Just Say No

I can't believe I've done it. I always swore I never would. It's just so unlike me. I don't know what came over me. However, here I am having crossed the threshold. Last week, I gave in and bought something from a door to door salesman. Even my daughter was incredulous. "What on earth happened?" she asked. "You always say no and shut the door on them." I do admit that I am  pretty skilled at this and can even make short work of those trying to offer me nine steps to heaven or enlightening literature.

What did happen then? Perhaps it was my tiredness after a day of work that made me sluggish and slower than usual to react in my normal way. Maybe it was the fact that any interruption was welcome to save me from refereeing the children's mealtime. It may well have been that on opening the door to the young guy, I found that he made a big effort to be pleasant even though this was probably his umpteenth call of the day and he was surprisingly presentable. What can I say? I am a sucker for a man in a suit. (Although you'd think I would have learned my lesson on that one given my divorce from a suited man!)  You should see some of the specimens we get knocking at our door. They look more suited to appearing in mug shots on Crime Watch than being the faces of successful companies.  He informed me later on in the conversation that he had gotten a haircut and removed his earrings to look more presentable. Bless him; his parents must have been so proud. He also told me how he'd been beaten up at the age of 15 and ended up in hospital for a broken jaw and arm. For the life of me, I can't seem to recall the relevance of this to our conversation.  Good job that hadn't been his opening line or he would not have ended up perched on the bottom of my stairs, taking my details. Credit card details, not my phone number!

So, what did I buy? I'd like to tell you it was something useful like a vacuum cleaner because I am in desperate need of a new one but no, it was nothing so practical. I signed up for a subscription to LOVEFILM. Oh yeah baby, we can watch movies all the time and work our way through all the box sets of shows that we have missed. The kids were thrilled! Had their mother actually agreed to more TV? What was I thinking? I hardly ever watch TV as it is. How on earth am I going to find time to watch more TV?  And whilst my kids aren't exactly couch potatoes, do they actually need more time in front of the box? Perhaps they might find something educational to watch? Wishful thinking I dare say although recently they have been keen to watch clips which prove the existence of underwater, mythical creatures. What is more likely is that they will squabble not only over the X-box, Wii or regular  TV shows but also which programs they will watch on  LOVEFILM. 

Do you think anyone has ever bought something at the door that they are totally thrilled about? I am going to save judgement until after the summer holidays. Surely I will find time to work my way through at least a couple of series of The West Wing if I can wrestle the TV away from the kids. If not, it would appear that I can cancel my subscription at any time with the click of a button although I find this very hard to believe. No doubt I will have to read my way through 10 pages of Terms & Conditions, which are written in microscopic writing, only to find that I have signed my life away and have no way of getting out of the contract.

Excuse me now while I practise my much needed but rusty 'saying no' skills. I cannot afford a repeat of last week's, doorstep side swipe. Failure to do so may result in me buying a Timeshare holiday which can only be used during the school term, by 2.5 people, on months of the year ending in an x. 

Vanishing dress, nuggets and boxers

I'd like to tell you that this blog post is going to be life changing; revealing a deep and meaningful truth that I have discovered, but alas it is not. Today, I am going to have a jolly, good moan.

My entire life seems to have been overrun  run over by children.  Hardly surprising as they come with the territory,  both as a single mother of four children and a school teacher. Now I know how Miss Hannigan felt in 'Annie.' Everywhere I turn there are children in all shapes and sizes and all the paraphernalia that accompanies them. I need a separate room just to store all the sport equipment that is required to keep my twelve year old active and occupied.  My four year old has developed an obsession with bags.  She prefers playing with a collection of bags over all her other toys and is usually to be found raiding my office in search of interesting objects, such as staplers or foreign language phrase books, with which to fill these bags. She then proceeds to move her luggage from room to room. Baggage handling may well feature in her future, although I shall hold out for her obtaining a position with Louis Vuitton.  Along with the tripping over bags, I'm having to store paintings and cereal box, object d'art as there is all hell to pay if even one of these pieces is spotted protruding from the rubbish bin. To top it off,  if we didn't have enough junk to store in our home, my eldest has developed a thriving e-bay business which means a postal worker regularly delivers yet more tat to our door.

This past weekend, I called time on our junk stash and we had a good clear out. We managed to rid ourselves of four, large bags of rubbish and five large sacks which I put out for the charity van to collect this morning. All of which resulted in me receiving a frantic call just as I arrived at work because my older son had witnessed a suspicious looking van pull up outside our house, with four guys who jumped out and hurriedly bundled our unwanted booty into the back of their van, before speeding away. It took me several minutes to convince him that they weren't bad guys 'stealing' intended charity goods but were in fact sent by the non-profit and were just working efficiently and responsibly. By the time he'd called out, 'Oh right, love you, bye mum,' and hung up,  my brain had only just begun to process the fact that he should already have left for school! (*Make mental note to ask if he was late for school this morning when he gets home.)

We appear to be in a constant flummox of remembering where items have been left, looking for them, finding or not finding them, having to go shopping to replace said items, washing and ironing these belongings and so on and so forth. One child is constantly misplacing items which results in hours of hide and seek. Another has a fondness for tying things up so additional time has to be allocated for untying laces, socks, belts, etc. I don't  even want to think about where that habit may lead later in life! My eldest swears blind that I deliberately lose her dance gear and never do the laundry! These things combined with the having to search every Barbie, Hello Kitty and Peppa Pig bag for missing keys results in a rather frazzled mother leaving the house for work in the mornings.

I realise that some parents go to work for a rest and look forward to the prospect of adult conversation, an uninterrupted coffee break and stimulating mental challenges. I, on the other hand, go to a work place that very much resembles the environment that I have just left; where I deal with other people's children who have lost their spelling books, PE kits, etc. I kid you not, last Friday afternoon started with walking a class of thirty children up to the local pool for their swimming lessons, and ended in us returning to school with one girl having to wear a makeshift dress because her pinafore had gone missing! How can a dress go missing?!! I don't think she was too impressed with the fact that I said, "Those two sweaters tied around your waist may not be fashionable but they are functional." I'm not sure what was worse, having a girl walk back to school minus her dress or me having to walk back accompanied by an extra pair of boy's, boxers which had turned up in the search for the pinafore.

Yeah, yeah, I know I'm complaining for no good reason. Having a little grumbling session every now and then helps me to let off steam and hear my complaints for what they are; mild inconveniences in the whole scheme of life. I also realise that no sooner am I despairing of the children in my life, than they wheedle their way back into my affections and warm the cockles of my heart. At school, there's the light bulb, eureka moments when children have mastered column addition, the surprised look of delight when their name is read out in assembly for a good work certificate and the stage whispered, "Yessssses," when you say you will be returning to teach them the next day. With my own children, there is the pride when they win the match for their team, the fuzziness which accompanies the, "Can we just have one more snuggle Mummy before I go to sleep?" There is the 'thank the Lord she doesn't hate me' moments when my teenager says, "Thanks for coming to the movies and going shopping with me Mum." And yep, there's lots of laughs too. I almost choked when my nine year old asked, 'Which part of the chicken are the nuggets?"

Pride and Prejudice

Courage to Change

Just over two years ago, my whole world turned upside down when I finally woke up and didn’t like what I saw. My life had become a tangled mess; filled with lies, deceit, cover up and was a constant raging war to change an alcoholic. I am a determined woman and was used to rising to a challenge but I eventually came to realize that a battle with alcoholism was one that I was never going to win. I finally gave up because I knew that I had tried everything within my power to cajole, support, threaten, monitor, mollycoddle and control the monster illness that is alcoholism but with zero success.  Each time that I thought I had hunted down every last bottle of alcohol, another one appeared.  I found them in every conceivable place; closets, clothes, laundry baskets and plant bushes in the garden.  I had developed my hearing to such a degree that I could hear a beer cap being removed at half a mile. (And the kids wonder why I can hear them opening the cookie jar from the next room!) I poured copious amounts of alcohol down the drain. I tried everything I could possibly think of to make a difference. Nothing I did seemed to work. 

 Alcoholism is a momentous force to be reckoned with and can only be stopped if the person decides that they want to stop and then takes steps to make that happen.  I had been promised a million times that things would change, a new leaf would be turned and an improved man would rise to the surface. I couldn’t afford to wait to find out if that would ever happen because I was in serious danger of losing my own mind.  I had become a co-dependent and my whole life was governed by the behaviour of an addict. I would say that I’d done a pretty good job of covering for him as most of our friends and family were surprised when all came to light. However, at what expense had this cover up been achieved? I was exhausted with the weight of it all. I’d like to be able to tell you that I came to a rational, informed and calm decision to walk away but it didn’t happen like that.

One Friday night, I finally snapped. After irrational, aggressive, abusive and alcohol-fuelled behaviour, I said, “No more.”  I was ‘sick and tired’ of being ‘sick and tired.’  I’d reached the end of the line with my alcoholic. I would not allow this putrid and toxic illness to destroy my whole family. I called 'time' on being in the same home with this man who I didn't even recognise anymore. I could not change the alcoholic but by God, I could change things for myself and my four precious children.

And so I did. Come Monday morning, I swallowed my pride and took myself off down to the welfare office to register for benefits, I met with the bank manager and asked for a break in my mortgage payments until I could get back on track, I registered my children for free school meals, I contacted all the credit card companies and dealt with each of them, one by one and then I collapsed and cried a river full of tears.

Naively, I suppose I still held out hope that my alcoholic would change. Surely the separation would do the trick, no. Surely the threat of divorce and then the actual divorce would be the catalyst needed to change things, no. What about everyone knowing about his illness? No. Stopping contact with the children would surely be the final straw that made the difference, no. Absolutely nothing outside of the alcoholic can change them; only an internal desire and decision to stop drinking on their part will bring about change.

So, where are we now, just over two years on from that pivotal Friday night? My alcoholic and I are divorced. I am no longer reliant on welfare to feed and clothe my children. I am making mortgage payments again. There is no longer credit companies involved. I have returned to work and am teaching again. I’ve learned who my friends are and know exactly who is there for me when it really counts. I’m learning to implement a 12-step program in my life which enables me to live a life of serenity. (Ok...not all the time but I’m more serene than I used to be! J ) Occasionally, I still cry but there are droplets not rivers of tears. I have felt like never before that God is real and near to me. 

Now what of my four children? The older ones have had to grow up before their time. They saw a devoted, loving father turn into a stranger. They know that alcoholism is a family illness and that its damage can cause cracks that tear families apart. They sometimes keep their thoughts and emotions bottled up, but other times they let them out and we have kicked doors, shouting, swearing, blaming and tears. They are learning that it’s possible to love the alcoholic but hate the illness. We are all learning to leave the alcoholic to God and never give up hope that he will find sobriety.

Why am I sharing all this with you? I share this for one reason only and that is to give those who need it hope. No situation is so bad that it cannot be changed. If you are worried about a drinking problem, be it in yourself or a loved one, seek help sooner rather than later. If you love someone with a drink problem, it is possible to find serenity whether they are drinking or not. I don’t promise you that it will be easy but it is possible. You may have to walk away for your own safety and sanity. If I can do it, then so can you.  I pray you have the courage to change. 

For The First Time

When was the last time that you tried something for the first time? I can honestly say, last weekend.

Name, easy, click. Location, done, click.  Brown or white? I don’t mind really.  Click. Size? Not too big, not too small, this looks about right. Click. Mature? Absolutely! Click. Spanish? Californian? I don’t have a problem with nationality. Click. Favourites? Wow, someone has been keeping track of my preferences and they are all listed. 

Yes, I have finally caved and resorted to on line services. No you numpties, not a dating website but online grocery shopping. I figured if my parents can figure out how to shop online at their age, then so can I. Don’t get me wrong, I use Amazon and other sites but have never handed over the responsibility of allowing someone else to pick out my plums and feel the melons.  However, I do not want to waste several hours of my precious weekend trawling the aisles of whichever grocery store seems to have the best offers; especially not with several children in tow. Gone are the days where I leave the kids with hubby while I escape for some ‘me time’ and do the weekly shop. Yes, I can hear you child-free, youngsters thinking, ‘What kind of nutter considers a food shopping trip, me time?’ All I can say is, just you wait. Even a trip to the bathroom alone is considered bliss when you have small children.

I’m pleased to say that the whole process was relatively straight forward and painless. Although, I must say, if supermarkets think their slogan, ‘Save Online,’ is going to catch on, they are mistaken. It’s definitely ‘Spend Online’ and the process is not painless to one’s bank balance. As no real money is exchanged, it’s rather like playing shops, after a few hasty clicks and in less than half an hour, you find you have racked up quite a bill. Never mind, perhaps it will stop my impulse buying which is almost inevitable once I enter the hypnotizing , ‘scientifically proved to induce buying,’  fluorescent lit shop interior which draws you in and filters prospective shoppers with its strategically placed products  which ensure that  you are driven to all four corners of the store.

One of the good things about the process was that the order could be changed at any point up until midnight  the night before delivery; perfect for people like me who forget things and have had to return to a store three times in a day.  You could also pick a suitable hour slot for delivery. Presumably, there are a group of organised people that do this weekly and have their designated slot. Clearly, I will not be one of these people. My orders will be as and when I remember and will end up taking whatever delivery slots are left.

So, as the next day dawned and my hour of delivery arrived, I was beginning to wonder what the fine print said about late delivery times. Was there a ‘late delivery / free pizza’ type policy? Now that would be nice.  You will not be surprised to hear that, given my inability to retain important pieces of information, especially where times/dates are concerned, my ‘preferred hour of delivery’ clashed with me having to nip out for 15 minutes to take my daughter to work.  So, with ten minutes left of my delivery hour to go, I had to dash out, leaving my trusty neighbour once again to take charge of proceedings should the delivery arrive.  And yes, it did arrive, two minutes after I left the house and with five minutes remaining of my hour slot so no option of testing the ‘free pizza’ policy.  

I was impressed with the overall order apart from the strawberries being a little riper than I would have liked. You know me. I like to inspect the strawberry punnets, not only for quality but also for value for money. I want plenty of strawberries for my pound. My twelve year old was not quite so impressed with the order. ‘Mum, why does your shopping order sheet say Alcohol & Tobacco at the top?’ I assured him that despite my stress levels of late, I had not taken to lighting up but did have to confess that I had ordered a couple of bottles of wine. Hey, if someone was willing to deliver my Friday night date with Mr Rioja, who was I to say no? I’m just surprised that there was not a heading on the order form with ‘Not good for you but just the thing for Friday nights in alone’ and then they could also have included the pizza or microwave curry for one, chocolate and ice cream in that category. This would leave the delivery driver with no doubt that you are a pathetic singleton, with an evening of Friday night TV to keep you company. Sigh. C’est la vie.

Having said that, will I be ordering on line again? You betcha! I’m already wondering why I did not start doing this ages ago. The order also stated, ‘If you are unhappy with a product please hand it back for a full refund.’ I also received a coupon for 10p OFF per litre of fuel, not to be sneezed at, as well as some coupons for Pyrex dishes which I could save up and purchase to add to my already groaning glassware cupboards. Now, if online dating agencies had the same perks, who knows? I might even consider giving those a whirl! 

Hope favourites

Don't Mess With My Ducks

Blast! Isn't it always the way that as soon as you feel like you've got all your ducks in a row, what appears to be a trigger happy marksman comes along and pops one of them off? I'm not sure my ducks are ever quite in a row (I'm not that organised or neat.) but some days I feel like they are definitely waddling along in the same direction whilst  I flap alongside, squawking, pecking and generally trying to make sure that we don't run out of toilet paper. Other days, it feels like my flock is scattered far and wide; lost and needing far more than I am able to give.

One day last week as I arrived at work, I just had to exhale deeply and say to myself, 'Let go and let God.' I had left my 17 year old at home to deal with the task of getting through to the Doctors to make an appointment for herself. I honestly believe that the odds of winning the lottery exceed the chance of getting through to our local, snippy receptionist within the first five attempts at hitting redial.  My  12 year old, who quite literally would forget his head if it wasn't attached, was left to remember school bag, bus money, swimming kit and all the ingredients to make scones in third period along with an apron (of which failure to produce results in detention). My 9 year old was literally sent packing; suitcase and wellies in hand for a school residential trip. Last of all, the staff of my 4 year old's nursery had to prise her from my leg where she had attached herself like a limpet, eyes brimming, lip quivering in the classic, 'Let's make Mum feel guilty for leaving me here instead of being a stay at home parent' pose. I would say that I go to work for a rest but my  job there is to look after and attempt to educate others' ducks.

 Everything happens for a reason. God gives the toughest battles to His strongest soldiers. Those who fly solo  have the strongest wings. Blah, blah, blah. What if I don't want things to happen for a reason, be the strongest soldier or have the most powerful wings? Really!! And while we're on it, I'm ready for some blessings that aren't in disguise and I'm quite happy with my character remaining exactly as it is.

However, I'm learning to accept that despite everything, life is going to happen anyway and all these interruptions are my life. I will occasionally run out of ketchup. I will turn up a week late for a dental appointment, or early as happened on one occasion for a parent's evening. My children will have temper tantrums and act out because they have already learned that life isn't fair. I will occasionally (or to be more accurate, frequently) need a friend who offers both a listening ear and depending on time of day, a cup of coffee or glass of wine. I will run out of money despite having cheques left in my cheque book. There are times when I will have to make tough calls regarding the contact that my children have with their father. I will have to turn down work on days when I have a sick kid and inevitably, no one is free to have them for the day. The day will come when my child turns 18 and will go ahead and get the tattoo. I will have evenings where I feel like getting all dressed up but have no one to go out with. My children may develop ailments and syndromes over which I have no control. They will get into scrapes and bad company, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

This is life and it's up to me to soldier on, believe that everything does happen for a reason even if I never know the reason, continue to fly solo, developing the most awesome wings and just be thankful that I've got some ducks. Who cares if they aren't in any kind of organised row?!