December 2010 Archives - mocha beanie mummy

Year of Resolutions! Again! Ahem.

December 30, 2010 By mocha beanie mummy 6 Comments

You remember that? Year of Resolutions? “YOR”, if you will? From last year? When I jumped on Karl’s boat and I was all “Yeah! YEAH! YEAAAHHHH BABY!!! This is how to do RESOLUTIONS!! This is the SHIT!!!”*

So I thought I would do it again. In all honesty, I have never made a resolution last longer than a month. And I’m not even sure a resolution of mine lasted that long. BUT! having looked back at my posts, I’m amazed I made it to May (and completed May, so technically, technically, I actually made it to June. Yeppers.) so I figure, maybe, I could go a bit longer this time.

But you know what would be even better? Is if more people did it. It inspired me no end having Karl do it. Unfortunately we both ended up having really shit patches (Karl more-so than me) and things got difficult. I feel a bit bad because I don’t think I supported him enough (he’s a pretty cool guy, after all). But now I’m all fired up because it’s the end of the year.

You must understand, this energy isn’t coming from looking forward to seeing what the new year will bring; no, it’s because I am done with 2010. Much like 2009, 2010 can go to hell. Piss right off. So long, see ya sucker, bon voyage, arrivederci, later loser, goodbye, good riddance, peace out, let the doorknob hit ya where the good Lord split ya, don’t come back around here no more, hasta la vista baby, kick rocks, and get the hell out!**

So I’m going to try again. The plan: One new resolution in January. I start with a new one each month to add to the others. By the time I get to December, I have 12 resolutions.

The aim: to snowball my resolutions throughout the year.To build them up steadily, setting myself reasonable targets. Because I’m pretty flimsy at sticking to stuff.

The point: It’s gotta be easier doing it this way than to just load myself up with shit loads of resolutions which I’m just never going to stick to.

You gonna join in? If not, you’re more than welcome to sit back and place bets on how long this is gonna last.

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By the way, don’t forget I’ve been nominated and stuff, so um, if you like my stuff, you could possibly maybe kind of vote. Maybe. Time’s ticking, innit?

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*I wasn’t like that at all, but I feel I need to hype this up, given I’m starting it again. After I previously failed.

** My Wife and Kids. Show was a bit shit, but this was the best line ever. EVER.

Filed Under: Awards, Blogging, YOR

Blognonymous – Remembering Family at Christmas

December 29, 2010 By mocha beanie mummy 5 Comments

This post was written anonymously and submitted to Blognonymous for publishing on this blog. Please feel free to leave your support should you wish, in comments below. Many thanks.

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It’s nearly ten years since my dad died. I’ll never get over it but, until recently, I thought I had come to terms with the fact he’s no longer here to celebrate Christmas with us. He always used to surprise my mum on the big day, either with an ornament she had admired whilst they were out shopping, or a holiday somewhere he knew would be the perfect place to take her. He was one in a million. No, scrap that, he was my dad, and the pedestal I gave him would never do for anyone else. His death was sudden and, like all deaths, devastated our family and turned our lives upside down. This is the time of year that he loved most; the decorations, fixing the tree lights, carving the turkey and I even saw him vacuuming the house one year, his way of helping my mum and making her Christmas just a little bit easier. Perhaps it sounds old-fashioned in our modern world, but my mum and dad were traditional; they had roles in their marriage, him being the bread winner and her being the home-maker. It worked, for nearly forty years. He gave us a wonderful life, one we could never repay. But that was just it; he didn’t want repaying, he just wanted us to be happy.

I moved in with my (then-future) husband within six weeks of my dad’s death. Some people thought it was a huge mistake and because of our age difference, they assumed I was looking for a father-figure substitute. Maybe I was. But my feelings towards my husband were obviously completely different to those I had for my dad. We have a wonderful relationship but still, after all this time, I yearn for what my mum had. I’m content, I’m happy, I’m loved. But I also wish my husband could be more like my dad; I wish he would surprise me once in a while, not in a materialistic way, but just a spontaneous, “shall we go for a walk?” or “let’s go out for meal, just the two of us,” kind of way.

Recently, I sat on the kitchen floor and cried. Sobbed to be precise, at the disappointment I felt knowing that I would never have the kind of relationship with my husband that my mum was lucky enough to have with hers. I’m sure they had their good and bad days, just like everyone else, but maybe I never saw the bad days, maybe I only saw my dad for the wonderful man he was. And to me, still is.

It’s this time of year that we reflect on those loved ones we have lost. We think about what Christmas used to be like in their company; how they fell asleep in the afternoon, usually after the Queen’s speech, how they meticulously carved the turkey and polished off their plate of food, how they watched with interest as we opened presents, insisting that we wrote a list of who’d bought what, how they held us in their strong arms and kissed our forehead, saying “Happy Christmas,” like they really meant it. I’ll never get those times back even though I will never forget them, but a part of me wants to relive them through my own family.

So often, I’ve felt that my husband doesn’t love me as much as my dad loved my mum. I don’t think the bond is there even though I know he always will be. I love him so much. I’m trying hard to love him as much as I loved my dad but when he fails to make an effort for me, even at Christmas time, a part of me dies, a small area of my heart moves along the path towards the man whom I will always think of as my number one. I know my dad would have loved my husband; he met him on a few occasions but it was before we got together as a couple. I’ll make the most of Christmas again this year, enjoying the excitement of the day itself, knowing my dad will be sat in his chair watching his grandchildren open their presents. I’ll cook the turkey just how my husband likes it, and I’ll be the home-maker whilst he continues to be the breadwinner. We’re all different and I love my husband for who he is. He’ll never change, I know that, but sometimes it would be nice to experience a Christmas like my mum and dad used to have. Love means so much in a family, but if you can’t show it, it can be as painful as there being no love at all.

A Very Happy Christmas to everyone.

Filed Under: blognonymous

The Day The iPhone Died (In a slightly kamikaze event involving various other things)

December 28, 2010 By mocha beanie mummy 20 Comments

It was bound to happen. My iPhone has had an amazing run over this last year, and knowing how much the phone actually cost meant I was even more hap-hazard with it. Somehow, I am yet to understand the value of stuff.

So you know, things like leaving it in my shoe in the porch, or forgetting it on the windscreen of my car on my drive (seriously. ON the windscreen. OUTSIDE. In the WEATHER. I dunno) were pretty much second nature to me. But getting it wet. Ohhhhhhhh god that was the one thing where you could guarantee I would SHIT myself whenever that happened.

And it did happen. If I recall, I had been out with friends in Devon and was transferring my phone from pocket to back in the rain – ironically I didn’t want it to get wet. Whaddya know! It got wet. The TINIEST bit of rain got in. I didn’t get to put it in rice until the next day when I got home, but I had remembered from reading the post on Amalah’s blog, that THIS was what I needed to do.

And slap my belly with a floppy bucket and call me Terry McGee, IT WORKED. My phone, my beloved iPhone, sprung back to life in 24 hours. And I’ve done it another time since then. Twice my phone has been submerged in a bath of rice, twice I have revived it.

This time, however, I may have taken the piss. The iPhone was tucked in the pocket of my rocking chair, plugged into my MacBook Pro on my lap. With a shit load of cable to spare, I went to move the MacBook Pro. Which somehow caused my phone to flip OUT of the (very deep) pocket, into the air, and sat beside my chair. I couldn’t do it again if I tried. For a split second, D and I stared at it incredulously debating on whether to laugh or not.

I leaped up, threw everything out the cupboard to find the emergency rice (yes, EMERGENCY rice) at the back. . And waited. Then it made a noise, I yelped, and decided it would be a good idea to .

LONGEST. NIGHT. EVER.

This morning, the phone refused to speak to me. It wasn’t interested in the life I wanted to breathe into it. I raced into the Apple store this morning, prepared for the worst. They told me the worst. In fact, they told me they couldn’t replace the phone because I was 42 days out of Apple Care warranty (thank you. Thank you beautiful man {he really was beautiful too…} for telling me that) and their manager wasn’t having any of it, not even as a goodwill gesture. The tears prickled in my eyes. It’s possible some of those tears may have escaped.

I went round to the Orange store (bless those sanity and money thieving bastards) and told me that thanks to my Orange Care Insurance, they can mail a replacement phone to arrive tomorrow. THANK GOD. But of course, I can’t be without a phone until the morning??! No. So I bought a replacement.

No, scratch that, I bought a £15 toy.

It’s an..er..Alcatel. There is no camera on it. Or internet. It has FM radio, 65k colour screen, SMS and handsfree. It makes pretty noises. And has flashing blue lights.

If Delivery Man isn’t at my door before 1am tomorrow, it’s possible Isaac and Noah will have an extra toy for Christmas.

Oscar. Mike. Effing. Golf.

Filed Under: iphone, wtf

Silent Sunday

December 26, 2010 By mocha beanie mummy 21 Comments

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Filed Under: christmas, Noah, photos, Silent Sunday

Crazies have a tough time too.

December 22, 2010 By mocha beanie mummy 16 Comments

I never know what to say, this time of year. When my mind starts spiralling down, as it has done every year for as long as I can remember, I never know whether to mask it and pretend to happy, or to go with it and hope someone is listening and understanding.

That’s the important part. Understanding.

The spirit of Christmas fills everyone so much. It’s great! Everyone’s so happy! Of course they are. So why would they want to listen to a crazy at this time of year? I wouldn’t want someone dumping my happy time, eh? I have a run of good emotions and I want to savour it, right? Course I do! Who wants to hear about how depressed someone is?!? Or have to sit through another “woe is me” sob story about not being able to “just be happy” and how everything is so suck worthy, eh? God no! It’s a happy time right now! Of course it is!

So maybe that’s what makes this harder. With every passing Christmas, I begin to realise more and more how much I can’t cope with this time of year. I have been sat in my home, with Noah and Isaac, dealing with major bouts of cabin fever and trying to work out what the hell to do. The levels fluctuate from day to day; sometimes the Smalls are climbing the walls. Sometimes I’m hiding in my room. Mostly, at the moment, I’m too poorly fighting off yet another chest infection, and trying to stay awake. I realised something was wrong with me whilst driving home from Solihull yesterday (having been desperate to get out and pick up the last Christmas presents) when I fell asleep at the wheel. Didn’t crash, no other cars around, very close to home, no harm done. But all I’ve wanted to do since then is sleep. All I do is sleep.

I wake up with the weight of shitty Christmases gone by pressing into my mind. The weight of the guilt of not being able to give my boys lots of fun, the fun they deserve. I wake up with the voice, murmuring quietly.

It comes back more, lately. Maybe because I am weak? I don’t know. But it’s there. It feels like it’s growing stronger again, I don’t know. I enter into the vicious circle of fighting it until I become physically and mentally weakened. Then it has a chance to grow stronger. And so I begin again. How do you explain this to someone? Many think it’s just my own voice, my “id” perhaps. Or it’s the voice of self doubt. Or many, many other answers. I have no answers. Drugs, psychotherapy, mental homes and counselling haven’t been able to deal with it in the past. So is this how it’s going to be? Forever? Every Christmas time a horrible mental battle, unable to find the support that helps me best?

Last Christmas, D spent most of his time in hospital visiting his father who had a heart attack. He missed much of Isaac’s first Christmas, and the family dinner was as normal as could be, bar the undercurrent of extreme tension. I posted well wishes to my father-in-law on my facebook status; an incredibly bitter and insensitive ex left a public message on the post (for all families to see) saying this was another Christmas I had ruined. I don’t remember much after that apart from crying an awful lot. Previously I had a house full of poorly people. Prior to that I was extremely pregnant and pretty much unable to walk. Before that one I was on honeymoon in Jamaica – we got pregnant and lost the baby.

And so it goes on, and on, and on.

I fear for Christmas, but I can’t bring everyone down with me. That kind of guilt will destroy me. I can’t deal with much more guilt right now. I can’t deal with other people’s problems right now. I can’t deal with other people’s happiness right now. And so it has been easier to shut myself away, with just the voice and the Smalls, and the masses of falling snow. I’m reminded of one Christmas where in a similar mental situation, when I locked myself in my house with my two cats and a bottle of Asti. I laugh looking back at that now, the image of a “crazy cat lady”. I wasn’t laughing at the time. I was scared. Kind of like I am now. Scared because I wasn’t sure I was going to survive. My body would make through, easily, but my mind and spirit were very weakened.

No one likes crazies, do they? They make us uncomfortable. You never know what they’re going to do or say. You don’t want to get too close in case they think you want to be their new best friend. Maybe they’re just looking for someone who understands. Maybe I’m just looking for someone who can say “yes, I know exactly what you mean, it goes like this, and here are all the answers to your problems”.

I’m tired now. Tired of fighting the crazy. Every inch of my body is exhausted right now. My chest hurts. My lungs for fighting being ill, my heart for being so sad. I don’t want to let my boys down. I really don’t. I can’t. I can’t let myself. They deserve awesome Christmas holidays, way better than the ones I remember having. So let’s just hope this crazy gets through another day with minimal hiccups. That would be a nice change, eh? Christmas is a lovely time of year, right? Crazies deserve a lovely time too.