And breathe ...

At the moment I am waking up before I need to wake to remind myself that I have two more hours to go before I need to wake up. Then I wake up nearly exactly an hour before I need to get up to remind myself that I need to be out of bed in one hour. Sometimes, I give myself some time out and sleep straight through the following hour until I actually need to get up. At other times, I lie impatiently still, neither fully awake and definitely not asleep and check my phone intermittently. I don't like that this is taking place. It is emotionally exhausting and psychologically unhelpful. I don't like. Not one bit. Although I get it. We've had a lot going on and my mind is fussing with all of this information, my sub conscience poking its nose into places when it has no right to do so.

I am working full time for the first time in eleven years, since September. The first few months were adrenaline filled and since there was just so much change going on, somehow we all rode the wave. One child starting secondary school, the younger one entering the world of childcare for the first time with two different childminders, myself working in a new role and my husband taking on new plus additional domestic and childcare duties really for the first time. Now some months in, I think we're all feeling it in our different ways. My eldest shared with me a couple of nights ago during a strained exchange that he misses not having as much time to just relax with me. Whilst I know that he is extremely privileged to have had a stay at home mum for his entire life and I also know that our evenings and week-ends are spent together and very little time outside of school is spent apart, and that, like me he can be a little dramatic but nonetheless of course mother guilt entered my heart and pierced it a little. 

Normally when I experience a little overwhelm, it either has me scribbling words and thoughts uncontrollably or it's quite the opposite. The last few months I have scribbled away and tucked words in different places, some places almost already forgotten and other in other places, the words just sit waiting, waiting for me to remember them. Time slips away and things are forgotten and just like my ten year old self did, I worry. I worry that I won't remember it all correctly, perhaps that I won't remember it at all. I worry that the days and months and years will roll into a mass of half truths and fractured memories and worst of all, I worry that I won't remember the good days, the happy times, the funny things. So perhaps in the early hours of this morning which technically will be tomorrow, perhaps I'll have a slight reprieve from the list of to do's that knock on my door. Perhaps I'll feel like at least one box is ticked and not in a work kind of way but in a surviving kind of way, a breathing kind of way. Breathe. And breathe. And breathe.

Making Time

The Stag and the Fawn
Tile decorated with subjects from Aesops Fables. Tin-glazed earthenware transfer printed overglaze, Liverpool, Sadler and Green 1765-c1775.

The past week has felt a little like a blur, one of those weeks where if someone asks 'what have you been up to?' you pause and struggle to reel off anything of significance and yet you know it has felt busy and rushed and you've seldom had time to sit and ponder. By thursday evening when I realised that I hadn't really carved any 'All About You' time, I decided to abandon my to do list and head into the city, away from the domestic distractions of home and home work in search of a little quiet time. I started with coffee in one of my favourite buzzy coffee shops, a place that's always busy and full of a varied folks. Normally, I like quiet if I'm sitting to write but surrounded by several others working on their laptops, I effortlessly tapped away for an hour the start of a short story that I've had in mind for a few weeks. It felt like a relief to finally put words on a page. I hadn't planned to write on that day, but perhaps it goes to show that sometimes simply setting a little time aside is enough to allow the stored ideas to emerge. I also visited my old workplace Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery as I was literally walking by. I stepped inside and with the habit of old work days followed a route that led past a tile collection that I'd always been fond of. I found myself wondering why I had left it so long in returning to these old friends and for half an hour or so I was transported into the dark and dreamy world of Aesops Fables! Ready for the real world again, I dragged myself away with the promise of returning again soon, or to at least finding other worlds to fall into for a little quiet abandon here and there. As I made my way to the bus stop to head home, I caught sight of a popular flower stall. An almost perfect replica of Eliza Doolittle who was dressed slightly more 'ghetto' was shouting out in her best cockney accent 'flowers for a pound!' I left with a bunch of flowers feeling pleased with the ending to my 'me time'. I climbed onto the bus, sat down and cast my eyes into my lap and gazed at my now dyed purple finger tips holding my bunched flowers. I immediately heard my middle sister saying 'buy cheap, but twice' and again smiled to myself. Those flowers are still sat in a vase in front of me and sure the water they're sat in isn't clear, it's purple and a little garish but that's not important. What's important is that those cheap flowers have been a perfect reminder for days now, of that time I carved for me, a reminder of just how easy it is to do, if only I, you, we, remember to just make the time.  

The Fox and the Crow
Tile decorated with subjects from Aesops Fables. Tin-glazed earthenware transfer printed overglaze, Liverpool, Sadler and Green 1765-c1775.

Inspiration

Left | Top Right | Bottom Right
Pinterest

Books. It always starts with books. The ones that are as familiar as dear friends, the ones that I don't know so well but would like to spend more time with and get to know better. The ones that I dip into, the ones that look good and make me feel good. There are all kinds that line my shelves and make me feel all manner of things and when I'm feeling restless and in need of a pick me up, that's where I turn. Half term is around the corner and these days I like to prepare early and build in a time for me to escape and re-charge, even if that means just half an hour. I know from experience that having that little bit of time makes me a nicer mummy and also a kinder wife. I've spent the last few weeks reading and note taking and dipping into several books at a time. I've been gathering images and photographs and cut out articles and newspaper clippings and old drawings and old songs, snippets of sound pieces and bits and pieces tucked under books on my bedside table. I've been trying to make sense of the many things that I have foraged over these months that I know are part of something, my next story, my next creative chapter. So during half term when I'm lost in busyness, I will spend a little time looking closely at these treasures that I have gathered. Sometimes when I'm in the thick of this foraging and sifting and pulling it together phase, I like to think of myself as playing many parts, like an actor. I think of my artist self, my writer self, my mother self. I think of all of these selves and what role they each play, sometimes certain selves feel like they're sinking, struggling to come up for air, another self is taking all of the attention. Swings and roundabouts. Swings and roundabouts. Sometimes just to breathe, I picture myself as someone else, maybe me, another me. I throw on a pair of jeans and a vest top, drive to Mexico with the rooftop down, hit the nearest and cutest beachside bar, order myself a mojito and smoke that cigarette that I promised myself I'd never smoke. It feels good. Oh so good. I close then open my eyes and it feels like a fleeting moment and a lifetime all at once and that's when I remember. You really don't need to leave home or travel far to have an adventure and be inspired. This I know. 

Sometimes they are my shield

Sometimes, when I think no one's looking, I retreat. I take myself and safely tuck behind my shield. Sometimes it happens without me really thinking about it, at others times I dance alongside it as if delivering a role I have learned to play. This particular shield that I am speaking of today is my children. Sometimes, they are my shield, my armour, my buffer. 

Lately I have been dipping my foot into the water of the grown up, adult orientated world. I have been gathering 'current' experience so that I can transition into the work environment after 9 years of not working full time. I emphasise the word 'current' because a recruitment consultant I was speaking with, phoned me back twice because she thought it must be an error on my CV when she read that the last freelance work I had was four years ago. I felt so annoyed with myself when after explaining that I have been a full time, stay at home mum (a term by the way that has snuck into my vocabulary that I haven't even decided if I like!) during this time, it was met with a confused silence and I continued to try and explain myself! ' So ... no work at all?' she repeated. I could feel my tail falling to the floor and between my legs as I began my defensive monologue justifying this decision. For some I'm sure they would simply brush off comments such as these, I thought I would be one of those people and yet I have come back to that conversation a number of times. At first I couldn't quite put my finger on why, I'm not sure that I know now but I think it's that I felt marginalised, pigeon holed, almost silly for making such a choice. Perhaps if the same thing had happened a year or two ago I would not even have noticed because I had clarity both about my position at 'work' and my role and responsibilities. But now, at this crossroads I feel more vulnerable and reflective and I find that my emotions swing quite wildly between clear and balanced and unclear and shaky. It is only now as I ease out of this that I can begin to talk about it, it felt too raw before.

I haven't made any contribution to All About You during this time because the last thing I wanted to do was write all about me. Also, I think finding myself in new situations I was having to talk a lot about me and I was finding  an old me, a changed me and at times a confused me and other times a surprisingly confident and clear me. Sometimes those variables in themselves can feel very confusing, very challenging. Do you ever feel like you're not sure who 'you' are? I really identified with Mama-and More! in her post 'What to do? What to do?' where she talks about reaching a point of re-evaluating her career, and therefore her life and her lifestyle. She described this phase perfectly with these words:

'it can make you feel a bit aimless - like a 

child with no boundaries, in free-fall, while at the same time caught in a net, unable to decide which way to turn or how to get from A to B'

I must say it feels good to be open about these feelings, not that I was keeping it secret but not writing about my feelings is never a good thing, especially not for those close to me! When thinking aloud and thrashing things out or scribbling it down, I often focus on the negative and dismiss all of the positive and all of the progress, as if it has no significance. It is important to say that I have had some remarkable and memorable experiences carrying out voluntary work over the last couple of months. I've been blessed with many encouraging and supportive words from many women wiser than myself, with adult children and a store of rich, wealthy experiences. Women who have knowingly acknowledged this role that I have been in for the last nine years. Women who have the benefit of hindsight and reflection and that can say ' I know exactly what your job involves', women that have said so much and sometimes with just a knowing look or a telling smile. It was quite an emotional thing to experience, that acknowledgement, that understanding, that not having to explain. 

I was volunteering in a special school, a primary school, an ofsted outstanding school that just happens to be where my hubby works. It was quite the talking point Mr.T's wife coming into work! It was quite a thing for me to humble myself and ask my hubby if he would help me set up this voluntary work in his work place and to ask if he would be happy for me to enter his domain. He, of course, is kinder than I and was incredibly supportive. I'm not so sure how comfortable I would have been if our roles were reversed! It was also quite something to see my hubby in his teaching role, to see his exceptional gift for teaching and his gift for connecting with his pupils. This man of mine who has no idea which drawer our children's clothes go in, or even which shelf the really big Jamie Oliver saucepan goes on in the kitchen or how to tie the boys hair up for the night to avoid dreadlocks, this man knows how to do something that I do not. He has built a career, a role and an identity that is separate from his at home identity. It's not that I fictionalised his job, but our roles have been very clear and specific since our boys have been around. I've been at home and he's been at work. He has never brought his work home and once home he has been my hubby, daddy, artist and musician. To see him carry out the work that he loves and that he gets paid to do was fascinating and hugely impressive. I felt immensely proud and inspired, especially when his colleagues shared with me their respect for him. 

To have a glimpse into someone else's world is wonderful, and to see experts in action is quite a privilege. As proud as I am of my hubby, I can't help but feel a little envious on occasion at this career he's built. It can all of a sudden felt like, whilst he was becoming a grown up, I was spurting breast milk and singing 'the wheels on the bus' in a gloriously happy yet sleep deprived loop, and too pre-occupied to notice everyone else growing up around me. I do find myself equating having a job, or a salary or mortgage with being a 'grown up', I don't have any of those things, I am not a grown up! But there again, I know me and I know how dramatic and changeable I am. I know how quickly and easily I forget. I know I must remember the years where I did have little pockets of work that kept me in the loop and kept my work and mummy identity in tandem. I know that how I feel right now this minute can change hugely and my emotions can influence my re-telling of history and my experiences. You only have to ask my hubby about my re-telling of my birth stories to find that out. I claim to have been at one with the world, he says there was shouting!

Sometimes it is not me that shields behind my children, sometimes it's that others cannot see me, they only see the children. I've been in a few situations of late where I've been in adult company and all I've been asked about, is either my children or my being a stay at home mum. It's a tricky one, I understand this. After all, others might get asked 'what do you do?' and if the response is 'firewoman' (I don't know why I came up with that, must be an alter ego thing!) then I'm sure there would be lots of questions asking about that. I on the other hand am asked to expand on what my job involves and once again I find myself twitching and not being entirely comfortable with that, although I'm probably still more comfortable with that than when I say I'm not working at the moment and people tilt their heads and offer me a sympathetic smile equivocal to the 'there there' uttered to a child! So you can see for yourselves, I swing wildly in my feelings about what it is to have been in this job of mine for nine years. What do I have to show for it on paper? Well, according to the recruitment consultant, not much at all! 

One thing I did learn during those weeks dropping the boys off at school and racing to catch buses to get to the school I was volunteering at and racing back to catch buses to get to pick the kids up on time, I learned that I have been blessed to be in a position to drop off and pick up my children every single day of their school lives so far (ok, except when I was freelancing and grandma did it for me). I never really appreciated this before, it was just something that happened each day. During this period volunteering, on one occasion I was caught in traffic and was 10 minutes late to pick up the children. As I ran down a busy high street, sweaty and flustered and feeling like my heart was going to explode and fighting back the urge to burst into tears, I suddenly realised, I'd never experienced this and neither had I ever had to. What is the norm to so many is alien to me and really far out of my comfort zone. It was also out of my comfort zone to ask friends for help, to ask them to be on standby in case I might not be on time again. Friends were generous and offered help but it felt strange to be in position where I was doing the asking. I think it was good for me, to be out of my comfort zone, geographically, emotionally and career wise. It was and is a huge learning curve but I have to say I am thrilled to be climbing it and looking forward very much to see where it takes me. Sometimes, we just need to take cover and shield ourselves from the elements. Sometimes we can emerge and confidently drop our armour and let out a mighty roar without a care in the world. Sometimes, we have no idea which of these scenarios is going to emerge and we just have to trust that it's ok to close our eyes and free-fall. 

Me Time

Listened to Donna Summer on vinyl and disco danced on a Monday morning. Painted my toenails for the first time in forever. Took an extra long shower and prayed for me, about me. Took my time polishing myself with cocoa butter. Learned a new song. Watched Ghost Dog and Coffee and Cigarettes. Looked through family albums of black and white pictures and picked out my current favourites for a project I have in mind. Searched in my jewellery box for an old pair of earrings that I'd long forgotten about and remembered. Handstitched stuff until my busy hands took me to a place of quiet and far from all my fears and failings. Cooked myself well thought out lunches and didn't feel guilty about wasting time or being indulgent. Lay down on my bed in the middle of the day with my eyes staring up at the ceiling and thought aimless and random thoughts 'just cause'. Met up with a dear friend and exchanged moments of heartbreak and moments of humour and talked about how when we're dead we really want our kids to have some photos of us with them to remember us by. Took pictures of text that made me smile whilst out and about.

Linking this post up to:

Time spent so wisely ....

Many years ago I wrote the lyrics 'Time spent so wisely, kicking dust in the air, making noise, sweet to taste'. The words at the time were describing the deep and pleasurable abandon of my childhood, those cherished and sensory memories of play. Today as I was reflecting on my week, literally out of nowhere those lyrics popped into my head once more. I've been finding myself singing them over and over and it has come as a suprise and a significant one at that. I don't normally sing when people are around, strange one might think for a part time (back in the day) singer but I don't. I do often soothe the children with their favourites but otherwise it has been a long time since I stretched my lungs and this week I have managed it and it felt good.

This week I carved some alone time with a permission slip in hand to re-discover time and lost loves. Yesterday, conscious of the fact that today is a teacher training day and therefore no school or nursery for the boys followed by the half term holidays, I allowed myself an indulgent day. From approximately 9.30am until 3.05pm I pottered, no washing, no dishes, no phone calls, no obligations. I played some music and sang, really sang and I'd forgotten how much I love to do it. Hubby has always said that I sing when I am either very happy or very unsettled, he says the same about when I write. I guess what I have come to realize is that I am a person that likes process, I learnt that about myself whilst studying on a modular degree course. When I made paper by hand on that degree course, the outcome was never the focus but the thinking time in the airy light filled studio was because I would always leave having resolved ideas and problems about other work/life. Over the years, when I have written harsh and bitter words in my diaries when I have been saddened or angered, disappointed, that there has been a place where I have been able to allow the words and feelings of the moment to spill from me freely has allowed me to take in new breath. Whether those words are ever revisited is irrelevant, that my emotions have been through a sort machine, well sometimes I picture a conveyor belt, that is for me what is key. So, to my suprise song is another process, singing to myself with no one around felt like what I used to do. Suddenly, there were flashing memories of working through this process with the end product not being a song but pure joy, feel good stuff, secret solitary behaviour.

Time and silence does that, it brings out those 'loves' that have been hidden away, not buried but unseen. The silence was truly golden. Except it wasn't silence because I heard my voice again for the first time in some time. I don't know if I liked what I heard because I'm still too giddy from the knowledge that I had enough time to make a noise and that's what this week's end product is all about.

Additionally, I found time to play around some more on Pinterest (another process!) and finally started playing with Instagram this evening too, end product featured here. Plus lots of episodes of Sex & the City without the watchful and disapproving eye of hubby and plenty of quality time with my boys. Amidst the concern of Zach's eye injury, (he gashed it at bedtime on monday night as his hand gave way getting out of the bath making him slip and bang his head against the sink) there is a wonderful memory of our return journey from the children's hospital, of me being sat between the boys in the back of the car with that chilly early days of winter feeling, rain crashing down on the windscreen with hubby leaning forward whilst driving due to low visibility, as the boys beamed with excitement at the first of the christmas lights in the city centre and at being out way beyond their bedtime, their small warm hands in mine .... a moment! Popcorn .... another moment! A really memorable week.