Making it to the Top of My Own List

I' m not usually an embracer of New Year.  Don't get me wrong, I don't hide away with a multipack of cheese n onion, but I've never got excited about it. I've certainly had some fun times. The year of the garlic with K and Sister was good, but by god Blackpool is cold at New Year! There were a few good Blackpool New Years, although the one I was told I looked like Monica Lewinsky could have been better - a thought that C no doubt echoes seeing she was told she looked like Cilla Black! I'm sure she was the only red head that sprang to mind. And the millennium was good. Despite my disaster haircut, the one that someone said made me look like Viv Windsor from Emmerdale, the photos of C dancing on the bar are some of my favourites! And of course there were some rubbish nights, where the over inflated promise of New Year deflated like an old party balloon. But I always gave it a go, some years picking up some good memories, some years picking up sore feet and an empt...

I bought sparkly shoe decorations for the tree. Daughter and I chose them. Husband said there was nothing Christmassy about shoes, and I said quite the opposite.   I said I always used to buy new shoes for Christmas. And a new bag. And a new dress. And...   Because Christmas used to be completely different. It used to be all about me! For me at least. It was about the nights out and the clothes, and new stuff and fun.   And now it's all about daughter.   And of course it should be, because she's small and full of wonder and delightful to buy dresses and shoes and hair things for, and of course give Santa a helping hand. I wouldn't trade all the fun we had in the old days for a single second of watching her beautiful face shine with delight when she sees her pile of presents.   None of it. Not the carefree single days, not the early days of romance, not a thing. We get more excited than her. At five and a half, she's still never woken before us on Christmas m...

I’m 39 today.   39!   How can that be?   It’s so…mature sounding.   And altogether all too near to (whisper it) 40.   How can I be nearly 40?!   It’s so grown up, so responsible.   I don’t remember setting myself any ‘by I’m 40’ goals, and isn’t that a good job with only 364 days to achieve them if I did.   I’ve only just got my head round a fake date of birth to give if I was asked my (under 18) age in the pub, and now I’ve got a year left to be in my thirties. I was 13 when Mother turned 40, and it seemed like a terribly old age.   She didn’t seem terribly old, although I do remember giving some grief about all my friends having younger mums (I was the youngest and they were all the oldest), but it seemed like a ripe old age to me.   And here I am, one year away from it with a five year old, and not feeling any kind of ripe old age at all. I suppose I shouldn’t declare my age publicly.   What if I want to pretend I‘m...

There was a programme on last year called ‘Gates’.   It was a comedy about a set of parents who knew each other from the school gates.   Daughter had only just started school and I was able to take her and experience the gates for myself, and that programme terrified me.   I was off work under unpleasant circumstances and not my usual robust self, but I was terrified of meeting some of these characters.   One- up-manship, trying to run off with husbands…what was I letting myself in for?! But in actual fact, I’ve made some lovely school gate friends, and I don’t even do the school gates now. What’s lovely is that between us, we manage to piece together the goings on at school.   She said what?   He did what?   Our children have us like amateur Miss Marple’s on our own, imagining the worst, but a couple of well- placed texts, Facebook messages or if it’s possible, get togethers, and we work out a more likely version of the truth. I rely on a co...

There’s a Christmassy chill about today.   Something in the air on my lunchtime dash about town made me feel festive for a passing minute. When can one start to feel festive?   I think not until December.   This may well be because I have a December birthday and when I was a child there was no Christmas activity until my birthday cards had come down.   That served me well until I had Daughter, and then suddenly that didn’t leave enough time to get it all done. Husband and I had a Christmas shopping day on Wednesday.   We hit the big city (Liverpool) and we hit it hard.   I shopped like it was Christmas Eve, and with a couple of exceptions, pretty much ticked off the list.   We were the couple people didn’t want to sit next to on the train, so surrounded by bags were we.   And I have to admit, I feel a bit smug.   No horrendous Saturday shopping for us, we can relax, fill the house with festive smells like mulled wine and watch Chris...

There was a news article in the summer suggesting that we begin turning into our parents at 32.   I’m 38 now, so it got me wondering if I’ve well and truly become my mother. The thing that started me wondering was when I signed the slip volunteering to send homemade cakes into school for the school fair.   I had flashes of the scene in ‘I Don’t Know How She Does it!’ where the mother ‘distresses’ some shop-bought mince pies for the daughter to take to school as her contribution to the cake stall.   I can bake a nice enough cake, but I know already that the night before I’ll be up until all hours finishing it. How does that suggest I’ve become my mother?   It doesn’t, to be honest, because my mum would have also ticked all the ‘I can help out’ boxes that accompanied the notes.   Parties, Christmas Fairs, trips, reading, embroidery…my mum helped out at them all. Daughter would be lucky if I turned into my mother.   Without doubt, she was (is!) a ...

I get lost all the time.   You wouldn’t believe how lost I can get.   It’s like I lack any kind of internal compass.   It surprises me, because Father knows how to get everywhere, and equipped me in all my pre sat nav travelling with clear directions, generally punctuated by pub landmarks.   Sister is relatively savvy in a local way.   Mother is quietly skilled, but me – blindfold me and spin me around in the living room and I’d get lost on the way to the kitchen. It’s so bad that I have actually relied on Daughter (who’s 5, remember), to point out the way.   We were off on a family day trip and were setting the sat nav up, and she asked why we needed it.   So as not to get lost, I told her.   She looked at me with wide eyed incredulity.   ‘But we’ve been before!’.   So you see how challenged I am. I’ve had a couple of corkers in the space of a week.   They were both on a Thursday, and so I will be driving straight home fr...

Daughter is poorly.   I should have realised she was under the weather when she didn’t join in at the party we went to on Saturday afternoon at all, but being the unsociable flower she can be, I just thought it was par for the course .   Then Auntie T and Big Cousin C visited, and she was on top form, impressing them with her interpretative dance routines. On Sunday, she woke up at a time that should be illegal at the weekend.   Surely 7.20am is still the middle of the night on Sunday?   And why is it that I have to drag her out of (our) bed on a school day?   By 9.30am she was asleep again and our suspicions were roused.   She had a brief spell of cheerful wakefulness an hour later and then bam!   Asleep again.   She missed her new ballet class, much to the apparent distress of her Little Cousin E, who has been going to the class for an age.   And that was the hope of a pleasant Sunday gone.   She spent the day crying or sleeping. ...

I went to see Peter Gabriel on Friday. Those of you who know me will know that he’s not my musical cup of tea, but he is Husband’s, and as he’s sat through his fair share of Morrissey gigs for me (apart from the one where he walked off stage, and no one got to sit through that, reluctantly or otherwise!) I braced my knees for being squashed by the seat in front and wondered how many songs I’d know. The concert was a 25 th anniversary concert – it’s 25 years since the album ‘So’ was released , and yes, for those who remember it being released, hasn’t the time flown!   But this silver anniversary celebration meant that the audience was very… middle aged.   I like to think I was one of the youngest people there (even though I know I wasn’t!).     If you’d wandered into the arena by mistake, you could have been forgiven for thinking the event was actually the Specsavers convention, so many pairs of rimless glasses were in attendance.   The lighting techni...

Holidays, breaks, mini-breaks, even days out imply happy times, relaxation, a break from the old routine.   And eventually they are, but first you have to overcome a big hurdle…packing. I used to holiday in sunny climes with Sister and various friends, usually for a fortnight, and it wasn’t a success if the suitcase wasn’t labelled ‘Caution – heavy’ at the departure airport.   14 days and nights away takes a lot of clothes when you’re in your twenties.   But never once did any of us face excess charges, or spend time packing and unpacking.   In it went, off it went and happy holidays.   Alas, Family Packing has a completely different strategy. Budget airlines have a lot to answer for.   Holidaying in my twenties was different full stop.   Off we’d go to our local Lunn Poly or Going Places and book our package.   Not now.   We’re all independent travellers these days, and half the time that involves a budget airline who really just...

L asked me a (presumably rhetorical) question last week.   She asked me, ‘Where has the time gone?’.   If anyone should be able to answer that, I should, given that we’ve known each other since we were 11 and now I’m staring down the barrel of 39 (L would require me to note at this point that she is six months younger than me and not 39 until 2014). But it did start me wondering.   Sometimes I’m shocked by the face that looks back at me from the mirror.   Where did those dark circles come from (5 years without an uninterrupted nights’ sleep probably, thanks Daughter)?   And the lines!   My new office has the cruellest light.   I sit side on to a big window and have the reality check of my wrinkles in natural daylight every time I look in the mirror to refresh   my lipstick.   You know when you’re looking rough when your 5 year old suggests putting some makeup on.   I was driving Daughter to her 9am ballet class and hadn’t had time t...

I wasn’t pushed as a child.   Encouraged, supported, but never pushed.   So, in that supportive environment I got myself a decent set of qualifications and along the way picked up a fair bit of ambition.   I wanted to be good at what I did, and I wanted to be more.   I think there are a few ex-students who would say I was good at what I did, and I loved teaching.   Then I got into management, and the plan was fairly clear; I was groomed to be the next Director, with a longer term view of Assistant or Vice Principal, and maybe one day Principal.   Then things changed. The first change came in a little pink bundle weighing 7lb 7oz.   The second change came much later in a far less attractive form, and changed the plans and directions of lot of people.   But they don’t deserve space in my blog, and my legal training reins me in from saying any more! So, the pink bundle.   She took my plans and ambition, slobbered on it and gave it back...

I’m going out with the girls on Saturday.   We haven’t been out for months, and the last time we did it was a civilised affair with cars and a distinct absence of wine.   This time though, we’re out on the town.   New dresses have been bought (what, this old thing?!) and I hear that Z has already started her beautification.   I won’t be far behind her, with a home manicure planned for this evening after Daughter has gone to bed, Husband has gone for his weekly cerebral challenge at the pub quiz with Father, and all is quiet. I think any thirty-something working mother will agree that sometimes a night out can be more effort than it might seem worth.   Our night out was planned by strategic facebook discussion and put down on the calendar (pen, not pencil).   By our standards, it was fairly easy, and essential that we all get together now to sort out the biggie – the Christmas Night Out.   Husbands have all been instructed they will be staying in...

When  I've lost some weight, I'll buy some new clothes. When Daughter is a bit older, she'll stop sneaking in our bed at night. ...and will eat the same food as us ...and will stop following me to the toilet. When I've organised those drawers, I won't let them get messy again. When I've paid off my credit card, I'll never use it again. When... More lists.  One of my favourite time wastes is the 'when I win the lottery' game.  Best played in particularly boring meetings when you're very certain you won't be called on to contribute.  At your own peril, of course.  When I win the lottery (and I don't mean one of those measly £2.80 wins you can get on the Euromillions - how do they even work that out?!) won't life be grand.  I'll never cook another meal again.  Ironing - I laugh at creases as someone else magics them away.  I'll do each end of the school day, apart from when I'm off having a spa day, of course.  ...

I've never thought about blogging before.  If I'm honest, I'm not the most tech-savvy person around.  But I was shown how to do it in work and thought - why not!  I can't imagine that anyone would want to read my blog, but then again I read other people's. I'm still not entirely sure how to reach the world, but I think I've made it look pretty and so there's something ticked off the list. My question is 'will I ever make it to the top of my own list?'.  When I was young and single, I was always top of my list.  Then I got married, and I had someone else to put on the list.  I still made it in the top quarter of my list though.  Then I got a more important job, and work things started creeping on the list.  To have separate home and work lists or not?  Can I manage two lists?  I can never manage two bingo cards (eyes down!).  And then came the addition.  My beautiful girl.  She didn't intrude on the list too much when s...