Everybody.................

It's not often lately that I have the time, urge or inclination to post here but this morning the desire hit me like a wave of nausea and I feel an urgency to spew forth my emotional vomit in this metaphorical sick bowl, so to speak.  I have said it before but writing, for me, provides a catharsis which thinking alone does not.  

On the way in to work I saw several young people, school aged, coupled to their partners, holding hands, smiling adoringly and generally looking like the cares of the world were most certainly no-where near their developing shoulders.  It made me nostalgic for the days when a certain smile or look  from a boy could literally send me heaven bound and being "asked out" by my latest crush felt better then than I imagine winning the lottery would now.  Such simplicity.  I then compared this 'phase' to  it's spectral opposite - a married couple at work, not employees but rather residents, in their twilight days who have moved in together and occupy the rooms across from one another.  Married for something like 57 years, they greet with a kiss each morning, hold hands at the dinner table and speak to one another with such loving concern that my heart skips a beat each time I hear it.  And I wonder, how do we get to that.

I know all marriage is flawed and there is no such thing as perfection.  However it troubles me that perhaps these couples who manage to navigate through the treacherous landscape of coupledom are somehow gifted in a way that others are not.  Have they too had to bridge the many craters created by such impacts as infidelity, illness, financial strain, depression, absence etc.  Are they super beings who have overcome in a way that others can't, or is it simply that they were blessed in a way others aren't?

I haven't got the answer of course, but I can't help thinking it may boil down to one essential element.  Respect.  A small word but with a whole plethora of ramifications if it is missing.

I also wonder whether a huge part may be expectation - a subject I have mentioned before, but which is such a fundamental element of happiness it deserves further comment.  Something occured to me yesterday (not often that I have epiphanic moments but there it was).   I was putting my make up on (never pleasant because it involves looking at oneself in the mirror for several minutes at a time which invariably leads to self hatred and mockery) anyway I realised that when I look at myself and feel negativity it is usually because in my minds eye I have someone else's face I am comparing it to..... not another naked-hyper-pigmented-had four-children-and-lots-of-stress-battered face, but rather a beautifully decorated, photo-shopped, ten years younger than mine face.  This is not a fair comparison and will inevitably lead to much depression and eating of cake.  In the same way I feel I compare (you compare, maybe we all compare)our relationships to those that we see around us.  What we fail to recongnise always is that these are the "made up" versions.   The real marriage is kept safely behind closed doors.

This isn't a new concept.  I am constantly reminding myself to be realistic and completely understand that what we see of others is never the genuine article.  Furthermore comparisons are futile.  Someone has to come off as the lower party and being on either side of that equation is unpleasant.  

So it's not a new idea or epiphany - more a gentle reminder to myself.  Be grateful, have respect, try not to compare and probably most importantly be forgiving - to myself as well.  

I have a dream

Actually I don't - I just thought as it is Martin's birthday I should pay him some respect.  Personally I do not dream as he did...he had a vision, of a united people sharing mutual respect and harmony.  Perhaps if he had spent a Friday in December 2011 queueing in Asda at peak time he would realise that the prospect of a united people was delusional. In fact an afternoon in the Ford household would also prove his theory wild.  Harmony between most human beings is unfeasible.

Just today I was driving home, along my usual route; and for some reason - probably my lack of concentration whilst fantasising about a lottery win and a full body massage from Eddie Iz, I was slightly inattentive and being a bit of a 'woman' driver.  Hence at a mini roundabout I failed to indicate my intention to turn.  As I completed this manoeuvre I noticed the driver of the car to my left (his responsibility to give way to me)  gesturing, shouting and pulling faces displaying his venomous intent (OK so I don't actually know that's how bad he was feeling but allow me some poetic licence).  He looked so angry I couldn't help but laugh -because somehow in this crazy world people have become internally wound so tight that the slightest inconvenience, mistake or mishap catapults them in to a violent rage.  It isn't amusing of course, I realise this but it is comical.

I nearly entitled my article 'the beast within' - that wouldn't be relevant to MLK's birthday though so  could make me appear less cultured.  There is a beast within all of us (in my humble opinion) - whether it be rage or some other vice, it is definitely there...nesting and waiting to erupt at the moment it's development is complete.  Sometimes I feel my own beast growing -  when I contact British Gas or British Telecom (note the pattern....British) about a service complaint and I am passed from department to department, to Newcastle to Dublin, to Deli and back to the UK only to be told that the 'computer is down' and I will need to try again at a later time.  It makes me feel murderous.  I fantasise about stamping my feet on the inadequate heads of all those who have failed to resolve my issue and whose English lacks the necessary level of comprehension requisite for the task.  I wonder if I am becoming a racist....a closet Nazi opposed to the nations of call centre operatives who answer the phones but fail to answer the problem.  And I wonder is it really a surprise when people flip. 

I'm not surprised.  Not that I am planning to flip myself, but I totally get the mentality of having had enough. Perspective is hard to maintain and occasionally people lose sight of the end game. 

I'm glad Martin Luther had a dream.  I'm glad he managed to set in motion the resolution of a huge social injustice, but I wonder what would people like him make of the world today.  I have no doubt he envisioned something far more beautiful than it has become. 

Personally, I dream of a world with no automated call services, where sentences such as "you are currently in a queue and will be answered as soon as the next operative is available"  are banned and where chocolate is completely calorie free.

Am I asking too much?

My Pink Perspective.

This is not to be confused with a 'Rosy Perspective'.  Those of you who know me understand my perspective is far from Rosy....as remote a prospect in my life as a Saharan Oasis.  Positivity just isn't in me.  No, this story involves stinking clothes a washing machine and a spot of nostalgia. 

On Tuesday I was doing the laundry.  In my house this is no minor task.  Practically every other day I sit there on my kitchen floor with piles of filthy, smelly clothing all around me and contemplate how wonderful it would be to have a maid.  I'm sure i'm not alone in this thought, considering how much easier life would be if someone could come and help with the daily monotonous chores.  I would easily sacrifice electricity, modern plumbing and the female vote for the prospect of rewinding time and returning to a day of Nannies and slave labour.  Anyway this particular morning I decided to put in a pink load.  Not colours, not darks, not whites, but pinks.  This is a load peculiar to those of us who have girls and more specifically to those who have more than one daughter.  I digress.  As I was loading the machine and bewailing my miserable lot in life.....work, clean, cook, referee the boys, work a little more, clean a little more, iron, wash, work again, clean...blah blah blah, I remembered a distinct moment in my previous life.  Just after Charlotte was born, when I put in a 'pink' load....pink babygrows, pink dresses, pink knickers, pink booties, pink blankets....and how I cried, yes sobbed, because finally I had my girl.

Yet just a few years later that same pink load was causing me grief and resentment.

And it occured to me that life isn't the thing that has changed....it is me, or rather my outlook.  What I once saw as a privelidge and a blessing has gradually become a burden and a chore.  It's still the same pink clothes entering that machine, only now I have begun to take for granted these little females I so longed for and thus forget to stop and see the wonder and joy of them being here.

So to go a bit Jerry-Springer-like, I had one of those Epiphanic moments, realising that the main issue with mine, yours and probably many people's lives is we lack the perspective we used to own, when the brighter times were here.  I've said it before (as did Ronan) and I'll say it again, life is a roller coaster...the carriage doesn't change, the harness stays in place and the tracks are solid but the view is forever altering.  Sometimes I feel I shall be glad simply to get to the end and remain still for a while, but in the meantime I really have got to learn to enjoy the ride.

Great Expectations.

Charles Dickens, the Queen's speech, an over-expanded stomach and the latest X Factor finalist at number one...these are some of the things I associate with Christmas time.  That and disappointment.  Utterly self inflicted might I add - prior to the 25th I completely buy in to the illusions of a family Christmas reminiscent of the seasonal M&S advert.  I picture my family gathered around the fire (which we don't have) opening presents, love in our eyes and gratitude magnified upon all faces - the scent of turkey and parsnips roasting in the oven and the smell of magical wonder in the air.  I envisage my darling husband turning to me and handing over the present I never requested but secretly wished for and then us kissing and looking at each other with that deep understanding which comes from traversing 17 years of marriage, the births of four children and a critical illness to boot.

The reality varies slightly.  Mostly.  Completely.

The disillusionment started on Christmas Eve with an incident  involving a wall, an ugly car, some disastrous male driving and several ugly wife expressions to follow.  Part of me was trying to be pleasant and kind and forgiving because it was Christmas Eve and only a really nasty wife falls out with her husband for reversing in to a wall on such a significant date.....but then the other part of me, the ungrateful martyr-type victim of self pity part, was bewailing the fact this had happened on CHRISTMAS EVE, because truly nothing bad should happen on the 24th December....because it's the night before Christmas.  Didn't the car, or the wall or fate or Chris realise this?  Bad things are even badder at Christmas and simply aren't supposed to occur.

Which is ridiculous and makes me think of the Band Aid song "Do they Know it's Christmas Time Atall?" (I think I may have shared my feelings on this topic once before).   As a child I really took that message on board and fretted about the poor people of Africa not having a Christmas.  Since then I have realised what nonsense it was - why would a starving mother, watching her children die stop to think to herself  that this is made any worse by the fact it is Christmas?  But we do.  When we hear of an accident, injury, divorce, job loss, affair or any other tragedy throughout December, most people's reaction is that it is made sadder because of the season.  We expect something wonderful at Christmas and when it is spoiled our disappointment is even more acute.  (Incidentally I do appreciate that the track hugely raised awareness of the plight in Ethiopia and was a great tool but the concept was purely for the Western Nations).

Following on from the car Chris then lost his wallet.  In itself nothing major but yet another niggle in our bag of troubles.  Thus I woke up Christmas Day struggling to maintain a facade of excitement, enhanced by the attitude of our teenage boys who made no secret of the fact they did not wish to get up and share in the fun.  At 14+ all a boy wants to do is sleep (and perhaps a few other unmentionable things) so trying to drag them out of bed and pretend to be happy for the sake of their little sisters who have wholeheartedly embraced the magic of Santa, is nigh on impossible.   On top of this the day was somewhat marred by the moans and groans of children, who justifiably, wished to remain at home and play with their games/toys, whilst we adults had arranged family visits.  Somehow next year we need to work on a compromise.

And my final disappointment is discovering our hamster, which I had bought as the girls' Christmas gift, is sick and so had to be returned from whence it came.    It basically sat in its cage for two days not moving much atall so yesterday I forced it out so to give it the once over and discovered it has wet tail....a stress related illness.  Quite frankly in this household I am not surprised.  Maybe she overheard about the smashed car and the lost wallet and all of my other woes.

I suppose I should be just grateful I am not a Hamster.

Handle with care.

I'm not sure whether I have told you this or not, and in perfect honesty I can't stand to re-read previous posts and find out (in the cringe department this falls second only to listening to your own voice on the answer machine) but Chris is now a Postman.  A far cry from his former roll as IT Consultant but, not surprisingly, on the whole,  a genuinely satisfying job - what man wouldn't want to hand their packages to several women each day?   Might I add that he makes a hugely handsome Postie, when compared to the Shrekish creature delivering my mail at least.  Should I be worried.....probably.  I take comfort though in the fact that were he to succomb to any attractive female it would be shortlived as he would've forgotten about it by teatime.

Yesterday however Chris had the absolute worse day in his working history; consdering this is the man who has previously worked on the bins, at a shampoo factory and as a gigolo in a male prison, this is really saying something.  Finishing the round at 7pm after a day spent in the lashing rain and freezing cold, he returned to the Delivery Office to find that everyone else had gone home - in itself not a problem except for the fact his car keys were in his locker inside.  So at half past eight he returned to our house, deflated, bedraggled and questioning his vocation in life.  On the upside he did collect a whopping two pounds in tips making his pain completely worthwhile.

This isn't however the "handle with care" I wished to discuss.  Yesterday in my spam I found an email from "Babycentre.com" - American so possibly the only explanation I need, and yes I am completely racist believing that the majority of American's are ridiculous.  My distaste however does not extend to such methods as a final solution, only a de-cheesing ritual and a plan to remove all upper intonation at the end of sentences.  The article was entitled "Your pre-schooler and you - how to survive the holidays".   Have I missed something?  Survive 9/11 yes, or the Holocaust, or earthquakes in Japan , but the 'holidays'...really?

First things first.......'Holidays?' - a new way of describing the Christmas period derived to cause zero offence to non-christian denominations.  No, no, no, no, no.  Christmas is Christmas, plain and simple.  If people find this offensive perhaps they need to question their own motivation....and the Christian in me says shoot them all.   Secondly, what is there about a 'pre-schooler' that is so utterly terrifying, detestable and fear invoking that we require a survival guide?  The last time I checked my youngest was the only child I didn't fear....an angel who patters in to my bed at 2am each morning, throwing her arms around my neck and reassuring me that I am indeed loved beyond measure.  What possibly can people have to fear from their little ones? Teenagers on the other hand....now that is a guide I would like to see.  How to navigate through the disdain they show at the fact you, their mother, is still breathing - this I need help with.

Sometimes I look at these articles and realise the world is mad - madder than mad - and I wonder when it all began.  Certainly it came about in our life time.  I can still recall when adults were in charge, when asking why' was a no go, teachers were scary, ADHD was just 'naughty' and the only time kids got to go to Disneyland Florida was when Jim fixed it for them.  The world has come so far and then turned back on itself.  

No wonder it is so hard for us all to keep a handle on things - when craziness rules.  Talking of which Chris is insisting I surrender the laptop - apparently he needs it for work related duties.  Since when has Facebook been part of Royal Mail?

X X

Could we start again please?

It's slightly awkward trying to restart this once again....like the feeling you get when attempting to reconvene a relationship with someone after several years apart.  What once felt like second nature now seems gawky and self conscious but this is convincingly outweighed by the gratification it gives me to write and the appreciation of how much I loved keeping a blog before.  So here's hoping you are all still out there somewhere in the recesses of cyber world, and willing to listen anew.  I shall of course be anxious for the next few days worrying whether or not you still find me an attractive proposition....if not all I ask is that you let me down gently.

I should probably begin by saying that nothing has changed.  (Actually that's a lie.  All women of my age know that with each passing month there are measurable changes in several areas....my boobs for one are possibly another 5mm closer to my toes now, the bright side of which being I estimate it will only be approximately five more years before I can ditch the discomfort of bras and simply tuck my bust into my tights).  So, rather, many changes have occurred but fundamentally  not a lot is different.  I am still pursuing my endless goal of achieving the unachievable...which I fear nowadays is more the goal than the goal itself.  Setting ridiculous targets with seemingly no possibility of success appears to have become my life's undertaking leading me to believe that Freud really did have a point with his concept "Becoming happy is unachievable as a goal, yet cannot be abandoned" (cultured?me? wot wot wot.)  Was Freud married?  I don't know the answer to that but I am guessing from his idea "life is made up of pain and disillusionment" he probably was.  No-one understands disappointment more than a wife who has spent her Saturday cleaning, cooking, plucking, shaving, dyeing, moisturising and making over in anticipation of romance, only to have a husband come in and put on MOTD.   And no-one understands more about pain than a man who has done the above.

So Christmas is almost upon us.  In six more sleeps it will be here and I must confess that despite the fact I detest all the hype I do truly love Christmas.  I love the thought of giving my children things they will love, of spending time with my family, albeit dysfunctional, but mostly the atmosphere that surrounds everything and everyone.  Somehow in this dark and dreary world the Christmas Spirit pervades and continues to remain regardless.  People are always that little bit nicer, happier, kinder. thoughtful and more appreciative at Christmas. Oh and drunk.  Maybe that's the connection.  The key to happiness Freud......Baileys and Vodka.  If only Freud had lived to experience alcopops.

I am of course on another diet.  Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without me trying to live on five carrots two slices of ham and a glass of stewed prunes and senna for the entire week before.  I think I decided about four months ago that I needed to do something about my weight (note the very loose use of the word 'decided' considering this my 403rd attempt) and calculated that if I lost two pounds a week, every week I could be in a size twelve by New Year.   I then proceeded to scoff myself stupid until two weeks ago when I realised I had three weeks to lose 30 pounds and that drastic action was necessary.   I am not yet sure why I need to lose 30 pounds by Christmas.  Subliminally I think maybe I was told as a child that Santa does not deliver to fat children; that and the fact all of the magazines I read (which I trust with my entire well being)  have informed me I need to wear a little black dress at Christmas and I believe them.  If my dress is not little I will cease to exist.  It is that simple.

Fingers crossed then that I can stick to my starvation plan and fit in to some kind of party outfit this year....even if it is with the aid of a miracle body suit, spandex leggings and several rolls of duct tape.

For now though I shall say goodnight and hope that we can meet again soon.

Call me?

x x x x

On the pull.

Marriage.  Monty Python managed an entire epilogue on the subject,  most of us spend the majority of our lives trying to make sense of it....and finally I think I have.  It came to me the other day whilst a gorgeous lady friend of mine was regaling me with the tragedy which is her wedded un-bliss .......I say that with the utmost respect for her, and him, understanding that for most of us marital relationships = a case of hanging on by the skin of our teeth (in itself a bizarre statement....I, for one, have no skin on my teeth and even if I did I seriously doubt it would be strong enough to support my body weight). 

I think I could almost surmise the entire concept by inviting you to look up the word "Marriage" on 'Dictionary.com'.  Contrary to the idea (of single people) that the definitions are something like "blissful union with your lust partner" or "convenient way to combine two incomes"  the first thing that comes up is, would you believe, "Want a divorce?".    Well yes....but as all long term marrieds understand...it really isn't that simple.

Marriage is not a partnering of two people who love each other.   I know that may be a bombshell for many of you,  however I would ask at this point "don't shoot the messenger"  I can't help it if the truth hurts.  Life is crap....deal with it.  Maybe they do (love each other) but that I feel is incidental to the event....what it really is, is a throwing in of your load with someone else.  I like to think of it as yoked ox.  Two people who consider themselves equally endowed - physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually (and usually financially, although occasionally there is a miracle Cinderella story) and realise that to get through this life, multiply and prosper, one is far better off yoking up to another.  So we seek for a partner who meets up to our own abilities and will therefore pull their fair share of the load.

So far so good. 

What the fairy tales don't bother to tell you is that invariably the duo's ability to walk harmoniously is interrupted.  At some point throughout the journey one of the Oxen will begin to pull harder than the other.   Sometimes they pull in different directions.   Occasionally one will look over at another pair and feel that they would be happier and more suited to that coupling.  Sometimes a rogue Ox will decide he is tired of pulling his load, hates the restrictive yoke he's chosen and decides to freelance for a while.  And then there is the Ox who just drops down dead and can't pull at all. 

Challenging times and how then to make it work.  Obviously if I had the answer to that I'd be a multi millionaire.  I do believe most of us want to make it work - which is admirable and something worth celebrating and why anniversaries are so special.........like medals of honour gained in the bloodiest battles. 

Interestingly, carrying the metaphor further;  in farming the male oxes are castrated to make them more tractable (I'm liking this).  Whilst the females are usually used as breeding stock and then turn in to cows (I'm not sure how this occurs but having bred four times now I can confirm this is a fact).

Keep ploughing people.

x x