I’m really pleased with the alliteration of my post title. It wasn’t even intentional…
Boo is hosting her first ever sleepover tonight, for her friend (the one who she’s hated for the past 6 years of school) who has never been for sleepover anywhere apart from with family. So far, they’ve watched a film and overdosed on sugar.
The problem came when they went to Boo’s room to wind down before bed. Boo decided to tell her friend about a ghost that pats her on the head. (seriously?) and something about Scary Mary. Friend bursts into tears and no longer feels safe. So, they’ve both moved downstairs to sleep on the sofa bed in the lounge, and I’ve promised to stay with them until they both sleep.
Boo is asleep (the melatonin she has prescribed is a bedtime wonder drug) but her friend is tossing and turning, though happier now. I’m hoping I don’t need to do a midnight run to take her home.
Lockdown 3. When you considered your future life just a year ago, could you, WOULD you have predicted this?
This past year has been a series of highs and lows which ended with the devastating news of my dad passing away.
Yes. My dad died. Thankfully it wasn’t fucking Covid that got him. He was old, and ill. But he was my dad and that should have made him invincible. My heart is so broken at the moment that I can barely think of him without wanting to cry. His funeral was on 18th December. The same day that the children finished school for Christmas. I went from mourning the most precious man I’ve even known to having to be cheerful and excited for Boo’s 9th birthday and then Christmas 2 days after that.
We couldn’t visit friends or family over the Christmas holiday or new year, so had to make an exciting party time for ourselves. We had a great new year, kitchen disco, family casino, games… I think the children nearly enjoyed it as much as me. But all the time I carry this burden of emotions that I can’t fully express right now. (I’d quite like to be somewhere, with my head buried in a pillow, simultaneously crying and shouting the word fuuuuuuck as loudly and as often as possible. It’s not going to happen.
Then we had the call that Boo was to have her operation on 6th January. For those who don’t know, Boo was born with bilateral talipes – 2 club feet – she was treated using the Ponsetti method, and quite honestly, you wouldn’t know there were any problems, but the operation to lengthen tendons needed to be done.
On the 7th, Lockdown 3 started. Both children at home, lessons via teams, no time out for me I believe that it’s a necessary step, and my goodness those teachers are giving it everything – and more – but I need time out. Frazzledpa is still working from the shithole of the spare room.
Boo has regressed. She needs constant company until she falls asleep (average time about 10.30pm…) usually wets the bed and then sleeps on our floor. I get about 2 hours a day without her company. I know she is struggling at the moment, and we are helping as much as we can, giving the comfort we can and being there as much as can, but we’re both exhausted.
Did I mention that I had also spent time caring for my mother-in-law who was diagnosed with bowel cancer at the beginning of October? She is our only source of respite. We love her dearly, and I was really touched that she wanted me to care for her. It was a pleasure to give something back after all she does for us, but with the situation as it is, we don’t get a break. I’m so pleased she is well and the tumour was fully removed without the need for more treatment. Thats a wonderful thing.
So shit! I’ve given up today. I’ve let the children be babysat by the great Xbox and iPad, and I’ve gone to bed so I can cry. (The screaming of fuuuuuuck will just have to wait!) For once I need my space. Lots of it. It isn’t going to happen, so for now this will have to do.
Stay safe, and let your loved ones know they are loved
I know lockdown is nowhere near over and that Covid is here to stay for the long term. I have friends who have been self-isolating, family who have succumbed to this illness and died. Our lives continue to be affected by it. However, apart from FrazzledPa still working from the box room upstairs (which still looks like the shithole from hell – despite his efforts to clear it out) things slowly return to normal.
The children are back at school full time, which makes our life at home calmer, with more routine and fun times become fun, rather than a way to relieve the monotony of not being able to go anywhere or see anything or anyone. I’ve returned to work as a supply (substitute) teacher. I have no understanding of how this works – I can teach 4 different classes, in 4 different schools each week, but nobody cares about the bubbles I invade, or how without any knowledge of it, I could be a super-spreader. All I do is remember to follow the guidelines in the classroom, and wash and change clothes when I get in. I then add my children’s 2 school bubbles to this mix… There is something seriously wrong here, but if we’ve got to live with Covid in our lives, what choices do we have?
What have I learned in this time?
I love my husband dearly. We’ve been through the craziest, toughest times in the past 24 years, but even while we’ve hardly been away from each other for the past 7 months, things just get better and better. We make each other laugh, we’ve remembered the things that we love so much about each other, we’ve supported each other, we’ve talked more, we’re so in synch, it’s scary. I’ve always thought we have one of the happiest marriages / relationships I’m aware of, but it’s just constantly getting better and better.
My children are OK. They have moments – we all do… But there’s a growing understanding that FrazzledPa and I actually know what this parenting lark is about… It hasn’t been easy. This lockdown has convinced me that Boo has signs of ADHD, and I’m wanting to get her assessed. Big Boy has control issues. He loses it if he can’t control what’s going on. We’ve had to work hard on that, but we’re getting there… But we have great kids, who look after each other (when they’re not fighting) and can hold good conversations. I love them to pieces.
It’s OK to just sit and be. We don’t have to be busy all the time. We don’t need to fill every moment with activity. X-box isn’t a bad thing, ignoring the kids occasionally isn’t a bad thing.
I don’t have to be involved in everything going on. I can let go and let others take the lead. It will get done without me and will all be fine.
We can do this. Life is ultimately good.
I’ve lost 10lbs in 3 weeks, without a huge out of effort. I’m using a virtual gastric band hypnosis app and following the most sensible guidelines in the world to support this. I’ve also moved 3-4 notches in on my belt.
Still got a long long way to go (like another 70lbs, but yay! I’ve got this. 💪
Today was my 48th birthday. It was my first lockdown birthday.
I had a great day.
I’m a emotional eater. There’s no way I can live in denial anymore. My lockdown stone (and that’s a conservative estimate) has proved beyond doubt that when I’m extremely happy or very upset I aim for the snack cupboard.
When Big Boy throws his mattress down the stairs in a fit of rage, (it’s been 2 weeks since the last outburst, I’m waiting for the next one to come soon…) I have to calm him down, give him comfort and then cuddle him while talking the incident through. (There are so many issues we’re working through right now.) Once he’s settled and asleep, I look for the sweet stuff. I need to feel the sugar flowing through me, and giving that comfort hit. It’s one of the reasons I’m trying not to use food or sweets etc as a reward or emotional prop for my children – I’m so reliant on it.
When I’m happy and chilled, I look for savoury products. Peanuts are my go to. I can’t get enough salt. Firstly, this is slightly medical. I need to take in more salt and potassium as my body doesn’t absorb as much of them as it should. I know I should consider healthier items, but oh I love peanuts so much. When I was young, my parents would put peanuts out as an evening ‘occaision’ snack. (I ❤️ the 70s!). However, I would have an adverse reaction to them – they would give me stomach cramps and make me sick if I ate them past 6pm. I grew out of this, but my love for peanuts and the feeling of them being a treat never changed. They bring back the feeling of happy family times, games round the kitchen table and laughter.
This needs to change. I’m trying to be mindful about my eating, thinking whether I’m hungry, or if something that has happened is triggering my response. I’m learning to take a deep breath and keep away from the kitchen. I’m making conscious decisions not to keep a plethora of sweet snacks at hand.
I am hoping that this will help me make the healthy changes I need. I have my 48th birthday this weekend, I’d like to live at least another 40 years.
What do you think helps to make that change?
Big Boy has reached the age of 10. It was time to answer those questions and let him know how babies are made. He and Boo have been discussing this lots lately. They are aware that a seed is given to the woman by the man which helps form the baby. How the seed gets there is the mystery.
Today needed to be the day as Big Boy was discussing his testicles, or as he beautifully calls them, his balls. (yes, I know, but it’s a bit tough when your child first starts referring to his bits…) Boo concluded that the seed must be kept in there, so for it to get inside the woman, she (the woman) would need to bite them. Big Boy looked half convined.
So after dinner (appropriately in my dirty mind, toad in the hole), Frazzledpa and Boy went off for a man to man chat in the rain. I’d primed Frazzledpa. “Keep it brief, make sure he understands that Boo is too young to know. Talk about love and respect and not rushing. Talk about how 2 people need to feel the same way.”
God knows what he said, or what my darling son took from this, but the conversation with my boy when he returned was interesting.
“Dad told me some weird stuff on our walk.”
“Yes. I know.”
“So does it hurt when he has to, you know, put his balls up your…?”
“No, the balls don’t go there, just the penis.” (Or at least in my experience, though that may be too much detail for a 10yr old.) “The balls hold a liquid called semen which is the seed, and this is released into the lady’s body to find the egg. Together the seed and egg grow a baby.”
“Eww that’s a bit strange and gross.”
“I know, every child thinks that when they first hear about it, but you’ll change how you think.”
“If you hadn’t adopted, would you have done that thing?”
“Yes. It’s a way that grown ups share love too.”
“So there isn’t always a baby?”
“Dad and I chatted about this. I think I might adopt like you two did. But Dad says there was lots of paperwork.”
“Yes. I was sad that I couldn’t have children, but I’m also glad too, because it means we got you and Boo.”
“I’m not sure if doing THAT or lots of writing to adopt is worse. If you want one child, do you just do that sex thing once? Do you get a baby every time?”
“No…” (I’m having moments of Kevin and Perry flashbacks here, it’s hard not to laugh.) “Look. Your body is starting to change.”
“Yes dad says I’ll get hairy armpits and hair down THERE.” (pulls his shorts down to check.)
“And your feelings will change – that’s hormones. It’s what makes you grumpy now. You’ll also be sweaty and smellier. You need to take responsibility to have regular showers.”
“I can do that. Look my balls are growing.”
“I don’t need to see that.”
“Mum. What’s the point of beards?”
No idea. Go to bed.”
Frazzledpa says he tried, but couldn’t get a word in edgeways. I believe him.
I’ve ordered a book. I think it may be one he actually bothers to read…
I’m the sort of person who needs some space. I enjoy being with people, I love my family, but this lockdown, I’m just missing being in my own. There’s something about solitude and time out that just helps restore the soul.
I’ve found my space. Each morning I take my cup of tea outside. We have an old wooden bench that sits under our kitchen window. I sit there, listen to the bird song and pretend my husband has gone to work, and the children are at school. Sometimes they may join me – and that’s lovely too. They play, I drink tea and read.
My timeout is important. I need it for my sanity. I need to be kind to myself. Being kind to myself helps me be kind to others. I have quite a temper at times – a safe temper, but still a big shouty temper. I find my time away just helps me to keep calmer during the day and that’s best for everyone.
When lockdown is finally over and things return to the new normal I don’t quite know what I’ll do. It’s day 76 already. I don’t remember the last time we spent this much time together. It has mostly been good. We have had so many family experiences, we’re all still alive, Frazzledpa and I are reliving our 20s and early 30s where we stay up until 1am watching our favourite bands on YouTube. (Usually doing sets at Glastonbury, which we never made it to…)
We’ve explored our local area and discovered new places. We’ve played games, used our bikes and fallen in love with the Great Tit family that made a home in our nesting box.
When this over, I want to remember that we did this and that we’re stronger than ever.
Oh I am fuming! But I can’t decide whether the fuming is justified or not.
Let me explain.
My 8 year old daughter has recently learned to ride her bike (which is a little big for her) with confidence. This is a huge step for a little girl who has some anxiety and confidence issues.
This afternoon, while my back was turned for those few seconds, she fell off. She was on the path, but her bike knocked into a neighbour’s car. She was so upset, hurt and scared. She brought the bike home to me, in tears, and told me what had hapoened. (This in itself is a massive thing, as she doesn’t like to take responsibility when things go wrong.) Once I had dried her tears and explained that accidents happen, I held her hand, and we took a walk up the lane to look at the car in question. There was a mark on it, so I told Boo I would walk her back, and then knock on the door to chat with the car owner.
We were just about to go, when the car owner opened her window and said
“Excuse me, your daughter fell off her bike and hit my car a few minutes ago.”
“Yes,” I replied. “I was just about to take her home and come back to talk to you.”
I sent Boo home. (We’re talking 100 yards on a pavement, no crossing roads involved, and I can see to our door.) Together, the lady and I looked at the minimal damage. She told me 2 of the neighbours has seen it happen, and told her about it.
Now, THIS is where I have the issue. I understand that cars are expensive and round our way, a f**king status symbol. (Our crusty Mondeo really lets the street down… 🙄 ) But… if you see a neighbour’s child fall off their bike and show obvious signs of distress, surely you would check they were ok, walk them home and talk with their parent first? Surely a child’s welfare is more important than a tossing car? I like to think that my priority would be the child.
Did they think that I was going to pretend it never happened? Are we such shit neighbours that frankly they don’t care and would like to cause hassle?
So yeah, I’m fuming. I don’t know if I should be, but I am.
By the way, Frazzledpa had a look and thinks its just mark left by the rubber from the grips on the handle bar, so shouldn’t be an issue.
I’m struggling. I don’t mind admitting that now we’re on week 10, I’m not sure how much more of this I can do.
I’m ready to cry at the drop of a pin. I find it hard to smile when I hear the shout of ‘mum.’ I don’t really have much interest in keeping the children amused any more. If they choose to knock seven shades of shit out of each other, I’m ready to just kick back and let them get on with it. I miss my parents intensely. We live a long way apart, it’s been 5 months since I last saw them – that’s the longest time in nearly 48 years. Phone calls and FaceTime just aren’t the same.
I miss coffee with friends, the freedom to go where I want, when I want. I miss silly times with the few friends I have here. I hate that people think I’m happily independent, and coping well. Quite frankly, I’m so bloody lonely – even with my wonderful husband and my gorgeous children.
But I also miss the solitude. The times I can potter and meander, getting jobs done without having to think about whether Frazzledpa is in yet another zoom meeting, or whether the children want me to make yet MORE slime with them. (6 varieties this week…) I want ME TIME.
I so sound like a selfish prick – especially when I have family and my health. I completely appreciate that, and I apologise to anyone who things I don’t know how good I have things.
But shit! When all this returns to normal, please remind me to be grateful for the little things.
Take care and stay safe. ❤️