Category: General Musings

 

Every year before our annual summer holiday (usually either to Austria, or the North Sea coast), my mother would pack for three weeks away with two children and no access to a washing machine. She would then proceed to top this miraculous feat by cleaning the house, top to bottom. A big house. Through the carefree lens of my childhood eyes, the sight of her practically mopping herself out of the front door straight into a packed car seemed, well, carefree. 

Seen through my current lens as mother to a lively 7 month old, this seems anything but carefree. So I’m casually wondering why I feel strangely compelled to copy her on the advent of going to New York, having only just returned from a long weekend in Brussels? Whilst seemingly oblivious to the fact that I am failing miserably?

Actually, the Brussels trip went off practically flawless. I tackled the holiday cleaning urge the week before, and did a reasonable job getting laundry done in time. Bordering on a sheer miracle, I even finished packing the night before. 

With three days between returning from one adventure and embarking on the next, things are slightly more of a challenge this week. I was sick one day, for starters. Sick means no laundry, which presents a slight challenge when you don’t have a dryer. It also means that you probably shouldn’t spend the next day running errands and feeling compelled to prepare one gourmet meal for your child, and a separate one for your husband, something my mother would have undoubtedly pulled off without breaking a sweat. With me, it looked more like tears at teatime, with a lovingly prepared fishcake being dismissed with a swift flick of the wrist. For the record, the baby-led weaning cookbook lied when it said that fishcakes are ideal for even the smallest baby to manage. Despite eight weeks of successful baby led weaning, all the fishcake did for Lilly was crumble under her inquisitive little fingers. In future, I’ll be reverting back to steamed potato sticks and fish pie mix. 

At least on the cleaning front, Rob came to the rescue by suggesting we book a cleaner. Hallelujah! My New York friend actually pointed out that the benefit of leaving a clean house obviously means you get to come home to a clean house. Whilst this is true, I have now learned that this only lasts so long as inevitably your clean house will soon be cluttered with the stuff you dragged on your travels and haven’t quite managed to put away yet.

All I can say in hindsight is that I am not quite sure why I created all that hassle for myself in between trips when I could have just been content with getting the laundry done. I am, however, quite sure I’ll be doing the same thing again before I go on my next trip.

 

I am, after all, my mother’s daughter.

 

(Disclaimer: This post was written two weeks ago. I do credit myself with letting the editing and posting take second, or third or thirtieth, stage to packing, going on a trip and tremendously enjoying myself. Thank Goodness my mother wasn’t an obsessive-compulsive last minute writer!)

 

I walked into the bedroom, aka Rob’s office, a few moments ago. Having handed over Lilly for a dirty nappy change on our previous encounter, minutes earlier, I was greeted with a gruff “What do you want?” Frequent points of contact can be an occasional drawback to working from home…

What I loved loved loved about that question was the answer that came to me instantaneously:

 

Today, I don’t want. I have.

 

Today, I’m feeling great.

I have a fabulous husband, a beautiful baby girl and a cheeky monkey of a dog.

Lilly slept through for the first time ever last night.

I’m doing what I love.

I’m also for the first time getting paid to do what I love, namely writing.

I am about to embark on exciting travels with, and to, fabulous friends.

 

Today, my little world is just right. That doesn’t mean I’m settling for what is and loosing sight of the big dream. It just means that today I’m celebrating.

 

Today, I have enough.

 

So far, my RAK project isn’t going too well. Or rather, differently from what I had envisioned.

Today and Friday, I basically ended up taking care of myself. Now this is not a cop out. Well, sort of. I knew it would happen at least once in 30 days, I just didn’t expect it to crop up this early. On Friday, I dragged girl and dog around the neighbourhood at a brisk pace. I’m not gonna be fit for the MoonWalk if I keep leisurely strolling. Curled up in bed well and truly knackered at a ridiculously early hour. Much the same today, with an added dive into a hot bath. The girl’s been a bit grizzly for a few days and lack of sleep is getting to me.

Now taking care of myself is not always my forte. There’s a biblical saying that you should love your neighbour as thyself. But as one of my mentors says: “If we treated our neighbours as we treat ourselves, we wouldn’t have any neighbours left.” Meaning that we treat ourselves pretty poorly at times, rushing around and criticising ourselves for not doing enough. Not what you’d do to a neighbour really. Still, I always seem to expect my body to go along with all the great and exciting things my mind and spirit want to do. Although I suppose you can’t really take care of others when you don’t stop to take care of yourself. Not without entering martyr territory, anyway.

At least on Saturday I was back on the job. Bought coffee for the local flower man at the station. He’s always out with his portable stand, come rain or shine. Of course in the process of juggling the girl and two hot drinks, I ended up spilling coffee on the pushchair. Guess I never said I had to be graceful about the whole kindness thing.

And what’s almost as exciting as RAK’s and early nights is that I have a new word: scallywag.

It means something like rascal, scoundrel, one who is playfully mischievous. Rob used it the other day announcing a scallywag at three o’clock when Jack sneaked up onto the bed for an uninvited cuddle. Love it! Ranks right up there with serendipity.

And I guess for now, serendipity is me, the scallywag and the sofa. And sleep…

 

I have a new project. I read something about ‘random acts of kindness’ the other day. According to the serious and scientific source of Wikipedia, a random act of kindness is ‘a selfless act performed by a person or people wishing to either assist or cheer up an individual person or people’.

I guess the main thing about a random act of kindness (RAK for short) is that is it something you do joyfully without any expectation of getting something in return. Other than the satisfaction of knowing you have done a good thing, even if you are the only person knowing about it.

So all that being said, my new project is to perform a random act of kindness every day for the next month. That’s Feb 15 – Mar 15 (I started yesterday). I am going to write about my experience; not to demonstrate any grand gestures but because I figure it’s a good thing. Both the RAK’s and the writing.

So yesterday, I walked to pick up a visiting friend from the nearest tube station (substitute metro, underground or whatever it’s called where you live). Not because he didn’t know how to get to our place but because I wanted to. Besides, we got to spend more time together that way.

Today, I had a chat with the guy behind the counter in a local café. Someone commented about him being grumpy. He wasn’t grumpy to me, which is a good thing. Otherwise I might not have had the good grace to talk to him as bad customer service instantaneously sends me into a very bad and snappy place. But that’s a different story. So I asked Mr Man behind the counter how he was doing. Turns about he’d been working by himself without a break since 6:30am. This was about 2:30pm, so eight hours later. No wonder he looked knackered! He was still there when we left an hour later. So I just said something nice when I placed my order and told him to get some rest after he finished his shift as we were leaving. I don’t know whether it made a difference but I do know it’s nice to feel acknowledged.

I have no idea what I am going to do for the next 28 days. I don’t even know why I’m doing this, but it came to me and I am going with it.

After all, only good can come of it.

 

If you want to join me today or any other day, please do and leave a comment about your experience, if you fancy.

 

Just imagine how much good could come out of more people being more kind…

I miss writing every night. I know, I know, I could just keep at it, as a friend of mine recently pointed out. Yet there’s other exciting stuff I am doing when I’m not writing… although it doesn’t give me quite the same sense of satisfaction. Will have to conspire to sneak in more writing time!

I recently read a letter on the blog of a lovely lady who has resolved to write a love letter every day in February. You know; Cupid, Valentine’s and all that. What a fab idea! I especially loved the letter she wrote to her deceased father. Interesting timing, as lately I have been thinking a lot about my own Dad too.

He passed away twenty years ago, around this time of year. Early March. When he was diagnosed with late stage colon cancer, he only had another three or four months to live. At the time, I was nineteen and my preferred strategy of dealing with stuff was to ignore it. Get busy. Which is precisely what I did. I was so busy getting busy that I actually don’t think I spent all that much time with my Dad before he passed away. For many years, that was about the only regret I ever had. Eventually, I came to understand that I did the best with what I knew at the time, and trusted that he knew I loved him anyway.

With the anniversary of his passing, there’s a great many conflicting thoughts running through my head. Yes, I idolized him and yes, I was Daddy’s girl. Yet I am not sure we were really close. At least not in the sense that I would define closeness today. There were a great many things that were never talked about in our family, problems that were swept under the rug. As such, my Dad wasn’t even all that present. His work had him seeing clients all over his region during the week, with the odd office day thrown in. On Saturdays, he would do ‘manly’ stuff around the house and garden… mow the lawn, wash the car, that sort of thing. Get busy, basically.

Sundays were supposedly family time. Joint meals, frequent day trips. A lot of time spent in the car driving places. Not a lot of talking. The thing is, we just never really talked in our family. I mean, really talked. About stuff that was important, about how we felt. Guess that’s a solid German upbringing for you.

So that’s kinda what’s been on my mind lately. Part of me wants to go back and ponder it all. The things that I loved about my Dad and the things that he taught me. But also the things that were never said, never challenged.

But I’ve done all that already in various guises. And at this point, I just don’t see how that’s gonna serve me, other than to lead me down a slippery melancholy slope. What seems more important is to know that while he was alive, my Dad did the best he could with what he knew at the time too.

I’ve obviously spent some time writing about my experience as a Mum. A lot of stuff, good and bad, gets written about motherhood. I don’t see quite so much written about what’s going on for Dads. On some level, that makes sense… with guys generally feeling less compelled to share every iota of their emotional selves. Or else being driven to live up so some new label of the modern Dad, with whatever specifics that entails.

So my curious self has suggested that Rob do a guest post on his experience as a Dad so far. I have absolutely no idea what he might write about, so I’m curious indeed.

Watch this space!

 

Ok, it is just possible that I am hooked on this blog thing. I kinda thought it would be great to take a night off. So I did.

Actually cooked dinner from scratch (courtesy of the arrival of the bi-weekly veg box and hubby’s shopping). Sat on the couch and answered some overdue emails. Curled up on said couch in anticipation of sleep.

And as if on cue, Lilly started squawking. Nothing major, just in need of a cuddle and a dummy. And as I’m cuddling her, I can actually feel a blog post forming in my head. It’s itching to be written down and I no longer feel tired.

I think I may be hooked.

I think it may be possible that I love writing as much as knitting.

Now, that’s a whole lotta love.

 

Right, it’s January 31 and I have blogged for a whole month! With one day off. I still call that a result. I am guessing by quality control standards, a 97% success rate is pretty good. That’s what I’m gonna chose to believe anyway.

Most importantly, I’ve had fun. Loads of it.  And if someone had told me two months ago that I would find time to write every day, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Some people have actually wondered why it is that I have time to write a blog but I don’t have time to clean my living room. It’s a simple matter of priority. After Lilly has gone to bed and I have fed myself, I claim ‘me’ time. Even if it’s just a few hours before I succumb to the couch. Well, that’s all it ever is, really. But I refuse to clean, tidy or scrub after hours. It either gets done during Lilly’s waking hours or it has to wait. That’s why my abode is not Domestic Goddess territory. It’s also why I’m still relatively sane, considering the circumstances.

Some of you have also asked if I intend to continue writing. And the answer is of course a resounding HELL YES! You’re only a writer if you write, for starters. And I am loving it. And I am super chuffed about all the support and feedback I’ve had. I’m now gonna aim for two or three posts a week so I can focus on some other bits like getting an agent and write my next book. More about that in future, I’m sure.

Speaking of feedback, I’d love to know more about who is actually reading this blog. So Rob suggested I do a quick survey. Yes, I’m married to Mr Marketer. And I am quite pleased I was quickly able to knock one up. So I’d be even more super chuffed if you could answer a few questions for me here:

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/CCBBXBT

I know, I know, it’s kinda a pain in the neck, but would ‘ya, please? Now? I promise it’s only four questions so won’t take but a mo. And you don’t have to give any of your details either. Ta and big hugs for that one!

 

So for now, I’m off to celebrate. I’d love champagne but it messes with my head. I’m thinking a snooze on the couch will have to do.

Yes, my life is that exciting! 😉

 

I recently posted this Rowan Atkinson video on my Facebook page:

I am not sure what the whole angle about the New Europe is all about. I’m not really up to speed on politics. I don’t care to be either; so don’t bother filling me in.

Anyway, it got me cackling like a hen when it came to the ‘Vorsprung durch Technik’ bit. Bad timing. I was supposed to be putting Lilly to sleep, not watch YouTube clips. Unexpected mummy cackling caused big tired tears. Bad mummy.

It also got me thinking about all sorts of German stereotypes. And how mostly I don’t really meet them; which frequently begs the question whether I really am German, or just making that up. Personally, I gratefully blame twenty years of cross-pollination with other cultures.

I guess I might be guilty of pulling off the look, although the blonde is chemically enhanced. We’ve been through that.

Then there ’s things like punctuality and efficiency. I think I was born with an Italian gene when it comes to timekeeping. In my world, it seems that the closer you are to leaving the house, the faster time passes. All of a sudden, 15 minutes have flashed by when all you’ve really done is put on your shoes and grabbed your handbag. It’s baffling, really. If time flies, mine’s on the bloody Concorde.

I also have an acute dislike for rules, and being expected to follow them. I like to think of rules as guidelines. Optional guidelines. And I’ll never be accused of putting my towel on a beach chair at the crack of dawn. Never ever. That would require both advance planning and getting up early, not my most prominent character traits.

I am, however, proud to say that I can pronounce a ‘th’ and I’m convinced I have a sense of humour. Rob begs to differ. I polled him about what he feels is my most Germanic trait. He nominated socks and Birkenstocks. But only at home. Never in public. Besides, I hear that’s now become a catwalk trend so maybe I’m just ahead of the fashion game here.

And I will support the German football/soccer/whatever you wanna call it team. Passionately.

So forget the Olympics. Bring on Euro 2012!

 * * * * * 

PS: This is the post for Jan 30. Honest. It was all written up before midnight. I just didn’t get to hit publish before the short one wanted attention. Something about food. I tried to fob her off on Daddy but she noticed.

But it still counts as yesterday’s post. We’re only 9½ hours into the next day so mathematically I still get to round down. Rob says it doesn’t work that way. I’m choosing to ignore that. Rules are guidelines. And they’re optional, remember?

So turn a blind eye and pretend it was there last night, would ‘ya? I had to make it up to Lilly about the cackling hen thing.

Good mummy.