I could be a poet

Hello and seasons greetings to you - I hope this finds you with a happy heart and in rude health.

I'm conscious I've been light on posting this year which is in part due to an irresistible urge to write poetry.  It's something that I've done for a very long time and if you've been to my Facebook page recently, you will have seen (and heard) quite a number of them.  Rather than keep them in just the one place, I thought I'd share them here too - they'll have normal titles from here on in but because I'm introducing this one, I get to use a line from one of my favourite Ian Dury songs :) 

-----

At Christmas
Enter my house at your peril
The rooms are like bomb-sites
The children are feral

New guests arrive
As the last are departing
Our brains in a funk
And everyone's farting

The days are a haze
We slump and we list
We're fed up of Twister
And being half-pissed

Last week we were lively
Fresh-faced and perky
Now our skin's gone to pot
And our insides are turkey

The mere thought of port
Makes me want to heave
I shan't touch a drop
At least 'til New Year's Eve


-----
Soundtrack: What a Waste - Ian Dury and the Blockheads

Get Through It

What a week to be a working parent.  The children are hanging on by their fingertips to get to tomorrow when 1.30pm brings the end of school and the official start of Christmas.  They are puffy-eyed, over tired and bordering on hysteria with what next week will bring.  The curriculum has gone out of the window to be replaced (much to the children's delight) with dvd-watching, clearing out cupboards and a nativity that for all its beauty (and the best camel outfits ever to grace a church) sounded like a doctor's waiting room such was the level of coughing.  Book bags spill over with Christmas cards and sweetie wrappers as the healthy eating policy gets crushed under a sea of Quality Street from the teachers.

We are Wolves

And while they're at school I'm still working to pre-Christmas deadlines whilst accepting deliveries, sending cards and adding ever more to the festive food list - the closer we get to the 'Big Day' the bigger our appetites get - we are wolves, salivating at the thought of turkey and upping our cheese intake to make sure we at least eat something with the bottle of port waiting patiently in the cupboard.

Now where *is* that
last tree chocolate?

Sunday Best

I am trying so hard to be focused but there is part of me wishing these next couple of days away.  I'm eager to join the children in their revelry, up for letting my hair down and dreaming of those few days when I point blank refuse to do any washing.  Let the jeans and t-shirts fester in the basket, we shall wear our Sunday Best to breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I can't wait until nothing but the next game of UNO and trying to find a tree chocolate matter, and to savour that moment of giggling and shushing on Christmas Eve when we sneak the presents under the tree.  They say Christmas is just for children but I know different.

Knackered

And it's not just me - the playground is full of parents who are knackered.  We too are puffy-eyed, over tired and bordering on hysteria.  We too are hanging on by our fingertips before we can take time off; empathising and encouraging each other to give it one last push before we run out whooping and yelling into the December air - we can taste time off and it tastes like Christmas.  So come on grown-ups, one deep breath and just a few more days to go - we can get through it.

Merry Christmas everybody!


Soundtrack: Tender by Blur

Seventy Four, Seventy Five

Hopefully I won't get
'egged & floured' this time!

In six months I'm going to be 40.  It feels a bit exciting as I love a 'big' birthday, although I'm not sure of the significance of this one compared to my 18th and 21st unless there's some legal thing I've missed which means I get a double-strength vote or am allowed to ride a unicycle through Westminster while dressed as a horse.

I guess it's supposed to be a point of reflection, a time to think about how far you've come, count your blessings and stick a flag on summit that is reaching official Middle Age.  But what does that even mean now?  We're all busily extending our teenage years well into our fifties, refusing to give in to M&S elasticated trousers and continuing to go out when we really ought to be hosting civilised dinner parties instead.

Some people use it to attack their 'Bucket List' but I used up a whole load of that stuff (and probably nine lives) in charging through my teens and twenties because partly I had a 'life is short' rocket up my arse thanks to the death of my dad when I was a teenager, and partly because I knew jumping out of aeroplanes would be a less responsible thing to do once I became a mother (despite stating frequently I would "never have children" I guess there was always a part of me that secretly hoped I might).

What is good about this impending milestone is that it means a lot of my friends are turning 40 too, bringing ample opportunity to celebrate - and a welcome change from invitations to ferry the children to and from village halls and soft play centres where you stand about and drink lukewarm squash while your children get a serious sweat on and cry that they don't have enough Hula Hoops.  This has brought about some already very memorable parties and the realisation that when you get a group of grown ups together without their children, you find the same jokes you shared when you were 14 still have the power to make you cry with laughter.

Over the past couple of months I have....

• Been in hysterics over memories of old school teachers, and spat my drink out as former classmates confessed to being the source of phone calls about "massive willies" 
• Used words that were once terms of abuse as terms of endearment - I don't know why my year group used "skippy cotter" but we did.  So there.
• Marvelled at how ten - even twenty years after last seeing someone - they still look the same as their class photograph from 1987 (minus the terrible brown and green uniform - see picture..)
• Danced like a woman possessed.  No, hang on a minute, like a sixteen year old girl who is awe-struck that bands like the Happy Mondays and Jane's Addiction even exist
• Bellowed "no future" with some other mums whilst hurling ourselves around a living room to the Sex Pistols 
• Hugged friends - current, new, long-lost and found again wrapped in bear hugs and embraces

These parties have been awesome, emotional and above-all life affirming.  A chance to come together, reflect on the girls we were and the women we now are; so if this is what being 40 is all about then you can bring it on :)

Soundtrack: '74 - '75 The Connells

Get the Balance Right

I had a great time catching up with some friends and former colleagues at a conference yesterday.  We spoke a lot about our families and when it came to the women who had children, we reflected on how it had felt to return to work and the impact it'd had (and was still having) on our families overall.  As a group of women, we were in a fortunate position; well paid, in jobs that stretched us intellectually and able to contribute to the emotional, financial, and practical aspects of family life.  We talked about the way in which being able to support yourself increases your sense of self-esteem but also the challenges that come when you have two parents that are working.  Who does pick up and drop off?  Who collects the kids if they're ill?  How do you make sure you're present for each other, your children, friends, wider family - yourself even - when you feel like you're pulled in a hundred directions?  

We talked too about how our partners and husbands felt, how it is for them and how much choice they feel they have when it comes to how much time they dedicate to work and family.  In some instances, they have less.

Do I stay or do I go?

When considering my career, I made a definite choice to remain in the corporate world until after I had children. This was in part because I was enjoying the lifestyle and opportunities the job afforded, but also because the maternity benefit offered by my employer was first-class: six months on full pay. I heard a rumour that there was an employer offering twelve months on full pay, but they were in the automotive industry and I didn't know squat about cars. Still don't.

Life-changing events

I asked my husband the other day what he would have done if he'd have been offered access to that kind of benefit.  Unsurprisingly he said of course he would have taken it.  The thing is, for most men, the only way they can get that level of paid leave is for a different, and much less positive, kind of life-changing event: having a terrible accident, a nervous breakdown, or becoming seriously ill.

Getting the balance right

I know plenty of couples where the woman earns more than her partner. Couples where it would have made practical and financial sense for dad to stay home with the children (and where this is the option they would have preferred) but whose employers offered something measly like one week of paid leave on top of their statutory entitlement. Hardly enough time to get used to changing a nappy without getting pee'd on...

Shared parental leave

Come April 2015, there will be a small step in redressing the balance with the advent of Shared Parental Leave (https://www.gov.uk/shared-parental-leave-and-pay/overview) but let's face it, statutory pay doesn't scratch the surface when it comes to paying the bills. What I'd be really interested to see is employers who are currently offering generous maternity packages considering making these available to their male workforce. It would take some doing but given that organisations already need to consider the requirements of adoptive and same-sex couples perhaps it could become a reality.

And if it did happen - would it make any difference?  Would we see an exodus of dads from the workplace and mums going back to work more rapidly?  Would either of these be a bad thing? There's only one way to find out - I wonder who will be brave enough to go first.  And if you know a business that is going first - let me know!

Soundtrack: Get the balance right - Depeche Mode 

Footnote - a shortened version of this post can be found on my LinkedIn page.

The funeral

I wasn't sure if I should go at first.  My grief wasn't as acute as everyone else's.  No tears waiting  to be shed, no memories to reminisce over, no noted absence were I not to show up.  But this was family, so I decided to go.  Thought it would be the "right" thing to do.

And so I went. Went into a pub and was recognised.  Hugged, remembered, loved.

Faces different but the same.  Years of absence compressed, forgotten, unimportant.  It felt good to be there, amongst the generations, taking my place in the family tree.  

"How are you?"   ...   "How's your mum?"  ...  "How old are you now?"  

We travelled to the service where so much of my flesh and blood had arrived they couldn't all fit in the chapel.  We stood outside, hearing stories through the loudspeakers that talked of a man well lived and well loved.  A poet, a dreamer, a builder, a father.

"He was my friend"   ...   "We married each other on a beach"   ...   "They're not supposed to take one of ours"

We go back to the pub, share stories and photographs and remark on the names planted generations ago but still present today.  We are the set of each other's jaw, the shape of our noses, the curve of our brows.  We gaze across the room, marvel at the amount of lives one man can touch and wonder if we really are all related.

Wonder Woman?

I have always been someone who wants to fix things.  Not mechanical things you understand - my brain is not orientated to dealing with the nuts and bolts of a bike or an engine.  The stuff I like to fix relates more to bad situations and feelings.  I hate seeing people upset, angry, sad, frustrated, put upon.  I hate it because I've felt it and I also know how it feels when people help you to feel just a little bit better - a hug, a sympathetic ear, a useful phone number, a lift when it's pissing with rain or someone to pack your bags at the supermarket because your baby is screaming and it is quite evident that you are about to scream too because you can't get the Shreddies to fit in the bloody bag and comfort your infant at the same time.  I witnessed a beautiful example of this recently as a shopper sat and held the hand of an elderly lady who couldn't remember her pin number and so couldn't pay.  It was making her cry because it had happened before and she was embarrassed.  And the kind shopper and the shop assistant at the till told the lady it was alright, and it didn't matter - they'd find a way to sort it out, and we all forget our pin number sometimes, because in keeping our details safe we tie ourselves up in ever more complicated knots of numbers and letters and punctuation marks.  Bloody banks.    

With all of these wonderful vibes going round what I hadn't expected to learn was that there are times when my urge to assist needs to be toned down, and naturally the lesson has come from the wisest people in the house - the children.

Returning home from school one day my daughter told me about something that had happened that seemed unfair to her and so I offered to contact the school.  In return I was treated to a good minute of "Whydoyoualwayssaythat?! Aaarrgh!! You're so annoying!!"  Turns out that she just wanted to vent, just like grown ups do and (as one of my friends later pointed out) if my husband complained about work, I wouldn't call his boss - so why was I trying to fix every tiny issue the children present?  Despite the delivery of her message, what my daughter said made me take stock and so I returned to where she was sat, exasperated at my inability to detect she is growing up, to explain that my being annoying and embarrassing comes from a good place and that I would wait until she asked for my help before volunteering to speak on her behalf; sometimes us parents can't help these things.  And she smiled, and wasn't angry any more about what had seemed so unfair during her day, or her annoying mum.  

In my rush to fix I had forgotten to listen properly, putting my pants on over my trousers and attaching my cape when I didn't need to come to the rescue.  For all the times when I have needed to be on high alert in my life, there are dozens more where I have created more drama than necessary, and where my wanting to be helpful has overshadowed what I'm being told.

So I'm going to try to be more wife and less Wonder Woman, more friend and less Fantastic Four, more mother and less...um a superhero beginning with 'M'....you catch my drift.  In doing so, perhaps I'll tune in better to when I'm really needed - I'll hang on to the cape just in case.

Soundtrack: The Theme to Wonder Woman

Kill Your Television

I saw a woman in the cafe of a swimming pool hand her baby an iPad to play with.  It was to distract the baby so she could chat with a friend.  I wanted one of two things to happen:

1. The baby would do what all babies do: vomit - right onto the iPad

2. The baby would do the other thing that babies do when they're given something: throw it on the floor.

I did also hope that her mother might just have a book.  You know, one of those nice ones for babies designed to stimulate and delight them (and withstand dribble, vomit and throwing).  But no, she didn't have one of those.  Just a piece of tech that cost hundreds of pounds that no doubt she'd have a paddy about if it got dropped on the floor. 

Maybe I'm just a massively judgemental cow, but I don't care.  I have been validated by a Steve Jobs comment - yes, really!

I read today that Steve Jobs was a low-tech parent.  Despite leading a company whose products are the tech equivalent of crack for some people, causing them to rob their mums and queue in the rain for hours just to hold a piece of white plastic that they would then download Minecraft and Bruno Mars albums onto, he explained to the journalist Nick Bilton back in 2010 that he would "limit how much technology our kids use at home.”  

Isn't it highly hypocritical of me to make a living from the technology industry and not encourage my children to use it?  Am I harming the likelihood of my daughter pursuing a career in technology because I don't let her spend time playing on my tablet pc?  No, I don't think so.  My children are still at primary school - there's no reason for them to spend hours with a screen in their faces or hands.  I have come to this conclusion through my own technology usage which is thus: 

Work  

They can wait until ooh, they're at least fourteen before we tell them they need to earn their keep.

Distraction

I am guilty as hell of this.  It is the adult equivalent of picking your nose.  I'm trying to do less of it.

Chatting with friends

Let's face it, nobody has a land line any more so keeping up with the friends we've made over the years would be almost impossible without email and Facebook.  And even if we did have land lines, picking up the phone to a friend will cause your children to shriek in your ears / strip off / start tearing the house apart in order to end your conversation - it's just not possible.  The children's friends are at school.  Where they go every day.  For six whole hours.  

Play

Who am I kidding?  See: Distraction.

Motivation

I've downloaded some apps to help me with my fitness goals because I'm lazy and need a kick up the arse to stop me from getting a massive arse.  Children are naturally geared to behave like chimpanzees jacked up on a hundred bananas - if we spent more time playing with them or like them, we'd be a hell of a lot fitter.

Of course there are times when technology makes it possible to cross oceans and keeps families together who are miles apart, but my issue is with putting devices into the hands of very young children as a means of occupying them.  What I know from my own experience is you're a click away from content that is unsettling at best, terrifying at worst, even with parental controls.  That when you download a game intended for children, it might show you an advert offering 'explicit pics of people you know' (thanks Talking Tom app).  I know owning a smartphone can make you behave furtively - even blatantly rudely as you check it whilst sat with another person.  It can also make you very angry, I have thrown at least one mobile phone in my time and the language I have used when my 'smart' phone has crashed is pretty choice.  

Naturally there are times when the children think it's unfair or have a nuclear-strength tantrum because we've turned off the tv but it doesn't take long until they find something else to interest them.  Either that or we have tear ourselves away from our own devices to properly pay attention to them which is no bad thing.  

This was further underlined this week when my five-year-old son was "bored" because I'd turned the television off so I encouraged him to write out some party invitations.  Seeing him holding a pen, concentrating on carefully writing his friends names out was a very emotional moment for me.  No tech, no screen, just a pen, some card and watching him develop a true skill that will last him the whole of his life.  It's low tech, but I love it.

Soundtrack: Kill Your Television - Ned's Atomic Dustbin