Growing Pains

So it's been about a year since I've posted here and I'm sorry about that.

But it's been a heck of a year.

I'm in full swing as a Pilates instructor, alongside my freelance work as a proof reader and copy editor. I've had some cool freelance jobs come in, and I've really enjoyed doing them. I've got another iron in the fire as a project manager for an online product, and I'm enjoying the people I'm working with. Thus far, it's all good and clearly this decision was the correct one for me to make.

I'm also still adjusting to the way things are around hearth and home. Things are a little less tidy, and I've learned that that's OK. Things are also a little bit more chaotic, but that I think goes with the kind of schedule that I've got, now that I'm no longer a 9-5 kind of gal, and that's OK, too.

The kids are fine, and growing up fast, and that's really the main reason that I've decided to do what I'm doing now. I see them a lot now every day, to the point where now they're saying things like 'Mummy I really liked it better when you had your other job'.

Out of the mouths of babes, eh?

Still, I suspect that it's just that familiarity breeds contempt. I'm always here (well, except for the nights I teach, but even then, I'm still around between when school gets out and bedtime), and so I'm the face they see all the time. And sometimes I'm the most horrible person/mother in the world.

But tonight I wasn't. Tonight I spent time with my eldest, who is soon to be nine. She blew off both the choir show she was supposed to sing in at the local beer festival, as well as her ballet class. She's been saying all week that she's just tired, she doesn't want to go to her after-school club, she doesn't want to go to Brownies...so today, instead of participating in all her stuff, she just put her jammies on and mooched around the house all day. But while the husband and the youngest child took themselves off to the event, I had strict instructions from the husband to not let eldest child use the iPad, have fun, have a friend round, etc., because if she was 'too ill' to sing or go to ballet, then she was 'too ill' to have any fun. Fair enough.

But tonight she and I made stuff. I've recently completed the crocheted blanket I've been working on for 18  months (gift for sister-in-law), and now I'm working on a quilt. But I, of course, have to have an interstitial project to go to when I don't have time to concentrate on the quilt, but I've got a few moments to spare. So I've started plaiting fabric scraps to make a rag rug. And eldest came to hang out with me. And after a while of her watching me and some chit chat, she said she wanted to make something. And tonight I taught her to sew.

She cut out some bits of fabric and said she was going to make an apple. I taught her how to pin the wrong sides of the fabric together, and sew a seam with a sewing machine, and then turn the right sides out, and she stuffed it full of sheep's wool that she'd collected on a walk a few weeks ago, and hand sewed the top closed, and put a green ribbon on the top. And it's great.

And then after that was complete, she just hung out and we talked.

(Incidentally, we've already had the chat about where babies come from, and how they get in there in the first place, and what happens to your bod when you get closer to being a teenager.)

So she asked me how old I was when I first decided I 'liked' a boy. I said 'about nine or so', and she said 'OK'. And then she told me about how a friend of hers (male, also almost nine years old) kissed her the other day, and then we talked about when that's OK, and when it isn't. And then she said, 'I know that when I'm a teenager I'm not going to like you or Daddy very much, right?' -- and I said yes, that that was probably right. And then she said, 'But I like you quite a bit right now.'

And then she got up and went to get ready to go to bed. And as she left the room, I said 'I love you', and she was silent. So I 'ahem-ahem-ed' at her, and she just looked at me and rolled her eyes, and the door closed behind her as she went out.

She likes me 'quite a bit right now'.

For this moment, that's lovely.

Perspective

It's been a weird week or so. I've finally made my decision about Mr Mean Man (thanks, Julie!), and all that he embodies, so that's good. My plan is in place, and as soon as I'm at liberty to talk about it, believe me, I will. But suffice it to say, it's certainly lightened the load for me.

The other thing that happened is that I learned some distressing news a week ago tonight. The mother of one of my 7-year-old's classmates died last week. Melanoma. She was diagnosed last summer, and BANG. She leaves behind a daughter who's 5, a son who's 7, and a really terrific guy who's now, according to multiple sources, having a really bad time of it all.

And she was my age.

I didn't know her. I met her only twice. She seemed really nice. So I'm not writing this to tell you how much I'm mourning my friend, or to talk about what a great person she was; I don't really know. I presume as much, but I don't know.

What I'm writing about tonight is perspective.

Mr Mean Man has been getting my goat far too long. And I've been racking my brain to figure out what I can do to impress him/the others/whomever it is I think I need to impress, to get ahead. And I've realized that it really doesn't matter.

I have spent so much of my life being identified by what I do every day to earn my money. I don't know why. It could be because of the industry I was in when I cut my business teeth, and all the bullshit that surrounds everything that goes on there. I could be the people who I claimed as my mentors while I was in that crowd. It could be a combo. It could be none of the above.

But I've realized that my kids are 4, and 7. And right now, they'll still hold my hand when we're walking along. And they want me to kiss them goodnight, and read them stories, and they want to do things with me and go places with me. And in a few short years, they won't want to do those things with me any longer. Especially the holding hands bit. That might just be what breaks my heart, when it happens. And it will happen.

So after hearing last week's news over a cup of late night decaf with a friend at her kitchen table, my perspective has changed. My decaf friend asked me about how I'd feel if tomorrow were my last day on earth -- would I be so upset about not spending more time slogging my guts out for people who don't even know my name, or people who talk to me as if I'm dirt? Or would I rather be lying there, and remembering all the lovely things I did with my kids, and my husband, and my family, and my friends?

I choose the latter, folks. And it's a conscious decision to do it. It doesn't matter what I do from 9-5, really, as long as it's something I like. And it's something that likes me back.

I look at the faces of my kids. I see pictures of them from just 6 months ago, and I see the changes in their eyes, and faces, and smiles. I see their slightly rounder, slightly more babyish cheeks stare at me from the picture frame, and when I look round to who they are today, I see girls, not toddlers. I see personality, and curiosity, and temper, and independence, and fury, and humour. And I've only got a little while to be within their circles, until I'm banished because that's what we did to our parents, and what our children will do to us.

Last week, what did that lovely young mother think as she waited for her end to happen to her? Was she prepared to leave her children behind? Did she regret any choices she'd made, because she'd thought she'd have years and years to spend? I don't know. I never will know.

But I'm not going to regret a thing. Thoreau also said 'Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed, and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.'

OK, Henry. I'm listening now.

A Wise Geezer Once Said...

'It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.'

Anyone know what great brain said the above?

Yep. Albus Dumbledore. A truly excellent man. Shame about the 'not being a real person' bit.

JK Rowling gives a lot of good advice via ole Albus. Sure, they're great stories with great characters, but she sneaks these bits of wisdom in without us really noticing until later. And I like that.

But I think it's worth giving that quote from Albus a chew every once in a while, just to make sure it's front of mind. And believe me, it's so easy for a whole load of the daily shite to get in the way, and block out the important things.

The choices our parents make for us when we're too young to know better are one of main things that determine if we're fuck-ups in our lives, or end up decent people. And if your parents make half-decent choices for you, and teach you how to do the same, then you're in pretty good shape. At least until you go off into the world where you can do what you damned well please without them harping at you about stuff from dawn to dusk.

My parents did a pretty good job, especially considering that they were practically CHILDREN when they became parents. And they each had their issues, which, alongside all the good stuff they taught me and my brother (i.e. Don't litter. Don't be a jerk. Clean up after yourself. Don't hit. Tell the truth. Apologize. Say please and thank you. Be nice, etc.), we also absorbed. And it's really an eye-opener of a day when you suddenly realize that you do stuff, or act a certain way, or think about things in a particular light, because you subconsciously learned how to mimic your parents along with all the shit they inherited from their parents.

But I think I need to start taking a good look at the choices I make, rather than question my abilities. And that means abilities across the board - as a parent, a spouse, an employee, etc. I'm VERY able and I do what I do well (most of the time). But it's the choices that are under fire here.

I have a really short fuse when it comes to my youngest. She's amazing -- smart, funny, cute. But boy is she a pain in the arse. And she's a typical four-year-old kid. Her attention span is great if she's doing something she likes; not so great if she's uninterested in the activity at hand. She faffs around with eating her meals. You've got to ask her to put her jacket on about seven times before you can walk out the door (this is especially effective when I'm trying to get her to school and me to the train on time every morning). So I shout. LOUDLY. And I hate it.

But it occurred to me tonight that I'm establishing the dynamic of our future relationship here. She acts out, I shout, she cries, I get stressed out, and we all end up feeling rotten. And none of it changes the fact that it still took 15 minutes for her to take her socks off.

So -- choices, not abilities. I need to choose to change how I interact with my kids. With my husband. Friends, mom, brother, sister-in-law, job. I've never been a good chooser. I've gotten a few choices right (hiya, Boss). But generally speaking, up until about ten years ago, I've been a bit of an ass when it comes to making good choices. I think my mom and dad tried to help me when I was younger, but I also know that they had their own issues and lives and thoughts to sort out.

I'm also very aware that I'm genetically programmed to make shitty choices. I've unlearned a lot of this behaviour (thanks, Valerie Brucker -- I miss you). And I know my nuclear family has done some good unlearning, too. See? It's never too late to think about choices.

I have a lot of abilities - I can do a TON of stuff. But it's the choices that I've made across almost my whole life, in conjunction with my abilities, that have come up a bit flat. It's almost as if by the time you reach your 40s, you've got a good enough idea about how it all works to actually be ready to be out there in the world. You Get It. It Makes Sense. You've Got A Grip On Things.

The sad part is, there's no do-overs. Not a one. The best you get is a clean slate.

It's not about a mid-life crisis (I had mine at about 28 years old, I reckon). It's about understanding how to make choices that turn you into the person that you want to be -- now, tomorrow, next week. And hopefully, those choices will allow a bit of retro-fitting, so you can try to see your former self as the person you wanted to be, too.

My husband and I were just talking about sticker charts - you know the ones? Where your kid gets a sticker if they [fill in the blank] for a whole day/week. When they get a week's worth of stickers, they get a [fill in the blank with treat/item/event]. So we were talking about creating a sticker chart for the youngest, to see if we can get her to try to not be so utterly bonkers.

I think the person who needs the sticker chart is me.