Crafty old bird.

I don't know what's come over me lately. I've just made a(nother) life changing decision - more about that another time - but instead of concentrating on that as I should be, I've become a nesting, domesticated, crafting demon! I've always dabbled on the outskirts of domestic goddessdom creating handmade cards, salt body scrubs, button and wire hearts, knitted shaggy scarves and the odd victoria sandwich, but lately I seem to have these overwhelming urges to create things, both edible and otherwise. I'm quite unstoppable: if I get an idea in my head, I'm off, as though on a mission.

Here's some I made earlier:

Before:

After:

Then there are the crochet flowers which I can't quite master but I won't rest until I do:

Cakes are appearing more and more frequently. Not much left of this one (coffee sponge with blackberry jam):

But the biggest development has been in a previously totally uncharted territory:

A couple of weeks ago I had this screaming urge to buy a second hand sewing machine on eBay. Me, someone who hasn't used a sewing machine since forced to recite, by my Welsh needlework teacher, "Pin and tack, Mrs Williams" in response to "And what do we do before we touch our machines, girrrrls?" (We actually used to recite "Pin. Attack Mrs Williams" but she never seemed to notice.) My lack of interest in sewing machines since then also, I'm sure, has something to do with my long buried memory of Angela Turner managing to spear the needle straight through her index finger which she morbidly insisted on waving at us all as she was scuttled off to the medical room. Anyway, I bought a little machine. Then a week later, I bid on an enormous pile of fabric squares. Well, the most GORGEOUS little cotton squares plopped on my doorstep and I had the best fun just sorting them into piles. The DDs came into the room to find mummy sitting on the floor going "LOVE!", "quite like", "not keen", "spots", "stripes". DD1 walked over, kissed me on top of my head, smiling, and said "You're such a geek, mum".  I couldn't disagree.

Until recently, I saw sewing as something other people did. I've never had much confidence in my abilities in this department, worried that I wouldn't get it 'right'. But I have high hopes for these lovely scraps. DD1 requested some shabby chic bunting, DD2 fancies a patchwork cushion and I saw an amazing patchwork tablecloth on a crafting blog...

Last weekend I spent a wonderful sunny Sunday afternoon, sitting at my kitchen table, door open to the garden, Radio 2 in the background, measuring, cutting and sewing for my first project - bunting. I got as far as I could with what I had. Tellingly, I hadn't made the time to pop to the haberdashery shop to buy the bias binding as I thought I wouldn't need it for ages (perhaps still not believing I would actually get that far). Well, I'd have finished that baby if I'd had the trim. When the DDs returned, I proudly displayed my work-in-progress and even whizzed up a little fabric heart for DD2 while she watched to show them how easy it is. They were as amazed as me. I've since pinned the tape on and I just need a quiet evening with lots of concentration to finish this:

My future goals after these projects are: to relearn to crotchet  (I made a blanket as a child and am determined to do that again); to cover a cork board in fabric and ribbon to make a pretty noticeboard for my kitchen, a craft a material blind for my porch and to turn an old jumper into a cushion cover. Oh, and some little raggedy stuffed creatures to hang on twigs for Easter. It's all so wonderfully twee!

But here's why I'm embracing it for all it's worth: for years I suffered from general, then post natal, depression and during that time the world was a dark, black, lonely place where anything other than functional and austere was just not noticed, let alone appreciated, by me. Though thankfully the depression left me a long, long time ago and I've been noticing all this wonderful, feminine creativity around me for ages, I am finally in a place where I feel I want to be a part of it. I'm still learning to be kind to myself and not aspire for any kind of impossible perfection, just to be the best me I can be. That goes too for my bread, bunting and button hearts - in all their imperfect glory! And this new direction is filling me with more joy than I ever thought possible.

It's official: I'm boring.

I like to think I have a good sense of humour. I see the funny side of all kinds of seemingly ordinary things, and the DDs and I have a 'right larf' all the time. But recently it was brought to my attention - by myself initially (we have a lot of heart to hearts, me and I) - that despite this I am really quite boring. I could put it down to my age as I'm supposedly about half way now, or my circumstances. Or is that just a cop out? I know plenty of older more financially challenged or single people who are the life and soul of the party. Maybe I just need to face the fact that I've seriously lost my fun gene.

Take the other night. DD2 wanted to go to a new dance class about 15 minutes away, from 6.30 - 8.30. I was aghast. What, in the evening?? On a school night?? After I've put my slippers on??  I'm used to running around after them to all kinds of activities straight after school, but pretty much by 6.30 we're done and dinner is in progress. Motherly duty conflicting with selfish hermitism, I begrudgingly agreed to take her. Feeling a little daring about venturing outside my hutch, I then suggested to DD2 that, instead of coming straight home, she and I go swimming at the local pool. She squealed with excitement and surprise and ran off to grab her kit. Ten minutes later, I wanted to stick pins in my eyes more than go swimming. But I couldn't disappoint her though I must confess I did try and tell her that she had a cough and maybe going swimming wasn't such a good idea after all but she just said "muuuuummmmy....." and I knew I couldn't get out of it.

Still not buying into the idea of Going. Back. Out. Again. I huffily dropped off a nervous DD1, bless her, and DD2 and I headed to the leisure centre. I fully expected it to be tumble weed city with perhaps the odd pensioner doing back stroke in the pool. I was staggered to find it absolutely heaving with people!! Out. In the evening. On a school night. There were flood lit football and netball matches going on, joggers running around the grounds, music booming from the dance studios, and there were quite a few people in the pool too, and not all pensioners. I felt like a newborn kitten, my eyes opening for the first time. The bustle, the lights, the noise.... Needless to say, DD2 and I had the most lovely time. She was content alternating jumping in with doing those bloody mushroom things where they disappear under the water until you are ready to call the lifeguard before they pop up breathlessly demanding to know "how many minutes was that??". I managed a decent number of laps and it all flooded (sorry) back to me. What seems like another lifetime ago, I used to swam 30 lengths in this very pool three times a  week. I even recognised a few familiar faces amongst fellow swimmers who were still going strong rather than having gone into hibernation like me.

And I felt guilty about my sulking earlier. DD2 is such a sweet child who is always the first to jump to my defense if I'm too harsh with myself. For example, if I'm gawping in the mirror at a new wrinkle and say "Oh, dear, mummy's feeling a bit old today" she will always say  vehemently "You are lovely mummy and I think you look 21" etc. You can see why I like her. So she and I were hanging out in the deep end and I said "Thanks, little one, for making mummy come out and play". She grinned. I continued "I know I'm really boring sometimes." And she just gave me a knowing smile. No quick denial. No false reassurance.It's official then.

And it got me thinking. Other than the regular belly laughs and tickling or dancing or just crazy moments I have with the girls (and even then it comes with warnings 'careful!', 'mind your head on the table', 'stop biting your sister') when was the last time I really, really let go and had fun? I always have lots of friends over and we regularly laugh over bottles of wine or a cuppa at my kitchen table, but I  couldn't remember the last time I was really lost in the moment, not wondering what time it is, or what's on my things-to-do list. I'm always the responsible adult keeping myself in check.

Then I remembered: The last time I completely lost myself was in June at the O2 watching Bon Jovi in concert. I was lucky enough to see them three times in 11 days (I only paid full price for one ticket). I've seen them quite a few times and when they are on stage, I never care who is watching, how stupid I look or how bad my singing is. I air guitar, punch my fist to the sky and screech along with my soul mate, peaking when he sings "It's my life, it's now or never". So I think perhaps I need to take a leaf out of the gorgeous one's book: stop being a boring fart and start living as though there's no tomorrow. Now or never. That's it then. From now on, I'm just one big ball of fun, fun, fun. Hmm... except I'm not sure how to do that. Perhaps I'll add it to my to-do list when I've taken this washing out of the machine, before I run the hoover round...

A blog hop: 7 things you don't know about me

I was recently tagged (thanks!!) by Caroljs  to list 7 things you don't know about me. So forgive the narcissm (and I hope I've done it right, Carol!) here we go:

1) I have always wanted to drive a juggernaut, complete with checked shirt, Yorkie bar, little bed area at the back of the cab and CB radio "Ten Four for a copy... What's your handle?"

2) I have seen Bon Jovi in concert 9 times and I am Jon's true spirtual partner.

3) Many years ago I worked with a bully who, obsessed with teeth hygiene, used to leave her washbag in the ladies. After one particularly bad run in, I gave her toothbrush a little trip around the rim of the toilet and put it back in her bag.

4) When I was a student I worked as a wine waitress in the banqueting suite at London Zoo and after some events the staff got to consume any opened leftovers. On one occasion the keepers coming into work at 6am discovered me staggering around the zoo with a bottle of champagne under each arm, searching for the elephants "to say good morning".

5) Until recently I lived opposite a park and the ice cream van used to come round 3 times a day. Fed up saying no every time, I told the children that when it was playing the tune, it was telling all the people it had run out of ice cream.

6) I have a secret love of country music and the longer and more detailed the title, the better: "Who's bed have your boots been under?" by Shania is one of my favourites, and I have a (now not-so-secret) yearning to see Dolly Parton in concert later this year.

7) I have a ridiculous habit of making people jump. I am always hiding behind doors or shouting 'boo' in the tense bits of films. My FH didn't see the funny side when he opened the shower curtain once to find me brandishing (I SWEAR for a joke) a knife and making 'eek, eek' Psycho sounds.

I am now supposed to nominate some others to do the same, so with apologies...

sarahurbanmum
MumintheMiddle
Cupcakejojo
Earthskyevents
PocketGuideSoph

Wishful thinking

It's the weekend! Yay!! With no firm plans, here's what I hoped/thought I would be doing today:

1) Enjoying a well earned lie in, tea and toast in bed with a book whilst the DDs amused themselves or piled in next to me.
2) Mooching around the local charity shops.
3) Meeting a friend for coffee.
4) Writing.
5) Baking cakes with DD2.
6) A bit of washing.
7) Quiet evening with the girls watching their favourite programme.

What I actually did today:

1) Begged an urgent early appointment for hypertensive cat who's eyes suddenly dilated like Puss in Shrek and freaked us all out last night by sitting on the ends of our beds staring at us. (Walked away £150 lighter and that's just for starters.)

2) Raced to local shops to buy present for former MIL's birthday to get back in time to pick up moggie.

3) Washed the equivalent of Kilimanjaro as DD1 sorted her bedroom out yesterday and it's easier to put it in the laundry basket than hang it.

4) Resealed all around the bath to prevent the water that  had begun flooding through to kitchen and toaster inconveniently positioned underneath. (A bit like icing a cake you need a steady hand and a gadget.)

5) Reattached the trim on the front of garden shed with a large hammer and copious nails after almost being decapitated whilst getting cat basket.

6) Filled and painted over hole from the loo roll holder which is perfectly happy to be used by adults but hurls itself on the floor every time a child uses/swings from it. (Giving up on it for a floor standing one.)

7) Got conned into letting DD1 have a sleepover here after DD2 got invited out to one.

8) Helped DD2 bake 3 dozen fairy cakes.

8) Cooking dinner at the same time as medicating and feeding cats, supervising decoration of fairy cakes, reloading the washing machine and wrapping former MIL's present, I picked up a baking tray full of crispy seaweed which I had forgotten had been in to pre-heat.

So I'm taking my burnt, sealant covered hands, placing them around a cold glass of chardonnay, commandeering the TV and starting my weekend again. At least Sunday is going to be a quiet one ...

The accidental hangover

I'm feeling a bit cheated today. On Saturday night I went to a party in a night club for my friends' joint birthdays, with live music courtesy of the birthday boy and his various bands. It was a fantastic night and as I had the DDs with me, plus I had a lot to do on Sunday, I deliberately only had two drinks (and a sneaky little vodka jelly) then switched to juice. As a further precaution, I downed a paracetamol with my Horlicks (rock and roll) when I dragged my tired dancing feet to bed at 1am and felt absolutely sober.

Then I woke up on Sunday morning feeling like cr*p, and wasted the day curled up on the sofa only emerging mid afternoon for chips.

After testing my recollection of the conversation in the cab home (I clearly recall giving my friend advice on how to use a drill, much to the amusement of the cabbie) and accepting my assurance that I wasn't drunk at all DD1, who has been learning about alcohol abuse at school, wisely suggested my drink had been spiked. Good point, I say except I didn't put it down plus it was a vodka alcopop thing in a small necked bottle (pretty revolting now I think about it, but the wine on offer was Leib... ).

I think it's more likely that I'm just out of practise. I have not had a proper social life for a long time so I tend to only really drink at home and only occasionally. I have a bit of a fear of drinking alone though, worrying that I'll wake up with my head in the cat food after having one too many so I recently started a book club. I now have a captive audience to drink with once a month and very well that's going too. We've even read some books.

If I'm honest, there are a couple of reasons for my lack of social life:

1) The DDs. By the time I've paid a sitter, a cab, a couple of rounds, we're talking half the weekly food bill. Not gonna happen. Admittedly I get one night off a week for good behaviour, but that leads me to...

2) Lack of available company. My close circle of friends are mostly married and cosy on a Friday or Saturday night. The few friends I have who like to party are hard core and I can't keep up with them. Which leads me to the saddest reason:

3) I really like hunkering down on the sofa when the kids have gone for the evening watching what I want on TV, or having a bath without having running conversations from their bedrooms. I adore my children with every breath, but if they made talking an Olympic sport, the DDs would be on the podium arguing over who deserved gold. Sometimes I just need silence. I crave it. Plus, I love my little house. Considering I get home from work at the same time as the kids I just like to enjoy it on my terms for a couple of hours.

The DDs want me to go out more, not least of all because they are nagging me to find a boyfriend. Unfortunately for them, I'm really not bothered. For the first time in my adult life, I'm enjoying the alone time and I'm getting to know me again (how very Oprah).  Perhaps one day I will like the idea of sharing my precious quiet time with someone but as the next man in my life must meet the DDs strict criteria I think my peace and chardonnay are fairly safe. On a long car journey recently the DDs announced, with no prompting from me, their requirements for my next partner. He must:

1) Have children the same ages as them.
2) Drive a big car (for holidays apparently)
3) Own the following pets: dog, house rabbit, tortoise.

So I guess the ideal scenario for us all would be for me to meet a slightly agoraphobic Dr Dolittle with a camper van. But, thankfully, unless he's the postman or the Tesco delivery guy, the chances of me meeting him are about as remote as me never having another hangover.

Crazy lady coming through

To help keep some perspective during what was without question the most horrible year of my life, I read a whole range of self-help books: 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' I was exhorted, 'I can make you happy/rich/thin/sleep' (yes please, Paul, all of the above), 'Happy kids, Happy you' (except that they can be mutually exclusive concepts...)


I found that after reading each book I was raring to go and full of positivity: to write that novel I've started several times, exercise regularly, learn to crochet, re-start my hypnotherapy practise... and then once the glow of the book wore off, I'd be back to the excuses: no time, too hard, too expensive, can’t fit it around the DDs...  So much for positive thinking.


Then one morning, I had a mini revelation: Every day we do things out of necessity and habit. We don't need positive thinking to take a shower, to put the bins out on rubbish day, to change the beds etc. No decision-making process, no pep talk. We just do it. So I thought I'd try this re-frame on other areas of my life, starting with exercise. From now on, I thought, I'd just do it.

And I have. For the past fortnight, I have managed to workout 3 times a week. Might not sound like a lot but that's probably more than I did for the entire previous year. I don’t have gym membership, I nearly always have the DDs with me when I’m not at work and only the hardy want to train outside in this weather. 

So I get up at 6am and jog around my kitchen table for an hour. No, really. I include boxing, weights and a bit of pilates, but generally the plan is to just keep moving. I'm not sure if the rear of my house is overlooked but I have my suspicions that any early risers get a thrice weekly vision of a wobbly brunette in bunches, stripey socks and Bon Jovi t-shirt (from the 'Bounce' tour... yes, thank you...)  like a hamster on a wheel, tripping over curious cats and sleepy kids slowly surfacing for breakfast.


It’s imperfect and a little nuts. But it’s doing the job. The trick I think is this: when the alarm goes off at 5.45 on my workout days, I don’t lie there and think “do I feel motivated to do this?” Because believe me the answer would always be a resounding “NO”! and I would burrow into my duvet. Without giving myself time to ask questions I just chuck on the first clothes I can lay my hands on and get jogging. The looks on the DDs faces the first time they encountered nocturnal mummy were delightful. They have been known to join in so we looked like a Benny Hill sketch, falling into each other as I shouted "TURN" - it's only a 6-seater so we have to alternate regularly to avoid motion sickness.  

Now I am looking at how I can apply this to the other areas of my life. Writing that book will be next. I have a plan and it starts now. Whether I feel like it or not. Because all this self help and motivational awareness can just be used as an excuse not to start anything. And the only thing that seems to get results is not positive thinking, but positive doing.

Christmas is for big kids too.

I bloody love Christmas! I'm the biggest child going at this time of year and always run the risk of peaking too soon. Take the presents: The real kids in the house know not to leave mummy's presents lying around as I will hunt them down and find them. I cannot be trusted. It's not the present(s) per se, but I get overexcited and cannot bear knowing a surprise is coming. When they were little I used to prise out of them what they'd seen FH buy. (Prise? Who am I kidding, it was like taking candy canes from a baby.)  The FH used to use techniques not unlike the SAS to keep them away from me, even resorting to storing them in the garden shed one year. Rookie mistake. He finally took to hiding them at his parents' house, only for me to realise if I wanted to know what I had to look forward to I just needed to find the receipts in his wallet... Yes, I know. I am very bad. So now they are wise to it, my children think it's hilarious to give me false clues. D1 "Sssh, don't tell mum about the orange plastic apron we got her... Oh, hi mum, didn't see you there".

Of course, I LOVE the whole festive thing for the girls too. When I was a kid my brother, sister and I used to drag mum and dad out of bed at 5am to check out the bootie under the tree. When my two were younger, I used to be lying there wide awake waiting for them to get up . One year, it got to 7am and I was beside myself with excitement. I started crashing around on the landing, turning the light on and exclaiming in a loud voice "ooh, I wonder if Santa has been yet?". Eventually they woke up but I can't say I wasn't a bit disappointed that I had raised such Christmas amateurs.

This week we've had D2's school Christmas Fayre and Carol Concert. I sang my not insubstantial lungs out to everything, peaking with the 'Gloria's'. D1 was mortified but I didn't let that stop me. It was a lovely service and I still felt uplifted by it when I woke up. In the shower, I gave an encore of all of the previous nights ditties, and a smattering of my personal favourites. When I turned the shower off, I heard D1 and D2 singing too - they'd been accompanying me all along.

But I must admit I had been a tiny bit worried that my yuletide enthusiasm had left me after the disaster that was last Christmas. It was, without a doubt, the worst I've ever had. In the run up I had a major upset, I was facing the hardest and final part of some huge life changing challenges and to compound it all I ended up with flu. I spent most of Christmas week wading through boxes of tissues and alternating between Beechams and Quality Street (generally whilst lying on the new Wii Fit mat. Glad to see it was good for something.). So I was more than a little relieved when I could feel the familiar excitement welling this year. I'd not lost it.

And as for the presents, I genuinely don't care what I have or haven't got. No, I mean it. I've not even tried to find out from the girls. (Well, just once, but that was more for their benefit than mine.) Because after everything we've been through this year, I realise that  I already have everything I need.