Author: Nette

Ok, so we may not have had the ‘BBQ summer’ everyone on this wet little island continues to hope for relentlessly year after year, but there’s been enough decent sunny spells in the last month or so to get some of that summer feeling.

Which is precisely what inspired me to pimp up the small yet respectable outdoor space on offer in our current abode. It may not be ‘great’ but it’s private, and the definition of ‘outdoors’ may seem a stretch when you look up to see a succession of rooftops and chimneys lining the horizon, but nevertheless it is providing a much appreciated extension to our living quarters.

The whole thing started when I finally decided to acquire a proper gas BBQ. Add a table and chairs and hey presto, outdoor living!

The BBQ has pretty much been in constant use on most dry and sunny days. I’m too much of a girl to bother with charcoal so the option of simply turning on a burner suits me to the ground. I quickly learned about maintenance and cleaning – the hard way! I asked a few (male) friends how often you needed to clean such a contraption and the answer pretty much amalgamated to ‘Just scrape off the bits the next time you use it’. Hmmm. I figured there must be a bit more to it, so I dutifully scoured the racks after each meal. I had vague ambitions of cleaning the drip tray, too – maybe once a month or so.

That was before the great fire. Turns out after maybe 5 or 6 cookouts, enough grease had accumulated in said drip tray to flambé my lamb kebabs. All calm and collected, I turned off the burners, closed the lid and switched off the gas bottle for good measure. One peak under the lid later, I concluded it was time to summon a higher force. The higher force first suggested water, which I vetoed based on common sense, and a few first aid courses. We subsequently agreed on flour (all the while watching respectable sized flames shoot up), and a short while later I was left with no flames, half-cooked kebabs and my new gadget covered in white powder. Much more time-consuming to clean than maintaining a grease-free drip tray!

I also Googled some general cleaning advice and decided the following (written by a sensible man!) was a practice worth adopting:

If people thought of their grills like they do their stovetops, there would be a lot less problems with grills wearing out. Think of it this way, after you cook something on the stove you generally have to wipe up the spills.

True dat.

To make the most out of the good weather, we’ve also been having al fresco meals for the last three days. There’s something to this Mediterranean-lifestyle-thing. I mean, it’s hard to be grumpy when you’re lunching under an umbrella watching the girl have deep conversations with the cloth pegs on the washing line (they do look a bit like birds on a wire, I suppose). As an added bonus, not a single piece of food has hit the floor (just when you don’t have to worry about stains on the dining room carpet!), although cutlery still gets dismissed with great alacrity and a perfunctory wrist flick. I wasn’t quite convinced that this morning was nice enough for porridge on the porch, however, the fact that a certain someone had converted the vacant dining room table into a satellite office provided, shall we say, encouragement.

So here’s to making the most out of every ray of sunshine this country is blessed with. And to hoping that the next time you hear me say ‘It was a scorcher of a day’, I’m really am simply talking about the weather…

I’m in the process of snazzing up my blog.

Problem is, I’ve been ‘in the process’ of snazzing up my blog for three months (intermittently, obviously) and the ‘new’ blog has already gotten a bit old. My main challenge is the graphics side, and I’m currently on designer #4 with revised deadline #3. Nevertheless, I’m trusting that this project is finally coming to fruition; and thus I have been tackling the long overdue rewrite of my ‘About Me’ section.

Talk about a painful process! It’s a bit tricky to capture what you’re all about if you can’t progress beyond a marginally depressing childhood… and let’s face it, once I actually got beyond that (long and formative) bit, things have turned out pretty damn good! So like any good writer, I shall persevere, naturally.

Slightly cross-eyed from all that computer time, I decided to treat myself to a movie night on the couch. (Yes, there’s irony in taking a respite from your Mac by staring at an iPad screen instead. That’s what you get when you’re married to Mr Technology).

My chosen flick? I’m Fine, Thanks, a freshly released documentary that is ‘a collection of stories about life, the choices we all make, and the paths we ultimately decide to follow’. I’m pretty excited about this film as I made a teeny tiny contribution to its production via Kickstarter, a really nifty site that helps people get funding for their creative projects.

I’m Fine, Thanks is a cool movie filled with everyday people talking about their hopes and dreams, and about finding the courage to follow them in the midst of society’s expectations of the job, the marriage, the house and the 2.1 kids – all equalling safety and security, supposedly. What I like best about it is that it is so real, not filled with fancy people with letters either before or after their names (or both) talking about the manifestation process from a metaphysical angle. These are just average people who have dared to do extraordinary things (by their own standards, not anyone else’s); things like, say, make a feature-length film in less than three months, because that’s what they felt called to do.

Now, normally these kinds of films are supposed to leave you feeling all inspired. Ready to look at your own life and take (different) action. My reaction was slightly different. Sure, I loved watching people share how they are pursuing their passion, but I didn’t feel compelled to turn my whole life around on the spot.

Then it occurred to me that despite my ever-present desire to ‘do MORE and be MORE’ whilst simultaneously wishing to ‘DO less and BE more’ (yes, I’m conflicted a lot!), I’ve actually already ‘achieved’ a lot of what the movie peeps are talking about. I’ve already made the choice to leave that fabulously successful career in order to have a better quality of life. I’m already fortunate to pursue what I love, and I’m in a relationship with someone who does the same.

Of course there are always new adventures, new challenges, new dreams. And I sure have been quietly pondering some of those over the past 24 hours, like where and how I want to live next, for example. I’d also be lying if I didn’t admit to being a bit restless lately, ready for something BIG to happen. But sometimes I get so caught up in what I still want to do that I forget that actually, there’s a lot I’ve already done to create a lifestyle that works for me.

And on top of all that thinking , it’s a bloody fantastic feeling to have done something small to help someone else pursue their dream.

So check out the movie, and dare to do something to make someone else’s dream come true. Makes you feel good, and boosts your karma.

I’m obviously still making amends from my pre-parenting days…

The following takes place over a period of 24 hours.
Events occur in real time.

I participated in an experiment today where I got to talk for 10 minutes, and was LISTENED to. I mean, REALLY listened to. No interruptions, no suggestions, no pep talk, no feedback (except some gentle and most welcome comments at the end). It was a real gift, and part of a ‘soul listening’ project you can read about here.

I find that quite often when we talk with others, we don’t REALLY listen all that much, because we’re busy thinking about what we’ll say next, or we hear something we want to comment on and interrupt to get our point in before the opportunity passes. That’s all good and well, and I’m sure I do plenty of that myself… all I’m saying is that it was a real treat to just be listened to without comment or judgment. I felt as though I was being held in a very safe place where it was ok just to share what’s on my mind.

One of the things that’s been on that every busy mind of mine is something a friend said to me when he came over the other day. As he was arriving, he took off his shoes, and since it was a warm day I implied he might also want to take off his (black) socks lest the bottom turn white with Jack hair. I intended to propose this alongside the comment that even though I had vacuumed, there’s always some residual dog fur on the carpet. I got as far as “I did vacuum but…” before I was met with

“Yes, yes, I know… You don’t ever have time for anything because you have a baby, and you wish the day had 48 hours.”

Ahem – no, actually.

First of all, I do actually get the bloody hoover out… occasionally, anyway. Less because I’m expecting anyone and more because I don’t fancy half the dog on the bottom of my OWN socks, or all over my daughter for that matter.

Secondly, I don’t REALLY want 48 hours in my day.

Think about it: 48 hours would mean a minimum six meals rather than three (plus snacks), more innovative sleep-inducing techniques for all the additional naptimes, two dog walks; and extra visits to Starbucks to keep those sugar levels topped up. I’m not sure I’m ready to consider how many times in 48 hours my beloved daughter could empty the bookshelves, the kitchen cupboards, the dog bowl or the bottom of the changing table. I’m quite sure her newfound ability to squirrel stuff away would exceed the capacity of the space beneath the sofa. Besides, I already hardly ever know what time it REALLY is since Miss Muffet frequently resets the clock on the stove for the sheer pleasure of hearing the accompanying beeps.

No, for the sake of my sanity, I think I’ll stick to 24 hours, thank you very much.

Although if there was an extra hour ever so often, filled with a tanned Greek God of a masseur giving me some full body pampering… well, I don’t suppose I would complain!

Right, I’ve been thinking all week that I should expand on the birthday theme and write something clever about turning forty.

Problem is, I’ve been digging deep and not coming up with much. In many ways, forty is just another number… although I did fool a friend of mine into thinking the whole pink hair thing was a midlife-crisis move. Believing as I do that big birthdays warrant big celebrations, coming to the end of a decade in many ways is actually something to look forward to.

So, fuelled with another slice of Lilly’s first birthday cake, I’m marking my last evening in my thirties with a glance backward. I might not come up with much either, but by tomorrow morning I will have embarked on a whole new decade, so it’s basically now or never!

I guess my twenties were mostly about finding my place in the world. Like many people, that meant finding what I wanted to ‘do’ and dabbling in that thing called ‘relationships’.

My thirties were much more about finding me, with all the ups and downs that entailed. And that of course is a journey that never ends! Although whilst finding ‘me’, I inevitable continued to dabble in that relationship thing, and ended up with a ring. For the second time, but this one counts. After all, I don’t think I should make it a habit to get married every decade.

In my thirties, I’ve both learned and unlearned loads. I learned what makes me tick in ways that serve me and ways that don’t. I’ve done my best to let the latter go and make peace with my past. I learned to look at the world in more empowering ways. Most importantly, I learned to be kinder to myself. I learned that the thoughts and behaviours you pick up from your parents and your environment as a child are the foundation of who you become as an adult. That includes the good as well as the bad stuff! And the longer you hold on to the things that aren’t working, the harder they become to shake off. Inevitably for many steps forward, there’ll also be some steps back. That’s ok. That’s normal. There’s no need to break out the baseball bat and beat yourself up. I learned about forgiveness, and that includes myself. Of course there’ll always be loads more to learn in future, and occasions to take old learnings deeper in new ways.

I’ve been lucky to learn a great many things from a great many people. So maybe my forties are about sharing what I learned. To stand in my power and be even more of who I am. To do what I am here to do, which is to help children feel good about themselves and stand in THEIR power long before they’re forty.

Now, I need something stronger than Lilly’s bottles to toast to that! Bubbles anyone?

(She writes heroically approaching midnight, matchsticks holding open her eyes, whilst praying that her seemingly wide awake daughter doesn’t launch herself off the parental bed!)

CHEERS!