Hi, just a quick introduction about me and what my site is about. I am a 50 something woman, a woman in my prime, some would say. I would say just a woman, getting on with life and learning and discovering along the way.
I like to write. I write about anything and everything. It all depends on my mood, on if I feel I have something to say or if something just pops into my head and turns out to be the first line of a new poem.
I like to write about my life, my experiences or my perceptions of things. I have no distinctive style or agenda, just thoughts, the good, the bad and the ugly and I like to relay them here. Whether it is a relationship with ourselves, our families, our friends, or the world and planet around us, we all have relationships and we all have an opinion, an observation or an impact in those relationships.
I hope you enjoy this journey with me and I hope you can relate with some of what I have to say or at least that you may get a bit of a giggle sometimes. I wish you all the best in all your Relay shun ships…….
Who decides whether you are fat or thin, chunky or skinny. Are you influenced by what others perceive you to be, or do you decide?
I’m getting fat. Not fat, fat exactly, but fatter than I was. Having said that, what do people consider fat?
I was always skinny. The skinny bitch. I didn’t think I was skinny, but I didn’t think I was fat. I was just me and my size was just my size. I was lean, yes but I didn’t think anything about it because, like I said, I was just me.
So now, I am still me, just a bigger version of me than I was, when I was younger, so, am I fat?
No, not really, though I do have a spare tyre, my upper arms are definitely bigger and softer, my thighs are bigger too and they wobble, they didn’t used to wobble. My ass, well let’s say, now I have an ass, so before I had a small ass, never the less, it was still an ass. My face is rounder and I have more than one chin. When I was the skinny bitch, I could, if I tried hard enough and put my face down towards my neck, make myself have more than one chin,
It is called skin, lean with pockets of fat cells in it and maybe some muscle. I used to have muscle, when I was the skinny bitch. I did lots of hand stands and cart wheels and other gymnastic tricks. I loved gymnastics at school. My friend and I were both good at it. We were the skinny bitches.
We remained the skinny bitches even after we had children without even trying.
I went even thinner after my first baby, all that breastfeeding. It gave her colic. I thought it was what I was eating, so in the end I ate very little. She still had colic. I put her on the bottle as I had to eat and something had to give. She took the bottle and the colic went, but the constipation came. She still screamed in pain.
It was a lose-lose situation for her, and a win lose for me. Win because I could now eat again, the cabbage, potatoes, salad cream etc. that everyone said was probably giving her colic. I lost because she was still screaming and I felt it was my fault for putting her on the bottle and the poor child was still in pain….
I started to get fat when I was in my early 40’s. Actually I think I started to change, ever so slightly, from my early 30’s, I think I gained about 7 pound from when I was in my teens. I didn’t try to gain these pounds, they just arrived, slowly and without much encouragement or notice from me. I was still a skinny bitch you see.
By my early 40’s I had gained another 7 pound. Still I think I looked pretty good in the mirror, even though, that is a whole stone in a 10-year period. I was beginning to ‘fill out’. I was also noticing that my skin was changing, slightly. I was getting fine lines and the elasticity was beginning to loosen I suppose. That’s ok, it does that with age.
By my early 50’s I had gained another 14 pound and from 50 to 55 another 7 pound. So from my teens I had gained two and a half stone and like they say, it crept up on me.
I am not blind. I could see my body changing shape. My face, rounder, my boobs fuller, my belly definitely fatter, my arms, my legs, my whole body. Still, I was me. I am not fat. I am fatter than my skinny bitch days, yes, but I am not fat. I don’t know when I will consider myself fat but I know this. Some people, thinner than me, will look at me and say that I am fat.
Some people, bigger than me, will look at me and say that I am skinny.
I will say, I have more fat on me than when I was skinny, but, I am still me and I am happy with who I am. Like my skin that is ageing, my hair that is greying, my body is changing as it naturally does with age.
I am glad to be ageing, it means that I am alive and that I can chose, every day, what I do with my day. I can choose to look in the mirror and say ‘hey, you are fifty something and still fabulous’ or I could criticise how I look and feel bad about myself. I chose the former not the latter.
The moral of this story is, just because you are the size that you are, you have to decide whether or not, you are happy with you. So long as you are healthy and have a healthy view of yourself in your own mind and can embrace your own body, wobbly bits and all, or bones and all, don’t let it consume you.
Other people will always have their opinions, it’s either colic or constipation, skinny bitch or fatty. You decide, yourself, what label you want to put on you……
Big boys don’t cry…… This to me is a damaging statement, because boys have feeling too and like us girls should be able to be free to express how they feel…. right?
I collected my grandson from school last week. He thought he was staying in after-school club because his mother was working, but I rang and told her that I would collect him early and bring him over to his aunts house, so he could see and play with his cousins. He hadn’t seen them in a few weeks as both my daughters have been busy with work and other commitments.
When he was in the car I asked him if he was surprised that he was being collected early and he said he was, because he thought he would have to stay in all day. He is only 6 years old, I might add. He also had to be dropped to school early for breakfast club, so that his mother could get to work on time, so it can be a long day for him.
As I looked at him through the rear view mirror, I thought he looked pale, tired and also he looked like he had been crying. I asked him if he had been crying to which he replied no. I said ‘oh you look tired, maybe that is it’. He confirmed yes he was a bit tired as he had been in school for breakfast club.
I asked him how he felt when the teacher told him that ‘nanny’ was collecting him early. He then said that he was happy and excited and that he remembers now that he did cry then, ‘happy tears’ and that he could feel the tears coming again now because we were going to see his cousins and he was happy about that.
This made me feel both happy and sad. I know lots and lots of working mothers have to avail of child care so they can work, before school and after school. I had to do it myself when my girls were little. It’s not easy to do, to juggle, but it is the life for many working mothers. I couldn’t help but feel sad a little because it is a long day for him. I also felt happy that he could express himself. He is very good at articulating what he thinks and feels.
I told him it was OK to cry, whether they are happy or sad tears, as that is the Emotion, he was feeling at that time. ‘What’s emotion’ he asked me, looking back at me in the mirror. I explained that when we feel happy or sad, angry, excited or frightened for example, our body reacts somehow to that emotion.
‘So when you were told you were leaving early you felt happy and excited and your body reacted by your eyes welling up and having happy tears. Likewise, sometimes when you feel angry, you might shout and your body might also want to slam a door, punch the pillow or throw the toy’ I said, eyeing him carefully in the mirror as we drove.
‘You might also cry because you feel angry because you are frustrated, same as when you feel sad and upset you may cry. That is your body’s way of dealing with the feeling and that is what ’emotion’ is.
I explained how the body also reacts when hungry, in that it lets us know by our tummy growing and rumbling, that it is your body telling you it needs food.
‘oh, he said, so sometimes I get ‘hangry’ when I want food and so does mammy’ he said, matter of fact. ‘ Yes I said, that’s right, when you are hungry you very well may get a little agitated and angry, because it’s your bodies way of saying ‘feed me’.
I explained that emotions are good to have as it helps people see or read how another person is feeling by the way the person looks or by the way a person is acting and that lets us help, if any help is needed.
I asked him to think of his mother and how that makes him feel. He closed his eyes, his face softened and he smiled saying ‘I love my mammy’ as he opened his eyes looking at me in the mirror.
See, that is emotion I said, and your face, your voice and your body all reacted to that feeling, so don’t be afraid to cry, whether happy or sad or angry tears because that is just your body reacting to your feeling and that shows other people how you are.
It made me think about boys and crying and how they are sometimes told ‘big boys don’t cry’ or man up as they get older, especially into their teen years. This in particular concerns me. Why is it viewed that it is OK for girls to cry, but not boys.
I am quite the feminist and all for strong independent women and for equality and parity , but I also believe it is OK for girls/women to cry, AND also for boys/men.
They say that women can ‘cope’ a lot better with life’s stresses because they talk to their female friends and ‘offload’ about how they are feeling. A problem shared and all that.
Shouldn’t we be teaching our boys that not only is it OK to cry, it is essential, so as not to suppress that natural emotion that they are feeling, for to do so, they are denying a fundamental biological process. If they denied themselves food, when they are hungry, they would starve.
With so many mental health problems, especially amongst young men, isn’t it crucial that, from a very young age, we not only say it is OK to cry, WHETHER happy or sad tears, but it is essential and normal, as it is the body’s way of dealing with the feeling?
I would hate to think that my grandsons, when they are going through the rigours of the teenage years, when they are trying to navigate puberty, emotions, fitting in and identity, that they would feel that they cannot openly cry, without fear of being called a ‘sissy’ a ‘girl’ a ‘whimp’ for example, by their peers. It makes me want to cry!
Why is is OK for girls and not boys? What is wrong with showing emotion. In my mind, it is a sign of strength, not weakness to be able to express oneself, in order to be true to oneself and to feel whole. To suppress any emotion is damaging and the last thing we want to do to ourselves, to our children, is to damage them, right?
So, I say to all the boys out there, when your body wants to cry, whether they are happy or sad tears, go ahead and cry the same as you would laugh, if you saw something funny, the same as you would feed your body, when it is hungry. Not only does it give you a release to cry, it allows someone close to you to try to help and share the burden/problem with you in the sad tears as well as the joy in the happy tears.
There is pure strength in being in touch with your feelings and in my mind any boy/man than can openly cry and express or try to express how he is feeling, is a man I would want in my life, because it lets me know he is honest, open and compassionate.
If anything I prefer dogs over cats. Having said that, I wouldn’t be cruel or leave them out. So what do you do with a stray???
We always had dogs, growing up, in our our house. Most of them your usual mongrel or mixed breed, whichever you prefer to call them. We loved them and they loved us.
When my eldest girl was 8 years old I promised her I would get her a dog. We were moving to Ireland and I intended to be home more, taking a part time job, instead of working full time. This would be a factor in getting a dog, so it wouldn’t be on its own all day.
We go a lovely mixed breed dog and called her Sally. Half sheep dog half collie and she looked like an old English Sheep dog. She was such a loyal and friendly dog and we had her for 10 years. It was pure heart break when she died. So much so I swore I would never get another.
People often say that after drinking too much and getting so drunk. They swear they will never touch the drink again. Like the drunk, with his self promised promises, I did indeed relent and get another dog a few years after Sally died.
This time it was at the begging of my other children (twins) who at the time were 14. We got a little miniature Yorkshire terrier and called her Indiana. She was cute. Not very smart, but cute and she was loved. Sadly, she came to a very sad end and was hit by a car after getting out of the drive. It was torture and we were all devastated…. again
‘Never again’ I said, and I meant it. It is too heartbreaking.
Again, I relented. A year or so after Indiana died, my eldest asked me if I would take a little west highland terrier, who would face certain death if I didn’t….. Well that isn’t blackmail….. much!
I took the said little Westie, Jack, and he too became part of the family and stole our hearts. He was 6 months old when we got him, but by the time he was 12, he was quite ill and deteriorated very quickly. We prepared ourselves to be heartbroken again. Indeed, we were. That was 15 months ago now, and I can categorically say, I will not have another dog. It is too too sad knowing, that they will pass before you and I don’t want to set myself up again for heartache. However, watch this space!
During the years of the dogs we have also been frequented by stray cats…. It started with the farmer at the bottom of our garden. He had cats, but they would wander down to us and of course, we began to feed them as they always seemed hungry and anyway, they are good to keep the mice and rats away.
After the farmer died the cats were taken by the WSPCA to be re-homed. However the odd stray would still come and hang around our house. As we live in the Country I would feed them as they are a good deterrent for the mice and rats.
Rusty has been coming to us now for a few years. We feed him daily and tend to his medical needs when he has gotten into a scrape, but he is feral and goes away after feeding, grateful for his daily nosh. Sometimes he hangs about in the yard, but he is a bit of a loner.
About 6 months ago or so, a black cat appeared. Quite a friendly cat with a lovely shiny coat. I advertised on all the local platforms trying to find its owner but to no avail. he would come, around the same time as Rusty and then off he would trot, back down the drive and to, well I am guessing, his own home.
Cats are like that aren’t they, they like to wander off.
Anyway, not only was he coming ‘at feeding time’, he would now push rusty out of the way and start eating his food. Well, I couldn’t have that, so reluctantly, I would also put a plate out for him. I couldn’t let him watch on, and not give him anything.
Black cat, affectionately named Blacky, how original, is cheeky though and if we leave open a window, will climb in and lay up on a bed or a sofa like he is King of the hill. What a cheek!
Rusty, wouldn’t have the same amount of cheek or nerve, he is far more ‘reserved’ and not so presumptuous or impertinent as Blacky.
This morning, I went to go out the door to feed them. Both of them on the step, waiting and the black cat, actually had the nerve to slap poor old rusty in the face to get him out of the way, so he could get the lion’s share. I was utterly gobsmacked!
Because of this I wrote a little ditty….. I hope you enjoy it!
I feed these cats
They are not my cats
But aside from that, which is a fact
I feed these cats
I don’t like cats
But they are good scare the rats
So I feed the cats
So they can do that
1st came the ginger one
Feral, shy, coy
I’m only grateful, that he is a boy
Takes his food then off he goes
To where I wonder,
Then came blacky
He is black
He is a more forward cat
He is not at all shy, not one little bit
In fact, I would say, he is a cheeky little git
He pushes in first when I open the door
Knocks rusty out the way
Hoping he will get more
He is quite a greedy black cat
I cannot say much more than that
Soon as he’s fed off he goes, strutting
Wagging his tail, and swaging his but
In all the style like a cat walk model
Unlike rusty with his old man waddle
Sits on the bench like he is the boss
Licking his fur and shakes off the dross
Sits all day, til he gets a more peckish
And scratches at the door like it’s some sort of fetish
I looked out once and guess what I saw
Roland rat scurrying on all fours
Blacky the cat, didn’t even blink an eye
Let old Roland just strut on by
Am I too soft or feeding these too much
Cos I’m sure it’s nature they should hunt their lunch
Off he goes not even a hissing sermon
Coming from the cat to this passing vermin
Rusty plods back late in the evening
Head hung low, as if he’s been grieving
Jumps up on the window sill
Patiently waiting for me to give in
Black cat though has no such reserve
Can’t even open a window, cos in he will swerve
He has no shame nor decent good manners
I do protest and I don’t mean with banners
I chase him out like a cat and mouse game
I’m sure he’s laughing cos he has no shame
He’s quite cunning that little black cat
But he won’t best me you can be sure of that
Rusty comes like a big drowned rat
When the heavens open, but I let this cat
Come in side and eat his grub
He seems so grateful and I give him a rub
Mr black cat I swear has a home
He’s Just so greedy he comes here to roam
Costing me a fortune, cos I couldn’t leave him out
When I’m buying all the cat food to share it about.
Image and perceptions lead to opinions, judgements, if you will. Expression comes in many forms, but does how we interpret it say more about us ?
The Raven sweeps, though soaring high
And the spider creeps to snare the fly
To catch their prey they bide their time
Night or day they do not mind
The heron waits and sits it out
The pig berates and snorts its snout
But what is it that man must do
To catch the girl, he needs a clue
Not just to take for the night
But always and forever, to be his wife
The charm and beauty are only fleeting
Loyalty and duty are more beseeching
No cunning or tricks up his sleeve
Eyes will flicker as she leaves
Kindness, love, an enquiring mind
The girl will be happy with this kind of find
Considerate, funny and willing to work
When things get rough and make her irk
Give and take, stand close, stand back
Soon you’ll see it and get the knack
Up for the challenge, you can but try
Soon she’ll suss if you’re the guy
Do not assume a fait accompli
You must earn her trust or she’ll set you free
First perceptions when you see this image… what comes to mind in the first instance from the outside world. Then in this conflicting world of conflicting views and the conflicting self expressing himself, one will make a judgement.
My Son John
Never mind the Buzzcocks, The Clash or Johnny Rotten
We can’t go there and show up, like someone’s been forgotten
With a head that’s shaved down to the skin
A coat of leather stuck with pins
Doing the pogo to a load of noise
No, not mine, not one of my boys
We are upstanding and tell the truth
You cannot trust those other youths
Stiff little Fingers, Slaughter and the Dogs
Doing drugs and on the rob
I’ve seen them all on the TV
No, not my son, no, not he
He is a good boy, my son John
He just looks different with his fashion on
He wouldn’t do what the bad boys do
I think I know him better than you
I think I know him better than you
We can’t come visit cos he looks a mess
His hair all gone and the state of his ‘dress’
He looks like a thug, but he’s really not
He’s just going through a phase and is quick to trot
Making plans is all well and good, until life decides to throw you a curve ball…. that is a whole new story
Fail to plan, then plan to fail…. that is how the saying goes, right?
I have always lived by this motto, to a certain degree anyway. I always like to have a plan or a project, a goal to work towards. Whether it be skill based, knowledge based or pleasure based, like going on a nice little week-end away or holiday.
I like to keep evolving, growing and developing one way or another and I encourage those around me to do the same. At the same time, however, I like to be spontaneous, dive in, take a risk. Some you win, some you lose, but at least you tried.
I would rather fail by trying than regret that I didn’t try.
Years ago, my husband and I decided to try to invest. We had a lot of equity in our home and well, it was boom time, so we thought we would release some equity and buy another property abroad as an investment for our future and for our children.
Long story short, we handed over our cash to our Solicitor, who also happened to be the developer of the property we were buying. He is now very famous, here in Ireland. michael lynn, Solicitor, Developer, Gangster. He took our money and that was the last we saw of it. He did a runner with our money, the full purchase price of the ‘property’ we were buying, that of other ‘victims’ and lots of financial institutions.
We tried to be savvy, we thought we could invest in our future. We understood property value could go up or down and it was a risk we were willing to take. We thought we could trust a Solicitor. We were wrong. Having fled the country for a good few years, hiding from what he had done, he is now back, after being extradited from Brazil. I think he thought he was Johnny Briggs. He certainly seemed to want his notoriety.
That was a long time ago now, 2007, and we are still paying for that risk, but we survive. ‘We have our health, we have our home, the kids are healthy’ are what I said to my husband at the time it happened, ‘it’s only money’. We had both worked hard for what we have. I meant it. As difficult as it was to loose such a large amount of money and a picture of future we had envisioned, I had to look at what we still had.
‘Your health is your wealth’, is another saying and I would hear my parents say it all the time. They are right. If you have health, you have everything. No amount of money can replace it. Now of course, we expect, as we get older, for our health to let us down and fail us somewhat, so we have a responsibility to ourselves to not abuse our bodies with the wrong food or total lack of exercise.
We have a responsibility to not indulge in the excess. Everything in moderation, as it were. That includes stress. We all need a certain amount of stress, that is healthy, but stress in the excess, can cause untold damage to us and we may not even realise it, until it is too late.
So how do we know if we have too much stress. How do we know how much stress is healthy stress. Getting on with our day to day lives. Working, eating, relaxing, exercising, sleeping and repeat, over and over and over until one day, whilst doing this, you start to get aches and pains, you feel a little bit more sluggish. You want an extra 5 minutes in bed. Is that the time to say, enough is enough. I am over stressed.
Tell tell signs, are they always there? My husband had been feeling stressed lately, more so than usual at work especially, lots of pressures going on there. He felt so stressed he began to get chest pains, which lead to a doctor’s appointment, which lead to a hospital admission, which has lead to needing surgery, cardiac surgery. What a shock it has been for him, for me, for all who know him.
He is not yet even 60. We had made plans of what our future would look like when he retires. We hadn’t anticipated or bargained that he would ever suffer with poor health, not at this age. We thought we were clever. We thought that we had our plans for the future sorted and what we would do when he retired. He was planning on retiring a few years before retirement age, maybe 62. We thought that from that age and for the next 10 years after we would seek out an adventure and go travelling and/or trying living in another country for a while.
Having cardiac issues was not on our radar, at all. It is not predominant in his family history. His parents were in their 80’s before they needed any sort of health intervention. He is in his 50’s.
The moral of the story is, yes we can make plans and for the most part, we may be successful in executing them, but sometimes, we are thrown a curve ball and it knocks us off the path of the plan. Because of this, live life well, live in the moment, this moment, still take the risks, be spontaneous and be as healthy as you can be whilst living your day to day lives, but remember, take nothing for granted and while we are all busy working, making a living, making a better life for ourselves and our children, make sure we don’t neglect our health or put it on the back burner, because it really is our wealth.
Who is controlling whom? Who is taking responsibility and who isn’t? It’s a difficult job being a parent and a teenager!
I’m 18 now….
Childhood is really fleeting; it only lasts for 18 years. That is what we are told, according to the laws of our land.
Once we reach 18, we can drink alcohol, smoke and buy cigarettes, vote and best of all earn our own living and live by our own rules……
In the country where I live you can legally have sex at 17, so technically you can get or get someone pregnant too.
Not many 17 year olds have left home, have a full time job or are self-sufficient.
So where does the responsibility lay? Whether pregnant or not once a person is 17 or 18 and still living at home, does that give them an instant right to live their life their way, under their parent’s roof?
At 18 the parent is still paying for the house that they all live in. Is still going to the grocery store to buy the groceries. Is still paying all the utilities. The most important one, especially for the 18-year-old, is the electricity which is needed for the broadband which is needed for the 18 hours per day that they wish to spend on their phone, snapping, tick tocking or you tubing.
When I was 18 the only ‘snap’ I had heard of was a game of cards or if someone had worn or bought the exact same thing as me and we saw that in the real world when we bumped into each other, not in a virtual world where we may never have ever met, but are ‘best friends’.
Yes, call me old fashioned, if I were 18 I probably would too. I would probably think that I am ancient because I have just turned 56…. practically one foot in the grave! But I am not 18 and neither do I think that I am ancient. I do think that I am a responsible parent though.
Having raised 5 girls, I can honestly say that the worst time raising them was during their teenage years. They are sulky, moody, stroppy, self-indulgent, untidy, cheeky, and often very lazy.
They are still my children and I love them but I do not like what they morph in to during these testing years.
I have one left. The other 4 have gone and are all living their own lives, with their own rules, in their own independent ways, some raising their own children and I say hallelujah, praise the lord and best of luck to them, for the world is a great place to be!
This last one, as lovely as she is, and she is lovely, has always pushed my buttons and tested my boundaries. She is the ultimate social butterfly…. Or wants to be.
Covid 19 couldn’t have come at a worse time for her. She was looking forward to turning 18, to finishing school, getting a tattoo, to going out with friends to pubs and night clubs, to flying off to Italy and be an au pair for the summer before college started in the Autumn. Except, none of that happened except college did, sporadically, between online and on campus.
Now I understand her frustrations at all of that. Covid 19 has not been a particularly welcome or pleasant experience for all of us. It has been scary, frustrating, difficult and also for some, fatal.
There have been some positives for people, getting more creative, re-evaluating their lives and changing direction etc.
So what can we do with our 18 year olds that want to go against the rules, the Governments rules and hang out with their friends. We have to say No, right. That isn’t us being ‘controlling’, that is us being ‘responsible’ ‘conforming’ ‘adhering to the rules’.
Friends are important, I know that and understand that. I miss my friends too. But, when my 18-year-old wanted to go and spend the Easter Break up where her digs are, where she attends college, and hang out with her friends, I put my foot down. Why?
I couldn’t trust that they would social distance properly. I couldn’t trust that she would become complacent and bring the dreaded virus home to us and then ultimately our other children and grandchildren. But, not only that, I was actually hurt and disappointed that she did not want to spend the Easter break at home with her family. That she felt she had no responsibility or even desire to be here.
When she is here, she is like a lodger. She comes out of her room for food and back she goes again on the phone. She is constantly with her friends in the virtual world. Is it wrong to want her to be a part of the real family in the real world? To participate in family life for more than just meal times? Am I wrong in thinking she has an addiction to her phone?
She does not work. She has a college grant. That pays for her lodgings when in college. Yet, she wants to go hang out with friends over Easter ‘because she’s 18 now’.
Ok so let’s compare. At 18 I was working full time. At 18 I had a bedsit. At 18 I did my own shopping. At 18 I did my own cooking and laundry. At 18 I had a boyfriend and went to the pub. At 18 I was totally independent and could live by my own rules. At 18 if I went home and my boyfriend did I slept in my bedroom and he slept in my brother’s bedroom. At 18, if I went home I abided by the rules of my mother’s house. At 18 I called that being respectful and responsible. At 18 I just knew, that is the way that it was.
I have been a strict parent. I want my girls, all of them, to be strong independent women. I want them to stand on their own two feet. I want them to challenge things, including me but, when at 18, they are not ‘earning’ their own money, not doing their own shopping, cooking, cleaning, bill paying etc. etc. and live under my roof, is it too much to ask that they abide by my rules.
I have a rule that she goes to bed the same time as me. I usually stay up ‘til midnight or after. It has always been the way. Unless they were out with boyfriends, clubbing it in which case they would just come home and go straight to bed.
This one cannot go clubbing it because of Covid, so the last thing I want is her up all night on her phone, leaving it charging, being a fire risk or keeping me awake with chitter chatter and burning lights all night. She already can’t get up in the mornings. We are lucky if we see her before lunch time.
Yes, yes yes teenagers need more sleep, or so they say. Go to bed earlier then, is what I say…
The point is, when does their ‘responsibility’ kick in. To converse, to observe, to happily want to participate in family life. To happily want to seek a job and work during the holidays and earn a few bob?
Has this generation gotten so bad that it actually thinks that they are just ‘entitled’ to do very little by way of being helpful or respectful, and expect to spend every waking moment with friends, either online or offline.
Do they all think they are just going to be the next big sensation on you tube or be the next big influencer in applying a shiny nose in a ‘trowel it on’ make up tutorial where everyone looks the same as a Bratz doll?
I mean, come on people. Surely you want more for yourself than that. Something that you can achieve and be proud of based on your own judgment of yourself and your effort. Surely you don’t really need the approval of ‘strangers’ in a world that you may never ever meet them.
If so, I ask of you to ask of yourself, why. Why do you need that? Why not put your phone down? Talk to the people in front of you. Take an interest in what is going on in your own home, in your own family and balance your life with real family and real friends.
Your family cared for you, nurtured you, protected you, loved you, even when you were sometimes not very lovable.
Your family are not asking you to forsake your friends or to forsake yourself. They are saying the exact opposite. Be happy in yourself, with your own approval. Work hard, real work, where you can have a sense of achievement. Ask, ‘is there something I can do for you’ and take some ‘responsibility’ for the lifestyle that you want to live.
The Government are controlling all of us at the moment because of the Global Pandemic. Yes it sucks, but in order to get rid of it, we must abide by the rules, don’t we?
If you want to live how you want, when you want, with whomever you want, then do it. Get a job, get a flat, get the bills and all the paraphernalia that goes with independence. It really is a fantastic thing. I know I loved it when I was 18, standing on my own two feet, whilst also going home and spending time with my family. Go on, just do it!
Turning 18 is not a licence to say, I will do what I want, whether you like it or not. Turning 18 is about growing up. Being a grown up means, taking responsibility and not just expecting to still keep ‘playing’ like you did when you were a child, then throwing dolly out of the pram when you don’t get your own way. After all, you are 18 now!
Interviews are never easy. We turn up looking smart and hope to give the best impression. They do, after all, make their mind up in the first 90 seconds, if we will cut the mustard….
Ever been to an interview….. Remember how it felt. Nervous tension, butterflies in your tummy and sweaty palms perhaps. It’s daunting. But, you know you can do the job as laid out in the job description. You have the skills. They know what they are looking for in a person to fulfill the position, and they will scrutinise your resume and do some fault finding, before deciding whether or not you ‘have the job’
Did you ever take the job and then after a while, realise that it wasn’t actually for you. That you didn’t really feel welcomed by other members of staff or that you just didn’t like the way that they did things. Perhaps it just grated on you and wore you down. That it didn’t seem how it first appeared in your mind as to how it would be? The demands were more than you believed they would be and the sacrifice was ultimately too much, so you left.
We are lucky if we can do that, just hand in our notice and leave. Is it luck or is it that we are free? We are free to leave.
Remember as a child doing what your parents asked you to do. Eating what was put in front of you. Dressing in the clothes that your mother bought for you and conforming to all the rules of the house, until you became a teenager and perhaps rebelled a bit.
Did you always agree with your parents? I doubt it, I know I didn’t. Did you feel that you could have your say, particularly when you were now an adult child, and be heard, listened to and valued? Did your parents always welcome with open arms your friends or partners of choice? Or were there times that you felt let down by them so you perhaps agreed to disagree. You are after all, now an adult.
Did you have the freedom to leave home though, and be with your partner of choice, because you loved them and wanted to be with them, share a life with them and make decisions with them about your life together. Aren’t we lucky if we can answer yes?
I love the T.V series The Crown. I watched every episode and I had a great new found respect for the Queen and what she had to endure, sacrifice and do in order to be ‘The Queen’ . I felt sorry for her and for other members of the Royal family for the sacrifices they have had to make in order to be a Royal.
I know some of it is fiction, but you can see the constraints, the privilege, turning of a blind eye, the bullying and dismissing of peoples rights and feelings. I felt that so much when I watched it.
‘The Crown must come first’, is what the Queen would say. But at what cost? ‘The crown’ costs lives. Lived ‘freely’ lives. I pity those born into that life for their choices are not really of their own making. If they are, somehow they will be punished because of them.
Charles finally got to marry the woman he always wanted to marry, but couldn’t, was not allowed to, because she wasn’t deemed suitable. She had a past. She wasn’t royal enough. So he married Diana instead and ruined his own and her life. He did however, get his fairy tale ending. He got the bride he wanted, but he did pay dearly for it. The crown must come first.
I wonder the impact on their two boys growing up in such a loveless marriage. Fueled with anger and resentment. It would absolutely have made an impact on them and perhaps made them realise that love is worth more than ‘The Crown’.
We saw it with Edward and Mrs Simpson. He abdicated for love. He sacrificed a lot for love.
I still really respect the Queen, she has a very tough job and is dictated to by rules and must conform to the rules, even though it may hurt her and/or her family.
I watched ‘The Interview’ last night and my opinion is that I saw two people who love each other. Want a life together, free from scrutiny or control and raise their children. Sounds like most of us?
I see so much hate on social media and in the media, particularly directed at Meghan. I am shocked by this. I had never heard of her, before she met Harry. I had never watched Suits. I was however, happy for him that he met someone to share his life with.
He had a tough time dealing with the death of his mother, as did William. They have endured so much as the children of Charles and Diana. They have heard so many stories, good bad and indifferent all their lives, by people in the media and otherwise, and that cannot have be easy or without negative impact.
In my humble opinion, I think Harry did right to stand by his wife, and try to take a bit more of a back seat in his Royal duties. Taking a back seat wasn’t allowed, so now they are standing on their own two feet. They, I feel, have the right to say how they feel or felt.
I don’t think they were awfully disparaging or disrespectful. Only they know how they feel or felt. We cannot tell them how they feel. We cannot tell them how they should live, what they should or shouldn’t say. We can’t tell the Queen or any of the Royal family for that matter, how they should feel either.
Meghan may have gone in with her eyes (naively) open, thinking she had the skills:- maturity, willing to learn, strength, good work ethic, conforming to new rules, being told what to do and when to do it, for example, but then realised, that actually, no she didn’t have those skills after all, that it was too much, that she was at breaking point. She now also had a child to think about. This was a far cry from the life she was used to or from the one she thought she was getting into, but she tried and did so with dignity.
Also, Harry must have anticipated, on some level, that Meghan, entering the Royal family would not be a ‘walk in the park’ and he must have considered what he would do, should she not be able for ‘the job’. They were not teenagers getting married, they were grown up 30 somethings….
Also, Harry, having seen what ‘that life’ did to his mother, took action and tried to stand by and support his wife, like a loving and loyal husband should do. Is that bad?
People are always going to be divided but at the end of the day, people don’t have to live his life, or Meghans, or the Queens or any of the Royal familiy. I think though, the level of vitriol targeted at them, especially Meghan, is actually disgusting.
People saying she deserves an oscar, she’s acting, she had this plan all along….. How do they know that? I believe her intentions were good and she hoped she would be able for the life she thought she would be entering when she joined the Royal family. Like any ‘job’ it shouldn’t have to define you or hold you to ransom. You should be able to walk away.
I think Harry, walking away from his family to live a ‘more free’ life will be easier for him to endure, if they remain somewhat estranged, than it would have been for Meghan to stay within the confines of the restrictive rules of the Royal family, and feel suffocated, unsupported and undervalued.
I say good luck to them and good luck to the Queen. Their lives are not easy and I am just thankful, that I am a ‘nobody’, making my own life choices, speaking freely my own mind and living on my own terms.
For those people that think they have a right to add negatively to Harry and Meghan’s mental health, I say think again and be careful with your words. I am sure you would have something to say if they told you how you should live, how you should do things etc.
It is none of our business, at the end of the day, so on that note, I wish them all well and hope they all find peace and heal the rifts between them, in time.
It’s not that simple, having a baby. Even getting pregnant can be a challenge, it was for me. Medicine by way of fertility soon took care of that but when it came time to having my twins, it wasn’t that easy, or was it?
Yesterday was my twins 27th birthday. It’s hard to believe that I had them 27 years ago, when I can remember their ‘birth’ so vividly.
At the time I thought I was only going into hospital for my final scan, number 5, (usual for multiple pregnancy) and then going into town shopping. It was apparent, however, during the course of the scan, that the sonographer was not happy about something, so went to fetch someone else to take a look. I began to feel a little anxious at this point. After this person had a look at the scan they asked me to take a seat in the little room next door as they wanted the consultant to take a look at the scan. My anxiety levels by now were very high. ‘is everything OK, I asked nervously’. ‘Yes, of course, we just want the consultant to take a quick look’ she replied, but I was not convinced.
Soon the consultant came and asked if I had been resting since the last scan, ‘One of the babies is very small and you must rest’ he had told me at scan number 4. I had rested as much as I could, given that I had a 4 year old at home and a part time job.
‘I think we will keep you in, for bed rest’ he blurted out, ‘nothing to worry about’, he said before turning to the nurse then leaving. I was both anxious and confused now, why would I have to stay in. Of course I was worried about my 4 year old too, and not being able to go home to mind her.
Fortunately, my mother had come over from Ireland just two days before, to stay with me for a month or so and be there when the babies were born as I was going to be induced at 38 weeks, 2 weeks early.
After I was brought up to the ward and shown where my bed was, I sent my husband home to tell my mother what was going on, and told him not to come back until he had collected our daughter from school and to ensure he didn’t panic her about my having to stay in hospital.
Whilst he was gone the consultant came back to see me with a change of mind, so to speak. ‘I’ve had another look at your scan and well, I think, rather than risk both babies, we’ll get them out in the morning, see what’s going on’ he said, matter of factly……. ‘Nurse, prepare her for a c section, nil by mouth after midnight’ he said, then left again.
‘Rather than risk both babies’, what did he mean, I wondered, now they will be 6 weeks early too instead of two weeks, isn’t that risky, I thought. Although anxious I couldn’t help but feel a little excited too, knowing that I would be having my babies the next day. It was a little surreal, but definitely exciting. It was an emotional roller coaster.
It definitely wasn’t what I had planned or even contemplated. I had imagined that my husband would most probably be at work, doing the night shift, when I would go into labour and it would be all panic stations to get to the hospital on time. My first child came quite quickly once labour had started and they say your second and subsequent babies come even faster.
By the time he came back to the hospital that afternoon, my husband, with my mum and daughter I had completely processed the news that I was having my babies the next morning. All I had to do, was give him the good news….. He almost fainted, without a word of a lie, he was so shocked he began to cry, the big softie that he is.
I could barely sleep with nerves and excitement and praying that all would be well with my babies. ‘Rather than risk both babies’ kept going over and over in my head. I had insisted however, that I be awake for the section, so I could know, straight away, that everything was OK with them, and the consultant had agreed to that request.
The ‘section’ itself wasn’t as straight forward as it should have been either to begin with. As I had asked to be awake, it meant I would have an epidural, a needle inserted into my spine to numb the area from the bump down. They know that it has worked when they proceed to spray water onto your tummy to see if you can feel it. I could. We waited. They sprayed again. I could still feel it. While this spraying and waiting was going on, my husband was being holed up in a waiting area, where he was gowned up in his scrubs.
After about 10 minutes, they proceeded to give me another dose of epidural, waited, sprayed, I could feel it. We Waited, he sprayed again ‘If you can feel it this time we are going to have to give you a general anesthetic’ the anesthetist said. I could feel it, not as much, but I could feel it a bit ‘No I can’t feel it this time’ I lied. There was no way I was having a general, that was for sure!
Finally, my panicked husband was now allowed in to be by my side. There was a big cage thing over my tummy so as to block my view from what they were doing on the other side. Announcing that he was just about to make the incision, I turned my head to my husband and a tear ran out the corner of my eye, waiting to feel the pain……. I didn’t feel a thing! Thank God.
Baby Number one was lifted out, after a bit of tugging, wrapped, handed to me for a second to see her, before being whisked away for her apgar score to be done. At least she was screaming, so that was a good sign. Next, baby number 2 is lifted out, again, wrapped, handed to me for a second before she too needed to get her apgar score done, screaming merrily along with her twin.
After they had finished with me and gave me a nice little suturing which resembles the shape of a smile, they wheeled me into another room and I was well and truly numb, no matter how much I tried to wake my body up, by tapping it, from the tummy down, it wouldn’t cooperate.
‘Everything seems to be fine with the babies, there is only one placenta, so it looks like one of them was just being greedy and taking all the nourishment’ I was told. The little one will have to go into SCBU (special care baby unit), just because she can’t retain her body heat on her own, but apart from that, she is all good’ I was reassured.
What a relief! Both babies were fine and they were girls, which is what I had been hoping for. I was overjoyed, elated in fact.
After 4 days I was allowed home, with baby No 2, whilst baby no. 1 remained in SCBU and where I would make twice daily trips back into the hospital to see her, feed her, cuddle her and lay her twin beside her. She remained in hospital for a month before being deemed able to ‘hold her own’ and now a hefty 5 pounds in weight!
Something kept niggling at me as the days and weeks went on however, something that I had not been expecting. I felt ‘cheated’ somewhat. The fact that I did not give ‘birth’ to them, did not go through the labour and do the hard work of bringing them into the world. I couldn’t shake the feeling off.
As I would feed them or cuddle them or just look at them, I knew they were mine, I was there, wide awake and the only thing between us was the cage, but they were mine. Why then, did I feel like they weren’t? It was a weird and strange feeling, that is actually quite difficult to explain.
I loved them, I had bonded with them, I was more than happy to have them, but I felt something was missing. I had the scar to prove that they came out of my tummy, yet I felt, perhaps, separate or divided from them. My heart and mind knew, loved and wanted these babies more than anything, but my gut was making me feel that I had not worked hard enough for them, that I had let them down because I had failed to ‘give birth’.
I think it took me a good 6 months to shake the feeling off, maybe a bit longer. It didn’t stop me caring for them and loving them and I didn’t suffer any sort of post natal depression but I couldn’t shake the feeling off or even rationalise it. I would look at them in wonder and my heart would burst it was so full of love for them. I just found it such a strange sensation, one that I had not expected so it took me by complete surprise because it was so different to how I felt when I had my eldest daughter. I think, for me, there was a sense of pride for having ‘given birth’ and going through the labour and safely delivering my daughter as opposed to have someone ‘do the work’ for me?
I makes me wonder why do they call it a section, because the definition of ‘section’ is to divide something. I am not saying I am not grateful for having one, that, at the time, it was best for my babies to be delivered that way, but I wonder how many other women feel the way I felt. Is it a normal feeling. Is it because after having my first child, naturally and felt so euphoric having pushed her into the world, I felt worthy of her? I don’t know.
I know having a c section is absolutely necessary to save lives, mothers and babies and we are of course very thankful and grateful for such interventions, to safely bring our babies into the world.
So here we are, 27 years later, looking back at old photographs and reminiscing. I remember the day they were born, the joy they brought then, to hear them scream their little lungs out and the joy they continue to bring and not only am I thankful, I am blessed.