Friday, 29 January 2016

My weekly musings (AKA a load of twaddle)

This week has been a really odd one. The most awful thing was my cousin's funeral on Wednesday. She died aged 57 of cancer. Bloody unfair to her and her three daughters, all in their 20s, two of them with children, who also lost their dad a few years ago. Susan had just rekindled her relationship with her former husband and that in itself is unfair. It's all just wrong.

January is a hellish month for us; of course Ben's birthday in the middle of it is a joy, but why did he have to be born three weeks after Christmas? No sooner have we got the decorations down, eaten three chocolate oranges a week and broken weak Dry January resolves than it's time to celebrate our son and heir's special day. Now it's the end of the month and I feel like my year can finally start. I know this happens every year, but I just forget! I need to put in my diary reminders for next year. "Lost your marbles?" on January 12th would help. "Find them now" on 1st February. Maybe the plot might reapear around mid February?

I'm meeting some girls tonight for a takeaway curry. We've already been messaging about all of us either having had a meltdown, being on the verge of one or ignoring the fact that one is going on by not talking about it. I asked a leading question for tonight's discussion - How do you ask for help when you don't know what to ask for? Predictably no answers are forthcoming as I'm sure the others are the same as me. I just don't know how to ask for help because I usually don't know what I need help with. I've been overwhelmed with work this last month, not actual workload, just being on top of organising and covering for other people on courses or just away. I was scared stiff I'd not be in the classroom I was supposed to be in. I planned each week, kept my diary meticulously up to date and wrote lists of things to do. I did only miss one day - luckily I found out in advance - and it turns out, we don't think I was actually informed so it wasn't my fault! This, I find now by writing it, is more stressful than the thing I thought I'd be stressed out by. (Which was marking two sets of books for maths and English three times a week for the whole of the month, on top of what I do normally.) I don't know if anyone will have any answers for me, I guess we all struggle with asking for help. I'm fine asking physical things, like "Can Ben stay with you overnight as we are off to a funeral?" but I think saying "This is too much" is too hard. Or possibly only becomes apparently after it actually has been too much. I'm sure we will have fun discussing though!

Sunday, 24 January 2016

The joys of getting ready for school

I realised last term that my stress point is leaving the morning to go to school and work. I work in school so being late is not an option. At all. I'm fine leaving for work, it's just Ben leaving for school that stresses me out. It's the "Mum, I need to take my footbal in today" comment five minutes before we leave. Or the "Where is your coat Ben?", "I don't know, I must've left it at school yesterday" etc. 

We are not the most organised, but we are certainly not disorganised. Organised chaos mabe. My idea  was always to get ready the night before. School bag was in the right area, school clothes out, and shoes and coat should be in the right place because surely Ben would've put them there the night before? Whilst searching at T-2 minutes, it becomes apparently that he didn't put them there at all. In fact he left them at his friend Max's. Great. 

I know this is not rocket science (I hate that phrase), but I really thought I was "getting ready the night before". I wasn't as organised as a fellow NCTer, who used to even get the breakfast out in the bowls on the table, covered over with cling film, granted, but I wasn't bad.

It had taken me nearly 45 years to realise that I don't like change. I am fine with my routine. I can get Ben and myself off to (different) school(s). It's just when he throws the curved football at me that I lose it. And I mean lose it. Sometimes when we leave the front door, we high five and Ben says to me 'Today was great Mum, we didn't argue!"

Nana suggested to me that I help him get ready. She advises in her usual non-accusing way, just something she'd noticed. It might help, you never know. It did at bit. We would spend about half an hour every evening getting ready, which meant me shouting three orders, Ben forgetting them and then us descending into another row. So it just moved the row from the morning to the night before!

Grandma, in her "have you considered" way, suggested me writing a list for Ben the night before, then removing myself from the situation, with a cup of tea, and giving him some time to do it. Guess what? A combination of the two grannies' suggestions works perfectly. I write a list on a whiteboard, carry on with my own jobs, he gets ready, rubs them off and has ultimate responsibility. Who knew!

Sunday, 10 January 2016

From clearing out to nights out

A tricky first week back for reasons too many to mention, none of which horrendous on their own, but when you have about five of them at the same time, it makes for a muddled Humdrum. I found that sorting out Ben's clothes really cleared my mind. It'd been on my to do list for ages, but like all lists, never actually being ticked off. All received by the British Heart Foundation. 
So from clearing out to actually going out. Ben had a sleepover at school on Friday, so we took the chance to go out for dinner. After last week's shenanigans, I'd sort of decided to do Dry January (affect voice a la Shaun Keaveny) but bumping in to Emma in Gun Wharf put paid to that! Actually I do her an injustice, I'd already ordered a bottle of Prosecco before I spotted her and her boyfriend. The last time we'd both been to that restaurant was together for a McCloskey Christmas meal. You know, the one where I took Ben to see Father Christmas the next day and was slighlty unwell. Yes, that one. We were much more mature this time, all grown up now, talking about schools and stuff. Plus ca change...