Ding Dong Doris on High!
Many of my friends think I’m crazy for putting up my Christmas tree in November, but it is without doubt my most favourite time of the year. The twinkle of the fairy lights, sparkly decorations and the smell from the mulled wine scented candles fills my house. In doing so it gives me a feeling of warmth and cosiness that no other time of the year can match.
So why dear god am I stressed beyond belief and ready to dismantle the tree and rip down the lights before it’s even been up a week?
One word…. Doris! She is our super cute kitty, all soft and squishy. She’s a picture purrfect cat and looks just like Felix from the advert. However beneath the adorable face with elegant, elongated whiskers and the soft angelic mewing sound she makes (when she wants something), lies a most fearsome creature not nearly as far removed from her lion ancestors as we first thought.
Becoming : Part 2
I spent many an hour mulling over the challenge I was going to set myself and in doing so, the actual detail of the task started to escalate in my head becoming more and more extravagant. The more complex and detailed my plan became, the more I started to believe it was going to change my life completely. I would discover a new talent; change my career path and generally start to lead a more fulfilled life.
Naturally, the weight of the expectation I was placing on myself caused me to stall. I hit a wall and despite several attempts, I couldn’t find the right words with which to write this post.
The excitement started to fade and was replaced by crippling self-doubt and fear. What if I’m setting myself too big a challenge? what if I don’t see it through? what if everyone expects me to fail before I’ve even started? How will I find the time? 2 small children means I struggle to find a space in the day to blog let alone anything more for myself.
So, where the hell do I go from here?
Toddler Month by Month
When I became a new mum I looked forward to the gurgle emails updating me about my children’s development each month, but as fond as I am of them it would be nice on occasion to get a more realistic version. My son is 33 months old and this is what I would have written:
This month your child may relish blowing raspberries, ideally in the face of unsuspecting people. They may learn to talk non-stop about boobies and winkies, particularly if they have an older sibling.
A depression hangs over the British Isles. Grey clouds pack together and smother the sun. Tiny drops spit down. The days get shorter and colder. While we press our noses against the back door and stare at the muddy garden I feel trapped in myself. The dark clouds drape a grey veil over my eyes and I am losing myself. Who is this mad, freaky woman? Who lost her patience miles ago, and whirls through the house like a cranky tornado? Who rushes from euphoria to desperation, driven yet stressed, till only exhaustion remains? From a distance I observe, and I think, this should be different. Better.