Friday, 6 October 2017
The theme for today's post is 'Flowers'.
I'm not going to write about flowers per se, but instead, the thought that comes to my head when I think of them
I'll spare you the long winded list of everything that I found fabulous about her. Im sure most of us could write an essay on how perfect our Grandmothers are/were. My favourite things about her were her imperfections. I once wrote her a poem about bluebells. She said she liked it but next time I should write one about daffodils, and gave me the first line that should be included. These are the things that make me giggle when I think of her.
I also admired her ability to take shit from nobody. I think she passed that trait on.
When I was 16 she came to stay with us for a while as my Grandad had recently passed. Although they were renowned for their bickering (my Grandad would often stick his tongue out at her behind her back, and I remember an alarming spat over a jam tart once), he was the love of her life.
She had not been staying with us long when I had a dream. I dreamt my Grandad was in a Greenhouse and I asked him what he was doing. He handed me a rose and told me to give the rose to my Nan.
A few days later I went out with my friends for the evening. Before I left, my Nan said I looked Beautiful.
They would be the last words she would ever say to me.
The next day my Mum and I found her in bed. She had passed away through the night. We always say she died of a broken heart.
More recently, my six year old has been questioning death. He has fears that I'm going to "grow old and die" and he'll be left without a Mum. I've tried to reassure him, but every few days I was finding myself having the same conversation and giving the same reassurance. Yes, I will die eventually, but not for a very very long time.
I couldn't seem to reassure him. He needed to hear that I wasn't going to die at all.
So after thinking about my Nan one night, I decided to take a different angle.
I told Oliver the story of my Nan. I explained that sometimes, if a person is really special and they are incredibly loved, they never die. They live forever.
They live in the memories you have of them.
They live in the stories you continue to tell about them.
Their legacy lives on.
I told him that my Nan will never die, because I think about her every day, I talk about her often, even to people who never knew her. I even named his sister after her
Oliver seemed happy with that.
And realistically, I can't tell him when I will die. I can't promise him I'll be around for as long as I'd like to be. No one knows what the future holds, and the hard truth is too much for six year old little shoulders to bare. But what I can tell him is that I hope when I do finally go, I made my mark, and was loved so much that I could never truly die.
And I hope that someone will be reminded of me, when they smell the flowers.
Just like Gwyneth
Wednesday, 4 October 2017
If you get to spend a decent amount of time alone (out of the house) as a couple, your time together is probably simply referred to as just 'going out'.
If, like me, time alone with your partner is rare, you'll be all too familiar with the phrase 'Date Night' which basically means "YESSS! We got rid of the kids for the first time in forever! Let's try and pretend we're young and free again!
If you're a 'Date Night' couple you'll probably be all too familiar with the following seven behaviours.
(A behaviour for each 'Date Night' I've had since my 6 year old was born.....seriously)
1. Selfies. If you're on a 'Date Night' and don't take a selfie, are you even a parent? Selfies are the ultimate must for the start of your night. You and your partner must take a picture together in your chosen venue, dressed up to the nines, and then announce on your social media profile 'WE'RE ON A DATE NIGHT!!"
2. You check your phone a few too many times before you've even seen the menu.
"Is the baby still asleep?
"Is everything ok?"
"Has anyone liked my Date Night Selfie?"
3. In between checking your phone for texts off the babysitter, you tag yourself and your partner in the restaurant/pub/cinema you're in and upload another photo of whatever food or drink you're about to consume.
4. You realise that you've completely lost your social skills. You eat too fast, you drink too much, and you kind of can't be arsed making a conversation with each other. You may resentfully mention that you only managed to shave one of your legs prior to date night as you had to get out the bath and settle the baby. Your partner may shrug, wondering if you're going to finish that crusty bread that you've left on your plate.
5. You'll try your absolute hardest NOT to mention the kids, but come on, what else have you got to talk about?
6. You'll finish your meal and realise that actually, you're a bit tired. It's getting a bit late and if you leave it too late you'll be knackered when you're woken at 5am by the kids. You look at your watch. It's 8pm.
7. You speed walk home, excited to get in and put your feet up, and whilst doing so you both discuss at length the estimated time that you actually became sad sacks of shit.
Tuesday, 3 October 2017
When I saw the theme for today was 'Car' I had to fight the urge to hypnotically walk to the kitchen, pour myself a Gin and think, "I'll just fuck this Blogtober off."
I don't drive.
The essence I like to give off is that I'm far too hippyish and at one with the Earth to pollute the environment with car fumes. The reality is, I'm terrified of driving and walk everywhere.
I've tried driving, don't think I haven't! I even still own a provisional license, which I sometimes refer to as 'My Driving Licence" just so I can at least pretend I'm a grown up.
The first time I got behind the wheel I was around 21. My mum had bought L plates and decided she would teach me. Everything was a good ole laugh when we were cruising around on car park, but then for some unfathomable reason she took me on a road and decided to get me to do a three point turn
As a lorry was coming
Ok, it wasn't a lorry. It was more of a big van. But the point is, it was a large moving vehicle, coming towards us as I was positioned sideways in the road.
I did the only thing a sensible person does do in a situation like that. I screamed and jumped out.
That was the end of our lessons.
A couple of years ago I decided I needed to give driving another shot. I was hindering my chances of exploring different avenues in my career, and the trauma from the last incident was now a blurry haze that happened ten years prior.
This time I booked a professional driving instructor.
He was nice enough, but a bit too PC for my liking. It was very obvious that he was cautious about me being a woman and clearly had some sort of paranoia going on that if he said or did something that could be misinterpreted I'd be slapping a sexual harassment charge on him.
If he needed to take the wheel or the stick he would calmly say "I'm going to reach over now and take the wheel, so I do apologise if I accidentally brush your arm"
It was both confusing and completely unnecessary. And felt more like I was being sexually harassed than it would have if he'd slapped my arse!
On my first driving lesson with him we began on an industrial car park. Once my confidence was up I ventured down the road that lead out of the car park, following a large lorry (this actually was a lorry this time).
Out of nowhere sirens started going off and I was completely surrounded by police cars.
"I'm going to take over the pedals now and reach over for the wheel, if I accidentally brush pa...."
"Just move the bloody car!!!"
It turns out I had been following a lorry full of illegal immigrants.
I carried on lessons but seemed to progress in no way whatsoever. I didn't gain any more confidence, in fact I got worse. I had to start taking American hard gums with me to lessons just to stop me from passing out.
So, no. Cars and I are not the best of friends.
But on a serious note, what is it about people that they feel driving is some sort of confirmation of adulthood anyway? Why do I feel judged when someone asks me "You can't drive?"
Maybe I don't WANT to drive.
Maybe I enjoy walking and decreasing my chances of being smashed in to.
Yes, it's a ball ache sometimes, but mostly it's fine. It keeps me fit and healthy, blows away the germs, and gives me thinking space. I'm not any less of an adult because I don't drive (I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince you here, or me.)
I am however, one less person pissing you off on your commute to work!