I haven't experienced such a looooong day in a very looooong time.
It's been such a long day that I'm sure 24 hours has already passed, but it's still Monday.
Bloody horrid day it's been, I tell you.
Horrible people with no bloody ethics. Really - I have to wonder sometimes.
Then - home to kids that were in Horrid Motion and I thought I was going to go mad - and that was only 15 minutes after they had come through the door.
Oldest went to run an errand for me and did it all wrong and I was fed up because he had not been Paying Bloody Attention - even though he repeated every word back to me. I wanted to thump him. I might just have was it not for the fact that it is actually against the law.
Then Mr Husband phoned and said he was going to be late - as in very late - like 11 pm late, while I battle to get these brats (yes - today that is what they are!) into bed and out of my hair! Please Lord make them stop bickering.
So I went to the kitchen and opened the only bottle of alcohol I have - which is mulled wine left over from Christmas, I kid you not. I am drinking it. Unheated. It is going straight to my cheeks. They are Blood Red.
I don't care. Five sips and already I feel better.
Cheerio!
Monday, June 18, 2012
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Hope, Fear & Forgiveness.
There is no harvest for the heart alone.
The seed of love must be Eternally resown.
- Anne Morrow Lindbergh
That was what was on the cover of Mr Husband and my wedding programme.
Almost 21 years ago.
As you know, Mr Husband and I went through a Very Tough Time.
In fact, from March 2010 until virtually the end of March 2012, it was actually Hell On Earth.
I blogged about it, I cried about it, I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it some more.
And then I decided that there was nothing more to it, than for it to End.
I decided this while Mr Husband was away at Our Island.
I felt firm in my decision, as I could honestly not see my way clear of the tangled heartache we seemed to have shaped.
I had wanted to help him break free from the burden his cruel childhood had created, but realised that instead, I was paying the price for it too. It was tricky. It was overwhelming, it was frightening, it was sad.
I made my decision.
I fetched Mr Husband from the airport and was shocked by how much weight he had lost.
We hugged awkwardly and the near hour drive home was stilted, with me asking superficial questions about all the distant relatives, especially the crazy ones, and him asking after the children.
The next few days passed calmly enough, work and the children keeping us both busy and preoccupied.
Then. It wasn't a 'we need to talk' moment or anything like that. It was an evening in front of the telly watching a programme - I forget which - and Mr Husband started talking.
He spoke from his heart. Tears made their way down his face and onto his chin where there was a bit of stubble.
He spoke of his hope that we could stay a family, that he could work through his issues with my help and that we would be able to continue our journey together, but this time a happier one.
Inside of myself I felt a flutter of hope - like the first time you feel a baby kick inside your belly - a feeling of tingly anticipation, but also traces of fear.
He asked for my forgiveness and I told him how afraid I was to take another chance, as I felt my heart couldn't bear anymore pain.
He answered that he could not promise a happy ending, but could certainly promise that he would do everything in his power to save us, save this family, give us the chance of a happy future.
He would start with therapy and dedicate himself to our relationship with total honesty, but more importantly, with kindness.
It's been nearly 3 months since that conversation. He has kept his word. He has been kind, he has been thoughtful, he has been going for therapy. There has been improvement.
I know this - you can fake what you do and you can fake what you say, but you cannot fake the energy you carry, the expression on your face when you think no one is watching, your body language....
And that is where I have sensed the real truth of his words. In his energy. In his positive, kind, loving energy.
I have hope.
I have a lot of hope.
The seed of love must be Eternally resown.
- Anne Morrow Lindbergh
That was what was on the cover of Mr Husband and my wedding programme.
Almost 21 years ago.
As you know, Mr Husband and I went through a Very Tough Time.
In fact, from March 2010 until virtually the end of March 2012, it was actually Hell On Earth.
I blogged about it, I cried about it, I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it some more.
And then I decided that there was nothing more to it, than for it to End.
I decided this while Mr Husband was away at Our Island.
I felt firm in my decision, as I could honestly not see my way clear of the tangled heartache we seemed to have shaped.
I had wanted to help him break free from the burden his cruel childhood had created, but realised that instead, I was paying the price for it too. It was tricky. It was overwhelming, it was frightening, it was sad.
I made my decision.
I fetched Mr Husband from the airport and was shocked by how much weight he had lost.
We hugged awkwardly and the near hour drive home was stilted, with me asking superficial questions about all the distant relatives, especially the crazy ones, and him asking after the children.
The next few days passed calmly enough, work and the children keeping us both busy and preoccupied.
Then. It wasn't a 'we need to talk' moment or anything like that. It was an evening in front of the telly watching a programme - I forget which - and Mr Husband started talking.
He spoke from his heart. Tears made their way down his face and onto his chin where there was a bit of stubble.
He spoke of his hope that we could stay a family, that he could work through his issues with my help and that we would be able to continue our journey together, but this time a happier one.
Inside of myself I felt a flutter of hope - like the first time you feel a baby kick inside your belly - a feeling of tingly anticipation, but also traces of fear.
He asked for my forgiveness and I told him how afraid I was to take another chance, as I felt my heart couldn't bear anymore pain.
He answered that he could not promise a happy ending, but could certainly promise that he would do everything in his power to save us, save this family, give us the chance of a happy future.
He would start with therapy and dedicate himself to our relationship with total honesty, but more importantly, with kindness.
It's been nearly 3 months since that conversation. He has kept his word. He has been kind, he has been thoughtful, he has been going for therapy. There has been improvement.
I know this - you can fake what you do and you can fake what you say, but you cannot fake the energy you carry, the expression on your face when you think no one is watching, your body language....
And that is where I have sensed the real truth of his words. In his energy. In his positive, kind, loving energy.
I have hope.
I have a lot of hope.
Friday, June 15, 2012
My (Non) Dieting Routine
It's Monday. You have to start dieting on a Monday.
Don't wait till Monday. Start today - there's no time like the present.
It's Friday. No one starts a diet on a Friday. Especially not me. Pass the cake. And the wine.
Okay - I've had cake, so I won't eat anything else for the day. Dang! It's only midday. Best I go to bed right now.
I'm buying only Weight Watchers meals. I'm not going to eat anything else. Not going to think about it - Just Do It. "Ma, I'm hungry!" Thinnest child in the house gets given Weight Watchers Lasagne. Later I lie on the couch eating the Magnum I bought for the thinnest child.
Ban all treats from the house. Removing temptation seems to be the only way.
Spend the afternoon baking double chocolate cheese cake.
Spend the evening eating it.
Yeah, I'm an all or nothing kinda gal. It's the all part that shows very obviously at the moment.
But, it's Friday.
And anyone in their right mind knows you don't start a diet on a Friday.
Now, where's the wine...?
Don't wait till Monday. Start today - there's no time like the present.
It's Friday. No one starts a diet on a Friday. Especially not me. Pass the cake. And the wine.
Okay - I've had cake, so I won't eat anything else for the day. Dang! It's only midday. Best I go to bed right now.
I'm buying only Weight Watchers meals. I'm not going to eat anything else. Not going to think about it - Just Do It. "Ma, I'm hungry!" Thinnest child in the house gets given Weight Watchers Lasagne. Later I lie on the couch eating the Magnum I bought for the thinnest child.
Ban all treats from the house. Removing temptation seems to be the only way.
Spend the afternoon baking double chocolate cheese cake.
Spend the evening eating it.
Yeah, I'm an all or nothing kinda gal. It's the all part that shows very obviously at the moment.
But, it's Friday.
And anyone in their right mind knows you don't start a diet on a Friday.
Now, where's the wine...?
Saturday, June 9, 2012
If it's not burning down...
I have spent 5 days at home. Straight.
Five days away from My Regular Job (yip - the one I go to so I can get actual money and pay the bills).
About 4 of those days were spent staring at the screen of my laptop, wondering where the bloody Writing Fairy was and why she wasn't bashing me on the head with her Wand of Good Ideas.
I managed 1700 words. And 1000 of those were a letter to a friend in South Africa, so that probably doesn't count.
One of those days was spent having a
small Jubilee Party, where Pimm's,
Coronation Chicken and Victorian Sponge ruled. Okay - lots of wine, jubilee cup cakes, jubilee trifle and wonderful company too.
Tomorrow I will be back at my Day Job. It's good I have this Day Job, because I fear (and so does my family) that if I didn't have this Day Job, I would never leave the house. I am not keen to leave the house.
And I can't actually tell you why. Well, I could, but I'm not really too sure as to why it is. I think it's a combination of things. Firstly, I have this theory - if it's not burning down, don't leave it.
Then, it's a matter of comfort. I love to live in my pj's. As much as possible. I think I have more pj's than regular clothes. I like it this way. And I am a Big-Boobed-Woman, which means leaving the house requires wearing a bra which is kind of like being confined to a strait jacket of sorts. At home I get to go boob-loose and fancy free.
Being in my home makes me feel safe and secure. The outside world? Not so much.
But, I also know that it's stepping out of our comfort zone that allows us to grow and develop. In fact, I am a bit of a preacher of this.
"Stretch yourself!" is what I tell family and friends that ask for advice. (I kid you not - I actually have people asking me for advice. True story.)
So, I have decided that I will follow my own advice and stretch myself.
This is how I plan to do it. I will make sure that I leave the house at least one day a week - and that does not include going to The Day Job. I will leave the house and go somewhere. Somewhere proper - like the library or a coffee shop or a gallery. Somewhere that requires of me to get out of my pajamas and into my proper clothes.
I will do it. And I will keep you updated.
And if you have any ideas for me as to what I can do to step out of my house, I would love to hear them! Please
Five days away from My Regular Job (yip - the one I go to so I can get actual money and pay the bills).
About 4 of those days were spent staring at the screen of my laptop, wondering where the bloody Writing Fairy was and why she wasn't bashing me on the head with her Wand of Good Ideas.
I managed 1700 words. And 1000 of those were a letter to a friend in South Africa, so that probably doesn't count.
One of those days was spent having a small Jubilee Party, where Pimm's,
Coronation Chicken and Victorian Sponge ruled. Okay - lots of wine, jubilee cup cakes, jubilee trifle and wonderful company too.
Tomorrow I will be back at my Day Job. It's good I have this Day Job, because I fear (and so does my family) that if I didn't have this Day Job, I would never leave the house. I am not keen to leave the house.
And I can't actually tell you why. Well, I could, but I'm not really too sure as to why it is. I think it's a combination of things. Firstly, I have this theory - if it's not burning down, don't leave it.
Then, it's a matter of comfort. I love to live in my pj's. As much as possible. I think I have more pj's than regular clothes. I like it this way. And I am a Big-Boobed-Woman, which means leaving the house requires wearing a bra which is kind of like being confined to a strait jacket of sorts. At home I get to go boob-loose and fancy free.
Being in my home makes me feel safe and secure. The outside world? Not so much.
But, I also know that it's stepping out of our comfort zone that allows us to grow and develop. In fact, I am a bit of a preacher of this.
"Stretch yourself!" is what I tell family and friends that ask for advice. (I kid you not - I actually have people asking me for advice. True story.)
So, I have decided that I will follow my own advice and stretch myself.
This is how I plan to do it. I will make sure that I leave the house at least one day a week - and that does not include going to The Day Job. I will leave the house and go somewhere. Somewhere proper - like the library or a coffee shop or a gallery. Somewhere that requires of me to get out of my pajamas and into my proper clothes.
I will do it. And I will keep you updated.
And if you have any ideas for me as to what I can do to step out of my house, I would love to hear them! Please
Thursday, June 7, 2012
100 RPM
I wrote a story.
Then some people read it.
And they decided it was good enough to be in a book alongside some really incredible authors.
As this is my first time, I feel rather honoured. Proud. And so terribly, terribly excited!
100 RPM was published on the 31st of May (that has gone down as my new lucky day) and you can go over here to read more about it on Caroline Smailes's blog - she was the great mastermind behind this incredible project.
You can go over here to buy it - at the bargain price of 99p. All the money made from this project goes to the charity One in Four - a charity that offers support to people who have experienced sexual abuse.
It was about 8 years ago when I first heard that statistic - that one in four children will experience sexual abuse before the age of 18. I was sitting in the living room - my four children on the carpet in front of me. I was overwhelmed with sadness and a terrible feeling of helplessness and desperation. One in four. It's a shocking statistic.
I would like to say a special thank you to Caroline Smailes for bringing this worthy cause to our attention. She's an incredible lady.
Then some people read it.
And they decided it was good enough to be in a book alongside some really incredible authors.
As this is my first time, I feel rather honoured. Proud. And so terribly, terribly excited!
100 RPM was published on the 31st of May (that has gone down as my new lucky day) and you can go over here to read more about it on Caroline Smailes's blog - she was the great mastermind behind this incredible project.
You can go over here to buy it - at the bargain price of 99p. All the money made from this project goes to the charity One in Four - a charity that offers support to people who have experienced sexual abuse.
It was about 8 years ago when I first heard that statistic - that one in four children will experience sexual abuse before the age of 18. I was sitting in the living room - my four children on the carpet in front of me. I was overwhelmed with sadness and a terrible feeling of helplessness and desperation. One in four. It's a shocking statistic.
I would like to say a special thank you to Caroline Smailes for bringing this worthy cause to our attention. She's an incredible lady.
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