This morning I was sitting amongst piles of boxes, paperwork and half-drunk cups of coffee, and I Googled "how to work with your spouse without killing him". Yes, really.
I'll be honest, I'm not one to handle my faults with grace. I don't face a challenge with steadfast determination (although I do get there eventually). I face a challenge with some finger-pointing, stalling, a bit of foot-stamping, frowning, a tiny bit of shouting and a whole lot of sulking. It doesn't get me anywhere, and actually delays whatever I'm working on for a good hour or two.
I wish I could say otherwise. I wish I could be the person that a lot of people call "determined", and "ballsy" and sometimes "fearless". Oh, but that's not me on the inside. Nope. Especially when it comes to working with someone who knows me well enough to point out those weaknesses, highlight them and have me learn from them.
My other half and I are pretty awesome parents, we always tend to be on the same page. We're also really good travelling partners. We explore a lot. We laugh a lot. And we're really good at thinking with a logical head when it comes to business. In our own businesses, that is.
Put us together to work on something that's a huge undertaking... well, that's a whole different story. It's new to us, and my assumption was that the dynamics would be easy to navigate. No. It isn't. Hasn't been. It's exciting, terrifying, emotional and personal. It's complicated.
He's super brilliant when it comes to managing people. Knowing a market. Knowing how to sculpt a business into what it's supposed to be doing and who it's supposed to reach. He's been running his own business now for almost 4 years, so he's learned how to navigate completely new territories. I, on the other hand, am good at seeing things on a more creative level, both with words and with colour. I nitpick. I lose myself in a "well, should it be bright green or dark green?" dilemma. I'll do the emotional, touch-feely bits, he'll do the gears and bolts, fine-tuning all of my ideas to make it work with his vision. Together we can put something together that is impactful, insightful and exciting. But not without our battles.
Today is a very long day in a string of long days, nights and weeks, building something that hopefully will be great. I think it will be. And I think I need to focus on the bigger picture sometimes instead of the details.
We will get there. It will happen. Although a shed to escape to at the bottom of the garden wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing...
Sunday, 11 November 2012
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Are you parent enough?*
So, I learned a very valuable lesson a few days ago. Women, especially women that are mothers, can be pretty brutal.
In a nutshell, I received an email the other day from a very close friend of mine, unceremoniously dumping me as a friend. You know the feeling of being dumped by text? Well, take that feeling, multiply it by about 50, and then throw in a bit of parental judgement. Confused? Yeah, me too.
You, reader, will most likely think well, I don't know their history, so I wonder what prompted this?
And I will tell you: nothing except our parenting differences. Yeah, keep reading.
When I moved to London, as you'll read in my very early blog posts, I didn't know anyone. All of my friends were more like acquaintances from work, no one I could rely on. No big deal, I was finding my way. Three years ago, I met a girl and we clicked immediately. Same backgrounds, same outlooks, same sense of relaxed adventure. We were also pregnant, due at similar times. Fast forward a bit, we were still as close as ever, our kids were similar ages, we had had our second little ones, we would joke that we would live in a commune one day in the country with our husbands and babies.
About 6 months ago, she'd been very distant. Not emailing, calling, not responding my invites for them to stay at our new house. I'd figured she'd been busy, no worries. I didn't think anything of it, until I saw a comment on Facebook from her to me. It was a defensive rebuff to a comment that I made to her. I didn't understand it, and I'd seen similar responses on email and in person from her to me.
So I wrote to her to see what was going on, and in that email I preemptively apologised, thinking that it was probably my fault because I tend to be a bit loud and blunt sometimes.
She responded with something that shocked me to no end:
It's your parenting choices. It breaks my heart when you put your kids on the naughty step. I don't choose to parent that way, so though I think you're great, I don't want to hang out with my kids and your kids, putting them in that environment. It makes me uncomfortable, as I choose to parent in a non-discipline way. I have friends that have different parenting methods, and because I don't agree with some of them, I choose to hang out with just them and not their kids as well. I would rather just talk to them about sleepless nights, not necessarily discipline problems. I don't agree with you putting on Facebook your child having a time-out...
In a sense, she was dumping me because of my parenting choices. Wow. The email went on and on about other things, like my blunt personality, but at that point, I didn't care.
Was I reading this wrong? Am I being overly sensitive? Should I praise her for telling me honestly how she felt? Does parenting make women crazy? Is she crazy? What have I done wrong?
My mind raced with anger, sadness, confusion. I can honestly say (and people who know me well know that I am a pretty awesome friend), that I have never judged or analysed her parenting choices. Yes, they're wildly different from mine, but I have loved her 100% consistently throughout our entire friendship. And my children loved being around her kids.
I was blindsided. I was sad that for the past 2 and more years, I have been secretly judged by a friend of mine whom I shared 100% of my heart with. It was hugely disappointing and I mourned the loss.
What was the lesson in this? What could I have done differently? What kind of person is this to tell a friend that?
What I realised is that anyone who is a parent, is doing their best. Every parent is playing their days by ear, figuring out how best to show their children that they love them unconditionally, establishing boundaries, and trying to show them that the world is made up of different families, different people, and different attitudes. But that everyone is essentially just trying to be a good person at the end of the day.
The email made me temporarily question my own parenting abilities and how my children are. I asked myself: am I a good enough parent? are my children happy? am I too strict?
And the answer that came to me is this: For my life and my family... unequivocally I am doing exactly the right thing.
My husband and I run our family a certain way because of the kind of personalities that my children have. It works for us. More importantly, there is a lot of laughter, a lot of hugging and kissing, a lot of love and sharing and talking and playing. I'm sure the same exists in my (ex-) friend's family as well. It was just so sad to me that she let something get in the way of both of us experiencing the joy and pain of friendship and parenthood together.
Whatever kind of parent you are, everyone should do what makes themselves and their family happy. Judgement is reserved for lawyers and courtrooms, not for friendships that require unconditional love and support.
We're all parent enough. We don't need any more added pressure on ourselves, from friends, family or media. Life is way too short.
Lesson learned.
*Yes, I copied this title from the very controversial Time Magazine article from a while ago. I like it. It starts conversations.
Thursday, 25 October 2012
3.
I'm not really a speechless person. People who know me, know that I tend to over-talk. But here I am, staring at a blank page, wondering how to put into words how I feel when I look at my baby. My first. My now three-year-old. Sigh. Blank stare. Delete. Edit. Start again.
I took her to the park yesterday, on the eve of her turning a year older. M was running around in the grass, and L was in the swing. The big-girl swing. All long lean limbs and arms, hair a mess, head tilted back and eyes closed, happy as can be.
Higher, higher, she begged. And the higher she went and the farther away from me, she caught the fading sunlight in the sky. And I stopped to wonder where I was three years ago. Without her outside of me, but with her tucked away in me, ready to come out. Ready to take on her next adventure, her next challenge.
Higher, she says. She tests herself constantly. Tests her own limits, her boundaries, how things work, what makes things tick. She pushes and pulls at her world, refusing skirts and tights most of the time in favour of jeans hoodies and wellies, so that she can see what her universe is made of. She digs, she explores, she is unapologetic.
What happens at 3? Not much intellectually, really, as the ache for knowledge is always there and it's ferocious. New words constantly, new inflections. They're all little sponges at this age, it seems. But physiologically, the lines start to blur. Her baby face is softening and filling out in places and carving out in others. Her legs are starting to take a girlish shape, rather than a clumsy toddler's. She's much more insistant that she need her own space, her own decisions when it comes to anything creative.
Her tall and gangly-ness (thanks to parents who are both tall and gangly) makes her too big for the baby-swing. Too big for the constraints of the seat that protects her. She wants to be free. She wants the feeling of striking out on her own. She acknowledges her fear and swims through it to the other side.
Her language is so sophisticated now, and it accentuates her desires.
"No, Mamo. I would like to do it like this. No, like this- I want to do it myself, please."
When it's quiet in the house at night, her voice echoes in my ears, and it triggers both an ache and a pride. My baby, of course you can do it yourself. I'm so proud, I always say, as my eyes sting with tears and my throat has that familiar raspiness.
I wanted to capture her in the half-light yesterday in the swing, I wanted to photograph her in that moment- golden, laughing, still a baby in certain ways, but glinting of the future unfolding too quickly. But I chose not to, because in using my camera I would've missed it. I would've missed what the moment felt like, and I'm lucky that I took it all in for once- no other thoughts running through my head, no other agenda, just living in the moment. It was beautiful.
My baby, you will always be that little girl. My adventure-seeker. My fearless, loving creature that pushes me to be a participating witness to your magical life. I'm so very lucky.
I took her to the park yesterday, on the eve of her turning a year older. M was running around in the grass, and L was in the swing. The big-girl swing. All long lean limbs and arms, hair a mess, head tilted back and eyes closed, happy as can be.
Higher, higher, she begged. And the higher she went and the farther away from me, she caught the fading sunlight in the sky. And I stopped to wonder where I was three years ago. Without her outside of me, but with her tucked away in me, ready to come out. Ready to take on her next adventure, her next challenge.
Higher, she says. She tests herself constantly. Tests her own limits, her boundaries, how things work, what makes things tick. She pushes and pulls at her world, refusing skirts and tights most of the time in favour of jeans hoodies and wellies, so that she can see what her universe is made of. She digs, she explores, she is unapologetic.
What happens at 3? Not much intellectually, really, as the ache for knowledge is always there and it's ferocious. New words constantly, new inflections. They're all little sponges at this age, it seems. But physiologically, the lines start to blur. Her baby face is softening and filling out in places and carving out in others. Her legs are starting to take a girlish shape, rather than a clumsy toddler's. She's much more insistant that she need her own space, her own decisions when it comes to anything creative.
Her tall and gangly-ness (thanks to parents who are both tall and gangly) makes her too big for the baby-swing. Too big for the constraints of the seat that protects her. She wants to be free. She wants the feeling of striking out on her own. She acknowledges her fear and swims through it to the other side.
Her language is so sophisticated now, and it accentuates her desires.
"No, Mamo. I would like to do it like this. No, like this- I want to do it myself, please."
When it's quiet in the house at night, her voice echoes in my ears, and it triggers both an ache and a pride. My baby, of course you can do it yourself. I'm so proud, I always say, as my eyes sting with tears and my throat has that familiar raspiness.
I wanted to capture her in the half-light yesterday in the swing, I wanted to photograph her in that moment- golden, laughing, still a baby in certain ways, but glinting of the future unfolding too quickly. But I chose not to, because in using my camera I would've missed it. I would've missed what the moment felt like, and I'm lucky that I took it all in for once- no other thoughts running through my head, no other agenda, just living in the moment. It was beautiful.
My baby, you will always be that little girl. My adventure-seeker. My fearless, loving creature that pushes me to be a participating witness to your magical life. I'm so very lucky.
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
Who said that? Oh it's me again.
Sometimes I forget that I'm not 31 and newly married and living in a foreign country.
It was all razzamatazz for a while. All whiskey wishes and caviar dreams. Party until 3am. Flashy apartments. Trips of a lifetime. Sex 3 times a day.
Now we have kids and live out in the country. Lots of those things are decent memories (yes, including the thing that you think will NEVER disappear. It does. Unfortunately.) When the hell did that page turn?!
Anyway, enough about the change. It's about embracing it and discovering this new suburban/rural life.
The women here? Not so scary. I thought to myself that the glossy-haired brigade would be out in full force at the school drop-off and pickup. But no, but no. These are normal, jeans-n-t-shirt wearing ladies with hair in ponytails and no 5-carat diamonds weighing their finger down. Granted, they were still very well ensconced in their comfortable group, but they didn't exactly talk about me behind my back because I was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and black nail varnish. They were civil. Almost kind, even.
I feel very far away from everyone. Now, I will enhance that phrase with the fact that I have never really had any family of friends (my own) over here. My family has always been my in-laws, and my friends have always been my other half's friends' wives/girlfriends. I have one friend that I met a couple years ago here, and that isn't a very constant relationship. Add to that a husband that works 12 hour days, and, well... wine is my friend. Now that we live an hour outside of London (and the girls I know all have their own lives and own kids), I have to figure it out on my own. It isn't the easiest thing in the world, and there are only so many Lego houses I can build, but I have surprisingly embraced it. I love my little gang. I love my house, and my life, and this little haven of domesticity. Coming from someone who always said I would never have kids and used to work and party to exhaustion... well, that's saying a lot.
It's no big secret that I want lots of kids. I was an only chid, so it could be something from that. Or it could be that I just enjoy being a mum and creating routines for these little people to flourish under. I think I'm possibly better at this than many other things that I've done in my life. My ovaries just keep aching when I see pudgy hands and velvety cheeks. I've also realised that life is much more than owning the best car and the best clothes and the best sparkly jewellery. It's more than having a desk job and a predictable existence. Life is about risk and adventure and passion. And if I life a life without those things, I know I'll regret it. Children are a risk and an adventure. They make life messy and chaotic and ridiculous. And I want more and more of it. We'll see what we're blessed with.
Helping run a business is not an easy feat. It's exhausting and stressful and can be destructive to a relationship if you're not really tuned into eachother. My other half runs a pretty successful business, which is hard enough, but we're attempting to launch another one this autumn. I'm much more involved in the latter than the former. But both are intense. And although it's been a unique learning experience, I'm not sure I would reccommend it to couples. Especially ones with 2 children under 3.
Rent or buy, rent or buy?!? That's our next chapter. We've always rented, because we've never found a place where we wanted to settle. And now that we have.... well, the market hasn't improved, so do we risk buying? Or do we keep renting until it's less risky and houses are worth more to sell later on? We want to put down some roots here leafy-ville, but with the banks having horrific track records, we're definitely not going to put ourselves at risk and use our savings to get us out of the various mortage fluctuations. Moving every year isn't a nice thing to have to go through, but maybe better than putting down XXXXXXK for the house we want. We'll get there someday. But at the moment, being off the grid is a better option than being beholden to a 40-year contract.
Living frugally is easier than I expected. Who knew that you could make bread pudding from leftover breakfast toast crusts? Or beans and rice was so healthy? Oh, and refrigerator salad is totally a speciality of mine- whatever leftovers you have, throw it into a salad with some homemade dressing. It's yummier than I expected.
Well, there you go. A catchup post in the hope that it will spur me on to write a bit more frequently. Stay tuned. Must go now and tend to my neglected little ones that are currently playing with a brick and a pair of scissors. Great.
It was all razzamatazz for a while. All whiskey wishes and caviar dreams. Party until 3am. Flashy apartments. Trips of a lifetime. Sex 3 times a day.
Now we have kids and live out in the country. Lots of those things are decent memories (yes, including the thing that you think will NEVER disappear. It does. Unfortunately.) When the hell did that page turn?!
Anyway, enough about the change. It's about embracing it and discovering this new suburban/rural life.
The women here? Not so scary. I thought to myself that the glossy-haired brigade would be out in full force at the school drop-off and pickup. But no, but no. These are normal, jeans-n-t-shirt wearing ladies with hair in ponytails and no 5-carat diamonds weighing their finger down. Granted, they were still very well ensconced in their comfortable group, but they didn't exactly talk about me behind my back because I was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and black nail varnish. They were civil. Almost kind, even.
I feel very far away from everyone. Now, I will enhance that phrase with the fact that I have never really had any family of friends (my own) over here. My family has always been my in-laws, and my friends have always been my other half's friends' wives/girlfriends. I have one friend that I met a couple years ago here, and that isn't a very constant relationship. Add to that a husband that works 12 hour days, and, well... wine is my friend. Now that we live an hour outside of London (and the girls I know all have their own lives and own kids), I have to figure it out on my own. It isn't the easiest thing in the world, and there are only so many Lego houses I can build, but I have surprisingly embraced it. I love my little gang. I love my house, and my life, and this little haven of domesticity. Coming from someone who always said I would never have kids and used to work and party to exhaustion... well, that's saying a lot.
It's no big secret that I want lots of kids. I was an only chid, so it could be something from that. Or it could be that I just enjoy being a mum and creating routines for these little people to flourish under. I think I'm possibly better at this than many other things that I've done in my life. My ovaries just keep aching when I see pudgy hands and velvety cheeks. I've also realised that life is much more than owning the best car and the best clothes and the best sparkly jewellery. It's more than having a desk job and a predictable existence. Life is about risk and adventure and passion. And if I life a life without those things, I know I'll regret it. Children are a risk and an adventure. They make life messy and chaotic and ridiculous. And I want more and more of it. We'll see what we're blessed with.
Helping run a business is not an easy feat. It's exhausting and stressful and can be destructive to a relationship if you're not really tuned into eachother. My other half runs a pretty successful business, which is hard enough, but we're attempting to launch another one this autumn. I'm much more involved in the latter than the former. But both are intense. And although it's been a unique learning experience, I'm not sure I would reccommend it to couples. Especially ones with 2 children under 3.
Rent or buy, rent or buy?!? That's our next chapter. We've always rented, because we've never found a place where we wanted to settle. And now that we have.... well, the market hasn't improved, so do we risk buying? Or do we keep renting until it's less risky and houses are worth more to sell later on? We want to put down some roots here leafy-ville, but with the banks having horrific track records, we're definitely not going to put ourselves at risk and use our savings to get us out of the various mortage fluctuations. Moving every year isn't a nice thing to have to go through, but maybe better than putting down XXXXXXK for the house we want. We'll get there someday. But at the moment, being off the grid is a better option than being beholden to a 40-year contract.
Living frugally is easier than I expected. Who knew that you could make bread pudding from leftover breakfast toast crusts? Or beans and rice was so healthy? Oh, and refrigerator salad is totally a speciality of mine- whatever leftovers you have, throw it into a salad with some homemade dressing. It's yummier than I expected.
Well, there you go. A catchup post in the hope that it will spur me on to write a bit more frequently. Stay tuned. Must go now and tend to my neglected little ones that are currently playing with a brick and a pair of scissors. Great.
Monday, 30 July 2012
I have kids and I live in the middle of nowhere AND I quit my job?! Pass the Scotch.
A lot of things happened in the space of 3 months.
I, ahem, quit my job to stay at home with the kids.
We moved out to a small village in the country. We don't know anyone here.
I was raining constantly until about a few days ago. Summer apparently doesn't exist in this country.
Yeah, all that hit me about 3 months after we moved. In a big giant raincloud of OH. NO.
It's not a big deal, but I felt well and truly isolated. My husband was still working 10 hour days, which means that though he has a long day, he still manages to get out of the house to do something.
Not that I don't, do anything, mind you... but still. Nothing changes for him except location. For me, my whole life shifted.
The aftermath is all positive, but I've had to adjust my way of thinking.
For someone who's worked their entire life, even after having kids, not having an office to go to started feeling a bit daunting. I started getting jealous of the mail delivery guy just because he could leave on a bike and see lots of different people and have a purpose at the end of the day. Delivering mail. Dude, if that's not the saddest thing you've ever heard, I don't know what is.
I started to finally get a hold of myself, because let's be honest, many many people have it much harder than me, and I need to get a grip and stop complaining.
The constant rain didn't help my mood and trying to entertain 2 kids under 3, but I pushed past it. I pushed past the isolation I felt not having friends and not having family around to help shoulder the childcare burden. I pushed past feeling distant from the husband. I pushed past the feelings of boredom. I pushed past the feelings of never having to make any "important" decisions other than which was the best price for detergent. I pushed past the financial sacrifices that we're making in order to start a business (another one). I pushed past it all and started, slowly, relishing the opportunity I was given.
I have a husband who, despite not seeing him very often, encourages me to stay at home and raise our family, no matter what it takes financially. I have a house and garden that is peaceful, safe and lovely. I have children who are much happier with me staying at home than they ever were with our nanny.
I just hope that my active brain doesn't get the better of me and start making me feel inadequate and disconnected from the "real" world. I hope that I can just enjoy this time, because I know it'll be fleeting.
I guess I just don't sit still for long.
I, ahem, quit my job to stay at home with the kids.
We moved out to a small village in the country. We don't know anyone here.
I was raining constantly until about a few days ago. Summer apparently doesn't exist in this country.
Yeah, all that hit me about 3 months after we moved. In a big giant raincloud of OH. NO.
It's not a big deal, but I felt well and truly isolated. My husband was still working 10 hour days, which means that though he has a long day, he still manages to get out of the house to do something.
Not that I don't, do anything, mind you... but still. Nothing changes for him except location. For me, my whole life shifted.
The aftermath is all positive, but I've had to adjust my way of thinking.
For someone who's worked their entire life, even after having kids, not having an office to go to started feeling a bit daunting. I started getting jealous of the mail delivery guy just because he could leave on a bike and see lots of different people and have a purpose at the end of the day. Delivering mail. Dude, if that's not the saddest thing you've ever heard, I don't know what is.
I started to finally get a hold of myself, because let's be honest, many many people have it much harder than me, and I need to get a grip and stop complaining.
The constant rain didn't help my mood and trying to entertain 2 kids under 3, but I pushed past it. I pushed past the isolation I felt not having friends and not having family around to help shoulder the childcare burden. I pushed past feeling distant from the husband. I pushed past the feelings of boredom. I pushed past the feelings of never having to make any "important" decisions other than which was the best price for detergent. I pushed past the financial sacrifices that we're making in order to start a business (another one). I pushed past it all and started, slowly, relishing the opportunity I was given.
I have a husband who, despite not seeing him very often, encourages me to stay at home and raise our family, no matter what it takes financially. I have a house and garden that is peaceful, safe and lovely. I have children who are much happier with me staying at home than they ever were with our nanny.
I just hope that my active brain doesn't get the better of me and start making me feel inadequate and disconnected from the "real" world. I hope that I can just enjoy this time, because I know it'll be fleeting.
I guess I just don't sit still for long.
Wednesday, 22 February 2012
Changing course.
Time and again, my life seems to push me ahead and pull me back at the same time. I’m pulled into euphoria and dropped back into frustration.
But this kind of cyclone happens with such ferocity only when there are lots of changes happening.
I have a way-too-tall-for-10-months mini version of myself in my green-eyed little boy. I don’t think I write about him often enough, and even if I do, it’s not enough. I feel like I crave more and more time with just myself and him. Gnawing, cooing, kissing, tickling, discovering his shadow… he is my bundle of peaceful love. He’s strong, brave, determined and very confident in telling everyone within earshot that he wants ME and ONLY ME to hold him.
I have an almost 2 and a half year old girl with huge brown eyes and dark blonde hair that exhausts me with the kind of lust that she has for the world. She wants more, more, more all the time. More challenges, more lessons, more exploring, more pushing-the-boundaries of her physical capabilities. It’s teaching me how to give her what she needs, but it also makes me feel that I don’t know how to give enough to her. It’s never enough for her, and it makes her tense and angry. Calm does not exist in her soul, and the only way I hope she can find it is if I stand by her and help her find her own sense of peace.
This magic has been happening in front of me and away from me, whilst I juggle being a working parent. Lately, for me, I realise that whilst I love what I do, me commuting an hour door to door in the morning and an hour in the evening is an exercise in selfishness, in some way. I want the break, I want to do something that exists outside of being a parent… but this job isn’t it. It isn’t THE thing that I jump out of bed for and leave my little family. It’s just been a getaway for me, but hasn’t fulfilled me for a while now.
I began to ask the feared question: is it worth it? Is the chaos of rearranging everything under the sun worth the 8 hours’ at a desk where I don’t really contribute ideas anymore?
And the answer came back to me: No.
And it terrified me, because I have never not worked. Since I’ve been 22, I have worked nonstop at various jobs in fashion, journalism and theatre. It’s been thrilling and exhausting and gratifying. But it’s become different now. Maybe it’s because I have two to look after now, maybe it’s because my life is leading me in a different direction temporarily, and my creativity will be used elsewhere.
I don’t know. It’s the unknown that scares me, I’ll admit. I don’t know if I’ll be a good stay-at-home mother, I don’t know if I’ll have the patience that’s needed. But I decided to resign. And I know that the decision
is an important one, and will be, for myself and my children for the moment.
In parallel with this decision has also come another one: moving out of London.
We’ve been here for almost 5 years now, and since my first post, it’s been an enlightening experience. I’ve learned how to be the resident of a new country, how to survive the first few years of marriage, how to drive, how to drink until 4am, how to be the wife of a business owner, and how to bring up two young children bilingually. I’m still learning about all of the above and more to come. But I am trading my stilettos for Wellington boots and moving out to a house in the country and potentially starting a business with my other half.
I don’t know what the next year will hold, but this year of the Dragon will be quite the ferocious one for us, in good and frustrating ways, I’m sure. Stay tuned.
Maybe I should rename this blog My London Ride? Because it sure feels like it at the moment…
But this kind of cyclone happens with such ferocity only when there are lots of changes happening.
I have a way-too-tall-for-10-months mini version of myself in my green-eyed little boy. I don’t think I write about him often enough, and even if I do, it’s not enough. I feel like I crave more and more time with just myself and him. Gnawing, cooing, kissing, tickling, discovering his shadow… he is my bundle of peaceful love. He’s strong, brave, determined and very confident in telling everyone within earshot that he wants ME and ONLY ME to hold him.
I have an almost 2 and a half year old girl with huge brown eyes and dark blonde hair that exhausts me with the kind of lust that she has for the world. She wants more, more, more all the time. More challenges, more lessons, more exploring, more pushing-the-boundaries of her physical capabilities. It’s teaching me how to give her what she needs, but it also makes me feel that I don’t know how to give enough to her. It’s never enough for her, and it makes her tense and angry. Calm does not exist in her soul, and the only way I hope she can find it is if I stand by her and help her find her own sense of peace.
This magic has been happening in front of me and away from me, whilst I juggle being a working parent. Lately, for me, I realise that whilst I love what I do, me commuting an hour door to door in the morning and an hour in the evening is an exercise in selfishness, in some way. I want the break, I want to do something that exists outside of being a parent… but this job isn’t it. It isn’t THE thing that I jump out of bed for and leave my little family. It’s just been a getaway for me, but hasn’t fulfilled me for a while now.
I began to ask the feared question: is it worth it? Is the chaos of rearranging everything under the sun worth the 8 hours’ at a desk where I don’t really contribute ideas anymore?
And the answer came back to me: No.
And it terrified me, because I have never not worked. Since I’ve been 22, I have worked nonstop at various jobs in fashion, journalism and theatre. It’s been thrilling and exhausting and gratifying. But it’s become different now. Maybe it’s because I have two to look after now, maybe it’s because my life is leading me in a different direction temporarily, and my creativity will be used elsewhere.
I don’t know. It’s the unknown that scares me, I’ll admit. I don’t know if I’ll be a good stay-at-home mother, I don’t know if I’ll have the patience that’s needed. But I decided to resign. And I know that the decision
is an important one, and will be, for myself and my children for the moment.
In parallel with this decision has also come another one: moving out of London.
We’ve been here for almost 5 years now, and since my first post, it’s been an enlightening experience. I’ve learned how to be the resident of a new country, how to survive the first few years of marriage, how to drive, how to drink until 4am, how to be the wife of a business owner, and how to bring up two young children bilingually. I’m still learning about all of the above and more to come. But I am trading my stilettos for Wellington boots and moving out to a house in the country and potentially starting a business with my other half.
I don’t know what the next year will hold, but this year of the Dragon will be quite the ferocious one for us, in good and frustrating ways, I’m sure. Stay tuned.
Maybe I should rename this blog My London Ride? Because it sure feels like it at the moment…
Thursday, 5 January 2012
It should be what it isn't.
2012 isn’t about resolutions. It isn’t about changing the face of who I am and how I operate, it’s about contented acceptance and joy.
It’s about finding the magic that exists in the day to day, the joy in the mundane.
2011 brought me so much joy, and so much to be thankful for (though I’m still waiting for a decent 8-hours’ sleep, that would be nice…). And it would be shameful for me if I didn’t take that into 2012 with a smile on my face and a skip in my step that shows the world I can count my blessings.
2012 is also about me appreciating the woman I’ve become, after putting myself down for so many years. I make things tough for myself to prove that things are worth it, which is bizarre I’ll admit, but that’s just how my brain works.
I no longer want to compromise myself for friendships. If you want to be my friend, you have to do the legwork, no matter how busy you are. Same goes for me. In 2011 I learned a valuable lesson: I reach out way too much and meet people more than halfway, and unfortunately I’ve been let down. I’m usually the one people turn to for venting, for help, for advice. And I give every time. Yet when I turn to them when I need help, I’m met with silence or avoidance. And yes, it was someone whom I thought was a close friend. Oh well.
I no longer want to compare myself to other people, and compare my achievements to others, to set an unreachable level for my own psyche. Everyone has their own challenges and baggage, and it’s up to me to cast off any extra weight that I’ve been carrying and focus on my own stuff.
I’m going to appreciate that the entire package that I have created within myself is extraordinary. Maybe sounds a bit arrogant, but I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished.
I met my husband and a year later I relocated to his home country.
I tried to find a job, and found a few good ones, but nothing that really challenged me.
We moved houses 3 times in 3 years.
In the midst of that, we had 2 children, I went back to work, he started a business, and we will be starting another one in 2012, fingers crossed.
I have no real friends over in this country, and my family is 4000 miles away in New York. His family runs their own business, so they aren’t really around either. Which means that we have no real help with childcare, consistently.
I’m not listing these to get a badge of honour, I’m listing these because all of these points have a silver lining for me. Every single one has made me who I am today. A much stronger person, a more balanced person, a more appreciative person for the negative that I’ve cut out of my life and for the positive that I’ve embraced.
2012 will be good. Because I have everything about it to smile about.
It’s about finding the magic that exists in the day to day, the joy in the mundane.
2011 brought me so much joy, and so much to be thankful for (though I’m still waiting for a decent 8-hours’ sleep, that would be nice…). And it would be shameful for me if I didn’t take that into 2012 with a smile on my face and a skip in my step that shows the world I can count my blessings.
2012 is also about me appreciating the woman I’ve become, after putting myself down for so many years. I make things tough for myself to prove that things are worth it, which is bizarre I’ll admit, but that’s just how my brain works.
I no longer want to compromise myself for friendships. If you want to be my friend, you have to do the legwork, no matter how busy you are. Same goes for me. In 2011 I learned a valuable lesson: I reach out way too much and meet people more than halfway, and unfortunately I’ve been let down. I’m usually the one people turn to for venting, for help, for advice. And I give every time. Yet when I turn to them when I need help, I’m met with silence or avoidance. And yes, it was someone whom I thought was a close friend. Oh well.
I no longer want to compare myself to other people, and compare my achievements to others, to set an unreachable level for my own psyche. Everyone has their own challenges and baggage, and it’s up to me to cast off any extra weight that I’ve been carrying and focus on my own stuff.
I’m going to appreciate that the entire package that I have created within myself is extraordinary. Maybe sounds a bit arrogant, but I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished.
I met my husband and a year later I relocated to his home country.
I tried to find a job, and found a few good ones, but nothing that really challenged me.
We moved houses 3 times in 3 years.
In the midst of that, we had 2 children, I went back to work, he started a business, and we will be starting another one in 2012, fingers crossed.
I have no real friends over in this country, and my family is 4000 miles away in New York. His family runs their own business, so they aren’t really around either. Which means that we have no real help with childcare, consistently.
I’m not listing these to get a badge of honour, I’m listing these because all of these points have a silver lining for me. Every single one has made me who I am today. A much stronger person, a more balanced person, a more appreciative person for the negative that I’ve cut out of my life and for the positive that I’ve embraced.
2012 will be good. Because I have everything about it to smile about.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Where did I leave my sarcasm?! Oh yeah, there it is. Right by the baby vomit on the floor.
So, I started this blog just over 4 years ago, and I remember being quite blunt.
And funny. And observational.
Somewhere along the way, I let life sidle in and get in the way and make me a bit more serious. Oh, that.. and having 2kids in 2 years. A bit of a distraction.
So, let me undo my metaphorical librarian-bun, take my glasses off and be a bit sassy for once.
A few things:
1. This country doesn't believe in seasons. No joke. Everything is one giant mush of cloud, rain, wind, cold wind, warm rain, fog. Oh, and sunshine for about 2 days. And maybe some 75 degree weather at the beginning and end of the summer. And maybe in the middle. Whatever.
2. People drive like maniacs, but they do it in a very polite way. New Yorkers, for example, have no problem scraping the side of your car if you get in their way or drive too close (even though their roads are about 6 times as wide as over here). I like driving over here. It feels exciting, unnerving, and... safe. Odd.
3. This country has a lovely sense of tradition and reverence for culture and ceremony. Some people don't agree with it, some modernists call the royals a waste of time and money. But I think that in this day and age where everything is moving so fast and furious, and everything seems new and exciting, tradition is like a comfortable old glove. Secure. Warm. Tangible. And even for a "foreigner" like myself, I get caught up in it and love reading about the lines of royalty and what they've gone through (no matter how ridiculous or scandalous).
4. I miss having family around. I don't very many friends, and no one that I feel close to over here, so my "reliables" are the mister's family. And even then, it's hard to rely on them because they're so busy with their own lives running a business. I do miss my parents. I imagine that (as annoying as it would be) I could call them over to babysit or to have dinner, and they'd only be 30 minutes away. It would be a huge help to take the pressure off sometimes. But that's life at the moment, and we're managing as best as we can without that.
5. My kids are growing up with odd accents. They have a mix of British, American and Ukrainian. Can't wait to see what that's going to be like when they start talking properly.
6. I have a case of the "Madonnas". I have a strange lilt to my American accent, and it sounds pretentious. I don't like it, but it just comes out.
7. I'm SO glad we decided to have kids over here. I had the most amazing midwifery team, healthy food, private cozy room with double bed and flat screen TV, very consistent pre-and post-natal care, no doctors trying to ply me with drugs... the same experience, different hospitals...for both kids. And you know what? I didn't pay for a single bit of it. Not. one. dime. It was all on the (much maligned) NHS. Socialized medicine is THE way to go. Ridiculous America should learn a lesson when it comes to that. Amongst other things.
8. People here LOVE. TO. DRINK. However, somehow they manage to pace themselves, unlike my drinking episodes in NYC that ended up with me passing out at around 12am. Over here, people manage to stay relatively lucid and only semi-drunk even in extreme circumstances like staying out until 6am. It's admirable, and a little bit insane. I like that.
9. The food here is awesome. Most of it is fresh, locally sourced and NO ADDED SUGAR. In the US, I had about 2 cavities a month. It was bizarre, because I didn't eat a lot of sugary stuff as a kid or adult, so it baffled me. And then I come over here, I don't change what I eat or anything, and I haven't seen the dentist in 3 years. Healthy, strong, mouth and no cavities. Why? I've figured it out. In the US, food as added sugar in it. Everything does. Even bread does (and it doesn't need it, bakeries that mass-produce bread use sugar to make the yeast rise quicker). And you can taste it. Everyone in the US is doped up on fat and sugar and salt. It's disgusting. I'm so glad I live in a country that doesn't really do that. Sure, there's some junk out there, but you can very easily avoid it, and most of the stuff that stocks the shelves is good, old-fashioned healthy food. You don't even have to buy organic meat over here, because farming standards are carefully managed by the state and the names of farmers and their farms are printed on the actual label, so you know where your meat comes from.
10. British men are delicious (well, mine is especially). Most of them have manners at a dinner table (they don't pick their noses or lick their knives or burp/fart and think it's funny), they start realising that it's a good investment to buy a house even when they're only 25 years old, they open doors for girls, they buy rounds at the bar and don't let the girl pay, they know how to be polite and gallant in public and they also know how to be filthy/naughty behind closed doors. Mine especially. ;-)
And that, audience, is one of the many reasons I'm glad I'm in this country.
And funny. And observational.
Somewhere along the way, I let life sidle in and get in the way and make me a bit more serious. Oh, that.. and having 2kids in 2 years. A bit of a distraction.
So, let me undo my metaphorical librarian-bun, take my glasses off and be a bit sassy for once.
A few things:
1. This country doesn't believe in seasons. No joke. Everything is one giant mush of cloud, rain, wind, cold wind, warm rain, fog. Oh, and sunshine for about 2 days. And maybe some 75 degree weather at the beginning and end of the summer. And maybe in the middle. Whatever.
2. People drive like maniacs, but they do it in a very polite way. New Yorkers, for example, have no problem scraping the side of your car if you get in their way or drive too close (even though their roads are about 6 times as wide as over here). I like driving over here. It feels exciting, unnerving, and... safe. Odd.
3. This country has a lovely sense of tradition and reverence for culture and ceremony. Some people don't agree with it, some modernists call the royals a waste of time and money. But I think that in this day and age where everything is moving so fast and furious, and everything seems new and exciting, tradition is like a comfortable old glove. Secure. Warm. Tangible. And even for a "foreigner" like myself, I get caught up in it and love reading about the lines of royalty and what they've gone through (no matter how ridiculous or scandalous).
4. I miss having family around. I don't very many friends, and no one that I feel close to over here, so my "reliables" are the mister's family. And even then, it's hard to rely on them because they're so busy with their own lives running a business. I do miss my parents. I imagine that (as annoying as it would be) I could call them over to babysit or to have dinner, and they'd only be 30 minutes away. It would be a huge help to take the pressure off sometimes. But that's life at the moment, and we're managing as best as we can without that.
5. My kids are growing up with odd accents. They have a mix of British, American and Ukrainian. Can't wait to see what that's going to be like when they start talking properly.
6. I have a case of the "Madonnas". I have a strange lilt to my American accent, and it sounds pretentious. I don't like it, but it just comes out.
7. I'm SO glad we decided to have kids over here. I had the most amazing midwifery team, healthy food, private cozy room with double bed and flat screen TV, very consistent pre-and post-natal care, no doctors trying to ply me with drugs... the same experience, different hospitals...for both kids. And you know what? I didn't pay for a single bit of it. Not. one. dime. It was all on the (much maligned) NHS. Socialized medicine is THE way to go. Ridiculous America should learn a lesson when it comes to that. Amongst other things.
8. People here LOVE. TO. DRINK. However, somehow they manage to pace themselves, unlike my drinking episodes in NYC that ended up with me passing out at around 12am. Over here, people manage to stay relatively lucid and only semi-drunk even in extreme circumstances like staying out until 6am. It's admirable, and a little bit insane. I like that.
9. The food here is awesome. Most of it is fresh, locally sourced and NO ADDED SUGAR. In the US, I had about 2 cavities a month. It was bizarre, because I didn't eat a lot of sugary stuff as a kid or adult, so it baffled me. And then I come over here, I don't change what I eat or anything, and I haven't seen the dentist in 3 years. Healthy, strong, mouth and no cavities. Why? I've figured it out. In the US, food as added sugar in it. Everything does. Even bread does (and it doesn't need it, bakeries that mass-produce bread use sugar to make the yeast rise quicker). And you can taste it. Everyone in the US is doped up on fat and sugar and salt. It's disgusting. I'm so glad I live in a country that doesn't really do that. Sure, there's some junk out there, but you can very easily avoid it, and most of the stuff that stocks the shelves is good, old-fashioned healthy food. You don't even have to buy organic meat over here, because farming standards are carefully managed by the state and the names of farmers and their farms are printed on the actual label, so you know where your meat comes from.
10. British men are delicious (well, mine is especially). Most of them have manners at a dinner table (they don't pick their noses or lick their knives or burp/fart and think it's funny), they start realising that it's a good investment to buy a house even when they're only 25 years old, they open doors for girls, they buy rounds at the bar and don't let the girl pay, they know how to be polite and gallant in public and they also know how to be filthy/naughty behind closed doors. Mine especially. ;-)
And that, audience, is one of the many reasons I'm glad I'm in this country.
Saturday, 12 November 2011
The comedy of the hypocrite.
When I give, I give 100%.
Not that I'm perfect or anything (far from it, as you've seen from the content of this blog). When it comes to my relationship or my family (or even my relationship with myself), I tend to think I can do it all, I can be perfect, and I preach about how to "be". That never goes down well and backfires and I usually laugh at myself whilst swimming around in the abyss of ridiculousness and complication that I stirred up. Martyr, me? Nah. *wink*
However, oddly enough, when I give to friends, I do what I preach.
If I talk about extending a hand or a hello, I act on what I say.
If I say I'll come over, I'll come over.
If I haven't seen someone in a super long time, I'll make sure I try and see them as often as possible when I can.
If I say I'll do "x, y, z" for them or call them if I haven't seen them in a while, no matter how chaotic my life is, I'll call.
If I don't have much to give, then I'll be honest in the blink of an eye and email/call/text "Hey, I'm busted. I'll give you a shout soon. Thinking of you."
Do I expect a constant barrage of "hey, how's it going"s? Not at all. But there's a balance, and only the friendship can figure out within itself what balance works. But you start up again right where you left off, normally, and that's because there's been some contact here and there.
I can count on one hand how many close friends I have that I can trust to give back as much as I give to them. Most of them are men, to be honest. I don't expect it, but a friendship is a two-way street, and it's nice to receive the love. I can give as much as someone needs, but there has to be a point where that other person says "hang on a minute... what's my contribution to this relationship?"
I'm at an age where I'm really tired of pursuing friendships that give nothing back. I'm tired of sounding righteous in my quest to find that friend that gives me time, just like I give them time no matter that I have two kids and a full-time job. It can be upsetting and disappointing. Everyone told me "oh, it all changes when you have kids... you can't find the time, it's hard to manage..".
Bull. There's always time to write a 2-second note to someone to put a smile on their face. Yes, having kids DOES change things. It makes you realise who your true friends really are. And if there's nothing really there, then no sense in wasting time trying to make it work.
Like I said, I'm not perfect in any way, and probably too honest, too pragmatic and too sarcastic to have very many close friends. Maybe I'm a bit weird. Maybe I'm too loud. It's possible I probably give too much, and it makes people retreat a bit. But reaching out is the one quality that I have that's 99% consistent. And after a while, it gets pretty old when there's radio silence on the other end.
Thank you for listening. Please excuse the vitriol, but I think it's a long time coming.
Not that I'm perfect or anything (far from it, as you've seen from the content of this blog). When it comes to my relationship or my family (or even my relationship with myself), I tend to think I can do it all, I can be perfect, and I preach about how to "be". That never goes down well and backfires and I usually laugh at myself whilst swimming around in the abyss of ridiculousness and complication that I stirred up. Martyr, me? Nah. *wink*
However, oddly enough, when I give to friends, I do what I preach.
If I talk about extending a hand or a hello, I act on what I say.
If I say I'll come over, I'll come over.
If I haven't seen someone in a super long time, I'll make sure I try and see them as often as possible when I can.
If I say I'll do "x, y, z" for them or call them if I haven't seen them in a while, no matter how chaotic my life is, I'll call.
If I don't have much to give, then I'll be honest in the blink of an eye and email/call/text "Hey, I'm busted. I'll give you a shout soon. Thinking of you."
Do I expect a constant barrage of "hey, how's it going"s? Not at all. But there's a balance, and only the friendship can figure out within itself what balance works. But you start up again right where you left off, normally, and that's because there's been some contact here and there.
I can count on one hand how many close friends I have that I can trust to give back as much as I give to them. Most of them are men, to be honest. I don't expect it, but a friendship is a two-way street, and it's nice to receive the love. I can give as much as someone needs, but there has to be a point where that other person says "hang on a minute... what's my contribution to this relationship?"
I'm at an age where I'm really tired of pursuing friendships that give nothing back. I'm tired of sounding righteous in my quest to find that friend that gives me time, just like I give them time no matter that I have two kids and a full-time job. It can be upsetting and disappointing. Everyone told me "oh, it all changes when you have kids... you can't find the time, it's hard to manage..".
Bull. There's always time to write a 2-second note to someone to put a smile on their face. Yes, having kids DOES change things. It makes you realise who your true friends really are. And if there's nothing really there, then no sense in wasting time trying to make it work.
Like I said, I'm not perfect in any way, and probably too honest, too pragmatic and too sarcastic to have very many close friends. Maybe I'm a bit weird. Maybe I'm too loud. It's possible I probably give too much, and it makes people retreat a bit. But reaching out is the one quality that I have that's 99% consistent. And after a while, it gets pretty old when there's radio silence on the other end.
Thank you for listening. Please excuse the vitriol, but I think it's a long time coming.
Sunday, 6 November 2011
Habits and confessions of a perfectionist.
You would think that after being married to a Brit, living in London... that I would learn.
But I don't.
I'm a talker. I'm a very emotional, mushy, lets-talk-about-our-feelings kind of person. Always have been. He calls it "too much love". It's in my DNA. I was raised in a touchy-feely house, I was allowed to express my emotions, whatever they were, and it turned me into a person that is an open book. My face says it all. If I'm upset, if I'm sad, if I'm happy, if I'm lying. My eyes read like chapters, my face is the binding.
I don't have many friends here that I'm close to. I have 1, in fact. I have another close friend in the states that I talk to on an almost-daily basis on email, which is lovely- she and I share our lives together and I'm grateful for that. Otherwise, I talk to my other half.
Poor guy is sometimes bombarded with "oh, I don't know... what if.."s and "I feel a bit cloudy and weepy and clingy and I have PMS"s. I cry from nostalgia about the kids growing up, or about my separation anxiety going back to work. I can spin a bit in my weepiness. It drives him in loops and frustrating circles, because he's not a listener (even though he does listen), a lot of times, he'd rather be a do-er. He wants to help me. To solve the problem and scratch the itch. I've heard most men are, but Brits are much more pragmatic, from my experience. Brits (both men and women) don't talk to each other about their lives/problems/feelings very often in detail. The men put their heads down and keep going, and the women pretend their lives are very organised, sex lives raunchy and kids perfect. They want to get it done and get on with it. Keep Calm and Carry On. That motto courses through their veins.
If I'm being honest, that quality is one of the reasons why I'm in love with my guy.
That being said, I can't reign it in sometimes, and if I don't manage to talk in little bits here and there, once a month it all comes out like a giant volcano, and it can get fiery, and it can get heated, and it can end up with me in tears for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than just plain frustration and defeat.
Habits need to be broken, considering I'm in my 30s and should know better. I've said this many times. But it's the one habit that I can't seem to manage very well. If I'm eating well and not so tired and taking my vitamins, then I'm fine. But caffeine, exhaustion from my 2 babies and a sparse diet can take its toll on me. I point the finger at other women and think "See? they have it together. They get it all done with a smile on their face and skip in their step, what's wrong with me? Why am I so rubbish at that? Why can't I just let go and relax for a minute?" But they're probably saying the same thing about the woman next to them.
I'm still learning. I still feel like a kid in my head who's scared of the world sometimes and that people won't like her. And then alternately like this organised, happy, capable woman that is married to her dream guy and has 2 amazingly clever kids.
Maybe this will never change, and I'll always be a bit of a contradictory, eccentric nutcase. I just have to figure out how to dust myself off a bit quicker and look at the brighter bits.
But I don't.
I'm a talker. I'm a very emotional, mushy, lets-talk-about-our-feelings kind of person. Always have been. He calls it "too much love". It's in my DNA. I was raised in a touchy-feely house, I was allowed to express my emotions, whatever they were, and it turned me into a person that is an open book. My face says it all. If I'm upset, if I'm sad, if I'm happy, if I'm lying. My eyes read like chapters, my face is the binding.
I don't have many friends here that I'm close to. I have 1, in fact. I have another close friend in the states that I talk to on an almost-daily basis on email, which is lovely- she and I share our lives together and I'm grateful for that. Otherwise, I talk to my other half.
Poor guy is sometimes bombarded with "oh, I don't know... what if.."s and "I feel a bit cloudy and weepy and clingy and I have PMS"s. I cry from nostalgia about the kids growing up, or about my separation anxiety going back to work. I can spin a bit in my weepiness. It drives him in loops and frustrating circles, because he's not a listener (even though he does listen), a lot of times, he'd rather be a do-er. He wants to help me. To solve the problem and scratch the itch. I've heard most men are, but Brits are much more pragmatic, from my experience. Brits (both men and women) don't talk to each other about their lives/problems/feelings very often in detail. The men put their heads down and keep going, and the women pretend their lives are very organised, sex lives raunchy and kids perfect. They want to get it done and get on with it. Keep Calm and Carry On. That motto courses through their veins.
If I'm being honest, that quality is one of the reasons why I'm in love with my guy.
That being said, I can't reign it in sometimes, and if I don't manage to talk in little bits here and there, once a month it all comes out like a giant volcano, and it can get fiery, and it can get heated, and it can end up with me in tears for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than just plain frustration and defeat.
Habits need to be broken, considering I'm in my 30s and should know better. I've said this many times. But it's the one habit that I can't seem to manage very well. If I'm eating well and not so tired and taking my vitamins, then I'm fine. But caffeine, exhaustion from my 2 babies and a sparse diet can take its toll on me. I point the finger at other women and think "See? they have it together. They get it all done with a smile on their face and skip in their step, what's wrong with me? Why am I so rubbish at that? Why can't I just let go and relax for a minute?" But they're probably saying the same thing about the woman next to them.
I'm still learning. I still feel like a kid in my head who's scared of the world sometimes and that people won't like her. And then alternately like this organised, happy, capable woman that is married to her dream guy and has 2 amazingly clever kids.
Maybe this will never change, and I'll always be a bit of a contradictory, eccentric nutcase. I just have to figure out how to dust myself off a bit quicker and look at the brighter bits.
Tuesday, 25 October 2011
17,520 hours
Since the first hour that I met her.
My days are filled with a profound joy to have her as a daughter, but a sweet sadness and nostalgia wind their way through the days like a gold thread. It's a subtle and very slow process, but she's growing up. The legs are longer, the face more understanding and clever, the hands push me away as she is fiercely determined to do more on her own.
"No, Mamo. No, please. Me. Mine. Do it."
She will be more beautiful and more clever than anyone I will ever know, and I'm so grateful that I can share my life with her and help her be the person that she wants to be.
My days are filled with a profound joy to have her as a daughter, but a sweet sadness and nostalgia wind their way through the days like a gold thread. It's a subtle and very slow process, but she's growing up. The legs are longer, the face more understanding and clever, the hands push me away as she is fiercely determined to do more on her own.
"No, Mamo. No, please. Me. Mine. Do it."
She will be more beautiful and more clever than anyone I will ever know, and I'm so grateful that I can share my life with her and help her be the person that she wants to be.
Thursday, 6 October 2011
Been a while.
Well, here I am back to writing again.
I've been hiding, in a way, because I haven't had the creative and sarcastic spark that I normally do, and thus I found that sitting in front of a blank screen would make me feel a bit silly. Vacant. A time-waster.
Autumn has descended in the UK in the typical fashion: a week ago it was balmy, Indian Summer bliss. Warm enough to watch the sun set in shorts and a tank top, my hair scraped back from having gone swimming at the local marina with the kids and my other half.
Today, well... today came at us like a bitch slap. It was windy. Crisp. Grey. Cold enough to make me run to find my favourite black knee-length puffy coat with high collar, before going out to the park with the kids. Cold enough to have me dig out thick tights and sweaters for L to start wearing. Cold enough that when we all got back inside the house, the warmth and coziness was welcome relief from the adventures that we took and the running and laughing that we did, with abandon. The rug welcomed us as I laid down on it, with the kids on top of me, using me as their favourite beanbag.
It was a day where it would've been very easy to stay inside and do puzzles and watch Tangled (new favourite film of mine and L's). But no, I made it an imperative to do a no-TV day (much to her dismay) and instead bundled them up and discovered what the day had in store. Cold and runny noses, orange and gold fallen leaves, snacks al fresco. I even made it a project, and after collecting leaves and learning about shapes that naturally occur in nature, we headed home, stuck leaves on paper and painted them.
It was amazing that a day without an easy crutch (which I admit sometimes I use too much of) was a day spent learning, gazing, laughing and finding the joy in the sparkle of something unexpected.
I start work in November, and today I was eternally grateful that I hadn't gone back to work yet, so that I could really appreciate this day and what it gave us.
I haven't felt this happy in a long time. It's been a while.
I've been hiding, in a way, because I haven't had the creative and sarcastic spark that I normally do, and thus I found that sitting in front of a blank screen would make me feel a bit silly. Vacant. A time-waster.
Autumn has descended in the UK in the typical fashion: a week ago it was balmy, Indian Summer bliss. Warm enough to watch the sun set in shorts and a tank top, my hair scraped back from having gone swimming at the local marina with the kids and my other half.
Today, well... today came at us like a bitch slap. It was windy. Crisp. Grey. Cold enough to make me run to find my favourite black knee-length puffy coat with high collar, before going out to the park with the kids. Cold enough to have me dig out thick tights and sweaters for L to start wearing. Cold enough that when we all got back inside the house, the warmth and coziness was welcome relief from the adventures that we took and the running and laughing that we did, with abandon. The rug welcomed us as I laid down on it, with the kids on top of me, using me as their favourite beanbag.
It was a day where it would've been very easy to stay inside and do puzzles and watch Tangled (new favourite film of mine and L's). But no, I made it an imperative to do a no-TV day (much to her dismay) and instead bundled them up and discovered what the day had in store. Cold and runny noses, orange and gold fallen leaves, snacks al fresco. I even made it a project, and after collecting leaves and learning about shapes that naturally occur in nature, we headed home, stuck leaves on paper and painted them.
It was amazing that a day without an easy crutch (which I admit sometimes I use too much of) was a day spent learning, gazing, laughing and finding the joy in the sparkle of something unexpected.
I start work in November, and today I was eternally grateful that I hadn't gone back to work yet, so that I could really appreciate this day and what it gave us.
I haven't felt this happy in a long time. It's been a while.
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Mummy needs a cocktail
Back home again. Good old London end of summer. Meaning: blustery winds, rainy and autumn chill in the air.
Not that I'm complaining.
It's good to be back. It's good to explore, just me and the kids. It's good to get back into figuring out what to do every day, where to go, what adventures to have.
I'm going back to work in a month, and I have to say, the thought feels unnatural. I don't really want to, but I know that it'll be good for my brain to do it. It makes me a more inspired, more creative mummy to come back home to my kids at the end of the day and put them to bed.
What makes me nervous about going back, is that I like having an exhausting day with them. I like sorting out battles and quelling tantrums. I like figuring out bathtime with two. Many people find these impossible challenges, and sometimes sure, they're ridiculous how-the-hell-do-I-do-this kind of challenges. But that's what I signed up for, and I can't imagine life without it. Without them needing me, wanting me, looking up to me to do the best I can for them.
With the baby still feeding at night, I don't know how I'll cope with being back at work and solving creative problems on very little sleep. I'm sure I'll manage, but potentially the cracks will show either in my work, or at home. But I keep daring myself to think positive and realise that whatever happens, I'll manage. We'll manage. The kids will be fine. The baby, for now, will sleep in the walk-in closet for lack of an additional bedroom. But that'll be fine too. Laundry will get done at some point, and so will the dishes. I won't need to work in an office forever. But for now, that's what I need to do. But I will realise that tidying up the house when I get back from work will become less of a priority when I have a toddler who looks at my weary face and says "wow, Mamo. I love you." That's what I think about when I put them to bed, not about Pantone and Powerpoints.
It's good to be back home.
Not that I'm complaining.
It's good to be back. It's good to explore, just me and the kids. It's good to get back into figuring out what to do every day, where to go, what adventures to have.
I'm going back to work in a month, and I have to say, the thought feels unnatural. I don't really want to, but I know that it'll be good for my brain to do it. It makes me a more inspired, more creative mummy to come back home to my kids at the end of the day and put them to bed.
What makes me nervous about going back, is that I like having an exhausting day with them. I like sorting out battles and quelling tantrums. I like figuring out bathtime with two. Many people find these impossible challenges, and sometimes sure, they're ridiculous how-the-hell-do-I-do-this kind of challenges. But that's what I signed up for, and I can't imagine life without it. Without them needing me, wanting me, looking up to me to do the best I can for them.
With the baby still feeding at night, I don't know how I'll cope with being back at work and solving creative problems on very little sleep. I'm sure I'll manage, but potentially the cracks will show either in my work, or at home. But I keep daring myself to think positive and realise that whatever happens, I'll manage. We'll manage. The kids will be fine. The baby, for now, will sleep in the walk-in closet for lack of an additional bedroom. But that'll be fine too. Laundry will get done at some point, and so will the dishes. I won't need to work in an office forever. But for now, that's what I need to do. But I will realise that tidying up the house when I get back from work will become less of a priority when I have a toddler who looks at my weary face and says "wow, Mamo. I love you." That's what I think about when I put them to bed, not about Pantone and Powerpoints.
It's good to be back home.
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
Hidden truths
My London Eye has taken a vacation for a while, hence the silence.
I have an Upstate New York Eye at the moment, and it has been amazing to get some much-needed perspective on a lot of things. Family, friends, myself.
When we arrived here, I admit that the prospect of spending a very long time with my parents in an area I grew up... well... nostalgia aside, it seemed daunting. It made me nervous that I would disappear into bad habits, old insecurities, and not spend time relishing the sunshine and the fresh grass under my bare feet.
I wanted to experience joy. Both with and without my children. I wanted to look at old friends' faces, I wanted to hear the music of the lake lapping the shore in the evening sun, I wanted to hold my husband's hand in a dive bar, nursing a cold margarita.
My wishes were granted.
In the beginning, I was confused. I felt frustrated. I felt like I was regressing, and not in a good way. My parents and I butted heads and danced around the uncomfortable distance that results in the years having spent 4,000 miles apart. I felt angry and alone when my other half had to leave me to travel to other countries and work whilst I stayed here with the kids.
But I confronted my fear. I dealt with my issues out in the open- both for myself, and to be honest with my parents. And very soon after, I started feeling a calmness. A peace. An appreciation for the people that my parents have become, and the beauty that I possess in my soul because of them and in spite of them. And they, in turn, have responded to me in a way that I never thought they would. They've helped. They've smiled. They've hugged. They've played.
I have experienced joy in my children's first touches of hot sand under their feet, L's first taste of peanut butter, M's determination to roll over on his 3-month birthday. I have watched L run around naked, M giggle and smile for the first time, I have held my husband's hand in a dive bar and I've seen a beautiful friend that I hadn't seen since she and I were 16 and dreaming about our futures and where we would be.
I'm starting to learn how to cherish the important things in my life. I'm starting to see the silver in the clouds, the sparkle in the water. I don't need games. I need simplicity and beauty in the hard stuff, and the more I ask for that, the more it'll be there.
I came here under the weight of a lot of assumptions about certain people, myself included, and all those assumptions have been blown away. People aren't what they seem. Places aren't what you make of them initially. What's left is the reality of who I am, who my family is, what kind of friends I want and don't want in my life, and what my parents mean to me now.
Certain truths aren't hidden anymore, and the realisation of what I need now and for my future are clear.
And in that clarity I can breathe easier, and I have the space to appreciate the joy that has played out before me, recorded in the little faces that I kiss goodnight every night.
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Meh, is what I say to that.
I have 2 children close in age. We decided that that's the way we're going to build our family. It works. It's our own version of chaotic perfection. The din of two children that are both in diapers is a kind of soundtrack to our life at the moment, and we like it.
Not everyone has the same view.
There have been various people, family included, who have said oh, so close in age, they both need you so much, it's exhausting.... oh, wow, what made you do that to yourselves, is that on purpose?.... etc etc. You know the drill.
And my family is even more direct. Someone on my side said to me once (when I was saying that I felt exhausted), in a sort-of-joking-I-don't-know-how-to-make-a-joke-way: well, no one told you to have two kids so close together, you know.
Yeah, thanks. That's ever so helpful.
This, however, doesn't make me feel defeated. Actually, it makes my normal stubborn I-will-do-it-myself-ness even more pronounced. It makes me work that much harder.
Unfortunately, this results in me not accepting any form of help from either sides. It's my way of saying: "Oh, well, if you keep commenting how exhausted I must be for having a newborn and a toddler, then I can prove to you that you're wrong in your judgement, and I can manage, and life is actually really great for us. Just because you didn't go that route doesn't mean we're nuts."
You're being irrational, is what you're thinking. You're justifying your choice of having 2 children close in age to other people by working that much harder and cutting off your nose to spite your face.
And admittedly, you're right.
I just don't like the fact that people can get off commenting about how they think that life is a certain way for me, and how I might not be able to cope. It pisses me off. It makes me proud of myself for learning the hard way. Helping run a business with my husband means... Doing bathtimes myself. Doing snacks and cooking myself. Doing varying naptimes with a newborn who only wants me to hold him all day, otherwise he's crying. Surviving on 3 hours' sleep every night. Speaking to a toddler in a different language hoping that she'll be bilingual, in an environment where all she hears is English all day. People telling me that I should have the toddler in nursery already because she needs to learn English ('she's almost 2, for goodness' sake..she's not talking properly yet, she needs help!') and learn how to "socialize". I get it from all angles. You've heard it all before, so I won't repeat myself.
I'm not ungrateful, though I know I sound like it. It's just that all I hear all day is how tough it must be, and I have to keep saying to those people "It's not tough. Some days it is, but for the most part, it's lovely, and I wouldn't change a thing."
Why can't I just do things the way I want to do them? Why can't I blast my own horn if I want to? Why can't I say "no thank you" when people offer to get my kids random gifts or try and give them chocolate and cookies or tell me that they'll offer to come over so I can get a 'break'?
I want to be selfish. I want to spend time with my kids before I go back to work in the fall, and I'm conscious that this summer will go by extremely quickly. My life clock is ticking faster with each passing month with them, and I feel like being possessive a lot of the time.
Do I stretch myself too thin as a result? Most likely. Does it make me look like a martyr? Probably. Does it keep people at a bit of a distance? Maybe. Do I really care? Well, I care enough to give the subject this much attention and writing space, so obviously I do. But I'd like to not care. Doesn't sit very well with family, though.
I can't help but think that my most important role in life is being their mother. I have other important jobs and other aspirations for myself that exist in the layers underneath, but this is the one that I want to be as perfect as possible. I want them to learn from me and I want to learn from them. I want to watch them as they take first steps, say first words.. I want to watch them as they fall asleep. At least for now, while I still have their pudgy little hands in mine, and I can have them close to me.
I don't care if this results in me being bleary-eyed and not having time to wash my hair and people complaining that they don't see me enough.
Meh, is what I say.*
*This could be the reason that I don't have very many friends.
Not everyone has the same view.
There have been various people, family included, who have said oh, so close in age, they both need you so much, it's exhausting.... oh, wow, what made you do that to yourselves, is that on purpose?.... etc etc. You know the drill.
And my family is even more direct. Someone on my side said to me once (when I was saying that I felt exhausted), in a sort-of-joking-I-don't-know-how-to-make-a-joke-way: well, no one told you to have two kids so close together, you know.
Yeah, thanks. That's ever so helpful.
This, however, doesn't make me feel defeated. Actually, it makes my normal stubborn I-will-do-it-myself-ness even more pronounced. It makes me work that much harder.
Unfortunately, this results in me not accepting any form of help from either sides. It's my way of saying: "Oh, well, if you keep commenting how exhausted I must be for having a newborn and a toddler, then I can prove to you that you're wrong in your judgement, and I can manage, and life is actually really great for us. Just because you didn't go that route doesn't mean we're nuts."
You're being irrational, is what you're thinking. You're justifying your choice of having 2 children close in age to other people by working that much harder and cutting off your nose to spite your face.
And admittedly, you're right.
I just don't like the fact that people can get off commenting about how they think that life is a certain way for me, and how I might not be able to cope. It pisses me off. It makes me proud of myself for learning the hard way. Helping run a business with my husband means... Doing bathtimes myself. Doing snacks and cooking myself. Doing varying naptimes with a newborn who only wants me to hold him all day, otherwise he's crying. Surviving on 3 hours' sleep every night. Speaking to a toddler in a different language hoping that she'll be bilingual, in an environment where all she hears is English all day. People telling me that I should have the toddler in nursery already because she needs to learn English ('she's almost 2, for goodness' sake..she's not talking properly yet, she needs help!') and learn how to "socialize". I get it from all angles. You've heard it all before, so I won't repeat myself.
I'm not ungrateful, though I know I sound like it. It's just that all I hear all day is how tough it must be, and I have to keep saying to those people "It's not tough. Some days it is, but for the most part, it's lovely, and I wouldn't change a thing."
Why can't I just do things the way I want to do them? Why can't I blast my own horn if I want to? Why can't I say "no thank you" when people offer to get my kids random gifts or try and give them chocolate and cookies or tell me that they'll offer to come over so I can get a 'break'?
I want to be selfish. I want to spend time with my kids before I go back to work in the fall, and I'm conscious that this summer will go by extremely quickly. My life clock is ticking faster with each passing month with them, and I feel like being possessive a lot of the time.
Do I stretch myself too thin as a result? Most likely. Does it make me look like a martyr? Probably. Does it keep people at a bit of a distance? Maybe. Do I really care? Well, I care enough to give the subject this much attention and writing space, so obviously I do. But I'd like to not care. Doesn't sit very well with family, though.
I can't help but think that my most important role in life is being their mother. I have other important jobs and other aspirations for myself that exist in the layers underneath, but this is the one that I want to be as perfect as possible. I want them to learn from me and I want to learn from them. I want to watch them as they take first steps, say first words.. I want to watch them as they fall asleep. At least for now, while I still have their pudgy little hands in mine, and I can have them close to me.
I don't care if this results in me being bleary-eyed and not having time to wash my hair and people complaining that they don't see me enough.
Meh, is what I say.*
*This could be the reason that I don't have very many friends.
Friday, 24 June 2011
Brought to you by the word "goo".
I was holding him the other day, watching her play outside with her water/sand table.
She was deftly organising and filling little cups with sand, delighting as she tipped them into the water, squealing when she managed to get herself wet. She would run around with her arms in the air, doing little dances and yelling "Hello!!!" to no one in particular whilst the sunlight caught the tendrils of her hair as they moved in the breeze. I have to remember that colour, I thought to myself. That glint of pure gold with hints of strawberry. I swear, I try and memorize her hair, her long limbs, her mossy green eyes... I try and memorize them every single day so that when I get to the end of my days, those moments will be the sweetness before I leave this planet.
And then he spoke. I hadn't noticed, but he'd been staring up at me, very contentedly, not making a sound. Just scanning my face.
I looked down, and a huge smile spread across his face. His grey-blue elfin eyes with beautifully long lashes... those eyes actually twinkled. No joke. And he said "Goooo", and finished it off with a smirk and a coy tilt of his head. And smiled again.
I was completely taken aback. My heart skipped, as if someone had winked at me, flirted with me. Told me that I was the only beautiful thing in the entire world. I spoke back to him, the same word, same intonation. He smiled again, and waved his arms appreciatively. I kissed his little bald head. I just wanted to devour him, devour this moment.
And then I looked up and saw L watching us.
"Come here and say hello, little miss funnypants", I said. She just smiled and ran off.
I couldn't decide whether to be annoyed and guilty that I was partially ignoring her by trying to have a conversation with him, or be proud that she understood that I needed my time, and that she would give that to me, whilst she played by herself.
Those questions don't have answers. She'll let me know what she needs, and so far, those shouts of delight and wonder as she runs off into the park in front of me, chasing her shadow... those are the only answers I need right now.
She was deftly organising and filling little cups with sand, delighting as she tipped them into the water, squealing when she managed to get herself wet. She would run around with her arms in the air, doing little dances and yelling "Hello!!!" to no one in particular whilst the sunlight caught the tendrils of her hair as they moved in the breeze. I have to remember that colour, I thought to myself. That glint of pure gold with hints of strawberry. I swear, I try and memorize her hair, her long limbs, her mossy green eyes... I try and memorize them every single day so that when I get to the end of my days, those moments will be the sweetness before I leave this planet.
And then he spoke. I hadn't noticed, but he'd been staring up at me, very contentedly, not making a sound. Just scanning my face.
I looked down, and a huge smile spread across his face. His grey-blue elfin eyes with beautifully long lashes... those eyes actually twinkled. No joke. And he said "Goooo", and finished it off with a smirk and a coy tilt of his head. And smiled again.
I was completely taken aback. My heart skipped, as if someone had winked at me, flirted with me. Told me that I was the only beautiful thing in the entire world. I spoke back to him, the same word, same intonation. He smiled again, and waved his arms appreciatively. I kissed his little bald head. I just wanted to devour him, devour this moment.
And then I looked up and saw L watching us.
"Come here and say hello, little miss funnypants", I said. She just smiled and ran off.
I couldn't decide whether to be annoyed and guilty that I was partially ignoring her by trying to have a conversation with him, or be proud that she understood that I needed my time, and that she would give that to me, whilst she played by herself.
Those questions don't have answers. She'll let me know what she needs, and so far, those shouts of delight and wonder as she runs off into the park in front of me, chasing her shadow... those are the only answers I need right now.
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Even if you don't read it..I'll still say it.
He doesn't read my blog.
To be fair, he doesn't because he thinks that I should have my "own stuff" that I can keep apart from all of our joint ventures. We share everything, but my writing he assumes I would want to keep private.
I respect his point of view, but I sometimes wish he would take a peek at it. Hopefully, he'd be proud.
Regardless, I'd like to say something. To him, and to all the fathers out there.
It can be a hard deal, being a Daddy. It's hard in the beginning, because babies don't really do much. You can feel out of the loop. You can feel second-fiddle. You crave reciprocation from this little thing, and you're met with crying, explosive poos, and the occasional smile. And the wife, well, she tries her best to give you the rest of herself that's left at the end of the day, but mostly, she'll be passed out on the couch, exhausted.
But you persevere. You ask what you can do to help. You hold your partner's hand while she collapses in a puddle of emotion, talking about how amazing and how hard it is to be a mother. When you have a second, you don't sleep on the couch, but you cook delicious dinners for the family and entertain everyone on the weekends so she gets a break. It's hard, but you manage to make it look easy.
Mister, you make our life more musical, more patient and more loving than I could've ever done on my own. Thank goodness we found each other, and made these amazing little people to share in so many fun road trips.
We may not have time to say it face to face at the moment, but I adore you. Coolest husband and Daddio on the block. Rock fact.
To be fair, he doesn't because he thinks that I should have my "own stuff" that I can keep apart from all of our joint ventures. We share everything, but my writing he assumes I would want to keep private.
I respect his point of view, but I sometimes wish he would take a peek at it. Hopefully, he'd be proud.
Regardless, I'd like to say something. To him, and to all the fathers out there.
It can be a hard deal, being a Daddy. It's hard in the beginning, because babies don't really do much. You can feel out of the loop. You can feel second-fiddle. You crave reciprocation from this little thing, and you're met with crying, explosive poos, and the occasional smile. And the wife, well, she tries her best to give you the rest of herself that's left at the end of the day, but mostly, she'll be passed out on the couch, exhausted.
But you persevere. You ask what you can do to help. You hold your partner's hand while she collapses in a puddle of emotion, talking about how amazing and how hard it is to be a mother. When you have a second, you don't sleep on the couch, but you cook delicious dinners for the family and entertain everyone on the weekends so she gets a break. It's hard, but you manage to make it look easy.
Mister, you make our life more musical, more patient and more loving than I could've ever done on my own. Thank goodness we found each other, and made these amazing little people to share in so many fun road trips.
We may not have time to say it face to face at the moment, but I adore you. Coolest husband and Daddio on the block. Rock fact.
Monday, 13 June 2011
Oh, you mean I can actually ask? Ahh, now I see how it works.
Apologies out there to those of you who have been reading my blog lately thinking umm... this is supposed to be about life in London and your perspective on it, and it's sounding, hmm, rather bleak and grey lately. Is that supposed to be because it always rains over there? Get a grip, lady.
I don't apologise for feeling the way I have been, having had a baby and being on a hormonal Tilt-A-Whirl... but I do apologise to you readers that think I've lost the plot.
Here's the thing: Having kids, no matter how many, is a hard fucking deal the first 3-6 months. It's amazing and I'm really adoring these two beautiful people that have made our life complete magic, but interlaced in that amazing bit is a really hard bit that I forgot about. It can be torture, having had days, weeks, of no sleep. It can be emotionally draining. I'm left questioning my successes and failures every hour of every day, after every tantrum, tear, thrown toy, scraped knee and scream (and some of those happen to be mine).
We've moved houses 5 times in 6 years. Within those 6 years, we had 2 babies in 3 years. I live in a country where I'm still trying to find my way around, and still trying to figure out bus routes, never mind government paperwork, toddler classes and immunisations. I am effectively a single parent from 9am until 10pm, every day, and sometimes on weekends, while my other half tries to do his best to keep his business running so we can have a good life. I do the cooking, laundry, banking, playdates, bathtimes, medical appointments, travel diary management... and still try and take a shower once a day (I'd be lying if I didn't say that on average, that actually happens once every 3 days) and maybe shave my legs once a week. But the house is tidy, the kids are clean, I do manage to scrape my hair back and add some blush to my face, and everyone is healthy and fed. Coffee has become my fuel, because I tend to forget to eat much of anything normally.
I don't have any close friends over here to talk to. I don't have his family to help because they work hard hours in a fast-paced industry. My own family is on a different continent.
So, a lot of times, I'm on my own. Both emotionally and literally. And I look outside of my family unit and I start comparing and contrasting, thinking that other families out there have it cracked, and everyone else other than me can make a really solid and happy family unit and can make it all work seamlessly. I feel like I always drop the ball, I always screw up, I always manage to fail at the most important things, and lately, it's been my relationship. My one thing that I always said I would never potentially neglect, and always work at.
I'm not a hero. There are loads of women out there that have it much harder and don't complain, don't talk about the hard shit, and put on a brave face. I don't deserve a special medal, so I'm not asking for the sympathetic cocking of the head to the side to say "oh, you poor thing."
My issue is that I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I pretend that I don't, which is the worst kind of martyr. I pretend that I don't need to vent, I pretend that my tears aren't tears of exhaustion, I make sure that everyone is okay even if I resent the fact that I haven't taken care of my needs at all, and I apologise to everyone before I tell them about my obstacles, because I feel that no one, including my other half, needs to hear my issues. Everyone has a bag of shit, right? I don't want to put my shit in their bag. So my opening line is "I'm sorry, but I just feel that... and don't take this the wrong way, but...". It's quite passive and wimpy, which is not an example that I want to set for my daughter. I want her to own her feelings, to be a sentient and sympathetic human being, and to know how to convey them without regret.
Unfortunately, this ends up pushing people away. And the worst part about that is that my one best friend, my husband, gets pushed the farthest. Instead of asking for help, my exhaustion results in snapping at people. Barking what I need, and not asking for it. Not giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, and expecting the worst. I don't ask for anything, I demand it, out of sheer because I deserve it-ness.
The lines of communication get broken, and it all starts to feel very numb. It's an added layer to our exhaustion that tinges everything with that extra bit of grey, and makes the grooves around our eyes less like happy story-lines, and more like resignation and sadness.
I need to be able to cry without apologising. I need to be able to say "Hey, I feel like crap, and I need a hug." Once I open myself up without fear of judgement, the colour seems to come back into the scene. Everything seems more manageable.
I need to keep trying to let go and embrace the imperfections that I try so hard to hide. Maybe only then will I fix the cracks in the surface and realise how perfect those flaws, to me and my family, really are.
I don't apologise for feeling the way I have been, having had a baby and being on a hormonal Tilt-A-Whirl... but I do apologise to you readers that think I've lost the plot.
Here's the thing: Having kids, no matter how many, is a hard fucking deal the first 3-6 months. It's amazing and I'm really adoring these two beautiful people that have made our life complete magic, but interlaced in that amazing bit is a really hard bit that I forgot about. It can be torture, having had days, weeks, of no sleep. It can be emotionally draining. I'm left questioning my successes and failures every hour of every day, after every tantrum, tear, thrown toy, scraped knee and scream (and some of those happen to be mine).
We've moved houses 5 times in 6 years. Within those 6 years, we had 2 babies in 3 years. I live in a country where I'm still trying to find my way around, and still trying to figure out bus routes, never mind government paperwork, toddler classes and immunisations. I am effectively a single parent from 9am until 10pm, every day, and sometimes on weekends, while my other half tries to do his best to keep his business running so we can have a good life. I do the cooking, laundry, banking, playdates, bathtimes, medical appointments, travel diary management... and still try and take a shower once a day (I'd be lying if I didn't say that on average, that actually happens once every 3 days) and maybe shave my legs once a week. But the house is tidy, the kids are clean, I do manage to scrape my hair back and add some blush to my face, and everyone is healthy and fed. Coffee has become my fuel, because I tend to forget to eat much of anything normally.
I don't have any close friends over here to talk to. I don't have his family to help because they work hard hours in a fast-paced industry. My own family is on a different continent.
So, a lot of times, I'm on my own. Both emotionally and literally. And I look outside of my family unit and I start comparing and contrasting, thinking that other families out there have it cracked, and everyone else other than me can make a really solid and happy family unit and can make it all work seamlessly. I feel like I always drop the ball, I always screw up, I always manage to fail at the most important things, and lately, it's been my relationship. My one thing that I always said I would never potentially neglect, and always work at.
I'm not a hero. There are loads of women out there that have it much harder and don't complain, don't talk about the hard shit, and put on a brave face. I don't deserve a special medal, so I'm not asking for the sympathetic cocking of the head to the side to say "oh, you poor thing."
My issue is that I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I pretend that I don't, which is the worst kind of martyr. I pretend that I don't need to vent, I pretend that my tears aren't tears of exhaustion, I make sure that everyone is okay even if I resent the fact that I haven't taken care of my needs at all, and I apologise to everyone before I tell them about my obstacles, because I feel that no one, including my other half, needs to hear my issues. Everyone has a bag of shit, right? I don't want to put my shit in their bag. So my opening line is "I'm sorry, but I just feel that... and don't take this the wrong way, but...". It's quite passive and wimpy, which is not an example that I want to set for my daughter. I want her to own her feelings, to be a sentient and sympathetic human being, and to know how to convey them without regret.
Unfortunately, this ends up pushing people away. And the worst part about that is that my one best friend, my husband, gets pushed the farthest. Instead of asking for help, my exhaustion results in snapping at people. Barking what I need, and not asking for it. Not giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, and expecting the worst. I don't ask for anything, I demand it, out of sheer because I deserve it-ness.
The lines of communication get broken, and it all starts to feel very numb. It's an added layer to our exhaustion that tinges everything with that extra bit of grey, and makes the grooves around our eyes less like happy story-lines, and more like resignation and sadness.
I need to be able to cry without apologising. I need to be able to say "Hey, I feel like crap, and I need a hug." Once I open myself up without fear of judgement, the colour seems to come back into the scene. Everything seems more manageable.
I need to keep trying to let go and embrace the imperfections that I try so hard to hide. Maybe only then will I fix the cracks in the surface and realise how perfect those flaws, to me and my family, really are.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Today. Tomorrow. One minute at a time.
Today I felt like I failed.
We bought L a toddler bed and put it in her room yesterday. She loved it, and being brave, wanted to nap in it, but felt afraid. Confused. Overwhelmed. And at 19 months, has no idea how to convey those sentiments to me, unfortunately. But I felt it in my bones. Something was making her needy for me, and this wasn't something she felt very often, the tough cookie that she is.
Yesterday was the first nap in the bed, and through her tears and anger, she fell asleep in it, with me sitting next to her, stroking her hair.
Today was different. Today was a day that I couldn't sit with her for very long because the Boy needed a feed, and she didn't want him in her room with me and her on the bed, she wanted me all to herself. She yells "Mama! ME. ME. ME." and pulls me to her closely, as if to say "I need you now. It's ME time. MY time. You are MINE."
I sat with her and watched her drift off, and then the Boy let out a cry in the other room, and her eyes snapped open. I told her that I would have to tend to him but come back to her.
She took this as me abandoning her. Leaving her.
As I was feeding her brother, all I heard was gutteral screeching and yelling and crying, yelling "Mama! Maaaamaa!!" desperately. I heard pounding on the walls, I heard the throwing of books, I heard her angry wails, waiting for me to come back to her.
It was the most heartbreaking moment I've ever had as a parent, and after I put the baby down after his feed, I had to stand in the living room to regroup. And as I did so, my heart felt broken. I felt broken. I started to sob. I sobbed because I love them both so very much and felt torn in two. I sobbed because I feel bad that my little girl has to adjust to having another member in the family. I sobbed that I couldn't run to her at every "Mama" that exploded out of her lungs. I sobbed because I felt like I failed as a mother because I couldn't prevent my child from feeling hurt or neglected or abandoned.
I realise, in that rational part of my brain, that my children will always know how monumental my love and pride is for them, but today was a day where I felt confused, lost and helpless to doing what I wanted for them, but ultimately couldn't be torn in half to accomplish what I wanted to.
Some days will be better than others. Today I felt my little girl's hurt, and my throat burns with how profoundly sad I was that I couldn't help her in that moment.
Sure, it's "just a bed" to anyone else, but I don't ever want them to think that when it comes to them, I would view anything as "just". Everything is important. Their world is important. L's world at the moment is in a time of transition, of change. She's learning things before she's ready for them, sometimes.
Today she didn't nap. She needed me to hold her, walk with her, read books with her.
Tomorrow's a new day. I'll leave today in my memory as a lesson in loving, a lesson that my children have taught me about patience, and how the heart, just like any muscle, constantly works itself to its potential to get stronger, and add more layers to be able to love more efficiently.
We bought L a toddler bed and put it in her room yesterday. She loved it, and being brave, wanted to nap in it, but felt afraid. Confused. Overwhelmed. And at 19 months, has no idea how to convey those sentiments to me, unfortunately. But I felt it in my bones. Something was making her needy for me, and this wasn't something she felt very often, the tough cookie that she is.
Yesterday was the first nap in the bed, and through her tears and anger, she fell asleep in it, with me sitting next to her, stroking her hair.
Today was different. Today was a day that I couldn't sit with her for very long because the Boy needed a feed, and she didn't want him in her room with me and her on the bed, she wanted me all to herself. She yells "Mama! ME. ME. ME." and pulls me to her closely, as if to say "I need you now. It's ME time. MY time. You are MINE."
I sat with her and watched her drift off, and then the Boy let out a cry in the other room, and her eyes snapped open. I told her that I would have to tend to him but come back to her.
She took this as me abandoning her. Leaving her.
As I was feeding her brother, all I heard was gutteral screeching and yelling and crying, yelling "Mama! Maaaamaa!!" desperately. I heard pounding on the walls, I heard the throwing of books, I heard her angry wails, waiting for me to come back to her.
It was the most heartbreaking moment I've ever had as a parent, and after I put the baby down after his feed, I had to stand in the living room to regroup. And as I did so, my heart felt broken. I felt broken. I started to sob. I sobbed because I love them both so very much and felt torn in two. I sobbed because I feel bad that my little girl has to adjust to having another member in the family. I sobbed that I couldn't run to her at every "Mama" that exploded out of her lungs. I sobbed because I felt like I failed as a mother because I couldn't prevent my child from feeling hurt or neglected or abandoned.
I realise, in that rational part of my brain, that my children will always know how monumental my love and pride is for them, but today was a day where I felt confused, lost and helpless to doing what I wanted for them, but ultimately couldn't be torn in half to accomplish what I wanted to.
Some days will be better than others. Today I felt my little girl's hurt, and my throat burns with how profoundly sad I was that I couldn't help her in that moment.
Sure, it's "just a bed" to anyone else, but I don't ever want them to think that when it comes to them, I would view anything as "just". Everything is important. Their world is important. L's world at the moment is in a time of transition, of change. She's learning things before she's ready for them, sometimes.
Today she didn't nap. She needed me to hold her, walk with her, read books with her.
Tomorrow's a new day. I'll leave today in my memory as a lesson in loving, a lesson that my children have taught me about patience, and how the heart, just like any muscle, constantly works itself to its potential to get stronger, and add more layers to be able to love more efficiently.
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
Two much. Not enough. Date night.
I'm taking the rare opportunity to write, because both of them are napping (the universe was looking out for me today, and gave me a much-needed respite from the chaos).
I swore up and down, before I had kids, that I would be the mom who would never yell. I would be the mom that would have the serene patience that other mothers would envy. I would never be shrill, never be stern, always teach my child the rules by being strict but ever so fair. I would be the mom that would always look like the boho-chic she was before kids, hair just-perfectly-messy, with dewy cheeks and sinewy body.*
Yeah. Hear that laughing? That's fate saying "Duh. You expect too much and it always comes back to bite you in the ass."
I'm tired. I'm working off of 2 hours' sleep pretty much every night at the moment, and though I'm so blissfully proud of my little family, my patience is being tested on a regular basis. What's easier about having another baby is that it's not the "unknown" anymore, so I can pretty much handle who needs what, and when and why. But it's the emotional burden that I have currently with L, my beautiful baby girl, my heart that lives outside of my person. Her needs are much more difficult to manage and figure out.
L is having a bit of a tough transition. She's teething, and on top of the new baby brother she has that requires a lot of attention, she has been on edge lately. It's really uncharacteristic of her to be like that, because she's a happy, giggly, tough little girl. But her personality cannot be labeled, and as such, she's needing some space to vent and show her frustration. I'm there for her whenever she needs me, and when I can be, but sometimes the opportunity for her to cuddle with me is met with "in a minute", and "wait a second", and "we can do that later, I need to...". It's met with a rather adult reaction: crossed hands, sitting down on the rug, reading a book, chanting "WAYt... WAYt..." with disappointment. I try and sit with her and read whilst feeding the baby for 45 minutes, I try and get her to draw, to interact, but she doesn't want it. She sits and waits until she has ALL of me to herself. It breaks my heart.
We went to the playground yesterday. Sun shining, snacks at hand, I was prepared. Except for the fact that the baby needed feeding at a certain time, and I forgot the bottle. Shit.
We were there for 40 minutes, and then I had to tell L we needed to get going. He heart was set on being on the swings for much longer. She was glued to the seat. I asked her if we could go because we needed to get home. Cue the unholiest, whirlwind of a tantrum I had ever seen come out of her. She was screaming, crying, throwing herself on the ground and pounding the grass with each heaving sob. I tried to comfort her, she pushed me away. I tried to lift her up, she melted away from me, dead weight (all you parents out there will know the "toddler melt".. it makes it that much harder to pick them up, and makes it look like you're dragging them). I had to scoop her up and put her in the buggy. As I was strapping her in, she was still screaming/moaning/making wild animal grunts and growls.
Now this buggy is a double, a side-by-side Baby Jogger that L absolutely loves, but in this moment, strapping her in was like the death sentence for her. She was kicking the footrest, trying to rip the straps off of her body. The mothers in the park gave me all-knowing smiles and sympathetic glances, but it was embarrassing. I gritted my teeth and walked away quickly, across the field, back to the main road. L was still screaming, and at this point, I broke my patience. I broke my vow of never yelling.
I stopped the buggy and knelt down at her height, grabbed her arm and yelled "STOP it! Enough yelling, you do not yell to get what you want!!" (the irony of that statement is so apparent). I sounded shrill and angry, and it was really unbecoming. She kept crying, but calmed down a little bit temporarily, before having another screaming tantrum 10 minutes later because she couldn't have ice cream before leaving the park. I gave up listening at that point and just soldiered home.
Did I get what I wanted out of her? I'm not so sure. I snapped her out of her self-induced hysterics, but does that do any long-term damage? Will she use yelling to get her point across when she's with friends? Will I become the mother who loses her shit just because of a wee tantrum? What does that say about me?
It's a constant juggle in my brain and in my spirit of trying to give L the patience she deserves, the time she needs, the mom she craves, whilst also tending to what my beautiful new boy needs. My two beautiful creatures are dividing up pieces of me, and though I try and tell people I can do it all, in reality, my heart feels sad that I can't satisfy both of them equally.
********************************************************
We had our first date night in a long time last night. And though I reluctantly left L and the boy with Nana, it was so good to put on some leather boots and a sexy short dress.
"Wow... I thought to myself who is that standing there..? You look really beautiful." he said as he strode up the stairs to meet me at the entrance to the subway.
He kissed me.
I blushed.
He held my hand as we walked to the theater.
We had a drink and talked... we saw a show, we talked some more afterwards, and he put his arm around me as we walked home.
Though sometimes it's hard stepping out of the house and leaving the kids for a bit, it gave me butterflies to feel his hand on mine and see in his eyes the love story that we're still writing.
*Luckily, this I can still pull off, to some degree, so at least that's one (vain) victory.
I swore up and down, before I had kids, that I would be the mom who would never yell. I would be the mom that would have the serene patience that other mothers would envy. I would never be shrill, never be stern, always teach my child the rules by being strict but ever so fair. I would be the mom that would always look like the boho-chic she was before kids, hair just-perfectly-messy, with dewy cheeks and sinewy body.*
Yeah. Hear that laughing? That's fate saying "Duh. You expect too much and it always comes back to bite you in the ass."
I'm tired. I'm working off of 2 hours' sleep pretty much every night at the moment, and though I'm so blissfully proud of my little family, my patience is being tested on a regular basis. What's easier about having another baby is that it's not the "unknown" anymore, so I can pretty much handle who needs what, and when and why. But it's the emotional burden that I have currently with L, my beautiful baby girl, my heart that lives outside of my person. Her needs are much more difficult to manage and figure out.
L is having a bit of a tough transition. She's teething, and on top of the new baby brother she has that requires a lot of attention, she has been on edge lately. It's really uncharacteristic of her to be like that, because she's a happy, giggly, tough little girl. But her personality cannot be labeled, and as such, she's needing some space to vent and show her frustration. I'm there for her whenever she needs me, and when I can be, but sometimes the opportunity for her to cuddle with me is met with "in a minute", and "wait a second", and "we can do that later, I need to...". It's met with a rather adult reaction: crossed hands, sitting down on the rug, reading a book, chanting "WAYt... WAYt..." with disappointment. I try and sit with her and read whilst feeding the baby for 45 minutes, I try and get her to draw, to interact, but she doesn't want it. She sits and waits until she has ALL of me to herself. It breaks my heart.
We went to the playground yesterday. Sun shining, snacks at hand, I was prepared. Except for the fact that the baby needed feeding at a certain time, and I forgot the bottle. Shit.
We were there for 40 minutes, and then I had to tell L we needed to get going. He heart was set on being on the swings for much longer. She was glued to the seat. I asked her if we could go because we needed to get home. Cue the unholiest, whirlwind of a tantrum I had ever seen come out of her. She was screaming, crying, throwing herself on the ground and pounding the grass with each heaving sob. I tried to comfort her, she pushed me away. I tried to lift her up, she melted away from me, dead weight (all you parents out there will know the "toddler melt".. it makes it that much harder to pick them up, and makes it look like you're dragging them). I had to scoop her up and put her in the buggy. As I was strapping her in, she was still screaming/moaning/making wild animal grunts and growls.
Now this buggy is a double, a side-by-side Baby Jogger that L absolutely loves, but in this moment, strapping her in was like the death sentence for her. She was kicking the footrest, trying to rip the straps off of her body. The mothers in the park gave me all-knowing smiles and sympathetic glances, but it was embarrassing. I gritted my teeth and walked away quickly, across the field, back to the main road. L was still screaming, and at this point, I broke my patience. I broke my vow of never yelling.
I stopped the buggy and knelt down at her height, grabbed her arm and yelled "STOP it! Enough yelling, you do not yell to get what you want!!" (the irony of that statement is so apparent). I sounded shrill and angry, and it was really unbecoming. She kept crying, but calmed down a little bit temporarily, before having another screaming tantrum 10 minutes later because she couldn't have ice cream before leaving the park. I gave up listening at that point and just soldiered home.
Did I get what I wanted out of her? I'm not so sure. I snapped her out of her self-induced hysterics, but does that do any long-term damage? Will she use yelling to get her point across when she's with friends? Will I become the mother who loses her shit just because of a wee tantrum? What does that say about me?
It's a constant juggle in my brain and in my spirit of trying to give L the patience she deserves, the time she needs, the mom she craves, whilst also tending to what my beautiful new boy needs. My two beautiful creatures are dividing up pieces of me, and though I try and tell people I can do it all, in reality, my heart feels sad that I can't satisfy both of them equally.
********************************************************
We had our first date night in a long time last night. And though I reluctantly left L and the boy with Nana, it was so good to put on some leather boots and a sexy short dress.
"Wow... I thought to myself who is that standing there..? You look really beautiful." he said as he strode up the stairs to meet me at the entrance to the subway.
He kissed me.
I blushed.
He held my hand as we walked to the theater.
We had a drink and talked... we saw a show, we talked some more afterwards, and he put his arm around me as we walked home.
Though sometimes it's hard stepping out of the house and leaving the kids for a bit, it gave me butterflies to feel his hand on mine and see in his eyes the love story that we're still writing.
*Luckily, this I can still pull off, to some degree, so at least that's one (vain) victory.
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