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I don’t think I’m alone

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Every two to three months I will have a total meltdown, the air will be blue, I will be upset, there will be shouting and I will seriously consider leaving my husband and children.  And by leave I mean not show up at dinner time and sulk in the bedroom with a bar of Dairy Milk.

Now I can’t be sure but I think it’s hormonal.  Generally my period comes about 48 hours later.  So in a way it’s not a real meltdown (can’t believe I am giving my husband ammunition for the next time this happens) but it’s actually just a chemical imbalance in my body.  Have to say it does feel a lot in my head though too.

The frustration I feel on that fateful day is always about not having time for myself.  Again it’s probably my body telling me a little bit of ‘me time’ would be a good thing as it’s pretty busy with all them there hormones.  But what it feels like is my life is too much, the routine is claustrophobic and I can’t cope.  Whilst these messages are hormone induced they haven’t come from nothing and probably shouldn’t be ignored.  So I make plans after these “episodes” – exercise more, let Gareth do more on the weekend, don’t stress the little things.

And today is a new day.  I know that my little children will grow up and in some ways it will get easier, but then I won’t have the privilege of being the only one to spend all their waking moments with them, I will have to share them.  So I’ll take the tantrums with the laughter, the food on the floor for the wide open mouths, the endless games of hide and seek for a giggle on a slide.  My life isn’t so bad after all.  I mean look at him.

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One thing that helps me to not panic is the thought I’m not alone.  Somewhere in the world right now, whilst I’m actually together and enjoying the day, there is a mum somewhere feeling like if her two year old squashes one more spoonful of home made risotto in her hand she’s going to run out of the house screaming.  She’s not alone either.

Gold on the streets

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My sister is going to be so proud of me when she reads this one.

This morning I was on my usual quest “to get fresh air” with the children and had Jackson in a back pack and Minnie in the pushchair.  As I was walking along I could see walking towards us, a lady probably in her seventies smiling, no beaming at us.  So I stopped.  Yes that’s right Bud I stopped to talk to an old person in the street.

I am so glad I did.  Turns out she was gorgeous.  A doctor who had never married but had spent twenty years of her life working in hospitals in South Africa.  She owned a house out there and was going back for a year.  This angel also owned a house in Kent and Christchurch and best of all, she thought my children were lovely (first way to my heart). We swapped names (Mary is hers) which led into a long conversation about the Scottish, Welsh and English.  Mary said that the Scots (from which she descended) had rings of gold in their eyes (which she had) giving them a beautiful aesthetic (which hers had).

In the end Mary insisted on getting my number and said she would call when she returned to Christchurch in a year.  It seemed like the thing she was most excited about returning for was to see Jackson walking.  My children and I were literally delighted in by this wonderful person.

I know that my sister would have made Mary her BFF there and then, and I wouldn’t blame her but I don’t know that I could go that far.  Have to say though, I hope she does call….

House buying sucks

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How do you prepare yourself for disappointment, without just bringing forward the feeling of disappointment?

Gareth and I are still trying to buy a house in Christchurch.  After a huge search across the city, we settled on a lovely house on a pretty street in a not so desirable area of town (due to liquifaction not crime rates).

In New Zealand there is quite a formal procedure to put in your offer, you have to sign a contract that awards you two weeks to get all your ducks in line for a definite sale.  Once you get to that point there is no going back.

HOWEVER if in that two week period your building inspection flags up a bundle of problems with the house, then everything stays not so definite.  Oddly the issues on this house aren’t earthquake related and are more to do with the age of house.  Maybe New Zealand isn’t so different to the UK.  Tomorrow is the 14th day so decisions must be made and I fear we are going back into money negotiations that will probably result in a stale mate of they won’t pay for the work to be done and we can’t.

Going back to house searching my heart is sinking, I think this house is the only one I like in the city.  It doesn’t help that in the two weeks we’ve had I’ve joined a library, settled on a nursery, discovered parks and found out about some potential friends, all in the area of this house….totally gutted.

Still we’ve had miracles in the past so I have hope and hope is the antidote to disappointment.

Giddyup we’re homeward bound

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Minnie had her first pony ride today and she loved it!  As soon as she was on HP (Harry Potter) she shouted “giddyup” periodically to remind her stead who was in charge.  All those “Nimminnie knee” sessions have paid off Pops!  What was most curious was her fascination with the horse poos along the way, “there’s a poo” was said just as often as “giddyup”.

Her enjoyment of it made me so proud.  I find that it’s generally when my children do something I wasn’t expecting them to do that I feel most proud.

I think I had my first pony ride when I was five or six.  My dad used to take me to lessons every Saturday through my childhood and then bought me a horse, Moose, when I was in my teens.  At about 15 I realised that boyfriends and horses didn’t mix – I think I’ve been on a horse about three times since then.  My dad still owns horses!

So I’m excited about the prospect of Minnie enjoying horses, learning to ride, muck out and make some good girl friends.  I get that this won’t be for few years yet but once a month having a little trot round the field should give her enough of a taste to see if she wants to commit.

Now begins the minefield of encouraging your children to take up hobbies that they enjoy without pushing your own preferences and ambitions too much that they grow to resent their weekend activities!  I’m really excited to find out what they will enjoy and excel in.

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Why am I so passive aggressive?

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I’ve noticed recently that there is an ugly side to my character that has snuck in somewhere along the way.  It is, that I sometimes use passive aggressive ways to make a point.

For instance, me and the children joined a library this week.  We were picking our first books, I took a while and chose two to start us off.  As I was putting the coats back on the children to begin our exit to the car, I turned around to see that a woman had picked up one of the books and added it to her pile.  At that point I had a three choices of how to deal with this;

A/ realise it was an innocent theft on her part, I’d put my two books near a pile of others so she obviously just thought it was fair game – put it down to an unfortunate mistake, pick another and then be on my way.

B/ approach the lady with a smile and explain that I’d chosen this book, had set it down to dress my children and request I have it back

C/ mutter (in a voice clearly audible to lady) to Minnie (what makes it worse is I bring my daughter into this foul play!) that one of our books seems to have disappeared so we better pick another.

I chose C and the lady saw through my act immediately.  Apologising harshly she threw the book back on the chair where she found it, instructing me to take it.  Immediately I knew I should have gone for options A or B.  But why didn’t I?  Why would I go for the passive aggressive option instead of simple, polite confrontation?  If I’d just asked nicely for the book back, she would have probably simply given it to me.  Or if not, and she contested that she now had it, I could have walked away knowing I did the most honest thing and I wouldn’t be just a little disgusted by my underhand tactics.

I’ve been thinking about why I pick the passive aggressive option, is it because I am scared of confrontation, and why am I scared?  Does this mean I am scared of people and what they think of me?  Or is it because I want a fight and I’m trying to pick one in a more socially acceptable way? If this is the case, why do I want a fight?

I think whatever it is that causes me to be like this will probably be to do with the stress of moving countries, or tiredness from having two little children, maybe it’s simply because I am British or worse than these, some “woe is me” attitude is still left over from having to do IVF.

Until I find the root of my behaviour I will just have to treat the symptoms, i.e. starve my passive aggression.  I vow the next time I get an opportunity to confront someone or something I do it the open and honest way.  See how that works out.

Here endeth my first blog confession – I have a feeling there will be more!

Potty Update

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For anyone following this blog regularly, I thought you should know (mostly so Minnie gets some credit) that my first born has had four days of no accidents and has already upgraded from potty to toilet.

Now I want to know how do you stop having to dole out smarties every time they succeed?  Her teeth will fall out!