VODKA. It was going to be VEGETABLES……… as they are such a bain of my life, trying to get the boys to eat them, hiding them under other things on the plate, chopping and dicing to make funny faces and animals on the plate, disguising them in other things – hoping they won’t notice, explaining the importance of eating your 5 a day, telling completely ridiculous stories of the benefits of eating them (you know…carrots will help you see in the dark…..) and so I decided nah. Veggies can do one. Back to Vodka! My heart is actually in the French champagne region, I would bathe in the stuff if I could afford to, drink it for breakfast, lunch and dinner…..but since deciding to tackle my timber (i joined slimming world) I have discovered that Champagne is higher in calories than Vodka (syns as they are called at fatty club…) so I had to rethink my tipple choice. The Mr is a bit anti the hard stuff since his Father had a penchant for Vodka and died from alcohol-abuse related medical issues, but, well, a girl has to do what a girl has to do. And it is quite different volumes of consumption we’re looking at. Whereas The Mr Senior would happily slurp his way through a bottle in a day, i’m more of a measure or 2 at the end of the day when I finally flop down once the amigos are soundo, and thats not a daily ritual I might add. Anyway, if i cracked open vino, I would consume more units as I would be working my way to the end of the bottle…. and I can have 2 VST’s with a squeeze of fresh lime, for the syn price of 1 large glass of vino tinto… yay! and still hopefully shed a pound or two at fatty club…..
Lime Vodka and Slimline Tonic with ice and a slice for the fatty on the sofa? Absofeckinlutely!
UNIVERSAL . It was going to be UNIQUE. Both fit. Becoming a mother is universal, language is not really a barrier. Becoming a mother is also unique, nothing whatsoever comes close to it. Until it happens, you don’t get it. Well, I didn’t. I had girlfriends who had babies before me, and I really truly was completely unaware. Still in my lovely singledom bubble of me-ness, world of work and play, I was blissfully unaware of what being a mummy comprehended, to be truthful I though pah! Cop out! How easy to do the lady of leisure escape route……. Shut up…….! I eat my words. 1,2,3 babies later (that wasn’t part of the plan…….!) I now take my hat off to the Mummies…. I salute you women! And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Unique, yes. Universal, absolutely.
TIME. Something you cannot stop. Something you cannot get enough of. As a child, time seems endless. I remember summer holidays seemed to last forever, having to wait until a birthday or christmas was impossibly too far in the distance, children really have no concept of time. As an adult, time goes too fast, I want to stop the clock. I moan about never having enough time to do this or that, never having enough time for me, no time to spend doing the little things, but in fact, I constantly have to remind myself that every moment that passes, every minute that ticks past, is gone forever. You can’t have it back. We are all on egg timers – except we don’t know how much sand we have. So – I try to live with the motto ‘ viva para hoy’ – meaning live for the day. Not putting things off, making the most of the moment, the here and now. Each day is precious. Not to be taken for granted. Time is unstoppable.
SEX and SLEEP. Both of which you don’t get enough of once you become a parent. I name both because they are both equally important, but it seems that you often have to choose between the two. I love both. But given the choice, if I have the opportunity of one over the other, sleep wins. I simply can’t turn sleep down. I love my bed, I have learned how to function on low levels of sleep, it is a given fact that you just don’t sleep the same once you become a parent, I accept that, it’s not a choice, your body just functions to be in tune with the fact that little people need you 24-7, and so your own sleeping pattern adjusts to it. I think men and women must be wired differently, as my Mr has many a time woken to say what a good nights uninterrupted peace we had, blissfully unaware that I had been up to boy 1,2, or 3, numerous times…….. And that is ok. I am a mother, it is my duty of care to be there, to hear the whimpers and the coughs and the snuffles, to find the dummies and the teddies, to go for a wee, to catch the buzzing fly or Mozzie, to put the pj top on, or off, to reassure that wolves are not out there, that mr fox stays outside, to sing our special lullaby, to give that last cuddle and kiss, I am the honoured one.
QUIET. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Lovely peace and quiet. Quiet doesn’t happen much in my household. it’s kind of a double edged sword really. I long for it, desperately, amidst the noise and hullabaloo that is my daily routine with my little whippersnappers, and yet when the rare moment comes when they are not with me, and I get that quietness that I so long for, I feel a sense of loss, like something is missing. I guess I miss the noise. Miss them. Shutup. Did I say that out loud?? I am a person that does need some space and alone time, some people don’t, or claim they don’t, I have no shame to admit that I do relish time alone, my soul needs it, but that does not mean that I don’t miss the boys if they are not with me. It’s weird. And now as it is bedtime (past it – but i’m on the pc and they are revelling in the moment….bad mother, bad mother, bad mother….) they are on my ipad playing some complete age inappropriate zombie game, and the tiddler only 3, keeps playing Beyonce All the Single Ladies – and watching the video clip…………which consists of 3 rather buff looking scantily clad beauties……and he is mesmerised……………….. hmmmmmmmmmmmm. Well, I concur really, she is rather gorgeously lovely. Who am I to complain about his choice??!!
PATIENCE. Something you need in massive abundance, but tends to be tried and tested to the absolute limits time and time again……..until it’s completely vamoosed. The saying ‘tries the patience of a saint’ sums it up, working on the assumption that we generalise a saint would be the most patient of all people.
I am often told that I am a patient person, I think mainly from parents of less than 3 children or zero children. I think they must see me on a good day, as I would definitely not consider patience to be one of my stronger attributes. In fact, what they probably see is not actually me displaying patience, it’s more than likely my ignorance, selective hearing, temporary deafness/and/or blindness, all rolled into a ‘faux patience’ display. or self denial. aha.
The other P’s that very nearly were the winning choice were ’Poo / Pee / Puke’. Which I see far too much of on a far too regular basis and will not be something that I miss from these childhood years.
ORGANISE. It kind of comes with the territory these days. Long gone are those wonderfully lazy languorous Sunday mornings when you can sleep in, eat random things at random times, read the Sunday papers, proper reading, uninterrupted. Yes, a distant hazy memory of carefreeness when I must have had oodles of time for me and the Mr.
Now, my life is run like clockwork. I write a daily planner, if its not written down there, it don’t happen! Simple! I organise myself, my boys, my Mr. I organise the household. I’m not being smug, truly, but I do believe the woman in the family is the glue that holds it all together. I know where everything is in our gaff. I know all the shit about shit. I can multi task without really thinking about it. If I think too hard about the things that need to be done, the routines, the tasks, the daily grind of family life, I would possibly self combust – fearful that I couldn’t possibly achieve all those things in that space of time. But that’s the wonder of women. We put our heads down, or up, as needed, and just get on with it.
NO! I dread to think how many times a day I say No. Sometimes it is necessary, sometimes I think maybe it isn’t. A girlfriend once asked me why I had responded ‘No’ to my son’s request (I can’t remember what his request was to be honest…something trivial I guess), she was not being facetious, but raising the point that maybe I had responded no because it was a habitual thing, when I could have said yes and allowed him to have/do whatever it was he was requesting. And would have avoided the tears and kerfuffel that followed my ‘no’ on that occasion. Her wise words to me were that we should choose our battles. I have reflected on this matter many times, and do try to consider my reasoning when I talk to my boys. Yet, still, ‘No’ must be right up there on my most frequently used words list.