RAINY DAYS AND ART PLAY

After a gunning start to the new year, this week I succumbed to my first cold of 2014 – hence the radio silence – all of the Christmas partying and New Years Eve drinking finally caught up with me, and I had been left rendered useless. All my energy had been channeled into entertaining a very bouncy three year old who seemed quite unsympathetic to my plight. But after a few days of rest, numerous tonics, fresh fruit and salad it looks like my body may have forgiven me and the groggy head is lifting.

Yesterday was particularly wet with grey skies and F was starting to loose his patience being cooped up with a croaky and grumpy me. I racked my brains for something to do which was low impact and quiet, so when he suggested painting I wasn't convinced. Why? This normally ends in paint splashed on the curtains, me turning into some weird monster control freak as to how he should use the paints – don't mix the all colours! – and him going into a sulk. Not wanting a tantrum, I set everything out on the table and sat beside him with some hot lemon water, wishing myself well.

Where I would normally jump in, I didn't. F happily mixed the colours away, there was minor collateral damage to the curtains, but I didn't care. To be honest I didn't have the energy to get too involved so I happily sat, thankful for the 45 minutes of peace as he painted page after page, all with a running commentary of what he was doing.

"Mummy it's a fish, with a postbox because it has underwater letters.  

Look that's a rose bush with fireworks behind it, they're pretty things for you..."

I was quite surprised how long this held his attention, it didn't matter that he wasn't always painting recognisable things, his descriptions were beautiful. I suddenly felt awkward and a bit guilty that I had been stifling his creative side by getting over involved and dare I say it... critical. Who cares if he mixes all the colours and it makes a stodgy brown? He certainly doesn't. After the paintings dried he talked me through them again and picked out his favourite. We used his blackboard wall to create a gallery in his room, drawing frames to stick his paintings in. You could see the pride beaming out of him as I bit back some of the mama guilt. Oh they're beautiful I exclaimed. As soon as Paul arrived home he was rushed straight through to his bedroom by a excitable F "Come see my exhibition Daddy".

So that'll be me adding another 'Do' to 2014. Do not interfere when F is happily involved in child lead play. Lesson received and learnt. 

MY PRE-SCHOOL WOBBLE

You might remember this post detailing my first time mama nerves about F's taster day at pre-school. After months of fretting, stressing and postponing pre-school the time has come to hand him over. In fact he should have started in September but I bottled it, convincing myself that in January he/I would definitely be ready. So this week we were back to square one and heading to another taster day, this time on a different floor with older kids. After all the praise and prep for pre-school I've put in over the last six months I though this would be a doddle.

I could not have been more wrong. What should have been a calm drop off turned into an onslaught of guilt with a red faced, sobbing and slightly hysterical toddler wrapped around my leg. Him choking out the words 'mummy don't leave me, don't leave me'. That's heartbreaking stuff right there.

All the soothing tones and face strokes couldn't sway him and so I waited for a moment of distraction to make a quick and quiet exit. No screams, no hollering to be heard, I naively thought that he was fine and headed off for two precious hours of toddler free time. On my return I found him standing frozen in the playground clutching his toy dog to his face, while other children played around him, his eyes puffy and red. I rushed in all smiles and kisses, snuggling him into my hair while a quiet voice whispers to me 'I've just been standing here waiting for you, you came back'. That, right there. Heartbreak a thousand times over. How could he think I would not come back for him, that little face. So I had a pre-school wobble. Is he ready? Is this the right one? Will he be ok? I am assured ten times over that he has been fine and only got emotional towards the end of the two hours, and I know deep down that he'll love all the activities and making new friends. Oh the guilt of motherhood to come. The knowledge of responsibility; that sometimes I will have to make decisions he won't understand. Me, this 33 year old woman muddling through.

I breathe, we hold hands and head home. He still isn't sold on the idea but I'm sure come January he'll be fine and fingers crossed I will be too.

MY NAME IS LORI AND I'M AN IPHONE ADDICT

Image Source Pinterest

Yes it's true, since this small white rectangle of magic entered my life my world has been changed. It's so easy to catch up with friends on the go, take cool pics and post them onto instagram/facebook/twitter or whatever other social media platform has got me hooked at the time or to be engulfed by the vacuum that is the internet. I love my iphone, I just love it a bit too much.

I am by nature a very social person, but more dangerously I have a very addictive personality. When I tried smoking at university I did it to the max for 2 years before abruptly quitting. Alcohol? yes that was me falling out of a car and if I read a book it will be in one sitting – or as close as I can get to it. As I have got older I have learned to curb my extreme side and gain more self control but not without practise. 

So you can imagine how hard it is for me not to be constantly pinning/tweeting/instagramming, but as F sits patiently and then asks 'have you finished now mummy?' a wave of guilt spreads over me as I realise this little boy is waiting. With this power of technology comes responsibility, in my case control. 

Is this just me I wonder, or is it the instant gratification society we live in. I was clothes shopping when I heard the ding, shoppers in such close proximity all instinctively slip their hand into their purse/pocket/bag. Nope not mine. Then I hear the second impatient text alert, almost screaming 'Why have you not checked me' and I see the owner of said phone looking anxiously at her bag while struggling under an armful of clothes for her daughter to try on. She eventually gives in, stops mid-scentence, hands over the clothes and takes a peek at her phone. The relief washes over her face, now she can relax and concentrate on what her teen is swirling around in. So maybe we are all being reprogrammed? I can't fathom how I managed as a child to meet friends or be home in time for tea. But in all honesty this was probably a time of absolute freedom. No distractions, just fun, conversation and imagination. 

After reading the lovely Che & Fidel's post about practising simplicity I have set myself the challenge to  spend a whole 24hours without my phone. No internet, no instagram/twitter/facebook, no unnecessary calls. This Sunday will be iphone free. I want to be emerged in the moment and focus on what is happening all around me. Hopefully I will feel refreshed and I can make some new boundries.

iPhone I'm not breaking up with you, I'm just taking a break.

I'LL TAKE BREAKFAST WITH A SIDE OF GUILT

Twitching with caffeine I am left dazed in the wake of a most super hedonistic weekend - alcohol fuelled, fun filled, hair down, party hard - without child. Hurray! Although the overwhelming hangover combined with a two hour drive and one emergency puke pitstop on the motorway wasn't so great, and pretty much wiped Father's day off my radar. But hell it was worth it.

F kick started Friday night with a spot of projectile vomiting. I wiped his sweaty forehead, soothed his tears and secretly prayed that it was a one off. In the morning he seemed refreshed, so boxing up a whole lot of mama guilt I packed him off to nanny's house and headed to London.

Staying at our friends flat in Muswell Hill, I readily sipped potent homemade cocktails in their beautiful and eclectic home before heading out into Hampstead, making a mental note to redecorate our entire flat. There was birthday cheer, flowing wine, prosecco, shots, rum, friends, laughter, some singing, a bit of dancing and I loved it. It was like I had been given a day pass from the looney bin. I embraced my youth and felt 21 all over again.

The phone call from nanny came at 9pm, F had been sick again. Shit. I was hammered, so there was pretty much nothing I could do but trust my mum to comfort him. I suppressed the guilt with another rum and coke, the night turned into a blur and at some point a taxi was called.

With my birthday fast approaching I'm scrabbling for youth, freedom, and resisting the inevitable. Sometimes parenting makes me feel old and I remember not to loose sight of myself. I'm not shunning motherhood but there is a balance that is failing me. It's time for a change. Tomorrow I will blow out my candles and make a wish.