Clumsy, daft, happy
I wish I was a full time blogger. I could take the children to school then come home, have a cup of tea, do a bit of blogging, eat some biscuits, read other people's blogs, have another cup of tea, and do some more blogging. What a life!
Before I had children I worked for a research strategist, they researched anything from toilet rolls and toe fungus to Channel 4’s Big Brother.
Since having the children I’ve worked as a childminder (never again), then for my husband in his golf holiday business (never work with friends or family), and now I work in recruitment at a local agency. I work school hours so it fits in with our life perfectly. I get to see the children after school which is a double edged sword… will they be happy and jolly, or grumpy and tired?
When I was in my late teens I used to write funny stories for my friends who were at University. Once my sister and I tried to write a sitcom but we just never seemed to have the time (she had young children and I was in full party/boys/drinking mode). After that I didn’t write anything for 10 years. I thought about it often but could never think of a way to fit it into my life.
I read Judith O'Reilly's book, Wife In The North last year and discovered blogging. Now I can’t believe that I didn’t know that blogs existed.
I love to write. When I write I am in my own world and it’s mine all mine!
All of the comments I get are good, each and every one is appreciated and looked at again and again… and again.
On the site is a blog roll of the ones I love to read. I do have favourites but wouldn’t want to offend anyone! The best ones are the ones that have made me laugh and cry, sometimes simultaneously and with snot bubbles. That last bit about snot isn’t true.
I have had several hundred. More recently it has been the blossoming relationship between my children. They may argue and fight but they have such tender moments in between.
My four year-old is very protective of her little brother. Listening to their chatter and then the laughing, you know, REALLY laughing, I love it. It makes me all warm and fuzzy!
“Please be kind to each other” (is more pleading than mantra-like), closely followed by “Stop shouting/hitting/throwing plastic vegetables at your brother/sister”.
They have embarrassed me on several occasions in many different ways. One that sticks out is the time we got in a lift and my four year-old who was two at the time said “What’s that?” and pointed rather rudely in someone’s face. What she wanted to know was whether the person was a ‘she’ or a ‘he’. I couldn’t answer her because it really wasn’t clear.
Trapped in a lift with a he or a she and a repetitive toddler; that lift journey?… The longest two minutes of my life.
Since having children I worry all the time … usually about things out of my control. If for some strange reason my children are still in bed past 6am I lie there and worry that they are alright, rather than making the most of the extra sleep.
I worry that I’ll die in a freak accident and leave my children motherless. I worry that even though I give them my all it won’t be enough. Most of all I worry that I worry too much.
Kind of cheating with the planet thing but it would be my mum. She died when I was nine. Since I’ve had children of my own I have thousands of things I’d like to have asked her. Was I bossy like my four year-old? Was I adventurous like my three year-old? When did I sleep through the night? Did she ever feel like a sleep deprived psycho? What songs did she sing to me to get me to sleep? I could go on and on and on, but I won’t!
