Life Archives : Me, Annie Bee.

A nice day for a white wedding.

Anna — Mon, 26 Jun 2017 05:00:46 +0000

My name is Anna and I want to get married. There, I said it. I really, REALLY want to get married. I don’t know why. Well I do, love and stuff, but I don’t know why it feels so important to me. I have been married once, that wasn’t a barrel of laughs but still I’m up for trying again. Maybe I want to prove I can make it work and I’m not a big ol’ marriage failure. I think it’s more likely because I like the idea of us being a complete unit. A gang (the good sort). Us against the world. I know we’re a family already, a little gang of four but Aoife says things like “Me, Seth and Daddy have blue eyes but you have green eyes” And “Me, Seth and Daddy have the same last name but you don’t”. She’s just being a 6 year old getting to grips with life but still, I don’t like it, it makes me feel like I’m just an aside to the group. I hate that when I talk about Rory I say boyfriend because ‘partner’ sounds so….twee. So at school or nursery I’d be all like “yeah, my boyfriend, Aoife’s dad, will pick her up” Why do I even need to clarify that? It’s no ones business and would be an issue if he wasn’t her dad. The only issue would be if I was getting a complete random to pick her up. I think I feel a bit daft, a 38 year old with a boyfriend. It’s a young person term or a very old person term. Like Elsie and Percy in the old folks home. Their spouses died so now they’re boyfriend and girlfriend. It’s like a pat on the head. I don’t want to be 76 and still have a boyfriend, even if it IS the boyfriend I’ve been with for 47 years! There have been so many times I thought Rory would propose; Atop the Empire State Building. When I told him I was pregnant with Aoife. When I had Aoife. A variety of Christmasses and birthdays. When I told him I was pregnant with Seth. When I had Seth. When I got to the top of that mother flipping mountain! But nothing. Zilch. Maybe it’s because I’m swift approaching 40, I’m having some kind of “I’ve got nothing to show for it” midlife crisis. I just really have this silly feeling that I, we, will feel ‘complete’ if we’re married. I’ve watched couples who have been together less time than us get married. When an engagement is announced my heart actually hurts because it isn’t us. When we go to weddings I imagine what ours would be like (I confess to having three wedding outlines for varying budgets). I don’t need a big showy affair, I’d be happy getting married just the two of us then maybe a shebang with friends after. A small wedding would be better for us then we wouldn’t have to worry about offending those who aren’t invited. It’s not even about the wedding as an event it’s about the marriage as an entity. I don’t need whistles and bells, though I would like a nice frock and maybe a hen do would be nice… I always said if I wasn’t married by 38 I wouldn’t get married again. I’ve pushed that to 40 in hope, I’d really like a nice dress not a cream two piece from M&S but I don’t want to look like an idiot in taffeta. As you may have gathered, it is not I holding up the nuptials! Rory isn’t such a fan of getting married (why he didn’t mention this early doors in the relationship I’ll never know). He rolls his eyes whenever I mention it and has declined every single one of my proposals. And there have been many. MANY. I’ve even pointed out all the good things about getting married, aside from the obvious of having a fitty Mcfittison of a wife (kidding, the wife might be the reason he’s avoiding it…..) There’s – The unity. The Married persons tax thing. The me getting his stuff when he dies. The fact that being married is good for your health. ACTUAL FACT. He really isn’t interested. If I can’t woo accountant interested with a tax allowance then there’s NO HOPE. So here we are, entering wedding season with no plans of my own. Me with my ‘odd one out’ green eyes and different surname just updating my wedding dress plans according to availability and pretending one day it will be me.

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I’ll be there for you.

Anna — Mon, 27 Mar 2017 05:00:15 +0000

This week I saw a lovely little competition running on a Facebook page. The rule of the competition was to tag the mums who “no matter what are ALWAYS there for you, through thick and thin, sleep deprivation, toddler meltdowns and everything in between….this is about the mum friends who would STILL give you that hug even when you’re covered in baby sick!” When I saw the competition I smiled for it’s always nice to see such lovely gestures and to see Mums, heck just women in general, encouraging and supporting one another and it was heartening to see how many lovely ladies were being nominated. And then I thought about who I could nominate and I got a bit sad. (You can pop and get your tiny violin for this bit), yes I could nominate lots of lovely Mums. I have a lovely group of friends. Lovely people who I can have a coffee with, have a few pints with or a whinge at. Heck one of them has even given me a hug when I cried once. But looking at the line “no matter what are ALWAYS there for you, through thick and thin” I don’t have THAT friend, the friend I can text in the middle of the night with my woes who I know will text back as soon as they get the message even if it woke them. The friend I can call upon if I’m having a really shit day and just need someone to sit quietly with. The friend who will rock up with a bottle of wine at the exact right time because I mentioned in passing I was finding life a bit tough. The friend who I would actually tell that life is a bit tough and that sometimes I’m not coping. I don’t have THAT friend. I grew up down south (admit it, you went ‘daaarrrrn saaarrrfff’ in your head then didn’t you?) when I was 11 and about to start senior school we moved up north (oop North, I know you did that too). Mobile phones weren’t available to commoners and the internet hadn’t been invented yet (I’m old) and 11 year olds starting big school and making new friends aren’t very good at letter writing and phoning each other. Besides a long distance call on a landline would have had a watch tapping parent in the background. So, obviously, I lost touch with the friends I grew up with. It’s OK though because I moved to a new school and eventually made new friends but once we hit sixth form we all went off to different colleges. Again, mobile phones still weren’t readily available, the internet still wasn’t there for all (we used to do essays on paper with pens and use books for research WHY AM I SO OLD??) so I lost touch with many of my school friends and made MORE new friends. Two years later everyone started drifting off to university and you see how this pans out right? I did have one really good friend I kept from school but when I met my husband *spits* my friends ended up cast aside (my fault for being a shit friend) and we just had joint friends who he subsequently won in the divorce. So as you see, I’ve never had that one friend that’s been there always. Who’s known me forever. Who knows me best. That’s not to say that I’ve never had friends, I have. Loads. Honest. I had a great group of friends when I moved to Leeds in the party years but settling down and having babies didn’t really go hand in hand with that particular lifestyle and group of friends. One even went so far as to refer to my unborn child as the ‘excrement of my womb’ – maybe they weren’t that great at being friends after all. I had some friends I was still in touch with from life pre Leeds. I had work colleagues and friends I met through Rory but I still didn’t have THAT friend and I didn’t actually think it was a problem until I became a Mummy. The first few weeks with Aoife were tough, I had trouble feeding, I was exhausted and lonely. I remember a friend (and mummy) coming to visit, we’d had a bad night and a bad day. As she went to leave I burst into tears “I just can’t do this anymore, I can’t cope” she looked at me awkwardly told me I’d be OK and left. I felt so alone and pathetic and right then I really wished I had THAT friend. The friend who would have hugged me, who would have told me to upstairs and sleep while she looked after Aoife for an hour, the friend who would have cared. Overtime I’ve become envious (I know it’s not a nice trait) of those who do have THAT friend, that support, that thick and thin buddy. I always try to be THAT friend to other people, texting advice at 3am (when it’s been asked for, not just randomly) looking after children because childcare fell through or Mummy just needed an hour to herself. Offering an ear or a hug because someone is having a hard time but I still don’t have THAT friend who’d do the same for me and it makes me sad that it’s probably too late to find them. I think that THAT friend is the most important friend to have but even moreso when you become a Mummy, not just in the first few months. ALWAYS. To let you know you’re doing OK, to sit with you while you cry with exhaustion, to tell you you’ve got mascara on your face, to tell you she also made the same faux pas you did, to help you shove aside your mum guilt and to remind you you’re still you inside. So if you’re lucky enough to have THAT friend celebrate her, let her know. Maybe send her a little gift, tell her you love her or give her a hug and thank her. Thank her for being THAT friend the one who was genuinely there for you when you needed her most and try to be THAT friend in return. This was originally posted over at meetothermums.com The Tale of Mummyhood

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We are family.

Anna — Mon, 06 Mar 2017 06:00:00 +0000

My favourite part of being our family of four is that we’re a unit. We stick together. We’re an invincible team. I love it! (My current least favourite thing is Seth keep hiding under his bed, shouting he’s stuck and refusing to come out but that’s a different story) However, I have been wondering recently if I am taking this togetherness, this camaraderie, too far. Let’s not stick things to my face. We don’t want to eat the sweet that fell in the drain. Let’s not pick that stick up. We don’t draw on the walls. We don’t nip each other. We don’t lick walls. We don’t need anymore sticks. We don’t lay on the floor in the rain. We don’t touch all the satsumas. We definitely don’t throw the satsumas, they’re not ours. We don’t leave half eaten apples under the couch. We don’t stick our hands up mummy’s top. Let’s not honk mummy’s boobs. We don’t throw plates. Let’s not touch other people. We don’t spit water down ourselves. We don’t climb on each other. We don’t push other people. We don’t snatch things. We don’t need to scream. Let’s use our indoor voices. We don’t want to jump in that puddle, we haven’t got our wellies on. Let’s not dig in that mud. We don’t pull the cat’s tail. We don’t bite. These are the things I’m saying all the time. ALL THE TIME. WE shouldn’t do that. LET US not touch that. I’m taking part of the responsibility for all the these things which seems rather unfair as I have no problem with touching what’s not mine. I share well, I don’t scream (although I rather feel like it at times), I don’t lay on the floor in the street, I don’t touch all the fruit in the supermarket and I don’t have an obsession with boobs so why do I say these things in such a way that I am taking part responsibility for them? Anyone listening would think I’m a gropey kleptomaniac bully who likes to lay down in public places whilst shouting! FYI I’m not. The Tale of Mummyhood

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Children-The Strongest blizzards start with a single snowflake.

Anna — Mon, 20 Feb 2017 06:00:32 +0000

More and more recently I’ve noticed the term ‘snowflake’ being bandied around in a derogatory manner, generally by puffy chested, brash, middle class, middle aged alpha male types with an over inflated sense of ‘self’. Maybe I’ve been living with my head in the sand but I had to Google the term to see what it meant. The internet ‘reliably’ informs me that snowflakes (or one from the snowflake generation) are young generations who are more likely to take offence and less hardy than those from generations before. They are emotionally vulnerable as a result of parenting that has given them an inflated sense of their own uniqueness. Obviously, the fault lies with the parents, we are bringing up future generations of snowflakes. We pander to our children, we fill them with a false sense of importance (they’re actually not important at all, just a mere handful are and those ones will be revealed in time, don’t waste your time making your child feel unique!). We make them easily offended. The snowflakes are a generation of young people who get upset when fantastically racist and inept men are made leaders of the free world. They’re a generation of young people who believe that refugees have a right to a safe place to live and sleep. They’re a generation of young people who believe that everyone should have equal rights regardless of gender, sexuality and physical ability. They’re a generation of people who would rather like a fairer, calmer world. TYRANTS! I, for one am glad that our younger generations are getting offended by war, lack of equality, misogyny, racism and hate. It shows that they are worrying about the world, they are concerned for the future, for the future of their children. I’m glad that the ‘snowflakes’ are willing to protest about unfairness both here and abroad. Standing in solidarity with strangers and coming together in hope. Is it so wrong that they give a shit about someone or something else outside of their own personal bubble? Have we become THAT self centred? I DO think that there is an inflated sense of entitlement amongst people these days, some younger people have been bought up being given everything they want without having to work for it. This sense of entitlement is not a nice trait and it’s also not limited to the younger generation (I’m looking at you puffy chested old man!) but it’s also VERY different to being a snowflake. It is very possible let your child know they’re unique and that they are special whilst also teaching them that they have to work hard to achieve. Nothing of value is given on a plate. Except cake. When I think of a snowflake I think of a beautiful, one of a kind, never replicated creation. It is seemingly fragile, it quietly falls from the sky creating a spectacle as it does and then it lands. When it lands it becomes part of something bigger, it changes how the world looks, it changes how it feels. It changes how we feel. It brings with it that strange calm and quiet that only snowfall can bring. It gives us all, adult and child alike, that magical moment of delight when we look out of the window and see the changed landscape. That one, tiny fragile insignificant snowflake is actually part of that change in the landscape, it’s a pretty big deal. We could probably also do with remembering that the snowflakes don’t always fall silently, they don’t always quietly go about their business. The snowflakes are more than capable of creating a blizzard, they are capable of being strong and angry. They are capable of creating permanent change. We should never underestimate the humble snowflake, in fact we should probably treat it with a bit more respect. And so to my children I say go ahead and be snowflakes*. Be calm, be beautiful, be unique and change the world in the way that only you can. I would always prefer you to be a snowflake than a massive twat. * Seth is probably less snowflake and more thundersnow.

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