Stop being an ungrateful cow and hush your noise.

April 27, 2012 By 9 Comments

Soooooooooo we’re pulling the boys out of their current private school. If we keep them in, it’s safe to say that they would be the most educated homeless kids in the area.

Which, I’m pretty sure, defeats the object somewhere.

(I can hear the whispers now; “Omg she’s whining about not being in private school? Welcome to the real world. Geeze.”)

Anyway, I’ve spent far too much of this week crying, because I knew it was coming. Actually that’s a lie – I have spent far too much of the last 24 hours crying because that’s how recently the decision has come to light. It’s not all about being upper class and living some kind of dream life. I don’t care about keeping up with the Jones’ because I know can’t do that personally. But I’m seriously fucking worried about the future of Noah and Isaac.

I have set high standards. Very fucking high standards. And what’s more, is that their (current) school met and surpassed my standards by far. Which means I raised my bar to meet them. So my standards are, uh, seriously fucking high.

The boys have a childhood. but the balance of their childhood along with their academics amazes me. The things they’ve learnt, seen and done. The things they want to do. The things they want to know. The way they learn. The way they just behave. The way they are.

A very wise friend of mine told me they didn’t get all that from the school, they’ll have gotten it from me. But I’m still terrified. I’m terrified of letting my standards slip. Of letting Noah and Isaac down, of not helping them maintain the level of excellence they currently have.

When I spoke to the admissions and financing lady person at the school, even she pointed out how they would most likely be much further ahead than children in state schools. Now, this sounds like I’m being an epic snob, but frankly? This pleases me. Not from a “my kid is better than your kid” attitude; I couldn’t give a shit what the next kid is doing, because they are not relevant to me. But what DOES concern me staying ahead of the game of life. Of being able to maintain a standard that, when they reach adulthood, is going to see them being incredibly level head yet always reaching goals.

Being successful. Wanting to achieve.

Am I being a snob? In someone else’s eyes, probably.

Do I want the absolutely fucking best for my kids, to give them what I couldn’t have, to educate them in a way that couldn’t be afforded for me too, to give them a grounding and sense of self that will secure them confidently for the foreseeable, well beyond their years?

Hell yes.

I don’t know what the next stage is. We’ve missed all the deadlines for state schools, and I don’t know what the fees are for other independent schools. Home schooling is not an option. I can only hope that my determination (read: stubborn attitude) to succeed in life is nested within The Boys.

They’ll be ok. I know. I think.

Filed Under: assvice, Education, Isaac, Noah, School, Ultimate Stresssss

I am the most confident person of all.

April 13, 2012 By 2 Comments

I have performed on stage, to thousands of people, on my cello. From solos to full symphony orchestras, all around the world.

I have given speeches and presentations to all manner of Important People, in the various jobs I worked to put myself through school/college/university.

I pole-danced and lap-danced for 2 years, holding my head high whilst raking in the (hard earned) cash.

I have tried hard to help people where ever possible, in areas where I know my stuff reasonably well, to help them grow and blossom.

I have put almost my entire life from the last 4 years, here in this blog, hiding only things which other people have asked me not to mention.

I have kept secrets for people, knowing for sure I would never let them slip, knowing how it would feel for myself.

I have done so much.

So. Much.

And yet, here I sit after doing what I thought was a fucking fantastic photo shoot, a styled shoot no less, something I’ve been wanting to do for so very long, and feeling like shit.

I have looked at my work, and gone, in a matter of a few hours, from “OMFG LOOK AT THIS ONE! IT’S AWESOME!” down that bastard slippery slope of self doubt and self criticism, through to “Er…are you really going to put that on facebook? Really?”

It’s the weirdest, most masochistic form of self harm I have ever done.

I wouldn’t mind if I was doing it intentionally.

Instead, as I work through the images, trying really hard to fist bump myself with the feel-good factor, the fist-bumping turns into self stabbing, self harm, something which destroys a teeeeeeeny bit of me, every time. They say what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. I wonder, what about the things we think are making us stronger, but are in fact killing us?

I often think that, much as I adore my job, much as I love the chance to be so creative, I truly don’t think I’m designed or built to manage it. I don’t think I have the right structure to cope with all that comes with it. I still tell myself “Don’t be intimidated. Be INSPIRED.” Unfortunately, I haven’t figured out what to do when it’s all over and, the intimidation is lurking, the inspiration is waning and the self doubt is doing something far more obscene than just kicking my ass.

Weirdly, I wish I could take criticism. I know not everyone likes my work, of course they don’t. the world would be really fucking shit if we all liked the same thing. But how do you deal with this ridiculous impossible need to please everyone? How can I be so confident in all the things mentioned above, but not have the strength, courage and conviction to say “that’s fine if you don’t like it. Screw you, cos I like it”?

Do I like it?

Yes. I do. I did. I think I did. I think I do. I want to.

I want to remember that I did. I want to remember that I …do. And yet, as I go through the images of today’s photo shoot, I find myself wanting to bin them all because I genuinely think they’re all shit. The mighty wave of “I AM FULL OF AWESOME” is now but a tiny puddle of “Well…meh. Loser.”

I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want it. I just want to make this stop. I want to feel like I did something awesome, and genuinely feel and mean it. I don’t want to be an “average” photographer. I want to be an “AWESOME” photographer. But I want to get there without coming across like an arrogant cunt (which I do see a lot of, if I’m honest).

“Don’t be intimidated, be INSPIRED.”

And when it’s all over, and the dust has settled,

“Be inspired by CONFIDENCE.”

Filed Under: assvice, Depression, Mental health, neurosis, Ultimate Stresssss

Pox Watch Day 3 – Current Observations and Birthday Thoughts

January 30, 2012 By 2 Comments

1. The spots. Will appear. Everywhere. And anywhere. If you can think of a place, they’re there. Oh, they are THERE.

2. I do not do well waking up every 1-2 hours.

3. Piriton does NOT make Isaac fall asleep.

4. Isaac let me eat my birthday breakfast of a plate of bacon. Whilst he may be ill, he is still considerate.

5. We have taught him well.

6. The Gruffalo, on repeat, somehow doesn’t get old.

7. Peppa Pig, on repeat, becomes tedious.

8. It’s amazing how you discover exactly how your body is able to mould itself into the shape of a sofa as your kid makes themselves comfy on your lap.

9. Snuggling with Isaac on a real sofa with a Graze.com box is lovely. Until he eats all your vanilla infused cherries.

10. It’s really hard to remain patient, when shit loads of lovely people suggest things to make your kiddo feel better and you’ve pretty much tried them all already. And nothing is working.

11. People are incredibly helpful.

12. It’s really ok to have some of the birthday Prosecco for your lunch, under the circumstances.

13. Somethings just do not distract from the pain. Including Lego. This makes me really sad.

14. What I think is “humour” can be really misunderstood by people who don’t really know me.

15. I have a darker sense of humour than I thought. Especially on minimal sleep and with poorly sick child.

16. It occurs to me I’m still waiting for the panic of turning 30 to settle in. 3 years ago.

17. Trying not to lose your rag when your kid is wailing for help, and you keep telling them you are doing everything you can and they just need to calm down and listen, but they keep wailing anyway, is REALLY hard. Frustration is a bitch.

18. It’s amazing how some “pyjama days” aren’t as good as you might like, and especially when all you want to do is throw yourself in the shower. *scratches*

19. I hate feeling guilty for wanting to be selfish for just 5 minutes. Just because the very poorly child with a rash the size of Africa covering his groin area, and yelled and cried all the time I was opening my presents. And yet is now sat quite happily on the sofa watching Octonauts.

20. Birthdays, Chicken Pox and children. You just can’t predict them.

Filed Under: actual happy times, assvice, birthday, illness, Isaac, Just...everything., MAKE IT STOP, Mutha-Hood, neurosis, parenting, photos, , Ultimate Stresssss, wtf

Pox Watch Day 2 – Chicken Pox Is Bullshit

January 29, 2012 By 4 Comments

OOOMMMMMGGGGGGG MAKE IT STOP NOW PLEASE.

Isaac does not scratch the spots. At all. AT. ALL.

He doesn’t have ginormous blisters (because let’s face it – there’s always someone who’s had bigger blisters.), he just seems to have shit loads of them. A major rash in his pants (I really don’t want to be around when that blisters) and a delightful smattering from the top of his head to his shoulders. With some escapees on his torso. And plenty in his ears. And some on his eyelids. The photo I posted before is NOTHING compared to how it looks now.

And yet, he just won’t scratch them. I’m bloody impressed, that’s for sure. However, the boy is in pain. I’ve been putting small amounts of Dream Cream on him, which has been working a treat, but now there are so many spots, I suspect he feels like his skin is on fire. Especially as every so often, he suddenly yelps out in pain and bursts into (increasingly) inconsolable tears. I knew what I had to do next, and I confess I’d been saving this, thinking it would be the ultimate treat.

Porridge bath. Ahhhhhhhh bliss.

I ran it cooler than normal, dumped large handfuls of Dream Cream and oats into a muslin cloth, tied it all up and attached it to the tap as the water ran. Quite possibly one of the most luxurious baths I’d ever seen any 2.5 year old ever have. On stripping him down and showing him the lovely bath, all for himself, he started crying. Hard.

You would think I had threatened to dump him in a vat of toxic acidic sludge, and there was no convincing him that this was actually the exact opposite.

It took myself and D to get him in the bath. Sweet Lord.

After maybe 10 minutes of cajoling (and more crying) he finally sat down.

Another 5 minutes later he stopped crying.

10 minutes later, he was out again (after even more tears).

I’ll be honest, it was a bath from hell. Which is a shame, because this kid adores water, and will often pitch a fit when it’s time to get out the bath.

All day he’s understandably been ratty as hell, and we’ve repeatedly smothered  him in creams and kept him doped up on Calpol and Calprofen. There’s no way in hell we’re going to try another bath just yet.

The fact is, we are at the point where there is nothing more can do. I’ve just spent the last 30 minutes cuddling him in my bed the dark, while he dozed on and off. He finally asked to go to his own bed, where he is now whimpering, crying and saying “ow” over and over again. So once again, we’ll go upstairs and cuddle him until he asks to be put back to bed. Wash, rinse, repeat.

The worst thing about this is that horrible feeling of a spectacular Parenting Fail. I am FULLY AWARE there is nothing else I can do. I have done all I can do. I’ve cuddled him until he’s pretty much told me to piss off and leave him alone, yet I’m there at the drop of a hat if he calls again. I’ve given him as many drugs as I dare without officially becoming his dealer. I’ve plastered him in soothing creams, from the very top of his head right down to his toes. I’ve cuddled him some more. I’ve plastered on more cream, at his request.

And I am losing my fucking marbles, because now I have to figure out how to deal with the helpless parenting bull shit feeling.

Filed Under: assvice, illness, Isaac, MAKE IT STOP, parenting

Fight or Flight (Or just throw up)

January 4, 2012 By 3 Comments

So. I entered some of my images into a wedding photography competition.

At the time, it seemed like a BRILLIANT idea. A bit of recognition! A chance to gauge if I’m actually good at what I’m doing! Hell, I might even build up some new contacts from it! How exciting!!!!!!!

Truth be told, I’m nervous as hell. Every time I think about it now, my head starts hurting, my heart starts pounding, I can’t breathe, and I catch my innards rising rather quickly to my mouth in a really unpleasant fashion.

Yes, I have a mild panic attack.

The exact same panic attacks I used to have when I performed solos on my cello. The exact same panic attacks I had before, when it atually got so bad, I couldn’t actually maintain the contact between my bow and the strings. The exact same panic attacks which resulted in going to hypnotherapy in a desperate attempt to be able to make it through solo performances.

I didn’t think I’d ever have to endure them again. Yet stupidly (in a face-palm fashion), it makes perfect sense that I would have to endure them now. Exposing myself for the world to judge me, to be rejected by someone who doesn’t agree with my work, my efforts, to have someone turn around and say “…meh…your pic is alright, but this OTHER work of art here is an absolute MASTERPIECE omg I must FRAME IT and hang it up in the west wing bathroom of my mansion!”

And that’s ok! Everyone has different opinions, obviously. It would be weird if we all liked the same thing. And when I asked people to go and check out the competition, I asked that people actually vote for the one they like, not just vote for me. I’ve already looked at one of my entries, and there are several that I prefer way more than mine. WAY MORE than mine. In fact, I find myself wondering what the hell I was thinking submitting that particular image.

Pathetically, I find myself making really lame excuses. I’ve only been doing this for 2 years. So what? You’ve had time to learn. I’m totally self taught. And? You have the internet, right? It was about time I entered a competition. Really? Says who? You didn’t have to enter. My arse needed to be kicked into gear. What – by entering a competition? There are better ways.

I’m very nervous. Not nervous about winning, I never expect to win. I’m not nervous about not winning, I can deal with that. I’m nervous about being up there in front of people I don’t know who can just as happily point and laugh at my work any time they like. It’s different when it’s a photo shoot, people have chosen my work. That’s always an honour and very flattering. This? Well I’m forcing my work under the nose of innocents. Expecting people to look at my work and then make a decision, and silently hope they make a decision in my favour.

That feels a bit weird.

I think I need to figure out what the hell is going on with my brain. Why do this to myself when it makes me feel like this. It’s amazing enough that I put myself up for this in the first place; I half wonder if I had rum in a glass in front of me when I did it (I’m pretty sure I didn’t) or maybe I was being distracted by The Smalls at the time (they were already in bed, I seem to recall). I also need to stop wanting throw up last night’s dinner every time I so much as think about it all. If I’m going to ask people to at least check out the competition, I need to stop being such a damn pussy about it. It’s almost a piece of cake when doing it under the guise of JMP. Now I just need to transfer that mask over to me, and then remove it, and then, um, still be just as semi-confident.

Not entirely sure how to do that.

Filed Under: assvice, neurosis, photography, pimping myself rotten, Ultimate Stresssss
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