Tag Archives: children

Fibs

Let’s face it, we all tell a little fib now and again don’t we?

Sometimes because we can’t face going into deep explanations, sometimes so that we don’t hurt someone and sometimes to save face.

Like the times we’ve told a friend that their butt really doesn’t look big in those jeans that they just spent a fortune on and obviously really love. And the time when we forgot someone’s Birthday and happened to leave the card at home that we haven’t actually bought yet. And the time when we hadn’t really double booked and couldn’t go out with a friend we just wanted to get our bras off, get into our PJs and watch crap on the telly.

(All my friends are reading this and crossing me off their Christmas lists, Birthday lists and possibly deleting me from Facebook as we speak. Oops sorry, I do love you all honestly and these are just examples I promise!)

And then there are the whoppers that we tell our children.

When I was little my Dad told me that a twat was a female fish when I asked him what it meant. Thanks Dad.

My Poppa told me that a haggis was a wild creature that lived in Scotland in the mountains. He also told me because it ran round and around the mountains the legs on one side of it’s body were shorter than the other so that it didn’t topple off. I totally believed him because he was my Poppa and I told all my friends.

One of my children’s teachers said that if you whistle inside a building your ears will eventually fall off. I use that one a lot. Genius. There must be one for recorders too?

And then there is Father Christmas. I mean really? We are teaching our children not to lie and every year we drag out the massive big fat white-bearded man clad in fur trimmed red. We can dress it up as Christmas spirit and how it all adds to the enchantment of childhood and so on but let’s not mess about here – one day our kids are going to know that Mummy and Daddy told them a big fat fib. I am not sure where to go with that. I remember my friend telling me that her son had come home from school saying that some of the boys had told him that Father Christmas wasn’t real. I held my breath knowing that one day this was going to be me. She had one of the best comebacks that I have heard and said “Oh. That’s a shame that they don’t believe anymore. They won’t get as many presents.” Her son decided to hedge his bets and keep on believing for a bit. Wise boy and smart Mum!

I still don’t know how I honestly feel about it all though. Part of me thinks “oh shut up everyone does it what are you wibbling on about” and then there’s the other part that shouted at her daughter twice this week for not being honest.

Let me elaborate. Earlier this week I noticed after school that my youngest had a very neat wiggly scribble on the back of his neck on the collar of his brand new school shirt. I had in fact sat lovingly sewing in his name label that morning at breakfast. I questioned him about it knowing that he can be a little sod and has a previous record of drawing on things that are not paper:

Boy “Mummy, I can’t reach the back of my collar can I and anyway it was my sister”

Girl (red faced and shrieking) “It was not me I would NEVER do that I did not draw on his collar!!”

Boy “She did!!! She did Mummy I am not lying!!”

Me “Beloved daughter. Did you draw on his collar? He can’t have done it because he can’t reach so someone else has done it and it wasn’t there when we got home. I didn’t do it, Daddy isn’t here and you are the only other person in the house. Apart from the cats and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t them.” Eat your heart out Miss Marple.

Girl “NO MUMMY WHY DON’T YOU BELIEVE ME I DIDN’T DOOOOO ITTTTTT!!!”

She is a terrible liar and I hope that she never plays poker when she is older.

Me “I know you did it because you are a rubbish liar and I can tell. I have asked you twice now and I am giving you the chance to tell me the truth”

Girl “I didn’t do it I didn’t and oh I didn’t there was a pen……it was in my hand…..I didn’t do it though…..then I wanted to hug my brother……..it was an accident.”

See what she did there? Snuck in a hug. Because obviously that makes it all peachy.

Me “So you did do it. Why didn’t you tell me the truth straight away?”

Girl “Because then I would get in trouble”

Me “But now you are in even more trouble because you lied. That’s worse. Plus you still are telling me a massive whopper because that is not an accidental-I-was-holding-a-pen-in-my-hand scribble. It is a perfectly neat zigzag.”

Cue massive meltdown, sobbing and running to her room slamming doors.

Sometimes I really am shit at parenting and have no bloody idea how to handle this stuff. She did it again yesterday when she suddenly announced “Ooh look Mummy I have a shorter bit of hair at the front sort of like a fringe, I don’t know how that happened?”. So I asked her “Did you cut your hair?” to which she replied “Noooooo Mummy I would never cut my hair”. And off we go again. I asked her 6 times and each time she denied it. I really had to go on at her and eventually she gave in and admitted another accident. We went to homework club afterwards at the local cafe and her friend said “She cut her hair in humanities!”. Gotcha!!

So is this a phase? A developmental stage? Or is it happening….she is beginning to enter the very grey area known as ‘becoming an adult’ where sometimes it is okay to tell a little white lie and sometimes……it really is absolutely not. I don’t know if I am well enough equipped to help her with this. I seem to be shouting a lot and then talking rationally, explaining that it is really important to tell the truth but this approach doesn’t seem to be working….

And it’s nearly Christmas…..

Survival and my Mum part one

As you know, I’ve been a bit sorry for myself lately – physically and emotionally. Okay. I’ve been having a massive pity party but you know sometimes it helps to get it all out. Sometimes it doesn’t and we need to work through it by ourselves and it’s good to know the difference.

I’m far from perfect though and can’t always tell the difference but writing helps me and it’s cheaper than therapy! I know I have a long way to go to work through all my crap but hey, I’m a work in progress and this work in progress needs to start thinking happy thoughts.

A lot of this had been because I miss my Mum. A lot. Like every day a lot. She was my best friend and she understood me and my baggage in the way that only a Mum can. She stuck by me through everything and I always knew she loved me no matter what dreadful shit I put her through.

I often spend too much time feeling sad because she isn’t here and because I don’t get to share all the new amazing things that happen every day with her. She isn’t here for me to ask for her always incredibly wise opinion. She isn’t here to ask about great recipe ideas when I have totally lost my cooking mojo. She isn’t here to ask for the parenting advice I desperately need. But most of all she isn’t here to be the Nana that she so dearly wanted to be to her Grandchildren.

But then I started to think the other day that actually she is here isn’t she? After all I am half her! I have all the memories of all the years she was here too! So I am going to try and remember all the fun and awesome stuff about my Mum so that I don’t forget because sometimes I feel her memory slipping away and it scares me. I find it harder and harder to hear her voice and the way she hugged me tight. I don’t want that to happen because she was a very special lady.

I will write about what happened when she died but I’m not ready yet, certainly not at the moment.

So here’s some stuff about my Mum, to help keep her alive, because sometimes I pretend she is and I pretend I could just pick up the phone and she’d be there. It’s not denial. I know I can’t really do that but it is survival and we all have to do that in whatever form it takes.

My Mum was Jennifer Susan Greenacre (nee Oakes) She liked to be called Jenny and this year she would have been 70 on the 25th September. We would have done something special for her I like to think because she did love to have fun.

I have a great memory of her headbanging to Queen at my wedding with my dear friend Sue who also sadly passed away after my Mum. I like to imagine that they are being drunk and disorderly somewhere together with gin and Freddy Mercury.

Mum loved Queen and she wanted ‘Don’t stop me now’ played at her funeral but I couldn’t pull that one off as my dear Dad just couldn’t. I still feel to this day that I let her down on that one and am still trying to think up a way to make up for it.

She also loved her red Audi TT roadster and she drove around very cautiously in it with Freddy blasting out very very loudly. She wanted to be buried in it but I couldn’t pull that one off either, sorry Mum.

She really liked gin. See? I take after her…

She was very very funny and had a dreadfully infectious laugh. Once she started that was that. I remember being in France with the whole family and we were a bit tipsy at a café where a mariachi band were playing. The trumpet player was definitely wearing a wig which unfortunately for him seemed intent upon rotating around on his head as he enthusiastically jigged about. This caused Mum to shout ‘WIGGY’ at every possible break in the music and then promptly look around innocently. Naughty Mum.

I had an Art teacher in high school who’s name was Mr G Bennett. I told Mum his christian name was Gordon and she came home extremely red faced from parents’ evening. It was Graham. Sorry Mum, it was just too good to pass up! She was trying very hard not to laugh whilst pretending to be cross.

Talking of parents’ evenings there was one rather special one where I had drawn a lovely picture of Mum and written a piece about how great she was and that she didn’t even jump on chair when we got mice in the house. It was the same parents’ evening where my sister had drawn a picture of Mum and Dad holding what appeared to be martini glasses with the caption ‘My Mum likes to drink a lot’. I remember her saying “So your teachers now think we are alcoholics living in a vermin infested house!! Great!!”.

Once Mum and I got so drunk at a Christmas party in our village that Dad had to get the car to bring us home. We lived about 300 metres away. I blame a certain Mr B and the vodka. well that was our excuse anyway. I was 16 and thought it was just orange juice. Oops. Oh well it was the 80s, it wasn’t such a nanny state then!! Sorry Dad.

Mum loved parties. She also loved food and was an incredible cook who could always rustle something up out of nothing. Her Christmas dinners were especially legendary! She studied home economics and needlework at college despite going on to teach Special Needs later in life before she retired early. She wanted to help my husband look after me after my diagnosis of MS.

She told me that a college assignment she once had was to knit a pair of gloves. She and her classmates suspected that the teacher had her favourites so they decided to repeatedly submit the same pair of gloves as they didn’t have to be all handed in at the same time. They all got different grades. She was right. She hated injustice. She told me that when she left college she sprayed FUCK YOU in weed killer on the grass bank facing the main building. I hope that was true and knowing Mum it probably was!

She loved Science fiction and read Asimov when it wasn’t cool and she went on to introduce me to Star Trek, Dune and Star Wars. I remember queuing in the pouring rain in Ambleside in the Lake District with her to watch The Empire Strikes back only to be turned away because the tiny cinema was full. We were devastated although still got to see it when we got home to Suffolk. I still remember both of us nearly in tears and so began my life long love of Star Wars which my children and thankfully my husband share with me.

She loved my husband and affectionately called him Big Chick much to his embarrassment and amusement. She often did it absentmindedly in restaurants for some reason and I remember when she died Ben saying broken heartedly between sobs “who’s going to say Big Chick pass the salt?”.

She made everything fun, especially Christmas. I remember feeling like all the fun had been sucked out of it as I realised that it was her that made Christmas fun. This was a few weeks after her death on the 7th of December 2006, barely 2 months after mine and Ben’s wedding. It took a long time and two children to help get that back. She always spent weeks choosing exactly the right gifts for everyone and she got it pretty perfect every time.

When I was in my twenties and had come home for Christmas one year, I woke up abruptly at 5am with her jumping on my bed. I asked her what the hell she was doing to which she replied “Revenge darling, revenge! For all the years you woke me on Christmas Day far too early!” whilst giggling.

So if you wonder where my refusal to grow old gracefully and my slightly strange sense of humour come from, as well as my love of gin, Sci Fi and the generally bizarre now you know….

She loved Monty Python, Spike Milligan, Billy Connolly and Only Fools and Horses. She loved my Dad so much she once said looking at him was like looking at a beautiful painting she could never tire of and she was fiercely but silently jealous of any woman who so much as glanced his way. She loved my sister and I more than her own life. She found life painful, rarely watched the news because she couldn’t bear the hatred and the hurt in the world. She was kind and gentle and couldn’t deal with conflict or disputes. She just wanted everyone to be happy.

She made us happy and for the time I got to spend with her I will forever be grateful. I wish that I had told her more often just how incredibly special she was and how I could never repay all the things that she gave up and did for me. I wish I could have said goodbye. I hope she knew just how much we loved her and still do.

I will try to remember her every day and for the memories to hurt less and make me smile more.

There is so much more but then isn’t that exactly how it should be?

Not how she died but how she lived. With joy and laughter and love and kindness.

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Starting school and more poo news

Well it has finally happened. My smallest small boy at barely 4 years old has started school.

My smallest small boy who is barely potty trained and is still tantrumming and hitting if things don’t go his way.

My smallest small boy who sometimes smells of strawberries and sometimes of damp dog despite us not having one.

My smallest small boy who wraps his arms around me and squeezes me just that little bit too tight so that I can’t breathe and snuggles into my neck all soft, whispering “I love you to infinity and beyond Mumma”.

I have waited and longed for this day, for the very difficult toddler years that I don’t cope well with to be over and for my freedom at last. How sad that sounds I know, it’s true though. I haven’t felt like a good parent this summer, shouting, controlling, trying to make order out of chaos, patience worn thin and feeling tattered and frayed around the edges.

I haven’t been very well this summer, my hypothyroidism spiralled out of control making me sure that the Multiple Sclerosis had taken a turn for the worst but it turns out that at best it was my thyroid and at worst it was a combination of the two. This isn’t an excuse for my shoddy parenting, just a contributory factor. One that I could do without though in the face of a new school year and a whole lot of new emotions to deal with!

We all tried extra hard over the holidays not to go on about “Big School” all the time as I know the pressure it can put on a small person who is already panicking about the unknown! I think I was just in denial though as I had just forgotten all the things that needed doing and all the uniform needed – jeeeeez!

Knowing what he is like I labelled everything and I mean everything including socks. Not pants though. Even I have a limit!! I just sat sewing labels into the smallest small shorts that even then looked far too big and just felt….I don’t know….scared. Excited too, don’t misunderstand me oh my god I knew I would be cheering with glee in the school car park the minute that I had dropped off my little darlings. But who would notice when he was hopping up and down needing the toilet but too engrossed in his current activity to realise? Who would cuddle him and rub his back to calm him down if he got upset and started lashing out? Hundreds of scenarios played themselves out in my mind as I calmly sewed the little name labels in, imagining him struggling to do up his buttons.

I sewed my love for him and my frustration at not being the parent that he so desperately needs at times into those labels, hoping that he would feel me with him in the moments he felt unsure and lost. Hoping that at least we had taught him kindness and compassion and that he would take with him all the things he had learnt from preschool where they loved and nurtured him in the safe environment he had grown to feel was a second home. I hope that he will grow to feel that about his new school in time.

I sewed my love for her into her labels, my strength to help her deal with the twists and turns of growing up as a girl, the challenges of friendships and emotional changes. She takes my breath away she is so beautiful and so smart and so courageous. She is everything that I would love to be, untarnished by grief and pain, new and shiny with all her life ahead of her. So excited and curious and questioning. I feel so full of love watching her on her journey.

The last few weeks leading up to the beginning of school term small boy’s poo problems returned. Probably a mixture of being in a less structured routine and his dawning realisation that things were changing. I tried to protect him from all of it but it is easy to forget that mentioning school can cause stress and hard to stop other well meaning people’s remarks of “Ooh you’re such a big boy now I bet you can’t wait to go to big school!” every single time we left the house.

He would have accidents and go off and hide his pants in the wash basket, get scared to use the toilet and start lashing out at us all again. We tried our very best to play it down, keep our cool and just pray every day that it would get easier for him. I had already pre-empted things with ‘Matron’ at school by explaining the ongoing situation and she was very supportive but I was still very scared.

The day arrived and he and his sister stood together in the kitchen in their new school uniforms. She, complaining because I had insisted on new dresses that had ‘growing room’. “Mumma I look like an idiot!!!” (okay she did look a bit like an orphan but I am a great believer in getting the most for your money) and he, with his feet so big in his school shoes that he looked like a puppy needing to grow into his feet and his unruly hair so short now.

I felt so proud of them whilst at the same time wishing so desperately that I could turn the clock back and do a much much better job than I have. Wishing that my Mum was alive to tell me that everything would be okay and that she had made all the mistakes that I had and see? it’s okay after all. God I missed her in that moment, I could barely speak as I felt my throat tighten with grief and pride and love all jumbled up together. I hope she’s watching all this somewhere I thought, I really could do with a hug right now. I know I look like I cope on the outside but it’s all a front a lot of the time, although less as time goes by. We’re doing okay all of us.

They both pottered into school with their bags, looking so smart. Big girl was thrilled to see her new classroom and looked so grown up it was untrue. Small boy skipped into his classroom and never looked back. I told him I was leaving and he said “Shush Mumma I’m building something!”. I spoke to his classroom assistant,who had also been big girl’s, about the toilet problems and she smiled and said “Oh don’t worry, lots of them have challenges and they all have accidents at some point! Some are still doing it when they leave us!!” she made light of it which was actually just what I needed. In that moment she made him just a normal little boy who sometimes has accidents just like everyone else and for that I will be forever grateful.

So, a week and a half in we are okay. I sent spare pants and we have had a few slightly wet pairs back but he has done all his poos on the toilet at home. He says that he doesn’t want to poo at school which inevitably means that he is holding a little but he is doing it at home, sometimes unprompted, which is amazing. I am not resting easy for one moment but for now I have 2 small people at school and they are tired but happy and that is all I want. For them to be happy. Although he made a sword out of cardboard yesterday and hit a poor girl in his class with it. I guess we need to work on impulse control a little.

Now what the fuck do I do with my life? Anyone want to offer me a job?

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Confessions…..

I made a mental note a while ago to write about confessions. I felt I needed to ‘fess up’ about some stuff in a light hearted jovial way which might prompt you all to join in if you felt the need. Nothing too heavy I thought, I’ve been getting a bit deep and meaningful of late. Of course my mind then spiralled into all sorts as it inevitably does, it would appear that I am just made that way however I will try…..

I am scared of the dark. Yup I am 40 years old and I am scared of the dark. Like, turning the light off and dive bombing into bed when my husband is away with work (because we all know the duvet has a special built in forcefield that will protect us from all kinds of nasty) kind of scared.

Too scared to drive in the dark unless I absolutely have no choice and can talk to someone on the phone car kit all the way. Mainly my fault because I watched THAT episode of CSI with the super bendy black latex gimp suit wearing serial killer who hid in the spare wheel well in his victims boot and then freakishly climbed out and murdered the poor woman whilst she was in the car wash. I really wish I hadn’t watched that. I check the boot before I get in, frequently.

I am scared of driving on Motorways. After years of procrastination I learnt to drive and finally passed my test on my daughter’s 1st birthday in October 2008. It was a seminal moment in my life – freedom at last – and I imagined all the adventures we would go on together. It seems however that I am a bit of a scaredy cat in the motorway department plus I am scared of the dark – did I mention that? I can do it in good light and minimal traffic if I am feeling 100%. Perish the day when I’m not and an emergency means I have to down a bottle of Rescue Remedy and hit the road. I will need therapy afterwards.

I am scared of getting lost. A lovely friend once told me that there was very little unchartered territory in the UK so provided I had a map or could ask someone I should be okay. I like her optimism. I have zero sense of direction and rely way too heavily on my sat nav which also appears to have a diminished sense of direction and very strange ideas of sensible routes. My husband says it’s rubbish and ancient which makes me love it all the more. It is a bit wonky like me. You know those tales parents tell of heart in mouth moments when they’ve lost their precious child for a split second or worse, longer? I asked my Dad once about that he replied “I never lost you ever, you were never out of my sight.” Interesting – is there a correlation there I wonder?  Or does he have a selective memory? Or did Mum just never tell him? I lost one of my kids in the house the other day – for a good 5 minutes (it felt like about 15). He was hiding in the wardrobe pooping in his pants. Special. This is also a blog for another day…..ah Encopresis you old fucker leave my poor boy alone.

So, talking of parenthood here comes the BIGGY of all confessions – I can’t help but feel that is the perfect word to use due to the title of my blog as I think of another equally lovely friend who told me her kids call doing a poo a biggy. I love it….

Sometimes (by which I mean much more than once a day) I think I shouldn’t have had children. Not because they aren’t completely awesome little people who light up my life as well as covering it in dollops but because I am not naturally maternal. I mean, I literally cheer when I drop the little darlings back at school after the holidays and sometimes do backflips just because it’s Monday. I am massively intolerant of kid mess/gunk. I don’t automatically love all children just because I have my own, don’t hate me. Soft play is actually my kryptonite and I am noise intolerant, suffer from sensory overload at the drop of a hat and can’t seem to be able to put on my special Mummy hat/face/demeanour at a moment’s notice when I am tired, frazzled and sleep deprived. I sigh at the prospect of craft activities, detest my baking being interfered with at times and I DO NOT DO SICK.

I love my children but I am not the sort of mother that I imagined I would be. Not that I spent a huge part of my life thinking about it I just knew I wanted children and therefore assumed that because I did I would be instantly marvellous at motherhood. Wrong. When I did think about it I imagined that of course I would be very cool. I would drive around in a camper van being all free-spirity with my little rugrats going to festivals and introducing them to all things alternative. We would make dens and mess and be barefoot and carefree and it would be awesome. Every day would be an incredible adventure. I would homeschool and not be beholden to “the Man”. I would make them cool clothes on my Mum’s old sewing machine and bake everything from scratch from food that I had grown myself. Simple.

No.

It turns out that my carefree gene only extends to myself and that presented with 2 small children I just want some co-operation plus peace and quiet. I want to be chilled out and cool about life but the reality is that I just worry about everything and have a parenting style which leaves a lot to be desired if I don’t want my children to rebel horribly and leave home as quickly as possible. I do love being a Mum but I honestly believe that I am shit at it. Don’t misunderstand me, I will pull your arm out of it’s socket with my teeth if you hurt my family in any way at all. I am that sort of maternal not the gentle, fluffy kind that I would like to be.

Sometimes I just want to be on my own, to read, write, drink tea and eat stuff I shouldn’t. I get to do that a lot more than a lot of Mums I know so I am aware how ungrateful that sounds. Maybe I should just go live in a cave or up a mountain. Like a hermit but with really great broadband and chocolate and things would stay clean for more than 1 minute.

Confessions are an odd thing aren’t they?  This could get really dark if we let it couldn’t it? Let’s not do that because that isn’t how we started and we all know we have secrets which are a whole different ball game. Instead I’d prefer to bob back up to the surface with a few more less serious ones and hope that you can add more to the list……

I hate roller-coasters and have no intention of sucking it up and going on one for my children.

I haven’t been sick since I was 7 years old as I have a phobia about it.

I shave my hairy toes.

I don’t really like peas but I eat them to set a good example. The small boy shaped one hates them so I must have a shit poker face.

I often wear socks several times as I just take them off and stuff them in my boots. Mr Moore says I am like a teenage boy.

Occasionally I wee in the shower. It’s liberating, I recommend it. Only in my own shower though not anyone else’s. I’m not that skanky.

Sometimes I forget to wash the kids for a few days…they don’t smell so it’s okay right?

I need to go on that hoarding programme. My house is a nightmare but I am going to deal with it. Now I have said that publicly it means I have to doesn’t it?

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Behind the smiles….and Mother’s Day

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately and was further spurred on by a conversation online with a good friend as we fell into a commentary discussion (underneath a Facebook post/photograph if I recall) about how what what we see in our daily lives, especially on social media is rarely if ever the whole story. It is very very easy to compare ourselves and our lives to those around us, even more so when their lives seem picture perfect. Days out, holidays, nights out with friends, family get togethers and all the rest are portrayed in pictures with smiling faces and joyous proclamations. I know, I do it myself and a lot of the time it’s true that we are all having a jolly old time. But not always and rarely 100% of the best times. There is always more than is on show for all the world to see. 

We look at other people’s lives and think oh how perfect, aren’t they in love, aren’t their children well behaved, isn’t everything idyllic – I wish I had that many holidays, was that creative with my home decor/children’s craft sessions, was that chilled out with my kids, was that good at baking etc. etc…… Oh how we torture ourselves trying to attain the ideal standard that we have set that is actually unattainable. What am I doing wrong we ask ourselves, why is my life not like that, why can I not cope with taking all my children out on wild excursions into the unknown without worrying about absolutely everything that they will get themselves into let alone the thought of just going shopping or to soft play (don’t get me started on soft play it makes me feel violent!), why is my car full of crap and why does everything in my car/house/everywhere smell of feet and/or poop. Sigh….

I honestly don’t know what the answer to all this is. Maybe we are trying to create the life that we wish we had online or out in public where the fears and doubts don’t have to be displayed for all to see. Maybe we are all striving for perfection in a terrifically unhealthy way. Or conversely maybe it does help us to show the moments where everything appears to be perfect so that we don’t feel totally crap at everything! Who knows. Sometimes I do want to appear that way and other times, like today, I kind of want to out myself and say you know that day that looked perfect? It was fucking shit. 

I am thinking in particular back to Mother’s Day, I posted a picture of the lovely breakfast my gorgeous family made me. I posted a picture of the beautiful Pandora bracelet my wonderful husband bought for me. I posted pictures of all of us at the farm park having family fun.

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It looked perfect didn’t it? The truth was altogether different as inside I was as heartbroken as I am every year on Mother’s Day albeit better than the previous years which I do draw strength from. I was heartbroken because although I love being a Mum and I love my children and my husband more than life itself I miss my darling Mum and being a Mum without a Mum really sucks sometimes.

Mum died 7 years ago suddenly from a heart attack at 62. She was mine and my sister’s best friend. She was our everything and we adored her more than I know we both have words for. So although I know her memory lives on and deserves much more than her two daughters mourning her loss every year on various auspicious occasions, I’m afraid we can’t quite manage that level of holding-it-togetherness quite yet. I also know this is verging into a different blog for another day so I will halt there regarding dearest Mum suffice to say I was sad, I was angry, I was wracked with guilt over all that and I was taking it out on my family.

I hid in bed in the morning and then decided to try and get my shit together and at least rescue what was left of the day. So we went to the local farm park that we all love and I think I lasted about 10 minutes before I lost all ability to tolerate anything at all. The kids wanted to walk to the troll bridge which was fine, a few minor meltdowns on arrival from big girl who got the troll fear there when she was 3 (she’s 6 now) but peer pressure in the shape of small boy was a wonderful thing. All good so far but then we had to walk back and oh my lordy the whinging “My feet hurt, my little legs are tired, I need a carry, why do we have to walk, it’s not fair….etc” plus fighting with each other over absolutely every little thing you can possibly imagine. Yup there are things that you can find to fight about whilst walking in the countryside in a field, who knew? So…..I lost it. I screamed at them that this was Mother’s DAY the only bloody day of the year that is mine and they were fighting and bickering and RUINING it. Yes I said that. I also said (it gets worse but you knew that right) “Imagine it was your special day and I made you go somewhere that I liked even though you hated it and then I moaned and whined and ruined your special day and made you CRY on top of you already HATING IT!! NEXT YEAR I AM GOING TO THE SPA ON MY OWN AND YOU CAN ALL SOD OFF!! NOW WE ARE GOING HOME!!!”.

Yeah I really said that. I am ashamed (although I didn’t say fuck which I felt redeemed me slightly). It wasn’t just my day after all was it? It was only Mother’s Day because I am their Mum. It wasn’t their fault that my Mum had died and it definitely wasn’t their fault that I wasn’t coping with anything at all. I had forgotten that whilst I may not have my Mum I have a wonderful family and an especially fab Mother in law who knows all too well how I was feeling having lost her Mum too. We all had dinner later and it helped. A lot. Even though I am sure there was further shouting on my part.

So….behind the smiles things were not as they appeared and that certainly wasn’t the first time and I doubt it will be the last. I could put countless idyllic pictures on here and regale you with the stories of what was really happening at the time but I figure you’ve got the gist by now. My life is not perfect. I am not always doing my best to be honest because it’s hard, but I am doing the best I can at the time. I will do better. I will also continue to post pictures of my life – beautiful and not so beautiful, however it unfolds – whilst trying very hard to be aware that not everything I see and compare myself to is real….even my online life 😉

Feeling the fear and having MS anyway….

I’ve been hiding, reluctant to write because I know what it will bring……it will mean talking about what has been happening to me lately and that in turn means that I must accept yet again that I have a chronic, as yet incurable, illness. I have Multiple Sclerosis and for the most part, despite being diagnosed nearly 14 years ago, I am very well. In fact the odd up and down notwithstanding I have escaped anything really life affecting for 7 years so I am indeed blessed. I don’t see a neurologist and I am not taking anything or doing anything different from the majority of you reading this. I am just trying to live my life as normally as possible. Maybe I am in denial, maybe I haven’t really dealt with it at all but that leads to the question of how exactly do you do that?

How exactly do you come to terms with the diagnosis of a physical and potentially mentally disabling condition when you are only 27? How do you then go on to deal with it every day for the rest of your life? How do you cope when everything that you thought you were and would be has irrevocably altered beyond all recognition and your control? How do you live every day knowing that you might wake up the next not able to walk, dress yourself, go to the toilet on your own, pick up your children – even feel them cuddling you, drive, swallow…….the list goes on.

I think my answer has to be that I don’t really know. I don’t have a magic solution to this other than to just keep going. I remember being terribly afraid to plan anything at all – holidays, nights out, even playdates for my children too far into the future because I could never assume that I would be well. I was almost paralysed by it. Now sometimes I find myself drifting too far in the other direction, feeling a sense of desperate urgency to cram everything into the present whilst I am well…just in case. This, I know, puts huge pressure on my marriage as my poor long suffering husband tries to juggle our finances to accommodate my intermittent panic attacks about my health as I want to book holidays and trips for the family. It’s hard to calm down sometimes when I feel my body betraying me and I wish for the life that I always thought I would have.

These moments are less frequent though as I have begun to realise over the years that we all face our own mortality every day in some way or another. We all get ill in some way or another too and we are all unpredictable as is life. Strangely you know I really rather like that. It does give a sense of freedom somehow as you never know what is around the corner.

So, I try to just keep going. I do the things that I want to even though I know at times they might get interrupted by my health although in truth who can’t say that? As I said earlier – we all get ill. I try very hard not to get too frustrated whilst I am having an attack and try to use that time to regroup, to do things that I might not otherwise do like reading a lot (uninterrupted) and watching films that I have longed to see but haven’t quite previously found the time to.

Most importantly I want to be there for my children and my husband – emotionally if I can’t be physically – whilst really trying not to become too self absorbed and spiralling down into my own special pity party. My friends help me with that too, they don’t let me feel too sorry for myself and they check in with me now and then to make sure that I haven’t forgotten that I am still part of their world and for that I am truly grateful as MS can feel very very lonely.

I have at times felt very lonely indeed through no fault of any of those people in my life that I love but because I shut myself away when I get ill. I get scared that no-one will really want to be around me when I am not the ‘normal’ Anna that they are used to. The one that goes running, makes them laugh at Bootcamp, goes out for lunches with them and so on. I get scared that they won’t want to see the me that is frightened, wobbly, tearful and not coping some days. That is my insecurity and not their failing and getting older has made me realise that good friends stick with you regardless but only if you let them in and don’t push them away when you aren’t your own perfect version of yourself.

So I will keep going anyway which is why I like running (or in my case ambling) because one day I won’t be able to and that day may come sooner for me than most people and in the meantime I will run and laugh and dance and love those special precious human beings that are my family and dear friends and we will have fun no matter what. I know my family will love me whatever and I know my girlfriends will push me in a wheelbarrow whilst taking the piss out of me and that is exactly what I need. Someone once asked me when I got diagnosed if I was going to move into a bungalow. I resisted the urge to tell them to run into my fist and instead asked them if they were planning on moving into an old people’s home because after all one day they would be old.

I was going to add a photo of me after I ran the Sports Relief 3 miles at the weekend with my friends and family but actually I have decided on my Cancer Research naked selfie. Because it is honest. This is me. My name is Anna and I have Multiple Sclerosis and I will NEVER give up.

 

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I’ve only gone and bloody done it!!

Two things!! Yup I’ve done two things today that I have wanted to do for absolutely ages and I am very happy and ridiculously PROUD as procrastination is my absolute middle name.

Firstly I have done THIS yes THIS!!! I’ve been driving everyone fucking crazy for a good few years now with my insistance on using Facebook as some sort of mini-blog with my incessant daily wittering about my life – kids, dollops, shit parenting, great parenting, coping/not coping, occasional hangovers, driving my car into stationary vehicles, trying to get fit, running…..you name it and I have gone on about it. So I am still going to do that only now I have more room to crap on about everything and you can join me or run for the hills at your leisure…….I’d love to have you all with me though it’s so much more fun.

Secondly…..I ran 25 minutes without stopping today for the first time EVER oh yes I did!!! As you will learn I am not the sporty type. I am 40, weigh more than I ought to, have Multiple Sclerosis and have historically been the biggest exercise dodger ever and the thought of running? Um……not so much. So thought I’d start Couch to 5K. I have a love hate relationship with running as, well, basically I am shit at it and very slow but I hate to be defeated so I keep coming back to it and oh yes today despite being utterly terrified I only bloody did it!

AND RealMrMoore and I have only had to clear up cat dollops today and not the oh so epic ones of our smallest boy child. Thank fuck for that.Image

So there. That’s it. As someone cleverer than me once said – if you don’t know where to start, start in the middle. So I have.