I've given up boozing in the week and I'm rather proud of myself. I know that for many of you this is a lifestyle change that you will have made a long, long time before the age of 37 but for me it is a new found trick so bear with me.
Let's clarify 'week' here too. Obviously I'm a massive boozer so five days off just wouldn't work for me. I do not see how you can't count either Friday or Sunday as not being the weekend as it really wouldn't be fair to either of them. So, by 'week', I actually mean four days, I don't want to sell myself short however so I must also elucidate by saying that it is four days and FOUR NIGHTS. On the trot. Over 100 consecutive hours each week, (well two so far), of no drinking. Hooray for me.
I feel pretty great. I know it's not rocket science but my brain seems more engaged at work, my body feels healthier and I am sleeping fantastically well. I've spent years telling people that I always have to get up in the middle of the night for a wee since I had the kids. Over the last fortnight I have discovered that it is actually wine in my bladder that has got me up at night rather than ancient childbirth sagging. Incredible.
I have been sitting at home all this time though, I haven't, as yet, been out anywhere during the week. I'm not completely convinced that this non-alcoholic zeal will last through a night at the theatre next week, or in fact any time that I actually talk to people other than my husband, but that's OK. I think I've probably already added about another ten years onto my life over the last couple of weeks, and so we are heading, finally, in the correct direction.
In other news, Stuart had to go on a speed awareness course this week and I was interested to see how his attitude changed on his return. I have spoken to a lot of people who have done these courses and have come back completely converted to the belief in speed limits. Surely not my husband? I don't have a problem with speed limits but he tends to be a bit of a boy racer. Probably because when all of his peers were boy racing back in the day, he was on the bus. Anyway, although it may have slowed him down slightly I'm pleased to say he is not evangelising about the danger of our roads to anyone who will listen. One newly converted smug bastard in our house is more than enough at the moment.
Thursday, 11 September 2014
Friday, 22 August 2014
London Lads
Don't you think it's funny how things that drive you potty in your own children can be ignored in other children?
I have just spent a very pleasant day in Greenwich meeting an old University pal of mine, Ada. After a good run around the park (small people), the larger people rewarded themselves with Pinot and Pizza. Sebi was being his usual delightful self when he gets a cob on and watched Ada draw a beautiful picture for him on a Pizza Express postcard, then looked her in the eye whilst he scribbled all over it. All she could come up with was: "Aren't his eyelashes amazing?" Erm, yes they are, and he knows it, which is part of the reason his list of personality disorders is forever increasing. (I blame the Mother. No, I actually do, entirely.)
When she commented on the noise one of her children was making in the park earlier as being something that 'only dogs would respond to', I hadn't even noticed. If my kids were making a noise like that I would have gone ballistic but somehow in a tone that is not belonging to you, it really doesn't matter.
Don't get me wrong, I am not generally a great fan of other children. Correction, I'm not so much a fan of other parenting. I know I went into teaching for the holidays but I don't think I would have lasted this long if I actually couldn't stand the littler people. I have a few friends that are kindred spirits, one in particular springs to mind who agrees that in the public arena, well-behaved and well-mannered kids are much more important that happy kids. It amused me today that mid paddy from Sebi he stopped what he was doing to thank the waiter for his drink then continued as was...
Little boys are feral by nature but I really believe that as long as you have run them around in circles for a good hour or so first, and don't inject sugar into them, you should generally be able to get them to behave for an hour or two over lunch by this age without the help of electronic devices. We managed it. The moment they were let loose from the restaurant however they turned back into wild dogs, which is fine. We got to the river without losing any, which is always a good start.
As I walked along the South Bank on the way home and they were legging it about, I caught a small sideways glance from a lady with two little girls walking beautifully next to her, holding her hands. I felt the glance. I have given it many a time. It was a glance that told me that at this present moment in time her children were better behaved than mine. True enough but technically they weren't doing anything wrong, they were just a little 'buoyant'. I stand by the fact that it is illegal for a mother of all-females to chuck me that look however- I'm dealing with a completely different breed here.
I have just spent a very pleasant day in Greenwich meeting an old University pal of mine, Ada. After a good run around the park (small people), the larger people rewarded themselves with Pinot and Pizza. Sebi was being his usual delightful self when he gets a cob on and watched Ada draw a beautiful picture for him on a Pizza Express postcard, then looked her in the eye whilst he scribbled all over it. All she could come up with was: "Aren't his eyelashes amazing?" Erm, yes they are, and he knows it, which is part of the reason his list of personality disorders is forever increasing. (I blame the Mother. No, I actually do, entirely.)
When she commented on the noise one of her children was making in the park earlier as being something that 'only dogs would respond to', I hadn't even noticed. If my kids were making a noise like that I would have gone ballistic but somehow in a tone that is not belonging to you, it really doesn't matter.
Don't get me wrong, I am not generally a great fan of other children. Correction, I'm not so much a fan of other parenting. I know I went into teaching for the holidays but I don't think I would have lasted this long if I actually couldn't stand the littler people. I have a few friends that are kindred spirits, one in particular springs to mind who agrees that in the public arena, well-behaved and well-mannered kids are much more important that happy kids. It amused me today that mid paddy from Sebi he stopped what he was doing to thank the waiter for his drink then continued as was...
Little boys are feral by nature but I really believe that as long as you have run them around in circles for a good hour or so first, and don't inject sugar into them, you should generally be able to get them to behave for an hour or two over lunch by this age without the help of electronic devices. We managed it. The moment they were let loose from the restaurant however they turned back into wild dogs, which is fine. We got to the river without losing any, which is always a good start.
As I walked along the South Bank on the way home and they were legging it about, I caught a small sideways glance from a lady with two little girls walking beautifully next to her, holding her hands. I felt the glance. I have given it many a time. It was a glance that told me that at this present moment in time her children were better behaved than mine. True enough but technically they weren't doing anything wrong, they were just a little 'buoyant'. I stand by the fact that it is illegal for a mother of all-females to chuck me that look however- I'm dealing with a completely different breed here.
Monday, 18 August 2014
Summer Shut Down
It is the middle of the summer holidays and I'm pretty much as relaxed as I could be. I woke up at 11am this morning - amazing! Granted that is probably because the kids are spending some much needed time at their Grandparents but these days with the help of the holy Ipad, I never really rise before 9 in the holidays. Sleeping from midnight to 9.30 suits me much better than going to bed early and getting up for 7ish. Unfortunately I haven't as yet found a school that would allow me to roll into work about 10am - it doesn't really fit the job.
I've figured out I have two speeds. (1) Crazy busy and (2) Lazy cow. In the height of my busyness I achieve so much, always. I juggle jobs and studying and everyone is still fed nutritiously and the house is clean. I am currently running on Lazy Cow speed however and nothing is being achieved, at all. I just drove to the shop to buy a sandwich as I couldn't be arsed to make one myself. Seriously. It must have taken more time/effort and energy to drive to the shop and buy one but it felt like the Lazy Cow option and I took it.
So I'm revelling in my sluggishness at the moment. The only problem is that all good things come to an end and jeebus isn't it a shock to the system when they do? This time in two weeks I will be halfway through a session of inset at my new job that started at 8.30am in the morning and I will have had to have delivered my kids to Wheathampstead beforehand. From where I'm sitting at the moment you might as well ask me to climb Mount Everest, that would be easier. The sensible way to tackle this problem would be to have earlier and more sober nights in the last week before real life starts again, thus training me back into the real world. However, I know that I will be hanging onto the sloth by my fingernails and drowning the idea of actuality in buckets full of champagne. Hmmmm.
I need to rev my brain back up into gear as it is also the final year of my MA for which a cool 20000 words is expected. I wrote 12500 words this year but if you held a gun to my head at the moment and asked me for any more than about 10 of them I really don't think I would be able to help you.
I'm sure I'll get there, we all do in the end. I must be going now anyway. There's place mat on the table with crumbs on that I've been working up to wiping for a couple of hours now. I reckon I'm nearly up to it. Happy Days.
I've figured out I have two speeds. (1) Crazy busy and (2) Lazy cow. In the height of my busyness I achieve so much, always. I juggle jobs and studying and everyone is still fed nutritiously and the house is clean. I am currently running on Lazy Cow speed however and nothing is being achieved, at all. I just drove to the shop to buy a sandwich as I couldn't be arsed to make one myself. Seriously. It must have taken more time/effort and energy to drive to the shop and buy one but it felt like the Lazy Cow option and I took it.
So I'm revelling in my sluggishness at the moment. The only problem is that all good things come to an end and jeebus isn't it a shock to the system when they do? This time in two weeks I will be halfway through a session of inset at my new job that started at 8.30am in the morning and I will have had to have delivered my kids to Wheathampstead beforehand. From where I'm sitting at the moment you might as well ask me to climb Mount Everest, that would be easier. The sensible way to tackle this problem would be to have earlier and more sober nights in the last week before real life starts again, thus training me back into the real world. However, I know that I will be hanging onto the sloth by my fingernails and drowning the idea of actuality in buckets full of champagne. Hmmmm.
I need to rev my brain back up into gear as it is also the final year of my MA for which a cool 20000 words is expected. I wrote 12500 words this year but if you held a gun to my head at the moment and asked me for any more than about 10 of them I really don't think I would be able to help you.
I'm sure I'll get there, we all do in the end. I must be going now anyway. There's place mat on the table with crumbs on that I've been working up to wiping for a couple of hours now. I reckon I'm nearly up to it. Happy Days.
Monday, 11 August 2014
The Circle of Life
I have just recovered from the worst two-day hangover of my life. I thought I was going to die. Seriously. I was having heart attacks, kidney and liver failure all at the same time. It was unpleasant. This immediately followed 14 days of hardcore drinking, even by my standards, so it was well deserved.
It got me to thinking about the hideous injustice of not being able to drink forever as you could in your twenties. Why can things just not stay the same forever? Much as I am afraid to admit it, I am officially getting old.
After Zak has asked me to jump in five times with him in a row in the pool, I was bored shitless. I used to do that for 10 hours straight as a child. When did I get so boring?
Stu and I haven't partied like that on holiday since pre-kids. It was brilliant, but I am also enjoying eating vegetables and drinking water today. That would NEVER have happened before. I would've been downing a bottle of vodka and crying over the fact my holiday was over. Does this mean in ten years I will be one of 'those' women who has two white wine and sodas and that is quite enough? I don't think so. I bloody hope not. I don't want to go clubbing anymore, definitely not. What will I have lost over the next ten years? Surely I can't go off pubs? Maybe I need to make the most of them in what is left of my thirties, just in case.
I wonder sometimes about what our holidays will be like when the kids have left home. I really hope we are still able to have fun by then. I can't ever see me becoming seriously into sight-seeing or walking or anything that isn't lying in the sun and boozing but you never know.
Shell was telling me the other day about a pill that is being developed at the moment that simulates being drunk without actually drinking any alcohol. You can then take another pill that stops it immediately with no hangover. Sounds like the answer to all my problems but the problem is that is doesn't sound that fun really! The best drunken nights are the ones that sneak up on you without warning, not a pre-medicated decision. Plus, I know I would never get around to taking the second pill and would end up drunk and disorderly forever...
So, I will continue with my detox for a few days. I have some seriously alcoholic pals coming to visit on Friday night so it will be all over by then. That is followed by three child-less days so I reckon next week I will be mid-anxiety-attack-seriously-about-to-die-any-minute-now all over again.
At least I'm prepared this time. ;-)
It got me to thinking about the hideous injustice of not being able to drink forever as you could in your twenties. Why can things just not stay the same forever? Much as I am afraid to admit it, I am officially getting old.
After Zak has asked me to jump in five times with him in a row in the pool, I was bored shitless. I used to do that for 10 hours straight as a child. When did I get so boring?
Stu and I haven't partied like that on holiday since pre-kids. It was brilliant, but I am also enjoying eating vegetables and drinking water today. That would NEVER have happened before. I would've been downing a bottle of vodka and crying over the fact my holiday was over. Does this mean in ten years I will be one of 'those' women who has two white wine and sodas and that is quite enough? I don't think so. I bloody hope not. I don't want to go clubbing anymore, definitely not. What will I have lost over the next ten years? Surely I can't go off pubs? Maybe I need to make the most of them in what is left of my thirties, just in case.
I wonder sometimes about what our holidays will be like when the kids have left home. I really hope we are still able to have fun by then. I can't ever see me becoming seriously into sight-seeing or walking or anything that isn't lying in the sun and boozing but you never know.
Shell was telling me the other day about a pill that is being developed at the moment that simulates being drunk without actually drinking any alcohol. You can then take another pill that stops it immediately with no hangover. Sounds like the answer to all my problems but the problem is that is doesn't sound that fun really! The best drunken nights are the ones that sneak up on you without warning, not a pre-medicated decision. Plus, I know I would never get around to taking the second pill and would end up drunk and disorderly forever...
So, I will continue with my detox for a few days. I have some seriously alcoholic pals coming to visit on Friday night so it will be all over by then. That is followed by three child-less days so I reckon next week I will be mid-anxiety-attack-seriously-about-to-die-any-minute-now all over again.
At least I'm prepared this time. ;-)
Friday, 4 July 2014
I don't do sick...
...I don't. I really, really don't.
Before I had children I perfected the art of avoiding sick of school trips by positioning myself always next to the window on a coach and then inviting a complete keeno teacher (normally a trainee or an NQT) to sit next to me. It is quite likely that the aforementioned unfortunate seat-partner had been pretty much ignored at work by me until this point and so was pleased that I was being so friendly. Little did they know that the moment a pupil vomited, they were purely my buffer to that situation. Happy days. Worked a treat.
Unfortunately, you are then a Mother and there is no buffer. Well, no buffer that is going to efficiently enough clean puke stains from your house...
Zak started vomming at about 7pm last night. Mummy had just returned from the pub, (such lucky children), and Daddy sent me up to see Zak as he was feeling sick. It was his class assembly today and he is not a natural performer so I thought he was suffering from nerves. We were having a lovely cuddle in bed and I was giving him a pep talk about it not mattering if things went wrong, he forgot his words or he wasn't loud enough, thinking I was making it all better; when he threw up all over both of us. Not nerves then.
No more grim details, I promise, let's just say there were four hours of grimness following. This is one of our busiest weekends of the year (of course). Zak's assembly was today then I was straight up to London for a financial meeting with my Dad and a piss-up lunch. Tomorrow is Sebi's first stage school performance, which Stu's parents are down for. Then Sunday is Zak's birthday BBQ and Monday is his actual birthday and party. He couldn't really have timed it better.
Or course I was going to sacrifice a snazzy lunch in London with pretty much my favourite person on the planet today if Zak had been really ill. I was totally prepared for it at 11pm as I settled down for the night expecting not to be asleep for particularly long. However, as I woke up at 7am this morning I figured out the worst could be over and I might in fact make it. Of course, if Mummy and Grandad are out on the piss, Granny is always available. It worried me slightly that mid-retch last night Zak was gasping at me:
"You... must.. phone... Granny..."
"No darling, it's ok, Mummy's here."
"But Granny always looks after us when we're poorly..."
Yikes. At least we all know where we stand.
So I now only have 72 hours or so to watch Sebi like a hawk to see if we can get through weekend-of-the-year with no further sicky disasters. Knowing Seb, he will save it up for mid tap dance tomorrow, just in case the focus is off him for a second...
Before I had children I perfected the art of avoiding sick of school trips by positioning myself always next to the window on a coach and then inviting a complete keeno teacher (normally a trainee or an NQT) to sit next to me. It is quite likely that the aforementioned unfortunate seat-partner had been pretty much ignored at work by me until this point and so was pleased that I was being so friendly. Little did they know that the moment a pupil vomited, they were purely my buffer to that situation. Happy days. Worked a treat.
Unfortunately, you are then a Mother and there is no buffer. Well, no buffer that is going to efficiently enough clean puke stains from your house...
Zak started vomming at about 7pm last night. Mummy had just returned from the pub, (such lucky children), and Daddy sent me up to see Zak as he was feeling sick. It was his class assembly today and he is not a natural performer so I thought he was suffering from nerves. We were having a lovely cuddle in bed and I was giving him a pep talk about it not mattering if things went wrong, he forgot his words or he wasn't loud enough, thinking I was making it all better; when he threw up all over both of us. Not nerves then.
No more grim details, I promise, let's just say there were four hours of grimness following. This is one of our busiest weekends of the year (of course). Zak's assembly was today then I was straight up to London for a financial meeting with my Dad and a piss-up lunch. Tomorrow is Sebi's first stage school performance, which Stu's parents are down for. Then Sunday is Zak's birthday BBQ and Monday is his actual birthday and party. He couldn't really have timed it better.
Or course I was going to sacrifice a snazzy lunch in London with pretty much my favourite person on the planet today if Zak had been really ill. I was totally prepared for it at 11pm as I settled down for the night expecting not to be asleep for particularly long. However, as I woke up at 7am this morning I figured out the worst could be over and I might in fact make it. Of course, if Mummy and Grandad are out on the piss, Granny is always available. It worried me slightly that mid-retch last night Zak was gasping at me:
"You... must.. phone... Granny..."
"No darling, it's ok, Mummy's here."
"But Granny always looks after us when we're poorly..."
Yikes. At least we all know where we stand.
So I now only have 72 hours or so to watch Sebi like a hawk to see if we can get through weekend-of-the-year with no further sicky disasters. Knowing Seb, he will save it up for mid tap dance tomorrow, just in case the focus is off him for a second...
Sunday, 29 June 2014
Like Father...like Son-in-Law
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/7593336.stm
I've always laughed in the face of articles like the above, which profess that women tend to marry people that resemble their fathers. I am beginning however to laugh on the other side of my face...
Stuart took his Father's Day present back to Marks and Spencer yesterday, (how rude, who doesn't need a pair of Mr. Men socks for every day of the week?), and returned with a really nice checked shirt. A really nice checked shirt that looks as though it came straight out of my Dad's wardrobe.
I have always thought that Stu and my Dad were polar opposites, even though they have got on very well. In the way that dogs begin to look like their owners over time, or owners begin to look like their dogs, I feel this son-in-law is becoming more like John Stocker every day.
There is a general intolerance of rude, drunken, swearing people in pubs. This is unfortunate for me as quite often my default stance in a pub is rude, drunk and swearing.
I think my Dad forgets the blood link occasionally, or believes that male fellow feeling is more important. When I meet him for a drink, even if he is the one who has arranged it, I am often greeted with: "your husband let you out then did he?" I know he only does it to wind me up - so it annoys me that it still does manage to slightly irritate me.
So I will monitor any future shopping decisions by my spouse with interest, quietly. I will only ever get involved if he follows the dodgy fashion decision of bright blue crocs with beige socks pulled up to the knee. There are some things that only my Dad can get away with.
Who knows, maybe the boys will bring home someone who resembles me one day? I think that may be the point that Stu flies our happy nest. One of me if more than enough for any man to have to put up with I think.
I've always laughed in the face of articles like the above, which profess that women tend to marry people that resemble their fathers. I am beginning however to laugh on the other side of my face...
Stuart took his Father's Day present back to Marks and Spencer yesterday, (how rude, who doesn't need a pair of Mr. Men socks for every day of the week?), and returned with a really nice checked shirt. A really nice checked shirt that looks as though it came straight out of my Dad's wardrobe.
I have always thought that Stu and my Dad were polar opposites, even though they have got on very well. In the way that dogs begin to look like their owners over time, or owners begin to look like their dogs, I feel this son-in-law is becoming more like John Stocker every day.
There is a general intolerance of rude, drunken, swearing people in pubs. This is unfortunate for me as quite often my default stance in a pub is rude, drunk and swearing.
I think my Dad forgets the blood link occasionally, or believes that male fellow feeling is more important. When I meet him for a drink, even if he is the one who has arranged it, I am often greeted with: "your husband let you out then did he?" I know he only does it to wind me up - so it annoys me that it still does manage to slightly irritate me.
So I will monitor any future shopping decisions by my spouse with interest, quietly. I will only ever get involved if he follows the dodgy fashion decision of bright blue crocs with beige socks pulled up to the knee. There are some things that only my Dad can get away with.
Who knows, maybe the boys will bring home someone who resembles me one day? I think that may be the point that Stu flies our happy nest. One of me if more than enough for any man to have to put up with I think.
Thursday, 26 June 2014
Pay it Forward
I am not community spirited by nature. It's not technically my bag. Ask any of the Mums at the school gate who pee their pants over asking me if I have volunteered for the school trip/am attending the camping night/am doing a stall at the school fair. No, no and NO. Missing my kids' Sports Day for the first time today though made me a little bit sad but I wasn't beside myself by any means. Particularly as my parents had arranged their 8 day holiday in between the end of the times that I needed them to pick up the kids when I was examining and play-directing, and today, when neither Stu or I could make Sports Day due to work. We did find out a couple of days ago however that as Stu's meeting had been cancelled he could actually be at Sports Day after all. My text message to the parents in Italy went something along the lines of this:
'GOOD NEWS - Stu's meeting has been cancelled and he can now make Sports Day!
BAD NEWS - You have arranged your entire holiday around this! Stay on in Italy?!'
My Mother obviously got her own back on me by coming and watching anyway and then feeding back through my Father in the pub this evening: 'I don't think we should hold out for the Olympics for the Ward boys.' Miaooowwwww (but fair ;-))
Anyway, I digress. I popped to Budgens on the way home as I realised we didn't have any mushy peas to accompany our fish 'n chips - sacrilege. The middle-aged, middle-class lady in front of me was obviously embarrassed as she put forward her burgers and croissants and handed over a fiver saying that she didn't have her purse with her and she hoped she wasn't going to be 'financially mortified'. Financially mortified she was as it came to £5.15 and she tried to put the croissants back (savoury over sweet, every time, totes agree). I piped up that I would give her the 15p and she honestly acted as if I had just given her a kidney. We are so bloody British. I'm not even sure if I would have given her the 15p if I didn't have two glasses of wine in my belly, but I should have, regardless. I'm not telling this story to be a wanker. 15p is 15p and to any of us it means nothing at all but we should take these chances of showing we live as a community of sorts when we can.
I must say more than anything to my boys, 'Be kind'. Am I always kind? No. Absolutely not. However, I am generally kind to anyone who has not proved themselves as a fuckwit or a cunt, and I cannot bear meanness, particularly childhood nastiness. 'Be kind to anyone who isn't a fuckwit or a cunt' is probably a little too advanced for even my children however.
I must thank you all, for being kind to me in continuing to read my blog through the bother of having to sign up/create accounts etc. etc. It is a personal thing to me, that I love doing and I am grateful that so many people have shown interest and bothered to keep on reading. Be sure I will give you lot 15p any time, without a second thought, or even one glass of wine in my belly...
'GOOD NEWS - Stu's meeting has been cancelled and he can now make Sports Day!
BAD NEWS - You have arranged your entire holiday around this! Stay on in Italy?!'
My Mother obviously got her own back on me by coming and watching anyway and then feeding back through my Father in the pub this evening: 'I don't think we should hold out for the Olympics for the Ward boys.' Miaooowwwww (but fair ;-))
Anyway, I digress. I popped to Budgens on the way home as I realised we didn't have any mushy peas to accompany our fish 'n chips - sacrilege. The middle-aged, middle-class lady in front of me was obviously embarrassed as she put forward her burgers and croissants and handed over a fiver saying that she didn't have her purse with her and she hoped she wasn't going to be 'financially mortified'. Financially mortified she was as it came to £5.15 and she tried to put the croissants back (savoury over sweet, every time, totes agree). I piped up that I would give her the 15p and she honestly acted as if I had just given her a kidney. We are so bloody British. I'm not even sure if I would have given her the 15p if I didn't have two glasses of wine in my belly, but I should have, regardless. I'm not telling this story to be a wanker. 15p is 15p and to any of us it means nothing at all but we should take these chances of showing we live as a community of sorts when we can.
I must say more than anything to my boys, 'Be kind'. Am I always kind? No. Absolutely not. However, I am generally kind to anyone who has not proved themselves as a fuckwit or a cunt, and I cannot bear meanness, particularly childhood nastiness. 'Be kind to anyone who isn't a fuckwit or a cunt' is probably a little too advanced for even my children however.
I must thank you all, for being kind to me in continuing to read my blog through the bother of having to sign up/create accounts etc. etc. It is a personal thing to me, that I love doing and I am grateful that so many people have shown interest and bothered to keep on reading. Be sure I will give you lot 15p any time, without a second thought, or even one glass of wine in my belly...
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