ‘alternative’ thing really doesn’t suit you. Indie & Emo will be along in a few years, embrace it. Skinny jeans, monochrome and good hair is more you. Two things to remember (i) black or red hair always suits you better (ii) a fringe is never wrong. 2) You’re not fat. For serious, you think you are but you’re not. You are going to get fat in a couple of years then from 2006-8 it will drop off you’ll have a great figure (you’ll still think you’re fat though). Unfortunately you’ll get really fat again after you’ve had children. Yes you have children. Take that look off your face, we’ll talk about that in a minute. Pastry is NOT a craving you should give in to. In the meantime maybe exercise a bit. Running should do. In about 20 years running will be really cool. Stay ahead of the game! 3) Don’t be jealous of those girls from school who seem to be all that. In a couple of years they’ll have a life that completely doesn’t interest you. In 23 years you’ll wonder why you were ever jealous, some of them are grandparents already, that really wouldn’t make you happy. Also, some of them do not age well. 4) Don’t worry about fitting into a group, you don’t and you never will but that’s actually OK. Be happy and comfortable being you and, believe it or not, some people will wish they we’re more like you (try not to put your ‘majorly freaked out face’ on when they tell you-Awkward) 5) Children aren’t actually the spawn of satan. Well YOURS aren’t (others are). Yes you have children. Don’t think about it too hard just yet, you have a long while before you need to think about it.The first born is very much like you, try to remember this when you feel like you’re arguing with a wall when it is five! In 15 years this insistence that you couldn’t possibly have children because you’re too selfish and would be an utterly terrible mother will pass. Until then remain selfish, in fact I suggests you try being MORE selfish. 6) Anyone who treats you badly should be cast aside instantly. You’re going to have some self esteem issues and some people like to play on that. Be strong. They will always be sorry but they will never change. As long as they feel more powerful and superior than you they’ll continue to be a grade A c**t. You don’t need that, you’re a stronger person than you think. 7) DO NOT GET MARRIED*. Move in with him, buy a house, think it’s a love everlasting and see the relationship through but don’t get married. It will seem like the natural progression it’s just a way of trying to justify yourself and feel like you’re worth something. If you find yourself at the altar, crying and the vicar asks “do you want to take a moment” take it. Take it and run. People will be pissed off but they’ll get over it. It’s a massive pain in the arse changing all your details when you get divorced. 8) On Christmas eve 2010, you’ll get a phone call from a very old school friend. You’ll be exhausted with a new baby and breast feeding woes. She’ll be a bit drunk and very unhappy. She’ll tell you things that are making her sad, she’s very lonely. You will listen and feel sad and you’ll tell her you’re there and you’ll mean it. You’ll tell her you’ll ring on Boxing Day but exhaustion means you’ll forget. Then you’ll forget again. PLEASE take a moment, put it in your phone calendar (that’s an actual thing in the future) and call her. 9) Be true to yourself and have confidence in yourself. You don’t have to be mean but you do have to be honest. Don’t waste time with people you don’t want to be with. Don’t waste time doing things that you don’t want to do. Do what makes YOU happy because no one else is thinking about your happiness. Some people just won’t like you, don’t waste time trying to win them over, they probably aren’t worth the effort. From 2006-2008 you will be in a very strange place, you’ll be partying hard just remember to respect yourself and stay safe. 10) You will be given an ultimatum, stay in Leeds or go home. You’ll be happy in Leeds but you MUST go back. It will be your biggest regret, you’ll have a shit job at a call centre, you’ll no longer be in that art loop that you so desperately want to be in for your future career and you’ll be stuck in a silly little town but you HAVE to do it. If you don’t make the same choices I did then you might not end up as ME. Yes you MAY end up in a better place, or you may not. I wouldn’t risk it. To you, right now at 15 I may seem like a frumpy, almost 40 year old but I’m frickin’ awesome. My life is great, I’m happier than I’ve ever been before, I have an amazing man and our family is fantastic. Although you have a LOT of good times to come there will be some tough times along the way. There will be sadness and hurt that you feel like you can’t survive, lows that you feel you can’t escape. I could advise you of paths to take to avoid those things but I’m afraid you need them to become me. A couple of other things Regret the things you’ve done, not those things you haven’t done. Accountants aren’t all boring. Rum is your drink of choice, you’ll never like cider. Learn French. Curry is good. The amount of friends you have is irrelevant, it’s the quality of friend that counts. What 3 things would you tell your 15 year old self? *Before 2016

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It’s a tough job but someone has to do it. With pleasure.

Anna — Mon, 05 Sep 2016 09:17:00 +0000

The summer break is over. After a glorious week on the Cote D’Azur Rory is back at work, Aoife has just started Year 1 and it’s back to reality (booooo). There’s no other job, yes I referred to parenting as a job – If a job doesn’t get done, things go tits up and things fall apart. If parenting doesn’t get done things go tits up and things fall apart, though to be fair things generally go tits up when I’m on shift anyway. Anyway, I digress. There’s no other job where I would put up with my boss physically attacking me, screaming in my face, throwing my stuff, throwing everyone else’s stuff (I’m thinking dinner plates at the villa we rented last week) and making impossible demands. There’s certainly no other job where I would do it all for free on a 24 hr shift pattern. If most people were at work and their boss called them to the office and said Read this to me they might think Hmmm OK, this is a little odd but what the hey If the boss then stopped them mid-sentence and said NO, I need you to read these sections in a French accent, this bit sounding like a boy and this bit here like Woody from Toy Story They’d reply Heck no and start updating their CV. The CEO The President There’s only so much shit you can clean up from your toddlers back. So many headbutts you can handle. So many times your glasses can be ripped from your face or your hair can be pulled or you can be scratched. There’s only so much food you can have thrown at you or scrape from the walls or floor. There’s only so many times you can retrieve broken pieces of items you rather liked. There’s only so many times you can be summoned at 4 am to replace covers that are well within reach, or find teddies that are *right* there. There’s only so much you can handle before you ask yourself Why on earth did parenthood seem a good idea? Then I think about it and I realise there’s only so long I’ll be needed to do these things. There’s only so long a bedtime story will be required. There’s only so long a hand will need holding or a booboo need kissing. There’s only so long that I’ll be considered the fountain of all knowledge and the fixer of all things. There’s only so long a Mummy cuddle will make things better. There’s only so long that a trip to the cinema with me will seem like fun. There’s only so long they’ll want to holiday as a family. There’s only so long before they’ll feel they’re too old to need me. There’s only so long. My contract is temporary, I’ll be made redundant one day. And so I’ll remember this when I’m up to my eyes in one mess or another, when I feel like I’m just there to serve not as a human. I’ll remember that one day I’ll not be needed for anything, big or small. I’ll remember that although now I may feel insignificant sometimes, these jobs need doing and these processes need playing out and I actually AM of importance in my workplace. One day I’m going to be very sad to have retired. On a lighter note, we just spent a week in France. One evening we’d got Seth down to sleep at a reasonable time so went to sit outside. Aoife came out in her pyjamas and sat next to me. This is what it’s about. Sitting here, relaxing in the sun, enjoying the peace and chatting I tried hard not to laugh What would you like to chat about? Ummm the view? Those trees down there are lovely aren’t they? She’s perfect. Relaxing in the sun.

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