All posts filed under: Thoughts

When Having It All Doesn’t Quite go to Plan

I grew up in the 90’s when the idea of women having it all had become a reality and most of my friend’s mums worked, often in jobs that gave them school holidays off with their children.  The Holy Grail, as it seemed to me back then, and the ideal to which I have subconsciously aspired ever since.  The closer I have got to this dream scenario, however, the more it has transpired that, actually, having it all is (for some of us) technically impossible. By the age of 22, I had two children and few prospects.  I studied part time, worked little jobs here and there whilst my partner was out of work, and volunteered too – anything to get something racked up on my poor starving CV.  We drifted like this for four years until James nabbed a teaching job – something he had always wanted – with just one small snag… it was in China. So off he pootled for the best part of a year whilst I stayed home with our 2 and 4 …

All the Things I Thought but Didn’t Say

In social anxiety Words remain thoughts More often than not. Sometimes they are exactly the right words; A well-timed anecdote  A witty retort An intelligent response  All stranded in a chasm of fear Unable to make themselves heard. Often As irony dictates My mind is actually racing Bursting with myriad thoughts Yet none of them fit  With what you just said. Did I use the right fork? Was it weird to look over there? Do I look bored?  Don’t look bored! What the fuck did I miss while I was lost inside my own head? Just laugh… just laugh! You may mistake The misplaced laughter Or unanswered question  As rudeness;  Others have! But don’t be fooled: If I am struggling to keep up with a conversation  Or fit in somewhere It is most likely because I want to impress. I’ve thought You look beautiful  And What a lovely dress; I know exactly what you mean Or sometimes just hear this… At times Even thank you Gets entirely stuck. Thank you for not hating me Mostly I …

You Were ’16, Going On ’17…

From March onward, 2016 seemed to fly and I suppose overall we had a fairly good year. Not a glowing report, you may notice, and I’m still undecided on whether it’s a year I will look back on fondly or not. There were many highlights, including holidays to Athens and Paros, a huge number of blog-related opportunities, both children thriving at school and in their chosen clubs, and a new career path for me. There were also a couple of notable low points, things that have affected me quite profoundly. Friendships disintegrated without reason, relationships were tested; the children suffered as a result, which I find most unforgivable. But, however difficult I have found the past few weeks and months, it all belongs firmly in 2016.  Today, we emptied our 2016 happy jar and sifted through its contents, remembering events and milestones. Seeing as though I often forget to add mementos to the jar, I was surprised at how full it actually was. Jasmine pulled out tickets and leaflets and wristbands, talking about each one …

EU Referendum – From Sadness to Hope

Sadness turned out to be unavoidable but it slipped in almost unnoticed. Having paid little attention to the genuine prospect of a Brexit majority, I don’t suppose I expected it to arrive. Shortly after midnight, however, bam! there it was. From the second declaration onward, whispers began to spread. What if… Could they… The sadness lay heavy in my chest. I slept only briefly during the night, but apparently during a crucial period. Before sleep, there was still a chance. When I woke again, all hope was gone, and anger thundered into my heart. Tired, angry, full of fucks and bollocks, I ranted online. No need to search for someone to blame when 17 million culprits lay in wait. Fury raged within me, more so with every revelation. I wanted to punch Farage in the face. Anger is exhausting and fear set in after a while. Fear at what might happen to our country, fear at what could be in store for our children. Fear of recrimination. Fear of the uninformed voter. Fear of xenophobia …

Grandad

I don’t recall talking much about my grandparents here; they don’t often come up in actual conversation either. It’s not that they aren’t important to me, more that I’m so used to having them in my life that I don’t need to mention it; their presence is unremarkable, but essential. They have been a firm constant since the day I was born.   Together for 60 years, married for almost 57, and having lived in the same house since my mum was a little girl, it is impossible to imagine a world without them, or either one without the other.   Being their first grandchild, I’m obviously their favourite, and I have a particularly special bond with my Grandad because I’m the only one of his descendants that dared to be born with his red hair.   The main reason for writing all this now is because I’m scared that one day it might all be memories or, worse still, forgotten entirely. I don’t want that to happen. I want to remember my grandparents in …