And the moral of the story is...

When I bought my house, one of the prices I paid was the lack of parking. My house has no drive, but I fell in love, and it's perfectly located for just about everything: schools, shops, friends. It's not terrible, and I gave myself a stiff talking to before I signed on the dotted line that I was not allowed to get hung up and that I would never be one of those people who moved their car if a space became available outside their house. Yeah, well if only I listened to myself when we have these stiff talks I might be a better person. I have never moved my car just to get outside the house (well ok, once, but I wanted to wash it and made overbright noises to the DDs so I didn't seem petty "Yes, darlings, we'll wash this tomorrow" in a loud voice) but that doesn't stop me wanting to even if I'm just across the road. And I consider it a personal failure if on returning home from work on a Friday night and finding a prime spot, I need to drive again before Monday morning. It is beyond petty and I hate myself for it. But the other day I did something which demonstrates just how far I've come from the care-free girl of my youth.

First of all, a bit of justification if you will. In addition to the residents parking there is a car dealership nearby who insists on parking spare cars in our road, and the re-development of a large building to contend with. Every morning without fail at least six white van men descend on us, attempting to squeeze their beasts into the limited parking we have, along with Mr Car Salesman dumping unwanted Escorts for days at a time. (My road is actually lovely, though I realise I'm not painting a marvellous picture of it.)

So on my first day of self-employment, working at home, I decided to go shopping. Yeah, I know, but if I didn't get the DDs Easter eggs this week then it's school holidays and DD2 says she still believes in the Easter bunny... The car was required even though it had been right outside my house for the last three days. How much I must love my kids. I psyched myself up for my return, clicking my ruby slippers, "There's no place like a parking space at home", and I put my shopping bags on the back seat. As I slid into the driver's seat, I noticed an inordinate number of vans in the road and not a single space anywhere. Then one of the van drivers who had been hovering over a drive opposite - oh, how I envy the drive-owning chosen few - saw me about to leave and started his engine. He was going to nick my precious space!

Well, I panicked and did what any sensible grown-up would do. I turned my engine off and went back in the house. So he's looking confused, I'm standing indoors arms crossed, looking like Les Dawson's mother-in-law, thinking "You silly cow, now what?".

Well, the moral of this story is this: I gave it ten minutes and skulked off to the shops feeling very silly. By the time I returned with the chocolate booty, every single van was gone and there were plenty of spaces to choose from. Except the one outside my house. Mr Car Salesman had stuck one of his bloody bangers in it and it's still there three days later.

A new chapter

I mentioned in a previous blog that I've made another major change in my life and it is this: I resigned from my job and I am now working as a freelance writer and clinical hypnotherapist. As a single parent with a morgtage and responsibilities this is quite a scary move, but I was finding it more and more of a challenge to juggle work with school  holidays, sick days, snow days, teacher training days etc. Any working parent knows how hard this is. The DDs are now too old to need a childminder or holiday club; they just want to hang out with their friends, go swimming, shopping, bike riding, and have a base to come home to when they want feeding, fall out with each other or need a change of clothes before they go off again. Although I've been incredibly lucky to have friends and family who looked after them for me, on the whole I felt that if I had the choice to offer them me working at home, then I should do it, hopefully reducing stress levels all round. I qualified as a hypnotherapist over a year ago so I'm putting this into practise on a more regular basis,  and I will also write features for magazines, websites and anything else that I can snag. Oh, plus I have set myself a goal to finish my novel by November.

Of course the DDs have heard me say enough times in the last few weeks that I will be working from home (in the generating money kind of way, rather than the hard slog for no pay or recognition SAHM kind of way I did during their early years), though I'm not convinced they have quite grasped how this will work in reality. DD1 looked quite shocked that I was up, showered and getting dressed as usual when she cheekily tried to commandeer my dressing table and hair dryer this morning. "But I thought you'd be having a lie in!" she said.

I'm sure I'll be pulling my hair out in the loooong summer holidays, trying to fit clients and assignments around the DDs social lives. I envisage much synchronising of watches and texting to remind them to pay attention to the 'Do not disturb' note on the front door if I have a client here, or 'ssshing' if I'm trying to conquer writer's block. But it has to be worth a go. Once we all get used to this new way of life, I hope we find we have the best of both worlds. I'll keep you posted.

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.