December Beauty

Well tomorrow is New Year’s Eve and to be honest I am well over the Crimbo Limbo. It’s a funny old time of year isn’t it??? I am well happy to kiss goodbye to 2018 which in many ways has been a bit of a shitter but I am a little scared of what 2019 will bring. I mean January?!?! What is that month about?!?!? Does anyone like January?!?!?

My hopes for 2019???? A cure for my crater like open pores and maybe just maybe I will embark on some Botox. Maybe. I’m not sure. Maybe .

  • Sand and Sky Australian Pink Clay Mask. £39.99

There has been a ton of hype surrounding this product. By hype I mainly mean that each and every time I log onto FB the adverts come up practically begging me to buy it. My husband calls me an advertisers dream. To be honest, if a product promises to reduce my pores then it’s bought.

As ever, I embark on products like these completely believing that it will change my life. I’ve now been using it 2-3 times a week since October. The little pot has lasted really well, mainly I think due to the brush you use to paint it all over your face. I bloody love the ritual of using the brush over my face…..the lack of mess is brilliant. The mask tingles a bit and dries very quickly. The flannel/sponge thing takes it off beautifully and my skin looks glowing and clear after removing. Are my pores reduced???? So, having become a bit of a product queen in the last couple of years, I wonder if the open pore holy grail exists. Maybe I am actually needing a miracle. After using this, my pores aren’t massively reduced but this is a bloody good mask that leaves my skin feeling thoroughly cleansed and looking lovely. I will continue my quest for the grail but I have a feeling I will definitely repurchase this product.

If there was any product that has changed my 2018 it is hyaluronic acid. I wish I had discovered it years ago, maybe I would still look like a 16 year old. So, over the past few months I have used 3 bottles of hyaluronic acid serum. Hands down the best was Pestle and Mortar Pure Hyaluronic Serum £36/30ml. The consistency of this was the thickest out of the three and therefore the product just felt more substantial. I used it twice a day and my skin immediately looked plumper, more refined, glowing and felt like velvet. The Poppy Austin Hyaluronic Acid Serum £15.49 for 60ml, although being really good value was my least favourite. It seemed to work well but for me, the consistency was just too thin and watery. That being said, for those among you who like a product to be pretty much immediately absorbed, this could be the one for you. For me however, I like to feel that I am getting a little more bang for my buck.

The Viola Vitamin C Serum with Hyaluronic Acid is the cheapest of the bunch at £6.85. Although cheap, I have been really pleased with this product. Skin feels hydrated and looks plumped. The addition of Vitamin C has helped to fade the pigmentation I developed in my last pregnancy. Nice consistency too. I mean for £6.85 I can’t really complain!!!

Right off I trot to walk the dog. I am trying to do more daily exercise to avoid getting back on the anti depressant wagon. Not 100% sure it’s working but I’m going to persevere.

I hope you all have a great night tomorrow and a fabulous, wrinkle free, clear skinned 2019.

Somewhere over the rainbow. My miscarriage story.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I landed in this strange bubble world of sadness and disconnect. On the 11th August we lost our baby of 20 weeks. Two weeks on and I feel just as sad and empty but with an added fear that the world is still turning and at some point I have to start turning again with it. I just don’t feel ready to do that yet.

This is a very personal but necessary post to write and for me it has been really therapeutic. Late miscarriage is thankfully rare. At the doctor’s surgery last week, I was told that I was the only late miscarriage they had had this year. Last year there was only two. I have joined a couple of late miscarriage Facebook groups and the support the ladies give each other is invaluable. Still however, the group is full of questions and not many answers. Last night a lady posted who had lost her baby at 17 weeks. She was due to go into hospital the next day and she had no idea what would happen. She was terrified. If this post lifts the shroud of secrecy, mystery and darkness around miscarriage then it’s done it’s job. If it helps one person then great.

This baby would have been our third daughter. I have always wanted a big family. I remember my husband being more reticent: we have 2 beautiful and healthy daughters, why ask for more????I have crap pregnancies, why go through it again???? I saw his logic but I couldn’t shake the image of myself as Ma Walton or Sally Field in Brothers and Sisters. I want a brood of children. I don’t want it to be neat and tidy. I want a mess of emotions and megabloks united in a big family. I got my wish. We got pissed one night and I got pregnant. Easy.

This pregnancy fell under the radar a bit. I didn’t worry. In fact I was blasé. I knew the drill, I had done it twice before. I was so busy with the girls and work I didn’t really think about it. I had a bit of a wobble before the 12 week scan when I was a little worried my age (37) would increase the risk of downs etc but generally I took it all in my stride. When I lay on the bed and saw our little bean on the screen, I cried. It was moving about like something possessed. My blood results came back and there was minimal risk of any genetic problems. Suddenly seeing the baby on the screen made it so real. I realised we were so lucky to be in this position again.

On the 9th August it was raining….maybe that was prophetic after weeks and weeks of blazing sun. My 2.5 year old and I went to me routine midwife appointment. She used the Doppler to listen to the heartbeat and couldn’t find one. I knew then. She sent me to hospital for a scan. I left the midwife and tried to call my husband who eventually answered, left work and rushed to meet me. I remember walking through the hospital thinking ‘in 5 minutes I will know and I will either be devastated or beyond relieved.’ In 5 minutes I did know. The baby had died. “It’s not good news” said the man doing the scan. My husband arrived just after I was told and we just sobbed.

We were ushered out of the room, past the couples who were waiting for their scans of their living babies and into the counselling room. Midwives and consultants came in and apologised for our loss. It was a blur of words and despair. I was advised to come back on Saturday and be induced. I was given a pill to stop the pregnancy hormones. I was given tea with sugar and then we left, clutching my maternity notes that 6 weeks previously showed the scan of our baby and now listed the sad words intrauterine death.

On Saturday we arrived at the Delivery Suite and were shown into a room called The Forget Me Not Suite (I mean really?!?!?!?). I remember walking in and being overwhelmed by the sight of the bed where soon I would be pushing out my baby. My midwife Anne came in. What a shit job that must be. I wonder if they had drawn straws to see who had the miserable task of manning The Forget Me Not Suite that day. As she was trying to find a vein to insert my cannula I asked “Do you get many of these?”

“Tricky veins?” She answered.

“No,” I replied. “Dead babies.”

“No, not that many.” I couldn’t work out whether to be comforted or gutted by her response.

There was a TV in the room. Thank God there was a TV in the room. Rather naively, my husband and I had no idea how long the whole process would take. It’s long. Arduous. I was given a tablet every 6 hours. We arrived in hospital at 8am and my Labour didn’t really start until 8pm. We spent the time drinking bad cups of tea and watching totally random shit on tv….power walking, endless gardening. Daytime TV on Saturday is bad. My husband was angry and frustrated that we weren’t prepared for how long it was going to take. I was grateful that I didn’t know.

The day passed in a bit of a blur. I remember feeling so sorry for the lady who came in to take our food orders. You could tell she was terrified what she would find behind the door of the Forget Me Not Suite. At 19:30 a new midwife came on, Araminta. This midwife found it harder than Anne. I called her at 20:00 when I went to the toilet and had started bleeding. Araminta found me sobbing on my husband. This was the bleakest time for me. Usually labour pains signify the start of a new phase in your life. I remember in NCT being told that every contraction brought you closer to seeing your baby. This time every contraction was bringing me closer to the end of something I so longed for. Araminta helped me into bed, cuddled me and had a cry herself.

Labour pains weren’t as bad as the previous times. I guess due to the fact that I didn’t have to get to 10cm. Earlier in the day I had been completely torn about pain medication. I was in such emotional pain should I use meds to dull the physical pain? Alternatively would the physical pain give me a good excuse to scream out some of the emotional pain? In the end I plumped for co-codamol and gas and air. In previous labours, gas and air made me feel a bit sick. This time however, it made me feel just out of it enough that I could almost disconnect with what was going on.

Labour proper started during the film Pitch Perfect 2. Ironically I had been discussing the merits of the Pitch Perfect trilogy only a few days earlier with a colleague. A few days earlier, when I was happy and confident I was carrying a healthy baby. When the baby came out, Araminta kept saying “sorry, sorry, sorry.”

I saw my daughter. Initially I was too scared. I was worried that every time I closed my eyes, she was all I would see. The midwife told me she was beautiful. I didn’t like the idea that she would only be seen by the midwife. I had to see this little life. My daughter, my little girl. She was beautiful. Tiny. The size of my hand. She won’t ever know her big sisters, she won’t argue with them about whether to watch Dugee or Ben and Holly but for a little while she was alive and because of that, as her mum, I had to see her.

After she was born we had to wait for the placenta. Because the umbilical chord was so thin there was a worry that it would break. After numerous attempts to extract it manually I was taken to Theatre and the whole thing was over at 6:30 am.

So what have I learned? I am now a member of a quiet, sad group of women who are praying for their rainbow. This word has a new meaning now (rainbow is a baby conceived after a loss). I now know what all these initialisms mean: BD (baby dance….sex), TTC (trying to conceive) and MC (miscarriage).

I have learned about grief. At 37 I realise I am pretty lucky. My parents are alive and well as are my husband’s. Life has been good to us so grief is an emotion I haven’t had much experience with. I knew I would go through feelings of anger. I was expecting these feeling to be aimed at people who were pregnant or those with newborns. This hasn’t been the case at all. I don’t want their babies. I want my own. Surprisingly, in the beginning I was angry at the baby I miscarried. I feel there is a bit of a non written contract when you get pregnant. I, as the mother promise to eat the right food, drink the right drinks, exercise when I am knackered, inject myself with blood thinners (to stop clotting), take daily vitamins, puke my guts up etc. You, as my baby just have to stay alive. Keep that heart pumping. If the worst should happen, please miscarry in the first few weeks (the pessimist in me expects that). Please don’t die at 20 weeks and give me no indication of your passing. I feel almost wrong footed by the baby. I turned up at my midwife appointment, with my 2 year old, confident that all was well. I think partly this grief is tainted by shock. I was confident in this pregnancy to the point of almost being cocky. I had two successful pregnancies this baby would be fine. The fact that this has happened and I was so unprepared has shocked me to the core.

What has been hard??? The day my husband went back to work was horrid. Seeing people carry on with life is awful when I feel like I am permanently on pause. People saying “it just wasn’t meant to be” is horrid. Being exhausted. Grieving is utterly knackering. I spend the day in a constant haze and then when I crawl into bed I am wide awake.

There has however been humour. Pretty dark humour granted but there have been some laughs. I had my first counselling session the other day. The lady gave me a diagram about how men and women grieve differently. Apparently at the moment I am floundering in ‘The Whirlpool of Grief” while my husband is trying to stay afloat in “The River of Life.” There have been a few jokes about this….mainly sung either to the tune of The Rhythm of Life or The Circle of Life.

People have said I’m brave and lovely as that is it’s one thing I’m not. I think you are brave if you choose to do something that scares you. I’m not brave. I had no choice but to go through this and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I know with time it will get easier but at the moment I don’t feel like the girl I was 3 weeks ago and at the moment I am trying to work out where I fit in a world in which I feel so disconnected.

March reads

Towards the end of March I had a complete reading epiphany….wait for it…… I am no longer going to read books on my kindle. I absolutely HATE reading on my kindle. It completely take the enjoyment away from me and as dramatic as it sounds, it makes me feel quite depressed. Apart from my children, dog and husband (in that order), reading is my passion….and for me, books go hand in hand with reading. I love the physical act of holding a book, getting more than halfway through and actually seeing the pages go past.

I have also decided that from now on I am going to post my monthly reads on instagram. Not the whole reviews obviously but instead of a review I am just going to put down 3 words or phrases that come to mind when I think of each book. Maybe this will spur someone on to pick one up….or not.

1. Exit West by Mohsin Hamid 3*

Words… magical realism, refugee, love.

SHORTLISTED FOR THE MAN BOOKER PRIZE 2017

SHORTLISTED FOR THE LOS ANGELES TIMES BOOK PRIZE FOR FICTION

NOMINATED FOR THE NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD FOR FICTION

*One of Barack Obama’s top ten books of 2017*

The Times Top 10 Bestseller

Guardian Top 10 Bestseller

The New York Times Top 5 Bestseller

Longlisted for the Carnegie Medal 2018 and finalist for the Neustadt Prize 2018

‘Mixing the real and the surreal, using old fairy-tale magic… Compelling, crystalline, unnervingly dystopian’ Michiko Kakutani, The New York Times

An extraordinary story of love and hope from the bestselling, Man Booker-shortlisted author of The Reluctant Fundamentalist

This is Nadia. She is fiercely independent with an excellent sense of humour and a love of smoking alone on her balcony late at nightThis is Saeed. He is sweet and shy and kind to strangers. He also has a balcony but he uses his for star-gazing.

This is their story: a love story, but also a story about how we live now and how we might live tomorrow. Saeed and Nadia are falling in love, and their city is falling apart. Here is a world in crisis and two human beings travelling through it.

This was a book club read and one with which I am on the seesaw of 3 and 4*. Its raining today and I am about to change a manky nappy so I am going to put it at 3*. I think even though this book is so relevant right now, members of our book club were quite disappointed . I haven’t read it, but apparently this book doesn’t compare at all to The Optician of Lampedusa, which had great reviews and people say is very moving.

The element of magical realism was also a major problem. The very idea that you could just find a door which would lead you to another world, belittled the whole journey of a refugee. No images akin to those of 3 year old Alan Kurdi in Exit West. For us, the whole element of crisis and desperation was missing.

In conclusion, I think we were all baffled by the accolades this book has received. Is it because the subject matter is so emotive that people aren’t so critical?  Hamid’s idea was interesting and original but at the end of the novel you definitely felt that something was lacking.

 

2. The Manson Women and Me by Nikki Meredith. 2*

Words……psychology, parents, indoctrination.

In 1969, Leslie Van Houten and Patricia Krenwinkel carried out horrific acts of butchery on the orders of cult leader Charles Manson. At their murder trial, the lead prosecutor described them as ‘human monsters.’ But to anyone who knew them growing up, they were bright, promising girls, seemingly incapable of such an crime. Award-winning journalist Nikki Meredith began visiting them in prison to discover how they had changed during their incarceration. The more Meredith got to know them, the more she was lured into a deeper dilemma: What compels ‘normal’ people to do unspeakable things?

Having finished this book, my lasting thought is that it needs editing. Badly. The subject matter really sparked my interest. Although a lot has been written about Manson, I really wanted to know what made the Manson women commit these horrific acts. The interviews between Meredith and Leslie Van Houten and Leslie’s mother were really interesting. Less so with Patricia Krenwinkel who Meredith clearly had less of a rapport with. I wish there had been more interviews and less memoir of Meredith’s life. I would often get to the end of a chapter and think “what was the point in that?” In conclusion, it was a bit ‘meh.’

3. Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haig. 5*

Words….anxiety, depression, humour.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO FEEL TRULY ALIVE?

Aged 24, Matt Haig’s world caved in. He could see no way to go on living. This is the true story of how he came through crisis, triumphed over an illness that almost destroyed him and learned to live again.

A moving, funny and joyous exploration of how to live better, love better and feel more alive, Reasons to Stay Alive is more than a memoir. It is a book about making the most of your time on earth.

Oh Matt Haig how joyous I am to have found you!!!

As someone who has struggled with depression since I was 16, I have tried counselling, CBT, hypnotherapy, Citalopram and reading every book under the sun about depression and anxiety.  This the first book I have read which I feel has been written for me and me alone. I have found over the years that actually the most effective means at making me feel better, is not trying to ‘fix’ me but basically to have someone say ‘it’s shit, but I understand.’ This is what I get from this book and as a result of Haig’s book, I don’t feel like a failure because I struggle with depression, I feel a sense of positivity that I am not alone and even on my darkest days, things will get better.

I have so much respect for the way this book is written. In a chatty, non judgemental way with just the right amount of statistics and humour. It is really important that this book comes from a male author.

Without a doubt I would recommend this book to anyone whose life is touched by depression but also to men, boys who are scared to voice their fears, anxieties and sadnesses.

4. The Humans by Matt Haig. 4*

Words….hilarious, touching, aliens.

After an ‘incident’ one wet Friday night where Professor Andrew Martin is found walking naked through the streets of Cambridge, he is not feeling quite himself. Food sickens him. Clothes confound him. Even his loving wife and teenage son are repulsive to him. He feels lost amongst a crazy alien species and hates everyone on the planet. Everyone, that is, except Newton – and he’s a dog.

What could possibly make someone change their mind about the human race. .

Book clubs are funny old things aren’t they? Why do you join a book club? To read more? To read outside your comfort zone and forget your prejudices? I ask these questions because this was a book club read. The majority of the group loved this book bar 2 people. When asked why they said “I hate science fiction.” Undoubtedly there is an element of sci-fi….alien life but this is definitely not all that this book is about. I loved it mainly because it made me laugh and that takes a lot on a delayed south west train in the morning. I also found it very touching. Andrew’s relationship with his wife and particularly with his son was very moving and definitely made me sit up and recognise how easy it is to focus on the unimportant things in life and leave the important things to founder.

5. A Kiss Before Dying by Ira Levin. 4*

Words…..America, university, old-school-thriller.

Dorothy meets a handsome young man with an eye for her inheritance while she is in her sophomore year. They are to be married and her life will be blissful; but Dorothy is pregnant and her fiancé’s plans are ruined, for Dorothy would be disinherited if her father discovered the truth. So the young man provides his bride to be with some pills that will solve the problem. Soon there will be no baby – and perhaps no Dorothy either… A Kiss before Dying, Levin’s first novel, earned him the 1954 Edgar Award for Best First Novel and is regarded as a modern classic.

This was an unplanned read for me this month. My mother in law came to stay last week. This is tremendous because she is undoubtedly the MOST helpful woman in history. She always offers to do the school run for me which I always accept. For all exhausted mothers out there, you will know what a treat this is. The only snag with this situation is I then feel like I am on holiday and that I have all the time in the world to get myself ready for work….as a result I am always late. On this particular day, I was still leisurely eating a bagel 15 minutes before I was due to leave the house. Admittedly my standards are lower and I definitely don’t look as coiffed heading into work as I used to but I can get ready to leave in 15 mins at a push. What screwed it on this particular day is that my potty training 2 year old decided to piss all over my bed. I left the house feeling grumpy and harassed. I also discovered I had left my book at home. HORROR. I hot footed it into the charity shop and my eye spied Ira Levin.

The legendary Levin has never disappointed. I have listened to Rosemary’s Baby and The Boys from Brazil on audio book and I can honestly say that in my memory of audio books, these 2 really held my concentration.

I whipped through this book is 2 sittings. These are the kind of thrillers I love to read. Like Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, this book kept me guessing. Who do you trust? I bloody love an unreliable narrator. I haven’t yet watched the film but in my mind it will be like an Alfred Hitchcock. 1950s America is a time period I love reading. I have such a vivid picture in my mind of how the film will look…I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

6. Crooked Letter Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin. 4*

Words…..Deep South, racism, acceptance.

Amos, Mississippi, is a quiet town. Silas Jones is its sole law enforcement officer. The last excitement here was nearly twenty years ago, when a teenage girl disappeared on a date with Larry Ott, Silas’s one-time boyhood friend. The law couldn’t prove Larry guilty, but the whole town has shunned him ever since. Then the town’s peace is shattered when someone tries to kill the reclusive Ott, another young woman goes missing, and the town’s drug dealer is murdered. Woven through the tautly written murder story is the unspoken secret that hangs over the lives of two men – one black, one white.

This is a book I am definitely going to buy for my dad. I completely associate my dad with American fiction, particularly that set in the Deep South. He has always been interested in the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement. If I had masses of money, I would love to pay for dad to do a road trip round the Deep South. I think he would fully immerse himself in the culture, food and music. It would also be a trip I would adore to make.

Franklin’s book is not without its accolades. It won the Crime Novel of the Year in 2010. This book so completely evoked the sights, smells and tastes of the South that reading it often felt like I was watching it on screen. The plot is great, but it definitely comes secondary to the brilliant characters.  Larry Ott is a character, which even now, 2 weeks after finishing the book, I still feel a lump in my throat when I think of him. The small town setting, combined with racial tensions and prejudices, made the book feel almost suffocating. In the middle of all these emotions, is Ott who is the brunt of everyone’s suspicion when it comes to the disappearance of the two girls. A painful but great read.

7. Call the Midwife by Jennifer Worth. 5*.

Words….1950s, slum, hardship.

Jennifer Worth trained as a nurse at the Royal Berkshire Hospital, Reading, and was later ward sister at the Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Hospital in London, then the Marie Curie Hospital, also in London. Music had always been her passion, and in 1973 she left nursing in order to study music intensively, teaching piano and singing for about twenty-five years. Jennifer died in May 2011 after a short illness, leaving her husband Philip, two daughters and three grandchildren. Her books have all been bestsellers.

Before having children, I used to be an avid fan of the a TV programme One Born Every Minute. I just loved the birth stories and seeing the beautiful babies. Even the sadder episodes I would watch and although I would be moved, the stories didn’t affect me too deeply. Then my own children arrived and my emotional level went through the roof. No longer could I watch films or read stories where children were anything other than happy. Now, even poor Charlie Bucket being unable to buy a bar of chocolate leaves me in bits. If One Born Every Minute or Call the Midwife comes in the TV, I have to switch off. Seeing women in labour is a very different thing when you have been through it yourself.

My youngest daughter was born 2.5 years ago so when a colleague recommended the novel Call the Midwife to me, I started reading with some trepidation.

I was very quickly hooked. Although the first scene of labour made me cross my legs a little, Worth’s writing about the East End, the characters she treated there and the nuns with whom she lived was wonderful. The chapters about Mrs Jenkins and the workhouse were utterly utterly heartbreaking. It has been a very long time since a book has made me cry. Life for the paupers in post war London was completely unbearable but yet families still persevered against the odds to look after their families. I have to say, the book hasn’t made me want to watch the tv series as thanks to Worth, I have such a strong image of 1950s London in my head. I am definitely planning on reading the rest of the books in the series.

8. We are all completely beside ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler. 4*

Words…..chimps, memory, siblings.

Shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2014

The Million Copy Best-Seller

Rosemary’s young, just at college, and she’s decided not to tell anyone a thing about her family. So we’re not going to tell you too much either: you’ll have to find out for yourselves, round about page 77, what it is that makes her unhappy family unlike any other.

Rosemary is now an only child, but she used to have a sister the same age as her, and an older brother. Both are now gone – vanished from her life. There’s something unique about Rosemary’s sister, Fern. And it was this decision, made by her parents, to give Rosemary a sister like no other, that began all of Rosemary’s trouble. So now she’s telling her story: full of hilarious asides and brilliantly spiky lines, it’s a looping narrative that begins towards the end, and then goes back to the beginning. Twice.

I read this book in 4 days. If you asked me 3 days ago what I was thinking, I would have said I was close to giving up. Why????? SPOILER ALERT!!!!!! Because of the monkey business. I don’t mind the fact that Fern is a chimp, in fact, it is this very reason that I grew to love the book. I hated that this major plot point wasn’t explained until page 77!!! 77!!!!! Yes, I understand why she did it, but in all honesty, it just pissed me off. If there weren’t so many good books in the world, I would have gone back and re-read pages 1-76 to see what I had missed when I had been spending the first third of the book thinking Fern was a human, but there ARE too many good books!

Ignoring monkey-gate, when this book finally dropped its cloak of ambiguity, I really enjoyed it and I admit I shed a tear on the last page. I also really enjoyed Fowler’s writing of Rosemary’s memory.  This, yet again is ambiguous, but I guess memory is isn’t it? Do you remember things correctly and in the right order??? I bet my early memories of situations are very different to my parent’s memories of the same situation. Its a really interesting idea and one I felt that Fowler explored really well.

 

Until next month!

It’s the little things…..

Today I woke up with a funny feeling….positivity. Sadly and worryingly this is something I rarely feel. Granted it’s a Saturday and the day didn’t begin with the mad rush of school uniform, arguments about hairstyles and temperature of porridge but today I honestly feel good.

Due to this mad feeling of euphoria, I think it’s important that I write down why it is that I feel good.

So……..

  • I went out for a drink last night after the show. Usually I can’t be arsed and I just want to go to my bed but the key here is that it was a spontaneous drink. I happened to see a friend on my way out of the theatre who suggested a drink and I thought ‘yup.’ I didn’t have time to talk myself out of it by mentally listing the reasons why it wasn’t a good idea. I just went and I laughed and I had fun with my friends.
  • My children let my sleep this morning. Due to my inconsistent working hours my children definitely lack routine. Each week is different and my kids definitely suffer as a result of it. Sometimes I can pick them up from school, sometimes not. Sometimes I have a day at home, sometimes not. As a result, the girls are MEGA clingy. When I am home they want me. It’s lovely and I know there will be a time when they are indifferent but at the moment when they are both under 5 and struggling with the concept of sharing, I literally feel pulled in all directions. Today, however they went downstairs with daddy with no tears and I slept!!!!
  • I went for a run. Yet again this word spontaneous is going to pop up. I didn’t have time to talk myself out of it. I went into the sunshine and just ran. Maybe that is the thing….as a parent who works full time, spontaneity is word that is never used. Mums have no time for spontaneity. I know parenting is something we signed up for and I love it, but having the freedom to be spontaneous is really important. I could have spent the morning cleaning my fridge and hoovering (which was on my to do list) but I did something for me and it felt freeing and invigorating.
  • I went to the charity shop and bought tons of lovely books.
  • Today I have a matinee and no evening show. This is a major thing. Tonight I will have a ‘normal’ Saturday night with my husband. We will get a takeaway and watch a movie. This is not something to be sniffed at. There is something slightly depressing coming into work on a Friday night. Going up the escalator at Charing Cross and watching all the other people with that ‘Friday Feeling’ heading down the escalator to go home for their weekend is strange. I love my job and I am very lucky but weekends aren’t weekends when you are going into work. You miss your family and friends.
  • I found an unused £20 off voucher in my ASOS account. WIN.

So as a result, occasionally being spontaneous is wonderful for my mental health. I will have to remember this but ironically I will have to remember that I can’t plan to be spontaneous.

Have a lovely weekend.

Me, myself and the little voice in my head

I have just done a major thing. Major for me anyway. I have just done an audition. As I am an opera singer this shouldn’t be the big deal it is but unfortunately I am an opera singer who has MAJOR nerves.

Singing used to be something that was ridiculously easy. I always played the piano and the flute but when my nerves started to get the better of me I decided to start singing. It went well for a while. Really well. I got roles in shows, a good performance degree and I was accepted into the RNCM in Manchester. I think this was where it started to go wrong. I would dread having to stand up in class and sing. I was terrified everyone would think I was crap. This ultimately is my problem….I am terrified of what others think of me. Unfortunately, I also lack the competitive gene, which is a must in my industry. It isn’t important to me to be the best. At college we were pushed into competitions and auditions which I just hated. I am also someone who has zilch poise. I am happy to run around singing arias and being funny, but give me a role that is just about beautiful, serene singing, then I just fall apart.

It is important for me to acknowledge that I am a good singer. On my own in a practice room I am really good. In front of people who are judging me, it all goes a bit wrong. That is the crux. To be a good singer, you don’t necessarily have to have the best set of pipes, you just have to have the self-belief that you do.

Anyway, as I said, today I am proud. I just did an audition. This wasn’t an anonymous audition. This was in front of my colleagues. People I will see again. Tomorrow in fact. I didn’t sing my best, but it definitely could have been a TONNE worse. For about 10 minutes, I managed to silence the voice in my head and I just did it. Will I get a part??? I don’t know, but for me, having the courage to audition was massive.

I am now heading home for a big glass of wine .

4 Very varied book reviews.

It has been yonks since I put up some book reviews and the irony/impropriety of reviewing a children’s book, a parenting guide, a wine guide and a book of poetry based on depression is not lost on me. If this grouping of books offends you, please stop reading now. Interestingly, I did not plan to read these books around the same time but for me, they are beautifully linked. I am a parent to two girls under five, I have depression and I really like a glass of wine. There, all linked and packaged up with a nice bow.

A LION IS A LION by POLLY DUNBAR

Is a lion still a lion if…he wears a hat? And carries an umbrella, too?

And is a lion still a lion if he says, “Oh yes, lunch would be lovely, thank you.”

And he asks you for…a BITE?

Firstly, I would like to say how much my daughters and I loved Polly Dunbar’s illustrations. My 4 year old told me ‘they were easy to understand.’ I think by this she means that the pages weren’t so busy that her 4 year old brain suffered with sensory overload. I often find books for children are so full of bright colours, big words, all singing and all dancing that children are so distracted that they lose the thread of the story. Not so with the book. The pictures are simple and beautifully drawn. My children and I particularly likes the ‘danger moments.’ This is when the lion decides he would quite like to eat the children in the story. Cleverly, Dunbar uses the colour red as a page background which prompted a lot of discussion with my 4 year old about red meaning danger. She is apparently steering clear of red food for a while. The message behind this book is also really empowering to children, particularly before bedtime. If something scares you/tries to eat you….chuck it out of your house and tell it ‘No! No! No! NO!’ This is a lovely book, really enjoyed by my 2 and 4 year old.

My thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC of this book.

I initially requested this ARC because I want to read more poetry. I am sorry to admit that I am a bit of a novice when it comes to reading poetry and my vision of it is fuelled by memories of plodding through A Level poetry which I often found tedious. So far, in my tasting menu of poetry, I am really enjoying modern poetry and I thought the subject matter of Benhaim’s new book of poems would definitely be something I could relate to.

Benhaim, is not a poet I am familiar with so before embarking on her collection I sat down with a cuppa and got onto Google. I was hoping to find a Wikipedia post giving me some background. This was unfortunately not to be. Instead, I became immersed into the world of Slam Poetry. To Slam Poetry virgins like myself, Slam is a competition which originated in 1984 in Chicago. It was intended as a way to move poetry away from stuffy libraries and bring it out to audiences. Poets take to the microphone and compete against other poets. Slam poetry is Benhaim’s background. It is worth watching her perform her poem ‘Explaining my depression to my mother, a conversation.’ This video has been viewed 6 million times on Youtube.

Having watched everything of Benhaim’s I could find, I embarked on her book. I loved these poems. So many of them spoke to me and even though the main subject matter is depression, a had a wry smile on my face as so much of what she said made sense to me:

In some stories,

the protagonist has to kill the bad thing to

release its light.

in my story,

I am the protagonist & the bad thing,

I have to learn how to bend the light out of myself.

I can do that magic.

So many beautiful thoughts and ways of expressing them. I think my favourite poems were ‘How to fold a memory’ – her words created such wonderful and fragile imagery. ‘Another plain truth,”poem for the moment after you left,”so my friend tells me she identifies as a mermaid,”feed a fever, starve a cold,’ ‘what I told the doctor, the second time,’

These poems, short stories really came alive to me after having watched how she performs. I completely have her voice in my head and it really helped my to get used to her conversational style.

A really wonderful book of poetry and I will definitely recommend it to others.

Oh Helen McGinn where have you been all my life??? Thank god I have found you now. I feel as I am now in my late 30s (argh) it is time for me to get into the club. The club I talk is the Club of Wise Ones What Know About Wine. I had friends who joined this club in their early 20s and I thought it was all a bit pretentious. I just wanted to get pissed on whatever was cheapest in sainos. If something was on offer, I would buy it….as long as it was in the £6 and under price bracket. In the year before we jumped on the baby train my husband and I went on our last big holiday. We went to America and spent a lot of time in Napa. We hired bikes and I have slightly soft focused memories of us cycling around various vineyards, trying to pretend we weren’t pissed and that we knew vaguely what we were on about. We didn’t, and it made me realise I wanted to be part of this club who did know.

I live in South West London which is an area often referred to as Nappy Valley. Everywhere you look, there are pregnant people, Range-Rover priced buggies, sleep consultants, breast-feeding consultants, mothers who are wearing jumpers with slogans describing how they are just blagging motherhood (they aren’t. Their idea of blagging motherhood is to feed their kids chicken nuggets one night a week instead of organic bolognese). Controversially, i have found since living here, I am slightly allergic to this group of women ( by all means, it is not the women round here) who quaff prosecco whilst holding baby Zara (who is dressed in Bonpoint) wanking on about how knackered they are. As a result, i tend to veer away from blogs and books with the title ‘The knackered/yummy/ confused/baffled/hysterical mummy.’ Helen McGinn has without a doubt proved me wrong and made me realise that my prejudice is ridiculous.

This book is so readable without being too easy. It is definitely a book which I shall keep and often refer back to. This does not read like an idiots guide to wine, but its simplicity in content makes you feel that you are getting to grips with how wine works without being bamboozled by the complicated stuff.  For a wine beginner, this is definitely the book for you. Its humour, lack or pretension and brilliantly structured chapters make it a really fun read. The chapter about book clubs and wine has inspired me to start my own wine tasting/book reading club. Thanks Helen. Top work.

 

My thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for the ARC of this book.

In my review above I have already given my opinions on the trend that is self-deprecting parents writing books and blogs on how they bare winging parenthood. This phenomenon has really taken off in the last few years and I feel we are inundated with similar parenting manuals. Having said that, I requested this ARC because I hadn’t read anything from the father’s point of view.

Sam Avery is a funny guy. He should be…he is a stand up comedian. He also has twin sons which will provide him with enough funny material for the next 15 years. His first chapter, entitled Diary of a Two-Year-Old made my openly guffaw on the train. I made my husband read it whilst we were trying to stay awake over a glass of wine last saturday. We did that knowing laugh, that parents do when we discover that we all go through the same thing. Also, his chapter on soft-play was brilliant.

My only issue with this book, is that for me, I think I would have enjoyed it more had I read it a little more sporadically. Avery is hilarious but if you read it in one sitting you get slightly bored of the humour. Pretty much every paragraph has a simile or analogy which eventually become totally frustrating. I felt I was drowning in Avery’s need to make me laugh every 5 seconds and as a result, as the book continued, to became less funny.

Having said that, it was really refreshing to read a man’s take on parenthood and it would be a great book to give to any soon to be dad’s.

 

Thanks for reading and Merry Christmas people.

Rants

Good evening ranters and MERRY CHRISTMAS.

God today has been a total mix of ranting and feeling very grateful.

It started well, I woke up to find myself in bed with only my husband. This is unusual. More often than not there is a 4 year old in bed with us and this week has been a bit of a mare as 2 year old has also tried to get in on the act too. My back is constantly in bits as a result of this and I always do that dream like falling thing because more often than not, I actually fall out of bed as I constantly sleep on a razor of space. Anyway, last night I slept without children. Whoop! WIN.

I then was granted a 2 hr free pass to do some xmas shopping. It was all going well until I returned home to discover I had left a bag in the shopping centre. I drove like a mad woman back to the shopping centre. Cursing my life, the general population and with tears streaming down my face. And do you know what????? Some wondrous person handed it in to security!!!! I love everyone. I then scraped my wing mirror as I was reversing out the car park but you can’t have it all.

Anyway, FB Rants from yesterday.

Here are the stats.

  1. 118 comments
  2. 34 likes
  3. 26 Ranters
  4. 15 comments from people new to Rants

MY RANTS

  1. When your 4 year old learns to write and then thinks it is acceptable to scrawl all over your furniture, sheets etc. Every day I find the name Edith in a new place it shouldn’t be.
  2. Hair Rants. I am blessed to have 2 very healthy daughters and I am completely happy to be in Team Girl. I do often wonder however what it must be like to have a son and not have to have the constant arguments about hairstyles. These arguments always happen at exactly 7:47 in the morning, whilst I am trying to do brekkie, hiding dummies from my 2 year old and trying to make myself look presentable enough to take my daughter to school. Needless to say, it is an argument I always lose. Edie has at least 4 hairbands on and I turn up to school looking like the Wild Woman from Borneo.
  3. Contouring. Who honestly has the time for this. WTAF?!? Utter lunacy.
  4. Ridiculous newborn photoshoots. Naked babies lying in pretend eggs???? Whaaaaaat!!!
  5. Awful signs that people buy for their houses. Things like ‘Home is where the heart is.’ ‘You don’t have to be drunk to live here, but it helps.’
  6. Marzipan.

THE RANTS. Rants in BOLD are reappearances of previous rants.

  1. Avocados where they don’t belong….like cups for coffee!?!
  2. Millenial journalists being offended by EVERYTHING.
  3. Women in gigantic cars who cannot park, drive or manoeuvre.
  4. People who say ‘years of age’ instead of ‘years old.’
  5. Upside down Xmas trees.
  6. Trains being cancelled.
  7. People who put their bags on the chairs on public transport.
  8. Perfume adverts.
  9. Mince Pies.
  10. Candid peel.
  11. Sprouts.
  12. People who eat with their mouths open.
  13. Fly tipping.
  14. Desiccated coconut.
  15. Chewing gum.
  16. Cheesy engagement photo shoots.
  17. Glitter ?!?!?
  18. Sleeping Selfies.
  19. Pouting selfies.
  20. Dick pics and general dick heads on dating websites.
  21. Food served on paper in pie dishes.
  22. Snow.
  23. The Sainsburys Xmas ad.
  24. The Debenhams Xmas ad.
  25. The Vodafone Xmas ad.

That’s all for another week folks.

Thanks for reading.