September – The Monday of Months

So happy to start, so quick to say it’s boring!

Garfield (my childhood hero) calls February the Monday of months. I used to agree: it’s past the excitement of winter and January sales, but a long way from the warmth and hope of April.

But now I have a new Monday month: September. It truly stinks.

I thought that back to school would be something to celebrate – that seems to be what other mums do. You survive the summer holidays, pack the darlings off in their uniform and brand new shoes, and get back to work.

Not so much in the Martin household.

Perhaps it’s because I don’t have a ‘job’ to go back to. Writing waits until I find breathing space, because parenting comes first. So far this month I’ve finished a print proof of Will on the Water and started two submission packs for agents.

That’s it.

And I haven’t managed any cleaning, ironing, decorating, swimming, dog walking, or anything else I planned to do with all the ‘free time’ everyone thinks I have.

Of course this year is extra hard: My son has only done two short sessions so far, and won’t be full time for weeks. He’s tired and emotional and missing his dummies. His sister is grumpy and sensitive because school is ‘her thing’ and she doesn’t really want her brother muscling in on her territory.

But it’s more than that. Adjusting to new routines and people doesn’t come easily to any of us. My daughter finds breaking in a new teacher very hard: she cries every day at drop off and wants to be at home with me. I leave her clinging to a teaching assistant, saying, “I’m going to miss you so much Mummy.” But then when she gets home she’s horrid. Shouty, confrontational, bolshy. Me, basically.

And so the guilt starts. What am I doing wrong, that every other child sits down nicely and gets on with their work while mine sobs? What did I do wrong, that my daughter shouts and screams and picks fights with her brother, when in the summer they (mostly) play beautifully together. What am I doing wrong that I’m and exhausted to the point of falling asleep over dinner, when I’m not juggling all this AND a job, like all the other mums and dads?

I settled my guilt in the holidays. I felt like a great parent. We had fun and learned stuff and got along.

Now I feel like I’m living in a conflict zone (I hesitate to say war zone, conscious as I am of what that truly means, and how my problems pale into insignificance compared with refugees from real wars.)

I’m sure it will get better, easier. The sun is shining today, it feels less like November and more like the month I used to love: the month of pulling my jeans back on and walking in the long stretching golden rays of evening.

That was before school, before a child’s birthday fell three weeks into term (and said child refused to have an easy ‘soft play centre’ party this year!), before the endless ‘stay at home mummy’ guilt.

Until then, as hubbie said this morning, just keep swimming…

The Fugee Husband

And my heart broke a little too… Our histories, if we searched long enough, would all be stories of fighting and fleeing and being refugees. We should have empathy and understanding, always.

Highlights of the Summer

Blakeney

I hope you liked my ‘I will survive’ summer holidays tribute. I used to sing that song all the time about a certain man in my life as a teenager – it seems fitting to rewrite it in reference to parenthood! Life is all one long battle.

So school is back tomorrow, for one child at least. The other starts part time next week. I survived the holidays – more than that, I genuinely enjoyed most of it.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m exhausted. Ready to curl in a heap and sleep all day, ready to pee alone and read a book without interruption. But planning was definitely the way forward.

I’d take exhaustion over despair any day.

My awesome surfer girl

And highlights of my holidays? There are so many. We had an amazing family holiday in Norfolk last week, where every day was awesome (to paraphrase the Lego Movie).

We seal-watched at Blakeney and Sea Life, we swam in the sea at Wells and Mundesley, we saw dinosaurs and played the arcades.

My daughter learned to body board.

And before that? I almost taught the children to ride their bikes (rain stopped play on that one). They can both swim so much better. And my son is coping without his dummies.

Plus I got five of my six children’s books print-ready, so I can hand them out to Beta Readers.

It’s been a great summer. And, best of all, the holidays don’t frighten me so much anymore.

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FamilyMartinSesalifeSeals

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I Will Survive (The Summer Holidays)

At first I was afraid, I was petrified
Never thought I’d last six weeks
With two children by my side.
But then I spent so many nights
Thinking something here is wrong:
I was strong
Before these children came along!

And now its back, that awful space,
Between the end of term exhaustion
And Back to School mad chase

I should have booked more summer camps,
But I want them to be free,
Building dens and climbing trees,
Like childhood was for me

When summer starts, the future yawns
A terrifying place
Where I pee alone no more.
Goodness how I wanted those six long weeks to fly,
I thought I’d crumble
When the teachers waved goodbye.

But no, not I! I survived,
I planned away each single day,
And pinned my schedule high!
I had all my time to give,
(With some days for me to breathe)
And I survived! I survived!

Hey hey

[coffee break]

It took all the strength I had not to fall apart,
Not to crawl away in tears when I heard the endless fighting start.
I spent oh so many nights feeling sorry for myself,
I used to cry, but now I hold my head up high!

And you see me, somebody new,
I’m not that frightened little Mummy
Still so scared of you.
So you thought you’d break me down,
And expect me just to flee,
But now I’m actually enjoying having little ones with me!

And now you’re done, I’ve won this race,
You can take that sarky doubting smirk right off your face
I can say that I’ve had fun, and know it’s not a lie.
I didn’t crumble, I didn’t even cry,

Oh no not I! I will survive.
As long as I know how to plan, I know I’ll stay alive.
I’ve got Mummy love to share, so long as they sell coffee there!
And I survived! I will survive.

Go on now go!
Be here no more,
Tomorrow school is in and I’ll march children out the door.
They’ve had a blast, they’ve sung and danced,
They’ve paddled in the sea,
Seen rescued seals, held giant snails,
Barely turned on the TV

And I!
I will survive!

As long as I know how to plan, I know I’ll stay alive.
I’ve got Mummy love to share, so long as they sell coffee there!

And I’ll survive. I will survive.
I survived!

Summer Holidays Week 4: I Love My Meds

Holidays are for ice cream

Day 27 of the summer holidays: I love my meds!

I know that makes me sound like some kind of drug addict, but it isn’t like that at all. This time last year I was climbing the walls.

This is a quote from my August 17th blog post: “Three weeks and I’m ready to do pretty much anything other than listen to twelve hours of squabbling for another three weeks.”

I am still as exhausted as I was last year, but it’s a different type of tired. It’s ‘I swam quarter of a mile at the pool yesterday’ tired. It’s ‘we did four day trips this week and I didn’t cry once, but I walked about twenty miles’ tired.

It isn’t just the meds of course. My children are a year older. They can be left alone more often, so I can read, or shower, or mow the lawn. They still squabble but I can move out of earshot, so I’m not ‘switched on’ all the time.

I also planned this holiday to within an inch of its life. I didn’t have one day where I woke up not having a plan for the day, even if the plan was, ‘Go away and play, Mummy is reading this morning!’

Son gave up his dummies for a skateboard

I always wanted the children to have the summers I did – unsupervised, unscheduled, running in a pack of kids and climbing trees. But they can’t. There is no pack here – just a busy road. There are no trees – only a climbing frame they use every day. So I take them places where they can pretend – where there are trees to climb and open spaces to fly a kite.

The biggest difference, though, aside from the meds (or actually probably as a direct result of taking them and making the dark dog of self-loathing and self-doubt shut up) is that I opted to put my own mask on before helping others. I made time for me. I booked a holiday camp for my daughter, left my son in nursery for a few days. I fought the guilt.

I thought, as a stay at home parent, I had to be there 100% for the children, putting them before myself. That’s what reading too much Mumsnet and media does for you.

It’s rubbish. ‘Happy Mummy, Happy Baby,’ that’s what I said when I had a sneaky of glass of wine when I was pregnant. Before PND ate away my sanity. Last summer I gave up writing, reading, being me. Silly girl. All it did was destroy me.

Becoming a knight at Warwick Castle

This year I took a few days to write. I’ve read dozens of books – treating myself to the kindle versions so I can read on my phone or tablet in the odd quiet moment. Yes I’m that parent at the park reading on her phone. Judge me if you like. Bovvered?

I paid someone to do my ironing, because it’s been too hot and I’m tired. I didn’t get four A Levels and two degrees to spend my life ironing. If I ever sell a book to a publisher, I’ll never iron again. Does that make me a terrible housewife? Probably. Not bovvered.

I stay in bed reading in the morning, while the kids watch a movie and eat dry cereal. I don’t think we’ve managed two of our five a day this holidays, and that’s only raisins and fruit juice. Bovvered? (A little bit – but I’m feeding their brains with trips to museums and castles. Summers are for ice cream and easy dinners.)

It isn’t all perfect. Nothing ever is. We’re all a bit snappy, and I’m whining as much as the kids. I’ve let them have too many toys and now they want to buy stuff all the time. We could all benefit from some healthy food and a bit more sleep. The dog is as eager for September as anyone, because we’re either out all day or the kids are super-huggy.

Bad parent, you think? Bovvered?

But we’re coping.

My son gave up his dummies and is dealing with it brilliantly, and so am I. Last year you would have had to prise those plastic tantruming-ending wonder-soothers out of my cold dead hands.

Two and a half weeks to go until school starts and I’m doing fine. It’s all scheduled, we know what’s what. There’s a bit of food in the fridge and a smidgeon of energy in my tank.

Summer holidays? Past me the sertraline and Bring It On.

Sixteen Insights from Children’s Books, with Apologies to the Bobbseys

I love this post. Maybe we only reflect on the lessons when we’re older!

I loved my grandparents’ house for many reasons. Crafts, Boggle games, the pond, the swings, strawberry plants, the cookie jar (thoughtfully located in a lower cupboard, accessible to even the youngest child), croquet, the purple tandem bike, and, of course, Grandpa and Grandma. I also loved the book stash. Grandma was both the church librarian and a school librarian, and, as such, inherited custody of the cast-off books. Although most had achieved their “withdrawn” status by becoming almost too tattered to read, they were still readable as long as one kept track of the molted pages. Walter the Lazy Mouse, Pippi Longstocking, the book about the bunnies and the weasel (I forgot the title): I loved them all.

Well, almost all. Love doesn’t describe my opinion of the elderly copies of The Bobbsey Twins. These books held enough of my interest for me to scan them…

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Summer Holidays Week 1

Planning the Hell out of this Holiday!

It’s Day Six of the Summer Holidays and we’re all still here.

I have a plan and I’m sticking to it. It helps that I had Friday alone to write – that’s part of this year’s survival plan.

I can’t give up writing for the summer, much as I want to be that kind of parent: Last year I didn’t write properly again until January.

This is how the holidays are panning out so far:

Homemade Messenger Bag and Purse

Day 1:

Son at nursery, so daughter requested that we spend a day doing sewing on the machine.

We went to the knitting shop and bought three fat quarters (who knew material was soooo expensive!) and found an easy pattern online.

I have to do these activities early on in the holidays when my patience bucket is at its fullest.

Even so, I made the green purse by myself while my daughter did cartwheels. But she did help with the bag, including pressing it and gluing on the jewels.

Monopoly abandoned when crying started

Day 2:

Day started with Monopoly, followed by a trip to the Opticians (where daughter screamed the place down. Sigh), then to the sweetie shop and to a local garden centre to hear a friend play in the local festival.

A delicious lunch of pizza and ice cream followed, and I was feeling like a really good parent. Until we got home to pick up the swimming things and son and I fell out big style. I wouldn’t let him sit in the car without a t-shirt because I didn’t want the seat belt to cut him. He sulked and then asked if I was ready to apologise for being rude (or words to that effect).

Result: I exploded!

Ten minutes of screaming and ranting about ungrateful children etc etc. Sigh. We went swimming two hours later, but only so I could wear them out.

Day 3: Raining, but a good day because both children went to nursery!

Even though my daughter is too old now, the staff love her. My son’s keyworker was as excited as my daughter, and she invited her two daughters in to play too! A great day for all.

I wrote 8,000 words and still got the house ready for visiting rellies.

Day 4: Visiting rellies arrived overnight. I managed to stay awake until midnight to greet them. I also put a loaf on to cook at 7 a.m. and presented a breakfast suitable for Italians at 9 a.m. Then karate at 11 a.m. No idea what we did in the afternoon, slept probably. I still seem to be doing a lot of that this year!

Day 5: Invited my parents to lunch, so went for a run at 9 a.m. rather than cleaning the house. Bored of trying to keep the pigsty tidy already. Walked the dog and took kids to the supermarket to burn off some energy. It’s still raining. Cooked curry (dropped a whole jug of curry sauce all over the floor and DIDN’T CRY, despite taking my meds late on Friday. I did growl at the kids for spilling ink all over the table, but I’m only human.) and crumble and watched the kids pretend to be in a band. Slept from 4-6 p.m. Detecting a theme here…

Dog in her happy place

Day 6: Pyjama Day planned, so I could do more writing. The dog got the hang of relaxing, and I slept curled up with her for an hour, but the children don’t really understand how it works.

Kept shooing them away, and we lasted until lunchtime, although the children ended up with me while I worked, so not sure how much I got done.

Quite proud of my latest story though – Moon Pony – and now just need to find someone to read it!

Pyjama Pancake Picnic in the Playroom

Lunch ended up being a pancake picnic in the playroom because I’ve given up trying to feed them healthy food already.

The fridge is empty and so is the fruitbowl. I’ve thrown away twice as much as they’ve eaten. I miss school meals when I didn’t have to know whether they ate or not.

We’re now heading off to the park because it’s finally stopped raining and I need to get us out the house. My son is running around in his waterproofs (which happen to be pink because he’s wearing his sister’s) yelling, “Super Pink! Super Pink!”

Only 38 more days to go. Not that I’m counting.

Being an Introvert Doesn’t Make Me a Bad Parent

I love these gorgeous people

It’s that time of year again. In two days time the children will break up for the summer. Here in the UK the summer holidays are only six weeks long – you’d think that would be easy, compared to the months they get in other countries, right?

Not for me.

The anxiety started a few days ago. The fear, the broken sleep, the crankiness and racing heart.

Tiredness makes it worse, as does grumpy children, and the end of term creates both.

Summer shows, birthday parties, day trips, farewell gifts, celebration assemblies, things to sign, uniform to buy for next year, moving up days, heat and humidity, have all taken their toll.

The children are fighting non-stop and Hubbie and I are like bears woken early from hibernation.

I know the irony of writing this after my last post. Maybe the contentment makes it harder. Because contentment for me comes from routine and time alone. Knowing where I’m meant to be and what I should be doing, and periods without responsibility or conversation.

Ultimately the thing that makes it hardest is the view that dreading the summer somehow makes me a bad parent. I come across it all the time. Mostly from parents who work, who are glad to have some time with their offspring, or at least away from the office.

Most of my acquaintances have public-facing jobs, which I guess makes them more likely to be extroverts. They like being around people, they take energy from others. Introverts? Not so much. Even people we love spending time with use up our energy and it’s only replaced by periods of solitude. That’s hard to find with two small children and a needy dog in the house 24-7.

I long for the 1980s – children running free in packs away from the house, like I did. Even now, if we lived in a town or a cul-de-sac with other children, then maybe mine would disappear to a friend’s house for an hour or two without me having to arrange it.

Already the children have started the, “Can we…?” and “When will we…?” questions. For half term I scheduled every minute and we were all happier, but I want my children to be free. I want them to be bored. I understand the importance of benign neglect. But there are no trees to climb where I live, no woods to explore, without driving to get there. They’re not old enough to ride around outside on their bikes (even if they could) and I live on a main road.

So it’s trips to the zoo and park and play dates and picnics, refereeing arguments because child A wants to do one thing and child B another. Trying to give them the freedom of my childhood in a world that dictates I must ensure their safety. Trying to stop them being clingy while remembering the psychotherapist that told me ‘dependence before independence’.

And through it all there are those other parents. The ones who say, “I don’t understand why people have kids if they don’t want to spend time with them,” or, “I love hearing my children play and talking to them. I miss them so much when they’re at school.” Or the dreaded look. The one that says, “What a horrible person you are for not wanting to spend 42 days straight with your beautiful children.” Even my doctor questioned whether I actually loved my children.

Yes I love my kids. Sometimes I’m so proud of them I could burst, or my love for them is like a suffocating hug.

I am a good parent.

It’s taken me seven years of soul-searching to appreciate those facts. But I hate arguments, and my children are currently at ‘tantrum four’ and ‘stroppy/sulky six’.

I gave up writing for the whole summer last year, so I could be present and attentive and all those things, and then couldn’t write again until January.

For their sake and mine, I need time by myself, to write, to read, to breathe.

But being a present parent, a helicopter parent, an attachment parent, call it what you will, means my children want to be with me ALL THE TIME. My son sobs if I walk the dog. My daughter wants me to watch her cartwheels endlessly. I can’t pee by myself, even now.

So, judge if you must. I don’t care. Well, not much. The anxiety is with me all the time, your disapproval can be ignored. My son will still go to nursery some days this summer even though his friends have all finished. My daughter has drama camp and church camp. The holiday is planned and sorted and there are times I can be alone.

And I’m okay with that.

Radio Silence

Never-empty Ironing Basket

I’m sorry for my crapness at keeping up with the blog. I was going to blame the hot weather, or the never-empty ironing basket, or Wimbledon, or my latest computer game obsession (Forge of Empires), or the great books I’ve read recently (Holly Webb is awesome), or the new blog, or the fact I’ve started running again. But the truth is I just don’t have much to say.

I know, it’s a shocker, right?

I seem to be at peace with myself and life, even with it being only six days to the start of the summer holidays. I’m eating well, sleeping okay (when it isn’t hot and humid!) and writing when I can.

There are things I’ve thought about sharing on here – great blog posts on parenting or recipes I’ve discovered or the new KDP Amazon pages-read reports – but I can’t help but feel I’ve said it all before.

And the stuff that gets me really riled these days is all political and I swore I wouldn’t get into politics on my blog. It’s for things mostly writing or parenting related, although I know I stray off topic from time to time!

Hopefully I’ll come up with something to share. Maybe bits of the novels I’m writing at the moment. I’ve started a new series – called Will on the Water – about a girl raised on a narrow boat. If anyone has any direct experience to share, that would really help my research!

I might also do Art in August again, too, just so the blog doesn’t wither and die in the long vacation! At least there will be less ironing to do when the children aren’t at school!

So please don’t give up on me yet. I’ll try harder I promise!

A Plea for Child Readiness

I couldn’t agree more.

Embracing Rough and Tumble Play

all families matter

The term “School Readiness” has always bothered me. As a preschool teacher, I am not just getting children ready for school or even for kindergarten. I am helping them learn to be life-long learners. I want them to enjoy school, of course. But I want them to enjoy the people they meet at school and enjoy the things they do after school just as much. I want each of them to be a well-rounded person who finds their own way of fitting in to the world and offering something to the communities they find themselves in.

A blog post of Teacher Tom’s http://teachertomsblog.blogspot.com/2015/06/your-child-is-not-falling-behind.html

made me see another reason to dislike the phrase “school readiness.” It is often a euphemism for literacy; more specifically reading and writing. Too often I see programs focusing on “school readiness” put so much emphasis on reading and writing that they ignore speaking…

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