Not Now Later

Some signs that I'm getting old

The other day, when Louis asked me how old I was. Without a thought, I replied 34. It was a couple of minutes later that I corrected myself, remembering that I am in fact 38.

Then yesterday, I read a great post at From Marketing to Milk called Don't they look old?  and again realised that I'm probably in a state of a denial concerning my age. I'm 40 next year and like it or not, there is no escaping the fact that I'm getting on a bit. On closer inspection there is plenty of evidence to support this fact, only I've been choosing to ignore the signs.

The mirror

Up until about 35 I looked quite young for my age. I quite successfully fool myself that I still do, but when I put on my glasses and look in the mirror, I see the fine lines, crow's feet and the less than glowing complexion. The moment I gave birth, my face aged at least ten years. I'm sure that within a few hours of labour I went from radiant to haggard. I swiftly remove my glasses and remind myself that life looks better without them. It's like real-life airbrushing.

The garden

I like quietly observing life in our garden. Early in the morning, before the kids are awake I can often be found, cup of coffee in hand, standing at the kitchen window, watching the birds feed. Or worse still, find me shuffling around the garden like a pensioner, still in my dressing gown, admiring my Climatis.

Cozy Feet microwavable boots

It started quite recently when the kids bought me a hot water bottle for my birthday. Bliss. After a week or so I couldn't go to bed without it. 

Then at Christmas my husband asked me for a list of gift ideas and I pointed him in the direction of these beauties. What was I thinking! In my defence, I've got rheumatoid arthritis and I was seduced by the idea of slipping my swollen ankles into a pair of Cozy Feet at the end of the day, but that's no excuse. And would probably be the start of a slippery slope that would lead on to altogether more sinister things like orthopedic shoes and a chiropodist on speed dial. Fortunately E  had the good sense not to indulge my fantasies, opting instead for more age appropriate, pretty, stylish Christmas presents. But I'm still tempted. 

Talking to strangers

Much to my husband's embarrassment I'll pretty much have a chat with anybody; people in the queue at the supermarket, old ladies in the doctor's surgery, parents at the park, the postman, window cleaner, shopkeepers, even friendly street drinkers if they don't smell too badly of piss. I don't necessarily initiate these conversations, but I'll happily participate in a brief exchange at the very least.

More and more frequently I find myself conversing with people that I previously wouldn't have even noticed.  I think this means that I'm getting old. It's exactly the reason it took my grandmother so long to walk down the high street (though admittedly she was a bit more discerning with regards to who she spoke to.)

Reading this back, I've shocked myself. So much for feeling like a 34 year old! I'm slowing my pace to the extent that I'm virtually grinding to a halt. I'll be shopping from the Windsmoor Collection at John Lewis before I know it. Anyway, it's nearly 10 o'clock and time to put on the kettle for my hot water bottle.

Children's books- a new discovery

Even before having children I liked looking at picture books, so it was inevitable that once the kids came along books would play a big part in our family. And they do. 

We all have our favourites. At the moment Louis would happily have Janet and Allan Ahlberg's Burglar Bill every single night at bedtime (especially if I do funny voices.) Tilly currently loves books with plenty of rhythm and repetition like Kaye Umansky's Pass The Jam Jim or books with flaps and pulls.

Never really being one for fantasy or escapism in literature, my favourite children's books have always been those about day to day domestic, life, particularly Shirley Hughes' stuff which makes me feel incredibly warm, fuzzy and nostalgic.

  

Just recently though on a trip to the library I discovered Sarah Garland, another author/ illustrator who captures the delight, chaos and mess of ordinary family life with two small children. Maybe what I like best about her books is that from the detail and expression in the illustrations, you can immediately tell that the books are written by a mother. The mother characters in her books look like they are 'only just' coping and that sometimes, as much as they love their kids they are counting down the minutes until bedtime when they can collapse in front of some crap tv with a big glass of wine. Who said children's books were just for the kids! 

   

Disorganised mum

It's no real secret that I'm not the most organised of people. I get by; my son gets to school every day, the house is relatively clean (just rather untidy,) the kids have proper meals, the bills get paid and we're all generally pretty happy.  

And I do have a diary. I'm not sure how anybody with kids gets by without a diary or calender at the very least. My brain retains just a fraction of the information that it did prior to giving birth and as the children get older there seem to be more and more crucial dates that if not noted down almost immediately would instantly be forgotten. So I'm not completely useless and we usually manage to turn up to dental appointments/ birthday parties/ school stuff at the correct (ish) time. 

When it comes to the day to day matter of running a household though, I tend to do things on the fly or at the last minute. Meals often get planned and shopped for on the day they get eaten, clothes get ironed just before we get dressed, bags get packed on the way out of the door. Days out are often spontaneous and holidays are booked a few weeks in advance. Fortunately, I'm not in a position where things have to be planned with military precision as I thrive on a certain level of flexibility, or rather chaos. But let's face it, I could do with pulling my socks up a bit. It's not all relaxed spontaneity, it's a good part sheer laziness on my part. 

So tonight I tried something different. I've laid out clothes, shined shoes, packed the school bag, loaded the buggy for tomorrow, written a short-term to do list, meal planned for the next few days, actually consulted the diary to see what the week ahead holds in store and all those other things that loads of mums manage to do every night of the week. I haven't gone as far as to set the table for breakfast in the morning, but who knows what lies ahead. I might even make myself a cleaning schedule. 

So what about you? What are your household organisation top tips? Do you change your bed linen on a set day of the week? Is anybody else as lazy as me?

Knebworth House Park and Gardens

A little while ago Being A Mummy wrote a great post listing some Easter Holidays ideas for those around London one of which was  Knebworth House.  It's just up the road from us and yet I hadn't visited since my own childhood and didn't even know of the existence of the Dinosaur Trail she mentions. So this morning we threw together an impromptu picnic and drove over there. 

We didn't bother visiting the house as it was a beautiful day and I guessed the kids would rather be outside than traipsing around a stately home. So we just paid for admission to the gardens and park which includes the Dinosaur Trail, Fort Knebworth (the adventure playground) Astroglide and Shutes and the Miniature Railway. 

They loved it. It was great to spend the whole day outdoors in the sun. The Dinosaur Trail was a big hit, featuring about fifty odd life size dinosaurs loitering around looking shifty. Ok, so maybe they weren't quite so convincing as the animatronic T-rex at the Natural History Museum, but what they lacked in quality they made up for in quantity. I don't profess to be any sort of dinosaur expert, but there were lots that I hadn't come across before, including one gigantic pre-historic crocodile thing that I'm sure they just made up to make it all a bit more scary. 

 

 

The Astroglide slide was the biggest thrill of the day for the kids (alongside the ice creams of course.) While I was reminded, yet again, that I am becoming an old woman by particularly enjoying walking around the walled kitchen garden.  

Things that you may not know about me

Notes to self, plus two very kindly tagged me  in the Kreativ Blogger meme. Thank you! So, now I have to reveal seven things about myself that I haven't written about on here before. Here goes..

Much to the dismay of my parents at the time, I dropped out of university to work for a day service. I'd done some work as a community service volunteer in Hackney with HILT in my year out and I loved it. So after just a year studying for a degree in Spanish at Liverpool Uni I decided to look for a job working with adults with learning difficulties and mental health problems. I worked in this field for about ten years and never finished my degree.

I want to study with the Open University. I don't regret dropping out of college, but I'd like to do some further study and get myself a degree one of these days. I'm very tempted by an English Literature course.

I met my husband on the Internet. Back in the late nineties I ran a quite successful London listings website. Various people wrote for the site, one of whom was a hip hop fanatic from the other side of London. We were in contact via email long before we met in person.  From the outset I kind of knew that this was 'it.'

I started my own church. Blimey, that sounds precocious! I wouldn't go as far as saying that I had a messiah complex as a child, just a healthy imagination and parents with atheist beliefs that made the church and religion in general all the more fascinating. I didn't indoctrinate my friends, but rather my cuddly toys and my dolls were my disciples.

I'm 40 next year. At the moment the date is far off enough for me to be very relaxed with the idea of turning 40. As it approaches though, I'm sure I will become increasingly anxious and determined to achieve various goals before I reach that milestone. ie. lose loads of weight, become stylish, get 100x more fit etc.

I hate cooking. I love eating at good restaurants and buying good food. I like food magazines and the idea of cooking, but in reality, my cooking sucks. If I didn't have a family I would probably survive on toast.

I passed my driving test earlier this year. I'd managed to put off learning to drive for years and years. However, it was proving increasing inconvenient to be a non-driver, so at the beginning of 2009 I resolved to finally get some lessons and get on the road. Zillions of hours of instruction later I passed my test first time!  

Kiddicore- Part One

The kids share an ipod, which sounds a bit extravagant, but I sensed my own ipod was beginning to feel violated by the likes of Sleeping Bunnies (the ragga mix) and Axel F's Crazy Frog (yes, people still listen to that.) So, something had to give and I splurged and got them a Nano on which to store the countless albums they have accumulated in their short lives.

We like our music in this house. I'm a guitarry, indie, lo-fi, alt country, punk, bit of hardcore, twee-pop, ska, reggae, a pinch of garage rock sorta girl and husband is an aging b-boy with an immense record collection covering far too many genres to attempt to list. 

One way or another the kids were going to be exposed to a lot of different types of music. But no, neither of the children have particularly sophisticated musical tastes. Tilly likes nothing better than The Wiggles' Hot Potato while Louis thinks Is This The Way To Amarillo is the epitome of cool.

So anyway, in amongst all the crap on the nano is some great music which doesn't immediately make my ears want to spout blood and I thought I'd list a few of our favourites.  

 

The Colours Are Brighter is a great charity compilation put together a few years ago by Belle and Sebastian and featuring artists like The Divine Comedy, The Flaming Lips and The Kooks. My favourite track is Four Tet's 'Go Go Ninja Dinosaur' but Louis and Tilly both love Franz Ferdinand's 'Jackie Jackson' - a cautionary tale about a greedy little boy who exploded after eating over two hundred cakes. 

 

See You On The Moon also has some good tracks. Best title of a song goes to Alan Sparhawk's 'Be Nice To People With Lice' but  Apostle of Hustle's '24 Robbers wins hands down as far as Tilly is concerned for general catchy, shoutiness.

 

Finally for now is For The Kids Too which is the second in the series of three compilations aiming to appeal to grown ups as well as nippers. This album's best tune goes to They Might Be Giants' 'John Lee Supertaster' a song about a kid with the superpower of supertaste and when he tastes a pear 'it's like a hundred pears!' There are also tracks by Jason Mraz, Nada Surf, Robyn Hitchcock and lots of others who I hadn't heard of before, but sound pretty good.

Not sure if any of these albums are available to buy on cd anymore, but they are on itunes or perhaps have a dig around on Spotify. 

More in Kiddicore- Part Two

The novice gardeners get dirty

Up until last year I had little to no interest in gardening. I considered it an activity better saved for my twilight years or at least my fifties.  Last Summer, however we finally had our garden revamped. We got some people in who gutted the lot and provided us instead with a rather lovely raised bedding area, some trellised bits, some nice stonework paving and a patio (I'm not entirely sure what a patio is, but I think we've got one.) 

Ok, so there's no fancy water feature, decking or boxed hedging and there is no escaping the fact that it is on the small side, but it's manageable. There are tons of pots, there is a cute playhouse for the children and of course, there is the fantastic kiddie-sized green house. And it looks infinitely better than the pitiful scrap of wasteland that came before.

So this year I've already got my hands dirty and done a bit of digging and planting. Today, yet again, I dragged the kids into the garden, thrusted trowels and seed trays into their hands and enthused about the joys of growing our own food. We planted peppers and lettuce, tomatoes and potatoes, french onions and peas and a variety of kitchen herbs. If they all grow I could have them both manning a fruit and veg stall come August.

 

At the beginning of the week I'd discovered Nuture Store's Sunflower Club  and it looked exactly like the kind of gardening Louis and Tilly would enjoy. We signed up and today, as well as all those vegetables, we planted the Sunflower seeds. We've also started a garden diary to record what we're growing and its progress. 

 

Let's hope some of this stuff actually grows, otherwise there could be tears. And I'm not sure it would be the kids crying.
 

Not a martyr or lazy mummy?

Two days a week my children are looked after by our nanny. She's been with us for almost two years and she is amazing. Thing is, I'm not a working mum providing for my family,  I don't have a job, I'm not even a very good housewife. Sometimes I find it hard to justify employing her.

The reason we decided to look for a nanny in the first place was my health problems. As well as being diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I have rheumatoid arthritis and every week I have to take a cocktail of medication that makes me feel pretty rotten.  The drugs mean that generally I stay mobile and in reasonably sane, but the side-effects are lousy. So two days a week the nanny comes to our house and takes over so that I have a bit of respite. 

It works perfectly; I haven't had a depressive or hypermanic episode in some time, I can take the particularly horrible immunosuppressant drugs for the RA once a week and it doesn't matter if I feel like a big pile of shit for two days plus I get a bit of extra sleep which helps better manage both the RA and the bipolar. But I still feel guilty. Most people have to struggle on. 

The kids are happy. They positively benefit from having an enthusiastic, lively, young nanny in their lives. It's just about the way I see myself. Those two days a week make me feel like less of a mother. I could be super mum for the other five days, but it's never enough. The 'nanny days' still make me feel like a lazy, part-time mum.

  

The Bean Diary

Today was the last day of term and all the reception children came bounding out of class clutching plastic cups from which grew beanstalks of varying heights. This half-term's theme had been growth and one of the projects was for each child to germinate a bean and investigate and observe its growth. Today they were to take home their beanstalks.

After presenting me with a term's worth of junk modeling, a P.E kit bag, bulging school bag and an Easter basket, Louis handed me the cup. I peered inside to see a clump of soggy cotton wool and a moldy looking bean.

'Oh well, not to worry sweetie' I said as another parent marveled at their child's towering plant. Louis burrowed in my handbag for a snack and I balanced the cup on top of the heavily loaded buggy.

Later, back at home I discovered The Bean Diary in his school bag. On the front page was his name underneath which he had drawn a rather optimistic picture of a healthy, tall beanstalk with lush green leaves. The diary made dismal reading. He wrote,

Week One: A bin (accompanied by enthusiastic colourful sketch of bean in cup )

Week Two: No, my bin has not grown (accompanied by pencil drawing of bean in cup)

Week Three: Nothin (no picture)

Week Four: My bin is ded (accompanied by an angry black scribble representation of bean)

Tonight there were a few tears before bedtime as he considered his bean's failure to sprout. I reassured him that within the next few weeks seedlings would be appearing in the trays in the greenhouse and we could observe those instead. 

In the meantime I might just hurl his bean out of the kitchen window, but keep an axe close at hand, just in case.

First Born

I didn't really understand why people got quite so excited when I had my first baby. I got cards and gifts from people I hadn't seen in years, from neighbours of relatives, from parents of friends and from people I'd never met. There were flowers, baby clothes, cuddly toys, cheques, toys, ornaments and rather obscurely, a knitted Scottish bagpipe player from somebody in New Zealand. I was overwhelmed by the generosity of people keen to share in the joy of the birth of our first child.

Maybe they were relieved that, at my advanced years, I had finally produced a baby. Get to your mid to late thirties and people start wondering if there are fertility issues or maybe, God Forbid, you don't want kids. We all know the kind of aspersions cast on women who choose not to have children.

I'm certainly not sure that all the well wishers surfaced to celebrate new life as such. My consequent pregnancy and baby were met with much less fuss and excitement. Rather perhaps, people wanted to celebrate the birth of our first child. They were marking the occasion of us becoming parents. 

My oldest friend gave birth to her first child yesterday, a girl. She texted me late last night to tell me that her baby was fast asleep on her chest. I was elated. While she was probably in a state of amazement, shock and postpartum discomfort, I was skipping around with joy at the news of the safe arrival of her baby. Forget the fact that she was probably feeling like a leaking, hormonal, exhausted mess who was as much bewildered as mesmerised by the little person laying on her. 

Becoming a parent is an irrevocably, life-changing event that gives us unprecedented worries, vulnerabilities and responsibilities, but also gives an unparalleled experience of love. Maybe that's why people go overboard when a first born arrives. 

And yep, I'm joining them in going overboard. I've spent the day grinning ear to ear and frivolously shopping for gifts. I even briefly thought about cooking some hearty casserole or something to drop off sometime next week. Decided against that, considering that the new parents could probably do without a bout of listeria. 

   

Stop me before I start attempting to knit something!