only time will tell….

I am a couple of evenings away from launching into a whole different pace of life. Returning to full-time work and relying on other people to look after my children before and after school and all the planning and logistics that entails.

Plus, I am going to ride a motorbike five days a week after a long period of absence from riding. 

With all this change (don’t get me wrong I normally thrive on change) I am wound up so tight I’m gonna do whatever tight things do when they have had enough.

I keep convincing myself this is a good move….our bank account will certainly be happier. But I can’t help feeling a sense of loss. 

But, if the Easter holidays are anything to go by where my role as a parent varied from fish wife to umpire, I will be going to work for a break.

Time will tell..

This blog is for UNICEF.

Thanks for reading. 

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There’s no such thing as a light motorbike…

I have a motorbike. I got my licence after I had baby boy but can count the number of times I have actually ridden one on my hands, so to say I am a little rusty is an understatement.

From next week, when I start my new job, I will be riding a 40 mile round trip on a daily basis, so I have to get good and quick.

The problem is I gulp at the mere suggestion of getting on the bike but I have this feeling (which happens regardless of the challenge) that whenever I am faced with something that makes me gulp I have to do it and conquer it.

So, the easy option would have been to let my husband ride the bike back home after we bought it as it was a longish trip. But I knew I had to get to grips with biking fast so I dusted off my helmet and climbed on board.

I am solo glad I did because once I got through all the coastal traffic and got some open road the feeling was heaven. At speed the bike becomes as light as a feather and willing to do whatever you ask of it. However, when stationary it is this massive lump of metal that won’t budge when I am pushing it backwards to park with my legs. As for putting it in the centre stand…..well that is the most infuriating thing as I watch my husband ‘just’ shove his foot on the stand and lift the bike back ‘just put all your weight on the stand’. I did and nothing happened, except a few popped muscles down my rib cage and up my arms trying to wrestle it backwards. “It’s no good if you need to fill up with fuel” my husband says, “you need to put it in the centre stand” grrrrrrrr.

Think I will sit astride it to fill up instead….

This blog is for UNICEF. Thanks for reading. 

Woman seeks cave

Earlier my Mum and I took my daughter and son shopping. I don’t know why my daughter behaved like a foul ungrateful teenager but the experience was hideous. Nothing was good enough. When she finally found some trainers she liked they weren’t in her size and no she didn’t want to wait for them to be ordered online. When we decided to leave her to browse down one aisle so we could keep baby boy entertained in another then went back to check on her she spat out her contempt that we were ‘checking on her’ and could we please ‘go away’ (although not sure if she said please). She moaned the entire time we looked at clothes for me,( back to work clothes ) and then moaned that she wanted to go home after my Mum had bought her dinner.

My Mum and I realise that we should have just given it up as a bad idea and left with nothing, giving daughter an important lesson in how not to behave. But we didn’t want to ruin her day, or ours for that matter.

Baby boy presented his own issues but only insofar as picking up random objects and putting them in the trolley – but that was his version of little boy entertainment in a supermarket so he did well. 

When my husband ‘had words’ with her later she said she was tired and that was why she was grumpy. Part of me accepts that but part of me doesn’t. It’s just those damned thing called hormones turning my daughter from Famous Five’s Anne to Roald Dahl’s Veruca Salt overnight.

My Mum then said on the way back that I had to make sure baby boy didn’t copy his sister when she was being rude. I replied by saying that parenting at times is too hard a job and that actually I would like to crawl into a cave.

But, in the absence of a cave nearby, I just settled with putting them both to bed, drinking tea and writing this blog post.  

This blog is for UNICEF, thanks for reading. 

Yes to lost minutes

Saying ‘yes’ is catching up with me. Sometimes, if you write something down in a list it helps you to see that actually there isn’t that much to sort out, so here goes…

– do parish council minutes, email all partners re web links, start post box listing application, start handover document, do tweet schedule before leave, supervise daughter’s first tutor session, get children used to childminder through booking in time with her, get the working party for playground off the ground (Scuse the pun), go to first meet with new team, do medical questionnaire, get road closure for school fair booked, contact parish council re: using green for said fair, find out how much was raised through textile recycling at school, get November dinner and dance bash booked, set-up childcare voucher scheme, put for sale signs in husbands truck (to sell-off as no longer needs it and we need more cash), get Sailing sessions booked in over Easter, sort out childminders sessions walking the dogs……I’m sure there was something else…oh yes, train for the swimathon.

Everyone has lists like these as long as their arms(s) so no wonder we are all running around like headless chickens with our heads either stuck in a computer or behind a steering wheel. While saying yes has opened up so many experiences and opportunities, there are times when just the experience of taking stock will suffice.

My baby boy said to me earlier, “Mummy why don’t you stand still”. I am always saying to him “just a minute” when those minutes are all I, and anyone else for that matter, has got..

This blog is for UNICEF.

Thanks for reading.

Plane mad for a lunchbag

I have just spent 30 minutes (or it seemed like that anyway) deliberating over which ‘Disney Planes’ lunch bag to get my son on Amazon. You would think it wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes….why do you need to read umpteen reviews on a bag’s ability to store a child’s lunch?- but you can’t help but get drawn in. Then there is the design, colours, size, capacity, durability (sad isn’t it). Then when you finally go for it and select the seller who is offering free postage, you find at checkout it adds another £3 for packing. By which point you have given up the will to live and press ‘complete order’ anyway.

The saga didn’t start on the Internet. No, this quest for the lunchbox began earlier today when I specifically drove to a supermarket because I had seen another branch selling them only to be told in this particular branch “they won’t be in stock til after Easter”. So I drive back through our local town and try no less than three shops, all of which don’t sell insulated lunch bags, let alone Planes ones. Then that was it, I was on a mission. I had said to baby boy he could have a Planes lunchbag, so he was going to get one……

I think I need to start work (or maybe it’s the guilt of starting full-time work that is making me become insanely focused on anything concerning the children) – yes I think that’s it.

This blog is for UNICEF.

Thanks for reading. 

Free the robots

It is 10pm and I have baby boy sat next to me chattering away about superheroes, monsters and dinosaurs. He has a cold that is particularly snotty and not conducive to lying horizontal so is far happier sitting upright on the sofa…moments ago he was snoring. 

I have spent most of this evening firing out messages to all available childminders and nannies in the area as I have been offered the job. So now the reality has hit home that both children will need to be cared for from 7.30 til 6, with school and pre school inbetween. I want to try and keep them together if possible hence the search for a local childminder. If they could also take the dogs out and run the Hoover round the house that would be great too, as I am not fancying spending my weekend as Mrs Mop. I’m not OCD but I can’t quite bring myself to leave the cleaning until the point where I need to ‘muck out’ the house.

Because it will fall to me, I am under no illusion that just because I will be working, my other half will pick up more of a share in housework. No, I am a woman therefore I must do EVERYTHING. 

Maybe by the time our children are our age there will be robots to help or women will be emancipated from all assumptions of domestic duties….no I think robots are more likely..

This blog is for UNICEF.

Thanks for reading.

Working for spare change

Oh the guilt! Just went for another job interview. Although I hope we get it because we need the money it will mean baby boy going into full-time childcare 8.30 til 5. He has been in a childcare setting of one form or another since he was 9 months old but I have always managed to keep it to no more than 3 days per week. My only saving grace, if I get the job, is that he is now 3 and a bit years old so able to enjoy more of the typical activities on offer at nurseries.

As I browse through potentials though, I start to recall excerpts from a childcare documentary and the grieving family whose daughter suffocated to death in a Wendy house at a nursery. So any websites showing pictures of Wendy houses, particularly those with an upstairs (because the little girl suffocated on the window-ledge/step of the upper storey) made me wobble. 

You cannot put a price on a setting where you know your child will have a good and safe experience while you are working. But when this cost eats significantly into your earnings you wonder why you do it in the first place.

Then there is the issue of the dogs, we can’t bear to part with them so that will be £200 per month so they get a decent walk everyday. 

With any luck I will have some spare change at the end of the month to pay for parking at work..

This blog is for UNICEF.

Thanks for reading.