Still Laid Up!

Seeing as I am still laid up, have gone back to keeling over a bit too regularly for anyone's liking and am really not up to much other than ploughing my way through lots of Bloggers' books (reviews to follow) I thought I'd re issue my old Diaries of an Older Single Mum, hopefully published in their own right when I get my arse into gear.


Here's the first one - written a few years ago.    It has been featured on the blog before, but not since the early days.



'It's Terrifying!'

Who can blame a girl?

IT’S not what you expect – having a baby at 45.

Neither is it what you expect to tell your husband you’re divorcing him, followed by such news. And that’s how it started. Nothing could change my mind. Matters would merely be delayed. Three miscarriages is enough for any woman to contend with. It would be foolish to risk a further one. This would mean having to put up with him for a while yet, as long as it was bearable. However it was not to be. Things would eventually and naturally prove intolerable.

We already have a delightful son who was approaching 4. It was important to me and I was glad that they were full siblings, same blood etc . Secretly, that is sort of the only reason I’d had sex with my husband in the first place. Shamefully, despite pretending such shenanigans were with Daniel Craig, abstaining had still been preferable for quite some time, yet there was a consistent feeling of another child to come yet. And so, miraculously, he did. This once-off timing was incredible.

And so, as well, I would become a single mum with full parental contact for their Dad, which is the hardest bit to cope with! He’s brilliant with what money he has, yet it’s still a struggle to make ends meet and, furthermore, he is of the opinion it buys him things it doesn’t. Fortunately, he works away, lives there and is nonetheless devoted to our two boys, Robson and Baby Aiden.

It’s rather confusing at times and although I feel independence is overrated, I miss it terribly. It is ridiculous to find myself presently truly grateful for any small mercies whatsoever - such as someone else hanging the washing on the line, a job usually undertaken by one of my visiting friends, the impact of which is immeasurably and preposterously disproportionate to the gesture - as my hands are blessed with being full of a tiny bundle of bouncing baby joy.

This, however, is the life of a single parent. If you know any – and there are plenty of us about, so, indeed, there is a great likelihood you might - do try to be a little kinder, as any miniscule amount of help will go further than you could fathom!

High points of the week – Robson’s mate tunefully teaching him and them both very loudly singing ‘God the Builder, can we fix it? God the Builder, yes we can!’ Robson telling me he loves me ‘To the roofs of buses, all round the town and through everywhere!’ Enjoying the most utterly divine experience of massaging a freshly bathed beautiful baby Aiden, while trying not to let Robson know and avoiding my own secret feelings of jealousy.

Very low point - being whacked on the ankle with a proper cricket bat.

All things must change...

Major achievements – getting the Alphabet frieze out of its packet, on the wall, spirit level straight, but 6 months after it was given to us, however managing to open the NEXT parcels only five days after they had arrived, plus the bargain adjustable waist jeans were perfect for Robson. Also, managed to refrain from punching a chatty man, who was innocently and politely discussing the price of a demonstration gazebo in M&S with me, seemingly oblivious that I was sat, obviously rather too discreetly, breastfeeding Aiden under it at the time.

Unfortunately, the little one’s subsequent blissful slumber would be a bit short lived, for while I

mindfully perused their school uniform stuff, pleasantly unencumbered by either offspring at the time and piling up my basket, he was rudely disturbed by a packet of vests falling from it onto his head and all hell broke loose. He screamed. We scarpered. O.M.G. Had to get out of there. 

 

Left the lovely so-called shopping and went to collect eldest from Nursery, muttering away about never getting anything done and how likely it is Aiden’s first word will be Bo**ocks!’

Sometimes it’s terrifying being a single mother. Even when you’re 45!

I love you with all my .... What?

My sons are avid football addicts, cricket lovers, 'tennis' fans, golf freaks and enforced rugby players. Their Dad played for Wales (yes, he's a nut job!) and teaches them to tackle and scrum and stuff.  Let's say sport is in their genes and it shows.

Yesteday, I was paid the highest compliment possible by my three year old:


Me:  'I love you with all my heart.'

Him:  'I love you with all my teeth.'

Me:  'I love you with all my fingers.'

Him:  'I love you with all my arms.'   

Me:  'I love you with all my eyelashes.'

Him:  'I love you with all my belly.'

Me:  'I love you with all my toenails.'

Him: 'I love you with all my balls!'

Me:  'Ew. Shall we watch Tom and Jerry?'



How much do your children love you?

Emeli Sande ‘Our version of Events’ CD Review.

This debut album has already reached number one and gone platinum, but topped that by winning the Critics Choice Brit Award before its release!

It has been my pleasure to review it on behalf on the Mumsnet Bloggers Network:

With a name like hers, you don’t expect Emeli Sande, to come from Scotland. Neither,
at 24, do you expect her to know the torture of indifference and loss, of which she so
eloquently writes, or so much of loyalty and love, intimately and powerfully portrayed
in her soulful songs.

She is a clever lady, having specialised in Clinical Neuroscience, while studying
medicine in her ‘spare time.’ Driven by intellect and intuition, she has written for many of today’s greatest known artists in modern pop music, including Alicia Keys and a whole host of Simon Cowell's. 

He has declared her his 'favourite songwriter of the moment,' but let’s not undersell her striking vocal ability or expertise at the piano, a tool since she was ten.

‘Clown’ and ‘River’ and ‘Suitcase’ jump from heartbreak and pragmatism to joy, all underscored with honesty. I am reminded of a more melodic Tracy Chapman and richer and rawer, but more distinctive, Katie Melhua, such is her variety.    

A fourth track from the CD, ‘My Kind of Love’ will be released in June. You may have seen Emeli sing it on ‘The Voice.’ One of my favourites ‘Next to me’ and ‘Heaven’ - not so emotional as some of her others - are also out.

She doesn’t want to be ‘too cool for school.’  She wants to be heard - as per the lyrics in her other hit single ‘Read all about it.’  It’s her turn now to shine and she deserves it.

Inpsired by the longevity of the work and her admiration for the likes of Joni Mitchell and Nina Simone, she would like her words to resonate with us for years to come.

She’s on the right track (ahem, pun intended) - talent like this is timeless.


Disclosure - I am a member of the Mumsnet Bloggers Network, a group of parent bloggers picked by Mumsnet to review products, services, events and brands. I have not paid for the product. I have editorial control and retain full editorial integrity.

Womanhood?

Barren?

Today is the last day of my child bearing years. I am gutted, but don't want any more kids, so what's the problem, you may well ask?

I think I will feel less of a woman. Truth be told, even at the thought of it, I already do.

The other option is to keep keeling over.  Rumour has it I won't need my periods any longer, being 48 now, because, supposedly, all the blood is going to be required for my new varicose veins.  Oh yes -like I'm to expect hormonal changes that reduce the hairs on my legs growing, so that plenty of fresh ones can sprout on my face!

Great.  Someone shoot me now.   

On the other hand - no more kids?  Yippee!!!  No more disturbed nights?  Thank. The.  Lord.

The boys are well pre teenage years for when you're lying awake worrying and waiting for them to come home, so do let me enjoy my moment, please.

With so much to look forward to ...er....yikes(!)... it makes me wonder if any woman ever feels ready?
It is a rite of passage we must all endure in middle age, but I feel about 30.   

Later on, I am off to hospital for an op. which will render me sterile and I am sad, regardless of the liberty that will be forthcoming.   My wonderful partner was 'done' years ago, so why is it bothering me so much?

Apparently, also, it's hard to reason with a peri-menopausal person, but I'm much too young to buy into any of that baloney yet.

Tesco 'Naturally Powered' Review

I hate to say this, but there is much discussion in our house about washing powder vs. laundry detergent, enzymes  / digesters, and optical brighteners.  My partner has his own Dry Cleaning and Laundry business. He has influenced me to such an extent I find myself heeding his expertise far enough to invest in separate stuff for whites and colours.

So when Mumsnet Bloggers Network asked me to review the Tesco Naturally Powered powder - I sought his opinion and a little debate took place!

They have brought out an entire range of environmentally-conscious cleaning products,, mainly plant derived but with a few small amounts of synthetic substances thrown in added, in a carefully considered combination, to enhance performance.   

Check out their 'Synergy' Lab!

The powder passed muster with the Master, but we did need to use what I thought was not an inconsiderable amount of it if we followed the hard water guidelines.

All the products we tried passed the smell test - fresh and fruity - and were certainly up to the job.  I found the anti-bacterial kitchen spray easily removed curry stains, but it was a bit more oily than the usual brands - as was the washing up liquid, but not in a negative way and they did as well as the leading ones in household blind testing.  

All the packaging is 100% recycled and the majority is recyclable, plus the whole array has been either hypoallergenic or dermatologically tested. So if you're looking for an alternative way to clean your home that looks after the environment as well as you, this collection, available at Tesco, is worth a try.                         


Discolosure - “I am a member of the Mumsnet Bloggers Network, a group of parent bloggers picked by Mumsnet to review products, services, events and brands. I have not paid for the product.  I have editorial control and retain full editorial integrity”.

Where Have I Been?

Last week I ended up in hospital being forcibly indulged in a four hour blood tranfusion.  It was obvious I was poorly, as I'd found myself watching daytime TV.

Too ill to stand, throwing up if I walked, passing out on two occasions - once in front of my six year old and feeling increasingly dizzy even when lying flat, drastic action had to be taken.

More unusual than the two home visits by a Doctor, was being in bed reading a magazine in the SAME MONTH it had been issued. That's simply not normal around here.  Articles and features I collect to read from newsapers and numerous other publications build up until their dates become too embarrrassing to have hanging around any longer.  The fashions and stories will have come, gone and been re-cycled and upcycled, so, eventually, every now and then, more often than not, I will summon up the courage to throw them all out.

However, this was no Normal Day.  Having waxed lyrical about a truly farcical visit to a gynaecologist  on a previous post, suffice to say, we are talking problems in that department - my  haemoglobin iron count was dangerously low. 

I have been brave for so long - being a single parent, daring to love again, taking in foreign language students, plus facing (and not always really able to cope with) one technical hurdle after another in the blogosphere ... I could go on ... but on this occasion, my usually insurmountable joie de vivre deserted me.

I was scared and detested the thought of someone else's blood or 'Energy.'

What if  I didn't like the feel of them?  What if it didn't take or there was a negative reaction?  What about all those stories of people who develop previously never felt before cravings and and characteristics of someone who has donated an organ to them?

Pure nerves initially prevented me from proceeding. 

Then the kindly, but fresh out of nappies, G.P. mentioned the dreaded word: Menopause. You can dress it up how you like - Pre, Peri or bleedin' (Ha Ha!) Merry, but I ain't ready for that. I have one child just started nursery - these two things are not natural allies, surely?

Er, No, ta very much.

Yet missing my little one's first day - being totally incapacitated and unable to drive him there -bringing only faint feelings of relief rather than remorse / heartbreak, friends rallying round, seeming shocked and a bit upset while kidding me about how awful I looked and parts of my life flashing before me as I eventually became incapable of reading, writing or even entertaining Twitter, it simply made sense to relent. There was no option.

It turns out my misgivings were totally misplaced. Apart from a terrible rash around my throat area, my well being is now a whole lot better.  I am still weak, but my neverending knackeredness, previously attributed to having young children at my age, is undoubtedly not always unrelated to chronic anaemia.  Some kindly souls have literally, breathed life into my bones and I thought of them as their special sacrifice, bearing uncanny resemblance to my regular red wine tipple, was pumped directly into a vein.  What is there not to be thankful for?

While I nod silently in agreement with the eloquent middle age musings made by Sara Bran and Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron or glorious Countrywives, they are altogether much more comforting and funny happening to someone else. Even though I must concede to having jokingly written my own post called  You know you're a grumpy old woman when ... - it was supposed to be just that - joshing.

This month's June Issue of Easy Living magazine contains a piece about four women who have bounced back from adversity, and yours truly is featured.  I am, therefore, AHEAD of any self-imposed reading schedule for a change and now able to function better - not up to par, but actually managing to read and write and get this far, with the occasional short burst on Twitter. But if you ever discover I am watching daytime TV again, please don't wait for me to keel over - get me to the nearest hospital. Pronto. 

Sheila's Dating Saga...continued!

THE POST I recently wrote about my friend Sheila Bean's hilarious internet dating exploits with KKKKen made it to the front page of  'Smart Dating' magazine!

Many, many of you asked for more details of her shenanigans and her views on dating at 50 + + .

Here, Sheila tells us what happens when she hasn't heard from Ken for a while....


Dumped?
Have I been dumped by KKKKen?


I have been out for a further evening with him, this time just for a drink.
It consisted of the usual really, talk about fish, fishing and his ex wives.


Being a glutton for punishment (and me wanting to be out more desperately than I wanted to be in) we arrange another meeting.  The day before it, I receive a message from Ken saying he isn’t well. Problems with his teeth. I'm glad to know they are all his own. Also, he may have a touch of flu. He wishes to cancel.


No problem, but beware of multiple excuses, in my experience,  - they're usually all untrue.
When you get to my age you have been lied too more times than you care to remember. Men eh!


I am used to KKKKen (internet) messaging me at least twice a day. So when I don’t hear from him for a week, I start to feel something may be wrong.


Message to Ken, “Are you O.K? Can I help?” See, I’m all heart.


No reply.


Wait another week, then message Ken again. “If you have found someone more suitable, just let me know.”

No reply.


Then, a message from KKKKen.“Sorry I haven’t been in touch, I have been seeing someone else, but it didn’t work out”. He gave that a real try. It’s only been 3 weeks.


Was I dumped? I'm not that bothered really. Think I have learnt all I can about fish.


Didn't let the grass grow under my feet - have been messaging Mike for a week or two. And he has messaged me back, I’m not a stalker.



Mike
He suggests meeting for a coffee. Problem is, he lives about 30 miles away.
Mike insists that he is willing to drive and meet me somewhere local. “I’ve got a 'stat-nav.' Just give me the post code”


We arrange to meet at a Costa on Saturday morning at 10am. This is a bit early for me but as he is kind enough to drive to me, I agree.


10am and I arrive, get a latte and sit down so I am visible from the door way.
10.30am comes and goes. So do I. Quick walk around shops, then lunch at my (ex) mother-in-laws.


I arrive home expecting to see a message from Mike.
Nothing!
I wait until 5pm and, wondering what’s going on, I message Mike.

Now I’m not saying men lie, but I do believe they say what they think we (women) want to hear.
Here is how the messaged conversation went with Mike and what I think he really meant.




Me to Mike - What Costa Coffee were you waiting in?


Mike to Me - Got there at 11am and you weren’t there. I didn’t have your
mobile so couldn’t call you.
(means- couldn’t be bothered to get up and wouldn’t have called
you anyway)


Me to Mike - Why so late?


Mike to Me - There was an accident on the M25 and I was a witness.
(means – if she believes that, she’ll believe anything)


Me to Mike - So, when were you going to send me an apology?


Mike to Me - Had a problem with my inter-net.
(means – For God’s sake woman, I’m watching the football).


Mike to Me - Perhaps we could arrange another day.
(means – if she’s that gullible may be worth meeting her)


Me to Mike - Maybe (means – In your dreams Mr. No Show)

KKKKen Again
After Ken’s brief and unsuccessful dalliance, we are back on and arrange to meet at a local restaurant, chosen by me. He has given up trying to suggest somewhere cheap.


As I arrive and get out of my car, I can hear panting. It’s KKKKen. He must have been waiting for me. He rushes over and thrusts something wrapped in cellophane into my hand. Half afraid to look, I see it’s a bunch of carnations and wilting roses.


''These are for you.”


''How kind, I’ll put them in my car”. I put my present in. ASDA! How nice. At least he took the price off.


We enter the restaurant and are shown to our table. I order a V & T and mouth to the waiter, ‘Large.’ I have given up expecting a glass of wine with my dinner.


Evening starts well after a lengthy debate as to whether to have a starter. We decide, yes. We order our main course. Ken requests the cheapest thing on the menu, so hopefully he intends to pay.


I must have a sympathetic face as Ken begins to tell me about his childhood. Seems he has a twin sister, “How lovely.” Not really, as they never got on. He also had an elder brother. Again “How nice.” Not really, they didn’t get on either. “I was very slow as a child, and didn’t talk until I was 2 years old.” Making up for it now, eh Ken? 


To cut a long story short, and, believe me, it was long. He didn’t get on with his parents either and has been estranged from his whole family for years.

To open your heart to someone you have only known for a couple of months, isn’t a great idea. He could have saved himself time, embarrassment, and a lot of heart searching, if he had had ‘Loser’ tattooed on his forehead.


The remainder of the evening was somewhat subdued.


When it was over, we make our way to the car park, Ken is allowed a quick hug and to kiss me on the cheek. The hug seems to go on for longer than allowed. I think this was due to the Velcro on his anorak sticking to my cashmere jumper.


Think this is the end for KKKKen.  Can't have a man becoming too attached (get it?).


Good bye.  In the end, it wasn't just a Fish called Wanda, it was just Fish!