One year on

Date: 13 September 2009
Place: Hull, UK
What: The start of the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race

Exactly one year ago today I set sail from Hull en route to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil via La Rochelle, France. Anyone who followed my More to Life than Laundry blog will know the huge amount of effort involved in getting to this point. A mum to then 3 and 5 year old sons, a business to run, a normal busy life to take care of. But I wanted to get off the hamster wheel of life for a little while and do something for me.

And so after months and months of very hard work organising, fund raising and training, I was finally ready to set sail. What followed was a six week experience that had been billed as life-changing. A year on, my question is, was it?

On paper, my life is exactly the same. I have two (slightly older) boys, my business, a busy life and house to run. I have the same frustrations that were always there (the laundry pile never gets any smaller). But something has changed. And it's very hard to define. 

What's changed is me. It's a very subtle thing that probably isn't visible to the outside world. But I'll try to explain...

I feel empowered. Not in that in your face women's lib kinda way. But in a quiet, understated, gently simmering warm feeling of knowing that I can do whatever I set my mind to.

I feel free. The constraints of motherhood, adulthood and responsibility can feel suffocating, stifling with the question of 'Is this it?' loitering in the dark corners of your mind. I'm free of that now. Because I know that there's a horizon out there that is blue and golden and it's perfectly possible to go explore it.

I live life. I used to berate myself for not having a global business empire or greater business achievements. I've made peace with that now and set myself a new objective. To have fun, to enjoy life, to cut myself some slack. And I've spent most of this year doing exactly that.

I feel peaceful. Obviously not all the time as my last post highlights, but when times get tough, I go to my mental sanctuary. A place I discovered in the middle of the Atlantic. It tastes of salt. It smells of clean sea and fresh air. It sounds like rushing water. It feels like a warm breeze tangling hair tendrils that whip against a sun-cleansed face. It looks like a never-ending blue canvas that arches around me in all directions. It is bliss.

So yes, it has been life-changing. Not in the 'I'm changing career and taking up adventure sports' way, but in the ways that count. Best of all, I did it, and nothing can ever take that away.

When you don't like your child

I love my children, dearly. When I watch them sleeping in their beds, hair mussed up, chests rising and falling, they look like little angels and I can't believe how lucky I am.

Yet most days, particularly most mornings, I don't like one of my children. That's a terrible thing to say. But it's the truth.

My eldest child has been difficult from the day he was born. A baby who didn't stop crying and wouldn't sleep. A toddler who had tantrums worthy of oscars. A pre-schooler who wouldn't join in and would cling incessantly. A school starter who would cry everyday at school drop off, run out of school and throw monstrous tantrums. He's never managed to control his emotions - happy or upset. All of these stages I have found incredibly hard work and sometimes downright bewildering, but I have learned and accepted that he is a sensitive child who takes a while to adapt to things. I've tried to provide the right balance of firmness with understanding and love.

But now he's six and a half. And we're in a whole new world. I take heart talking to other parents that their children are similarly behaved, but what I find most upsetting is how I feel about him.

His moods are relentless. He screams, yells, throws things about, is aggressive, rude, hits, kicks, spits, breaks things and is bone bloody idol. He will do nothing to help himself - unless there is something in it for him. He takes responsibility for nothing. He won't share. Yet he demands that things are shared with him. He never seems to learn from any discipline or punishment or consequence or reward. He refuses to listen if you try to have a reasonable conversation with him, simply covering his ears saying: Blah blah blah. We go through the exact same things over and over and over. He believes the world is out to get him. Mostly he seems unhappy and very, very angry.

I know that as a parent it is my job to help him work through this. To teach him social niceties and how to behave. To help him find out how he fits into the world and how to make the most of his abilities. To help him be happy. But parents are human. And even though I love him, I am finding it particularly hard to like him. And this makes it so much harder to remain the calm, loving, firm parent I want to be.

There are moments when his lovely nature shines through and when it does, I want to grab onto it and hold a mirror up to him and say: 'See, this is what you can be. It's gorgeous and lovely and wonderful!' But it's like holding water in your hands and it slips away all to fast.

I desperately want him to be happy. I want him to know I love him. But mostly I want to like him more often. I fear that the more he behaves in this way, the harder it will be for me to separate him from his actions. That I will start to resent him and in turn he will resent me, and our relationship remains one of me-against-him and him-against-me for a lifetime.

I am fairly certain that my own parents felt the same way about me, as by all accounts I was a particularly vile child. So perhaps it's simply karma that I should have the same experience. Retribution so to speak. But perhaps it's because I know how I felt as a child that I want to help my own son so much. I wished with all my heart that I didn't behave like I did as a child. I remember sulking and fighting with my siblings and wishing that I wasn't, but some how being unable to stop myself. I am almost certain that my son feels the same way. But how do you help a child out of that cycle? Particularly when his behaviour is so maddening that you're hard pressed to remain civil much less find a solution.

Perhaps I am wrong to even write this post. A grossly inappropriate thing to admit. But I just so badly want to like my son. I can't believe I am the only parent who feels like this. And perhaps by just writing it, it's the cathartic release I need to be able to put my feelings behind me and move forward to help my son.  Here's hoping so anyway.

Wot I mostly did on my summer holidays

And so the summer holidays end. And with it, the start of glorious weather. How ironic. It has been an exhausting, but lovely 5 weeks. If I were feeling less shattered, I'd attempt to write something clever or moving or poetic. But as it is, I can barely keep my eyes open. So instead, here's my first-day-of-school-summer-holiday-recap. Sit quietly in the front row, put your hand up and you'll get your turn to tell us about yours next:

• Fantastic break up day party involving parents getting far too drunk but it certainly set the tone for the rest of the holiday
• Three days of actual work, while the children had a ball with their childminder.
• Two weeks in Greece. I could write a lot about this. But suffice to say that week 1 saw our children in kids clubs from 9am to 5pm daily (despite us offering to take them out repeatedly - they declined as they were having too much fun) and then video club from 7pm - 11pm. So really utter bliss during which I suntanned, swam and sailed (and drank unhealthy amounts of Greek wine and Mythos beer). The highlight had to be sailing in dinghy races daily, something I haven't done since I was a teenager, and I won! In fact I kicked butt. It felt marvellous. I was absolutely hyped when I came off the water and just wanted to head straight back out for more.

See exhibit A of sailing action:

• Week 2 involved us going on a flotilla around Greek islands in the Ionian Sea. It was fantastic but very stressful at times, like when you're trying to moor up next to a £2million yacht and not knowing what you're doing and trying not to bash it and trying not to shout at your husband to hurry up with the fenders all while saying to the children: "No, we can't play Uno right now". But besides the mooring/anchoring up, it was marvellous. Lots of swimming off the back of the boat in the sea, eating and drinking too much and general swanning about. Bliss. See below

• Back home for a day of recovery before 3 days of work and then a fab day out with fellow mummy bloggers Pantswithnames and Nappyvalleygirl.  It was lovely to meet people that I've got to know virtually and with 6 little boys between us, there was plenty of charging about for the kids.
• Then a day of doing a Treasure Trail in Hungerford with old friends, followed by a day at home and a fab pizza evening out with friends and kids playing in country fields.
• Then off to the Peak District for three days of camping in torrential rain. Oh what fun it was. I can't bring myself to write more about this other than it involved mud and lots of it.
• Back for one day of work, before heading over to the Isle of Wight for a final summer soiree for four days, drinking too much, laughing a lot and exploring the Island with the view to possibly moving there.
• We've since had two days at home, during which I've attempted to catch up on work and failed, played with friends and gone for long walks in the countryside.

And now on the eve of back to school day, I feel in dire need of a holiday to recover from it all. Actually, what I need is to get back to work before my brain turns to mush. And I should really start to night, but I won't. I shall savour the silence of the evening knowing that tomorrow morning will see my littlest boy head off to big school for the first time, while I sob into my breakfast tea.

This is why I have been absent from the blogosphere. This is why I have been absent on the work front. This is what summer is meant to be all about. Hope yours was just as lovely.

If you need a little time out...

Perhaps the kids are screaming. Perhaps the school holidays have barely started and already you're losing your grip on sanity. Perhaps holidays never actually feel like a holiday for you. If this is you, then I invite you to spend 2 minutes watching the video below (a link as I cannot figure out how to put the YouTube clip direct into the blog post).

You may have seen it on my http://www.moretolifethanlaundry.com/ blog but given how rarely I update it these days, I doubt many people amble over there anymore. So I thought I'd put it on here too so that all those stressed out mums who wish they could just escape on their own for a little while can see that you actually can!

In case you're not familiar with what it's about, last year I decided that I needed time to do something for me. The hamster wheel of work, kids, house, chores felt stifling and I just wanted the chance to do something a bit different and entirely for me. So instead of popping down to the spa for a pamper day as any normal person might do, I spent six weeks sailing across the Atlantic in part of an around the world yacht race.

This video is a short snap shot of what it was like. I'm not the best video editor but the fact that I've managed to make a video at all is fairly remarkable given my technological ineptitude.

So grab a glass of wine, put the volume up on your PC and watch.  And yes, it's me on the helm!

My Clipper Experience

Incidentally, I'm off tomorrow for a two week family holiday involving boats again, only this time I'll have my boys sailing with me. Get you when I'm back!

End of an era

For three years, I have been driving to my children's pre-school, initially son1 and most recently son2. I've stood waiting in the lobby for the doors to open, getting to know the many mums who wait alongside me. I've walked into the pre-school at the end of a day and watched how my son's face lights up as he searches for me, then barrels over, throwing his (usually sticky) little arms around my neck.

We've spent years carrying home painted pine cones, pasta pictures and glitter art, most of which still live on the back seat of my car. We've lost hats, wellies, raincoats and jumpers. We've gained underpants, shorts and t-shirts from origins unknown. We've got years and years worth of progress reports, showing at what age my boys could stack blocks, make puzzles, play make believe and hop on one foot. They're mini time capsules, showing how they've progressed from babies to big boys.

I've sat through sports days in blazing heat and driving rain, laughing as the tiny little people attempt to balance an egg on a spoon and crying when my boys have managed it with looks of utter concentration on their faces.

I've been on the pre-school committee, going to meetings, organising fund-raisers, doing the PR. I've baked more cakes for fetes and fairs than I care to remember. I've met people and made friends, having moved here not knowing a soul.

I've come to know the staff who have looked after and loved both of my boys. They know my sons almost as well as I do. How do they manage to say goodbye to children year after year?

Because today I got to say goodbye to them. Today is my son's last day of pre-school. Forever. Here on in he is a school child. No longer a baby.  And while I've been longing for this day to come, so that I no longer have to do the five minute drive there and back and will gain an extra hour of work time every day, now that it's here I can't stop crying.

It's the end of an era. A life chapter closing. I know there are plenty of exciting chapters ahead, but I can't help shedding a tear for the one that's just ended.

To all at Chieveley Pre-School who helped my children have wonderful memories, thank you.

Who are these children?

Last week the only adjective that could adequately describe my children was 'vile'. End of year over tiredness, too many late nights thanks to long summer evenings and general tetchiness resulted in two thoroughly unpleasant little boys.

Now perhaps it's because the end of school year is in sight, or perhaps it's because they were left with their ex-military father all weekend, but this week, my children have become angels.

Sure there was the 'whacking my brother with the sprinkler after he scraped my back' incident and the 'I hate you, I'm not listening, you're all stupid poopy pants people' moment from one of them. But I can actually recall the individual bad moments, rather than them becoming a continuous background blur interspersed with the odd good behaviour.

Yesterday as we walked home from school, 6 year old (who for the last few weeks behaved more like a 16 year old) said that he needed to go up to a friend's house in the afternoon to help retrieve a ball from some man's yard on behalf of a third friend. It took me a long time to get to the bottom of what was going on, but in essence, a year 6 had kicked his favourite football over the school fence and into someone's garden. He was very upset about it. So my son and another slightly older boy had promised to go and retrieve it for him after school.

I found this quite remarkable as my son is fairly shy. When I asked him what he was going to say to the old man who's house it was, he said that his friend was going to do the talking and that he was going to do the fetching. He wanted permission to go off and run this errand.

I said I couldn't let him go off with a friend (who I didn't know) to a house (which I didn't know) to a man (who I didn't know) all on his own. But I promised him that we could go and get the ball and that I would simply be in the background.

I was so impressed. He went to his friend's house (he's not a close friend, just someone at school with him), knocked confidently on the door, went with the friend to two houses (they weren't sure which house the ball was in), the friend asked very politely if they could get the ball, the two of them found it, they thanked the man and left. My son then went to the year 6's house, knocked on his door and returned the ball to the boy's father.

It might sound like nothing. But it was the first time he's ever shown this level of independence and confidence, not to mention thoughtfulness. I was genuinely gobsmacked. And so proud that he'd made a promise to a friend and followed through with it.

It also occurred to me how close I'd been to saying no to the whole escapade as it had all seemed so complicated when he tried to explain it to me, which would have meant that I'd be the reason he couldn't fulfil a promise. It reminded me again of how important it is to listen to your children and not just automatically say 'No' just because what they want to do doesn't fit into your pre-arranged plans.

This morning, my children:
- ate their breakfast without complaint
- took dirty plates and milk cups to the kitchen
- got themselves dressed
- packed book bags
- cleaned teeth
- found library books
- tidied the toy room

ALL WITHOUT ME EVEN ASKING!

You could have knocked me down with a feather. I have no idea what has inspired this new, marvellous behaviour but long may it last.

To put the cherry on top, when I dropped 6 year old at school today, he ran off with his friends without a backward glance, so I called out a goodbye to him. He waved at me, was about to run off with his friends, before he turned back, came out to me, gave me the biggest hug and kiss (in front of all his friends), said 'I love you mommy' and then ran off.

What a lovely start to my day.

Do you have a novel in you?

For as long as I can remember, I've said that one day I will write a book. I just have had no idea what it is going to be about.

There was a moment when I lived in New York that I thought I had something. I was crossing 5th avenue with all the traffic and people zooming by, millions of busy ants. Like a bolt from the blue, I realised that I was ordinary. Just a person, no-one exceptional. Not terrible, but just another face in the crowd. Someone who hopefully would live a happy and contented life, possibly stirring things up a bit, making a difference, but probably not setting the world on fire. And it occurred to me that maybe that was my book: The Startling Reality of Being Ordinary.

But I couldn't flesh the idea out. I got stuck. What happens to this ordinary person? Does she simply come to terms with being ordinary? And if so, wouldn't that make for a terribly dull novel? Does she do something remarkable? What's the story? I told a colleague at the time about it (he had aspirations of being an author) and he said: "God, not another chick lit book." And just like that, I felt that door had closed.

Then after the birth of my first son, I started writing down my thoughts, thoughts that I felt sure could turn into something. Because the process of becoming a mother is so utterly remarkable that it must be worthy of capturing. Somehow. But muffled by sleep deprivation, my thoughts became cloudy and woolly and then lost altogether. And in hindsight I'm glad they did, because there are so many novels just like this, where the author has discovered the amazement of motherhood and felt compelled to share it with others, only to find that several billion other people on the planet have gone through the exact same thing and it's not that remarkable after all.

A few years later, frustrated beyond belief by my children's incredibly annoying habits, I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and knocked out two children's stories about two incredibly annoying children and their long suffering mother. They rhymed and everything. But they probably aren't what children want to read and the rhythm is clunky. They're still saved on this very pc, but I am not sure they will ever become more than folders in my directory.

I feel as though I've just gone through a library-ful of life experiences in the last few years with rich fodder for novels, yet nothing has as yet sparked me into creating something that has genuine potential. Mostly, it's because life takes over. I don't have time to flesh out characters and storylines, plots and intrigue.

I find reading any books - children's or adult fiction - both invigorating and slightly depressing. Ideas within books remind me (daily) about what else I could do, they trigger story ideas and re-ignite my determination to write something. Yet I always feel slightly dejected about the fact that the book I've just read is one less story idea open to me. And the fact that they've managed to do it and I haven't. Yet.

I'm probably making little sense (it's late) but I guess that's why I blog. I don't do it because I want to be a top rated blogger or try to earn a living from it. It's simply a way for me to capture those fleeting thoughts that stray through my head. Thoughts that could fit into a novel somewhere or somehow, but right now are best jotted down for that one day when they slot neatly together and present themselves as the novel I always knew was waiting within.