A Journey To Juggling Motherhood - some mild soul bearing

My own brand of crazy...

I think its fair to say I've never taken the easy route in life. Looking back I don't know how much is planned, how much was just resourcefulness and how much was just fate... There are some people where things seem to happen to them, or life seems more challenging for them - I think I'm one of those - ok not exactly a revelation for any of you that know me even in the slightest! 

At school I was the kid that decided to do more exams than anybody else, that moved to a college at 16 and ended up teaching myself my A levels. I did Aeronautics and Astronautics at Uni... 100 guys and 3 girls... and we worked our asses off. 

I took a job in an oil company where you could count the women on one hand - strangely one of those was the boss. Well I think she was a woman... 2 weeks into my role she announced to me loudly that any woman that had a baby was a traitor to her company. Right ho... 20 years and 4 kids later - at best I'd like to say I proved her wrong... at worst I'd extend the middle finger and tell her to bite me (although apparently that's not very ladylike ...oops)

The shipped me to Netherlands, then to Africa and then to Leatherhead (How could they?!) - saved only by the people I worked with. I went from not knowing what Regulatory meant one minute to leading the European Regulatory team for a major gas company the next - not too shabby although service was probably a bit half mast under my watch! 

So - education...career... a different and absolutely challenging route. It taught me skills - perserverence, keeping sight of the big picture, proactiveness, creative problem solving, corporate politics, getting things to actually happen when the natural tendency is death by committee. Professional skills, life skills, mothering skills. 

As much as motherhood has taught me to be a better person at work, I would argue as much to say the skills I learnt at work ALLOWED me to become a mother, or at least the Mother I wanted to be. You see whilst my eldest was very much home grown, my youngest three daughters were all adopted. Anyone that's been involved with adoption knows the process can be an incredibly strenuous, invasive, pressurised time when the only way you can get through it is to focus on what you're trying to achieve and find quick and creative ways to solve the myriad of problems you will undoubtedly face en route. 

Now put it in the context that my youngest 3 were all adopted form Russia - not a country known for its clear and transparent legal system. The journey... correction, the fight we had to adopt our 3 girls was undoubtedly the hardest, most strenuous, most frustrating, heart breaking, financially crippling thing we have ever done. It took every ounce of resourcefulness, optimism, focus, perserverence, political machination, organisational ability and energy. I went through experiences I NEVER thought I ever would (remind me to tell you about the Russian medicals - Dear God!) and without the 2 Russian Angels that guided us through (L&J) , I don't think it was a mountain we could have overcome alone. 

And I would go through it again in a heartbeat....

People come to parenthood through many ways, and my experiences along route leads me to believe the traditional get married and pop out 2.2 children to order scenario is actually the least likely. A large number of people have to fight to become parents, have experiences they never thought they would. At times it would be easy to give up but we don't - we persevere. We find strength from somewhere - from our partners, our family and our friends. We make new friends that are going through the same experiences and we just keep going. 

The challenges do not end on coming home. In addition to the normal parenting stuff we had to learn about these children, there was no intuition, we had to help them learn to love us, we had to blend our families together, they had to learn to live again...

I was watching my girlies today - they are normal, cute funny girls that fight like cat and dog and can be incredibly loving (particularly when they want something). They know they are adopted and as far as they are concerned, it currently doesn't seem to bother them. They know it was a fight to bring them here, and they have a limited understanding of what life was like in Russia but in their view it was a bit of a mix up and they were born to the wrong Mummy and we had to come and find them. They watch videos and photos and have their Russian "cousins" - children that were adopted from the same children's home and that kind of shared background and common bond means they are actually family.  

But, like childbirth, the pain of adoption fades as you look at your children, when life finds its new normality, the constant craziness that having 4 young daughters undoubtedly brings, your girlies that have the same worries and joys as any other child.

I am a Juggling Mother and I thank God that I am.....

Roots, Wings and a lot of Grey's Anatomy

OOh what a weekend! Now, to be fair our weekends haven't been the kick back and relax occasions for several years; in truth if I had a weekend to myself I would probably be pacing the kitchen doing a good impersonation of a bored teenager. However Nanny was over for the weekend and Saturday dawned with a pretty tight schedule. The lynch pins were a 10-11am class for Katniss in one town, a 2pm haircut for eldest in another, a combination of children taken on each trip, Tescos delivery (big event in our house!), culminating in a pizza and movie night. Given we live 30 minutes from any town then travel time alone is a major factor in our lives. 

However it all sort of went Pete Tong, base over apex and a dash of catastrophic thrown in for good measure. I should be fuming, depressed or something but as I arrive in Sunday evening I'm actually quite chuffed about things. 

Trying to leave by 9.15 on Saturday for the class, all going spiffingly until Mum walked into the edge of the dishwasher and took and chunk out of her leg that one look alone told you A&E at best... Now a bit of context:  I cannot watch Casualty, Grey's Anatomy, Holby, Doc McStuffins - any of that. Anything more than a grazed knee and I feel quite queasy to say the least. This was quease-inducing of a fine order. The savlon wet wipe (my first attempt at stemming blood flow) was an embarrassing failure only accomplishing covering me further in blood, kitchen roll was not exactly much of an improvement. I eventually found some gauze (thank you EM for your 1st aid kit) but it was my 6 year old that came over took the gauze and knelt besides Nanny and held it down over the wound. She checked it occasionally and asked if Nanny was ok. Completely unfazed by her squeeling sister in the hall she was just at ease and did her thing allowing me to finally get some bandage, strap the wound and get Mum ready to go to A&E....

K did make her class and because I had to take the littlies with me, while waiting we discovered a fab retro coffee shop; so we raised beautiful chintz cups of tea to Nanny, ate chocolate cake and had a lovely chat and giggle. A&E was empty and by the time we got back Mum was arriving home too... Stoic and sturdy still not batting an eyelid she just got on with things and put us all to shame. She complained I wouldn't let her come with me to take eldest to haircut - "its only a flesh wound" - i think not!

And that was the pattern for the weekend. Everything just didn't go to plan, plans continued to crash and burn and then something good came out of them. The Tescos man failed me and didn't turn up - no pizza night. Then the youngest  asked if she could make chicken goujons for tea so at the age of 5, apart from sharp knife and hot pans - she cooked dinner for 4 people... And on and on....

So whilst I don't recommend letting anyone gauge out her shin to the point they'd look good in a biology dissection class, I did learn that sometime Mummy's aren't the ones that know everything in the family. In fact, I'm blessed enough to be raising 4 girls that even at their young ages are demonstrating a strength of character and capableness that leaves me in awe and great excitement as to what they will be able to achieve in the future. So often we think of parenting as the stress of the moment, how to get through today, tomorrow or even this year; but time will pass and the older they get - how our kids need us will change as they become more independent, making their own decisions. As we often take pains to remember we are individuals and not "just parents" so our children are individuals and not "just our kids". And it is indeed the greatest privilege to be able to teach and nurture my girlies, giving them strong roots so they know where they come from but as importantly  strong wings so they can fly....

And in the meantime I'm off to put tennis balls on the corner of any edges in my house. Stuff kiddie proof, I need to make it Nanny proof....

Harry Potter, A Cake... And A Moment of Lucidity

The youngest Harry

A couple of years ago I learnt to respect my limitations. Life had been rather crazy at work... I had started a new role so was having to put it the hours to "come up the curve". To make life more challenging Birthday season was upon us. To put it in context, from the middle of April we have a birthday every other week or so in our family through to October. A time for celebration you may think.... WRONG!!! This, ladies and gents, is where the competition really hots up. The birthday party - get it right and you are mother of the year plus (and more importantly) your kid gets significant popularity points at school combined with post party kudos of people saying how cool it was. Get it wrong and not only do you exhaust yourself for nothing but frankly your kid will have no friends, lose any respect at school and be destined for years of psycho-analytical therapy. Soooooo.... no pressure then. 

This year my eldest decided that she would have a Harry Potter themed sleepover. OK, doesn't sound too crazy... I can do this (bearing in mind I've done fashion shoot parties, designer parties, pool parties, trampolining parties.....) It was all planned... her friends would come for a Hogwarts feast, HP themed games followed by sleeping in the sitting room on airbeds having a Harry Potter marathon on TV. The one fly in the ointment was she wanted a cake in the shape of a Sorting Hat. 

It is fair to say I am not a fantastic baker, my cakes don't exactly rise, they more just "harden" in the oven, don't know why its just a skill. So usually I buy the cake from St Tescos or for the more adventurous requirements gets a "Lady That Can" to do the honours. This year however I was a touch busy, and never quite got around to finding that Lady. So I decided to make the cake. I got up the morning of the party and just got baking - chocolate sponges, probably 8 or so. They weren't epic but I saw them more as building material. I made chocolate butter icing and set about crafting a sorting hat. I chopped and stuck and baked and crafted for neigh on 6 hours with this cake. I even employed wooded kebab sticks for structural assistance to make sure the Sorting Hat could "peak over" at the top. By the time it was all covered in chocolate butter icing with a face applied, I was flipping impressed. This would be Outstanding.

That evening... kids arrived. They were greeted with wizardy music (HP soundtrack) and each given their own cape and wand on entering. the kitchen was decorated with candles for the Feast (Roast Chicken dinner served up in cauldrons followed by traditional puddings and ice cream) and let us not forgot the hilarious game of pin the scar on Harry. Parents had stayed - they were enjoying wine, I had scored a home run and the cake was yet to come. Silence fell, cameras ready as I emerged for the utility room with the giant Sorting Hat of a cake.

The parents faces were my first clue something was wrong. Somewhat taken aback was the expression. The kids tilted their heads to one side and giggled interrupting the flow of Happy Birthday. I was completely confused as to why my creation hadn't brought forth gasps of admiration. And then it struck me as I saw it through their eyes. In fact I had spent 6 hours of my life chopping, sticking, baking and crafting a cake that for all intents and purposes looked EXACTLY like a giant Turd. My assertions its tasted great could not overcome the psychological barrier the crowd had developed on tucking into this creation. 

To say her party has notorious was a mild  understatement, it was indeed talked about for some time... 

So whilst I don't recommend force-feeding your kids cake that will give them horrific nightmares for years to come, I did learn an important lesson. In my bid to be the best parent I could be, I overlooked one simple truth.... my own ability. I am not a baker, my intentions may be honourable BUT my talents and abilities fall short. Recognise your weaknesses, those things you're not good - that doesn't mean Never give them an airing there's just a time and a place. Accept that you can't be great at everything and you know what.... That's OK... because there will be other things you are great at and you they, my lovely friends, are the things you want to be remembered for. 

And in the meantime I'm off to find the number of a Lady That Can because birthday time is fast approaching and the requests for a space-themed "Pink rocket cake" could be a stratospheric, mortifying disaster otherwise....

Embarrassment, Dignity ... And A Tub of Ben & Jerrys

So in my 20s I learnt that extreme mortification doesn't stop in your teen years. At this time, I had left Uni and was working in London. I, along with several 1000 closest of my friends, used to commute daily into Waterloo and then I'd opt to walk to Aldwych just so I could walk across Waterloo Bridge, come rain or shine undoubtedly the best view in London.... Ever. Latte in hand, sunnies on - I cut a dashing picture I can tell you....

On this particular day, it was beautiful weather. I'd walked to work and had a pretty good day once inside the office; I met my deadlines, had a few genius ideas. And as the day closed not even the commute home on British Rail could dampen my mood - hop skippety jump.

As I arrived back at Waterloo, safe to say it was heaving - the world's masses heading back to suburbia. Mood still shining but realities of life were making themselves felt - I really needed a pee but didn't have 20p to use the Ladies. Not to be deterred, instant brainwave - nip upstairs in Burger King and use their facilities - voila! A free pee - could life get any better?! Now loos in fast food restaurants are not normally my favourite hangout - the ones in Waterloo are designed specifically to ensure people only use them as an absolute last resort. The game is, get in there - attend to business - and get the hell out without touching anything - even standing on your tippy toes to minimise surface contact. Mission achieved I had a few minutes to saunter casually over to the platform.

Nothing could dampen my mood; oh yeah baby I was on a roll. I walked out of the loos upstairs and down through the restaurant out onto the platform. Life was good, I was living the 20-something dream, I smiled at people and "worked that walk" through the crowded station and onto the crowded platform. I calculated if I wanted a seat I should work my way as far as possible along the platform....

I was about 2/3rds of the way down when a sweet, elderly lady approached me. I instantly stopped, social kindness oozing out of every pore as to how I would help this wonderful woman whereupon she politely informed me that I had my skirt wedged right up into the top of my knickers.... 

Well sweet lord and mother of all things merciful. If I could, in that moment, I would have happily thrown myself under the oncoming train or at the very least emigrated to a commune in Istanbul. I had gone from as happy and perky as a Pharrell Williams track when I only saw good and positive in the world to a very, very bad place to be as reality hit me. I did wonder why everyone was smiling at me as I had strode through the packed Burger King, heaving station and crowded platform - I just thought it was a case of smile and the world will smile with you - well apparently the whole world did. 

If that woman had never told me, I would have carried on in such a positive mood, I may have found a seat on the train, sat down and things may have naturally re-arranged themselves leaving me permanently ignorant but genuinely happy in my day. In fact, nothing factual changed whatsoever in that split moment between before I knew my indiscretion and afterwards... other than the knowledge the entire world had seen my Marks and Spencer's big-girl pants covering an arse that really should have seen the inside of a gym more often. 

It wasn't supposed to happen anymore - I was a together woman, in control who had all the answers (in addition to my large, well publicised backside) This is the nightmare of teen years, first dates, awkward puberty. However the difference this time is that I wasn't 15. So what did I actually do? The only thing possible at that time - I styled it out as best I could. Without batting an eyelid, I whipped down the back of my skirt, flashed this woman a dashing smiled, thanked her as is she had simply given me a free newspaper and carried on my way - back straight, head held high and sunglasses firmly covering my eyes. 

So whilst I don't recommend displaying your best M&S tidy whities to a large subsection of South East commuters, I did learn that no matter how old you are, or how grown up you think you are, these things will continue to happen. I will probably continue to slip, trip, fall, spill, break, snot sneeze, break wind and have clothing failure at the most horrific timing possible. But , unlike the 13-year old me, the world won't end, I can rectify the situation, hold my head high and keep my dignity. I can laugh about it afterwards with friends and quietly cringe inwardly when I think no one is looking. 

But more than anything, when my beautiful girlies become those mortified, excruciatingly embarrassed, massively sensitive teenagers, I can rest assured that my own memories of such feelings still burn bright within me and instead of scolding and telling them to grow up,  I will be able to look on sympathetically and offer a tub of reassuring Ben and Jerry's - 2 spoons. And being able to relate to them, to show them no matter how awful they think something is that their mother has done alot worse,  is why I will never regret bearing my ass to Waterloo... 

Where's Your Fairy Godmother When You Need Her?

So I've learnt I need a Fairy Godmother. Not of the pumpkin to carriage variety, mouse to footman and Prince Charming "happy ever after" kind of Fairy GM,  I'm way past that stage and to be honest the thought of going out to a Ball these days - dear God, I'd rather be at home with feet up, a Tescos Indian Takeaway in a bag, bottle of Pinot Grigio and a darn good movie.... whoo hoo!

No, I'm more after the modern variety of Fairy GM, the sort that can perhaps handle the paperwork that seems to gather with frightening speed in many piles on every flat surface. I normally associate filing with businesses, but seriously I think the filing in my house could rival that of a multi national corporation.... 

And then there's bill paying - I'm sure my Fairy GM could handle the relentless transfer of cash out of the house, I'm sorry - did I say relentless? That was actually an understatement. Keeping on top of the deadlines is one thing, if she had the urge to magic some extra cash into the account, who's gonna complain? 

Then we get started on the laundry... if clothes could magically re-appear washed, ironed, folded, sorted and in the drawers then I swear life would be much less stressful and I could have way more time to spend hanging out with my girlies and doing all the fun things in life. There would be no arguments over who's knickers were who's, where was the favourite top and where on earth did the 137 pairs of black leggings that we have bought over the last 2 months disappear to...?

So onto the shopping - Tescos online is one thing but permanently stocked cupboards - I may even enjoy cooking again. Uhhmmm... cooking, ok I'm good with the fun baking with girlies or the special meals or new recipe experiments but for mundane, arriving home late from the various extracurricular activities to find dinner waiting in the oven then I'm sure life would just spring by that bit happier... Especially if the Fairy GM just magic'ed away the washing up afterwards.

There you go... I'm just looking for a woman that will organise my admin, fund my account, keep up with eternal laundry and keep cupboards stocked, food cooked and cleared away and if she could love me, put up with my hanging out with my girlies, getting my work done in between and generally just handle everything that would be fab. Easy peasey....

So basically I'm not sure I need the dizzy heights of a Disney Fairy Godmother with wand and sparkles but thinking about it - it seems like what I actually need is "just" a mother... a good old fashioned Mum on hand, at my permanent beck and call. Thinking back to the teen years (and those in my 20s after Uni - sorry about that Mum!) all of that stuff used to just magically happen. I never had to worry about anything except keeping up grades at school and where/when I was meeting my mates. And now its my turn, all that stuff is a pain in the butt and even though I try and get as much done after bedtime it does take away time I could spend with my girls. But you know what - its part of their childhood, of having a Mum that just does that stuff. Nobody wants to be taken for granted, treated as a servant or however you think of it, but my kids will have years ahead of them where they will have no choice but to be responsible. 

So whilst I don't recommend abdicating teaching your kids good manners and appreciation, I firmly believe its part of the gift of being a Mum, to be your kid's Fairy Godmother that just makes all this stuff magically happen so they can concentrate on the important stuff of being a kid... That doesn't mean I can't prepare them for life, teach them how to do these things and as they get older, allow them to take a greater share in the responsibility of running their own lives but before I know it they will be off and I will be left looking at empty laundry baskets and empty bedrooms. So I'm not sure who's the beneficiary of the gift, of showing how much you love your kids by taking care of them and dare I say it, indulging them when you know you probably shouldn't.  

In the meantime I'm off to ring my mum, thank her for being my Fairy Godmother and see if she fancies clearing some of this paperwork for me. 

The Miracle of Light... And Blowing Raspberries At Your Sisters

Its never to late to learn more gratitude! So I, like thousands of others have been without power for the weekend...again. We had no power over Christmas so when it went off again on Friday evening we were more or less prepared. However what it does do is give you a very stark reminder of how much we rely on electrickity, as it is referred to at our place (yeah thanks Peppa Pig). Not only were there no lights, we had no heating, hot water, our phones didn't work as they were all singing and dancing ones that need power. Our mobiles didn't get any reception not that we could charge them (along with ipads and latops) combined with no internet. So what's the big deal i hear you cry? Man Up!

Well frankly it was the whole kid thing... We tend to be a bit annoyingly smug about how moving out of town means our kids watch way less TV and are out in the garden etc etc blah blah blah blah. Well ok.. smug rules in Summer, in winter our kids are right up there with TV, ipads, laptops and a whole host of charged handheld units and general mind numbing electric items... All gone. At Christmas time we were lucky in that we had the novelty factor, kids loved the candles, the party games, the eternal pasta (gas hobs rule!), talking about olden times... it was indeed an adventure. This time they arrived en masse Saturday morning and announced that they did not want to play Victorians again. Weather was too atrocious to do anything so we were trapped. Every suggestion of something to do involved power. I held off letting them use any remaining charge on laptop knowing it would be more needed for when it got dark. At evening time I proudly produced said laptop to find they'd watched a movie on it earlier when I was out and now it was as dead as a dodo....

Now this isn't to say the weekend was a disaster, in the end they had a good time... especially when the sun came out today so out came the bikes. But as a busy mother you forget how much you rely on your routines and your conveniences. At one awful moment there it looked like I wouldn't get my morning coffee - no power would be the least of peoples worries! Without power - new routines are required, you have to switch off autopilot and think. Your stock answers for "I'm bored" are just not applicable and I was left standing looking at the girls looking back at me, each with that look that just said "Well???"

So what I did do was spend a whole heap of time with the girls, we coloured, I filled the sink with water and soap and they had great fun washing up . We tidied (less fun), we went out to Smith and Western for food (way more fun). When it go dark, we lit candles and they danced around to music making each other giggle and when they went to bed they all set off with their little lanterns and all piled into our beds and we slept in one big bundle so no body got scared. I couldn't be sidetracked by the laundry or working or phone calls or texts or emails or television or ... or... or...

So whilst I don't recommend disconnecting yourself from the mains and living a humble existance off the land I do think perhaps I should take time to be very grateful for those things in life I take for granted. I have continual gratitude and appreciation for the miracle of hitting a switch and light coming on, turning a tap and hot water coming out, of cold fridges, efficient washing machines and Tescos online,. However what I am even more grateful for are my beautiful little girls that, at the end of the day, can amuse themselves for hours blowing raspberries at each other, by arranging little lanterns around the house, that will sing you songs and put on little shows and at the end of the day, have their absolute worst horrific fears in life be completely taken away by being able to curl up and sleep in bed with Mummy... if only life were truly that simple.

Bra-Burners of the World Unite: Ugg Ugg vs. Oooo Oooo??

OK so when I was in my 20s I discovered I didn't actually believe in sexual equality. Perhaps a strange statement for someone who has lived most of her academic and working life in a male dominated environment fighting to achieve but its true... Now before you all unite in bra-burning angst hear me out. 

Right, I absolutely, 100%, without doubt don't believe in sexual equality. Ignore the last couple of hundred years and go right back to how we were created as a species - Darwinsim, survival of the fittest, procreation of the human race. Men and women were fundamentally designed differently to serve, at a human level, different purposes. Men were all about hunter, protector. Lots of Ugg Ugg lets go kill a woolly mammoth, protect the women/children and generally leggit around the place fueled by testosterone. Women, generally speaking were designed, way back when, to have that monopoly on child birth and be in charge of the rearing the next generation of hunter/protectors or mother/nurturers. As such our natural tendency is off towards the oooo oooo than the Ugg Ugg, if you catch my drift. We worked and survived as a human species BECAUSE men and women were designed differently physically, psychologically and indeed mentally. Different but you needed both of them for things to work. That doesn't imply in any way men were more skilled just that each had a different range of very complex skills. 

Ok fast forward to today. Despite the massive advances in society, academia, science, technology, equal rights and opportunities we cannot change genetics (OK we can but that involves a whole bunch of hi tech med stuff I know nothing about). Fundamentally no matter what role or place you hold in society it is an inescapable truth that men and women are still different. No matter how much I go to the gym I will never be as strong as a man. Conversely don't think men have mastered that childbirthy thing either. 

Having pondered this in depth I think the biggest issue in relationships is when people fail to acknowledge those differences. Accepting being a woman, with the empathy, generosity and the need to feel protected is not a weakness... its kinda purpose built... and in no way defines/limits your intellectual capability. Men are designed to be the stronger and protect. I'm sorry but I think its crazy for us to pretend to be equal. WE ARE NOT EQUAL - WE ARE DIFFERENT!!!!! Get over it.... 

Where people get confused is by associating one being better than the other. They are not, they are just different. Do not confuse sexual equality with equal rights. What I am a massive believer in is equal rights. Just because you are a man/woman should not restrict you from doing or achieving what you want to acheive... nor how we are rewarded for doing the same job. Both genders can be top, high-flying lawyers, doctors, CEOs, nurses, teachers, >insert profession of choice<....

Further by being a woman and saying you want Sexual Equality you are automatically limiting yourself... do you really want to say to your daughters "hey sweetie if you work really, really hard and one day if you're lucky you can be equal to a man??" I think not. I would rather say to my child, son or daughter, "If you work really, really hard you can achieve anything you want too." 

Germaine Greer that famous of all feminists actually came up with a concept of Sexual Equivalence which recognises men and women are different but that neither should be penalised for that differences and they should be treated equivalently. I asked my eldest the other day if she believed in Sexual Equality bearing in mind she's rapidly approaching teen years and goes to an all girls school. Her thoughtful reply, perhaps unsurprisingly, was that No, she wasn't really interested in competing to be seen the same as a man (she felt that wasn't much of a challenge but the sarcasm detracts from my point!) but that in doing the best she could which may involve going "beyond' those things that men can achieve. And this is not a subversive attempt to say female difference make them better than men

So whilst I absolutely don't recommend woman to go all witheringly pathetic (grrr) or men to become emotionless, muscle-driven meatheads, I do recommend to take a sense check and just give up constantly struggling to be what you're not, what you were never designed for. Achieve your best, without limitations, in your way and by doing so, teach your kids... it's ok to be different, the point is what you do with that. 

And in the meantime, fellas Valentines Day is approaching - just go sweep your woman off her feet... occasionally every woman likes their man to go a bit Ugg Ugg....

Hundred Days Happy Charter

Juggling Mothers, Juggling Fathers and those of us that generally have to Juggle

There is lots of advice I could give for 100 Days Happy but the only one that is a fundamental fact of life is to drink more water. As for the rest....

Be happy. There will always be things in life that annoy you and generally pee you off but only you can chose how you respond to them. Think positively, no one likes a whinge bucket. Regardless of whether you see the glass as half empty or half full – in both scenarios there is room for more wine...

Life is not a journey to find happiness but happiness is the things that make you smile as you go through life's journey

Smile often, laugh more

Enjoy your time with the kids. In many cases today it’s quality of time not quantity – so put down your phone and really enjoy being with them. Shout less, dance more. Be firm but be fair. You never know what they will remember when they are older. Never leave them without kissing them, saying you love them and that you will be back.

Never expect your kids to do or enjoy anything you’re not prepared to try yourself. Sit down and do some colouring – try not to go over the lines its harder than you think – but strangely therapeutic. Dust the bike off from the garage and actually ride out with the kids, make sure you get in the pool with them and not sit on the sidelines. Take lots of photos - you can always delete them but can never go back. 

Bake cookies together and eat them whilst still warm

Take time for yourself. Have those spa evenings even if just at home – men too. Moisturize lots, you can never have enough moisturizer. Women: wear make up sparingly – you’re beautiful, you don’t need to slap it all on. Those bags under your eyes are marks of a survivor. Those lines round your eyes show someone who laughs and loves. Men: for God sake trim your nose and ear hair – frankly yuck.

Take care of your back, from someone who has both given birth and has a shot back – I’d take the pain of childbirth any day of the week. Do your stretches, see your physio and bend from the knees.

Don’t ignore your teeth.

If you go to work, well then work for flips sake! As much as you may wish, you're not paid to drink coffee and chat. Get stuff done, you'll feel better I promise, there's nothing worse than spending a day at work and at the end feeling like you've achieved nothing. 

Do something – do anything! Don’t just fall into a routine and never look out ot see what’s there. Learn something new, never stop learning. If you stop learning we may as well all give up and go home.

But make your bed for goodness sake, it’s civilized!

When people criticize or pass judgement, don’t let it define who you are but be brave enough to see if there is a grain of truth in what they say. Once you see that, what you do with that is up to you but don’t keep getting upset if people keep saying the same things.

There will always be people out there who you see as better parents, better at work, better looking, wittier, funnier, generally better. You’ve never walked a mile in their shoes – and all that doesn’t make them happier. Give yourself a break – you’re actually pretty good at this whole life thing and in fact, you’re not doing a half bad job either. Look in the mirror and give yourself a hug.

Don’t waste your time on regret it’s a useless emotions.

Make sure you know who your friends truly are and then make darn sure you don’t lose touch with them. If they are truly your friends they deserve your time and effort; make time to email or call. Leave time in your diaries for those impromptu weekends where you all just gather for a long BBQ...eat too much, drink too much, watch the kids play together and then promise not to leave it so long next time.

Take notice of the world, teach your kids about the world around them. If the news is too scary watch a program about history or wildlife or geography. Better still read a book together. Better yet make a day trip somewhere so they can touch and feel and smell whatever it is you want them to know. As your kids grow they will want to be with you less and less and pretty soon you'll be reminiscing about when they were babies. 

Don't lose the "Now"

Know that you have many roles in life: mother, father, son, daughter, husband, wife, brother, sister but never give up accountability for who you are. You are your own person and the only person you can truly guarantee will be with you throughout your entire life journey. In a relationship use the others strengths but don’t become reliant. Never confuse the fact with choosing to not do something with you can’t do something.  

Don’t not do things just because they scare you.... in fact do something that does scare you to remind yourself what it feels like. And if that's telling someone you love them - then frankly what are you waiting for?

So whilst I don't recommend quoting the majority of the above as gospel truth except perhaps the drinking water, it does make it clear to me that there's no point waiting for tomorrow to be happy or waiting for anyone else to make you happy. Today seems a perfectly good day to start that. 

And if all that fails, as the lady said...regardless of whether my glass is half full or half empty - pass the Pinot Grigio!

  

Live, Laugh, Love and Drink Wine ... and eat Haribo

As a society we're often critcised for being too materialistic and in truth my response to that would be to get a bit "umpy" and politely inform people that I've worked long and hard to get where I am and it's not a crime to like to have nice things. But although buying a new TV for example is fab, your happiness in that peaks when you get it delivered, set it up and watch those 1st few movies exclaiming all the while about the amazing picture, sound etc. Pretty soon it becomes the norm and it's back to being just the "TV". But general happiness is not determined by the occasional big events in life but the smaller day to day things that set the scene for our mood and our perception of our own happiness. 

So what brought me onto this deep and meaningful? Last night whilst cooking up a culinary delight of sausages and mash for the kids I was pondering dates combined with a bit of mental maths and realised that tomorrow it is exactly 100 days to my birthday. Now, in truth, this is not exactly a whoop whoop day in my diary - not sure I've ever even spotted the D-100 day before but hey ho. The reason it has stuck in my brain is that recently I've noticed a few friends posting photos on various social media under the banner of #hundred_days_happy or something of that ilk. They tend to be amazing women who post photos of things that make them happy and what's noticeable is none of them are centred around getting a new TV. They're arty things they've made, kid stuff or in one case just a handful of jellybeans. 

This left me pondering whether my defence of "nice stuff" was doing me a bit of a disservice. What actually is it, truly and honestly, that makes me happy of a normal day? Things that if they happen I get to the end of the day and think - yup - good day or indeed things that don't happen and I'm launching for the pinot grigio before the watershed. As I drove home today I tried to have a real heart to heart with myself as to what exactly would make me happy.... You'll be ever so grateful to know I didn't do the 100 things but limited it to 10... See what you think of this lot, in no particular order:

1) The kids actually sleeping through the night and not waking up before 7am 
2) When I leave work late to pick up the kids finding the roads through Surrey clear and not gridlocked through some random accident meaning I don't have to call the school yet again and apologise for being late 
3) Getting to work, checking my diary and realising it is not back to back meetings
4) Getting my email inbox down to single digit of unread email - Booyah! 
5) Hopping on the scales and seeing any number that is equal or less than the number I previously saw
6) Those stupid little things kids say that make you laugh out loud wherever you are
7) Having a kitchen disco and serving hot pizza from the oven and everyone grabbing a slice and all talking at once
8) Going for coffee at a friend's house and the kids not fighting but playing nicely for ages
9) When you are stuck in traffic in the car and out of the corner of your eye you spot a packet of Haribo that's still got some in - and there's no one else in the car so you can just eat them and not have to share 
10) When someone, big or little, in the middle of a humdrum day just suddenly comes out with an "I Love You" for no reason whatsoever other than they do....

Looking at that list - none of them feature a TV delivery, in fact none of them feature anything materialistic and these are the things that are the soundtrack to my life and seem to be centred on good fortune that make my life more organised or sharing good times with people. Moments that perhaps when you look back you can't remember the individual incidents but that on balance make you feel good. 

One of my favourite quotes is from the author Maya Angelou in which she says that you don't always remember the things that people do but you do remember the way they make you feel. 

So whilst I don't recommend eating an entire pack of Haribo on your own in the car (because trust me you do feel very sick afterwards) I think that when you truly look at what gets you through the day, don't overlook the little things that come in all shapes and sizes that leave you feeling like life is pretty darn good. 

Ok I give in...

11) Pinot Grigio

Elephant Poop - Because You're Worth It....

When I was 28 I learnt that elephant poop tastes truly nasty. Living in Africa we were quite comfie going on safari on our own... any residents there kind of knew the rules - you went in a group, stayed in properly reserved areas and, most importantly of all, never EVER get out of your car. On this one weekend I'd teamed up with a South African family I'd got to know really well; Mum, Dad and their 2 kids who were I think about 5 and 8 at the time. I'd spent quite a bit of time with them and by now loved them all like family. We'd packed up the Pajero, booked a lodge and headed out to Amboseli National Park for a weekend of watching elephants, lions and all the wonderful wildlife Kenya had to offer. The evenings were spent sitting in the shadow of Mount Kilimanjaro drinking red wine and listening to the hyenas laughing at us under the Southern Cross...life was pretty excellent.

On our last day, the weather was beautiful; it had rained all night and so the day dawned without the killer humidity that we'd been enjoying. As we were at our furthest point from the lodge in deepest darkest Africa we managed to get the car stuck in the mud, literally... The rains had turned the dry ground to a  quagmire (sound familiar?!) and the heavy Pajero was not shifting for love nor money. We all sat in the car  looking at each other for a while until the Dad and I decided the only way was for us to nip out of the car and push the vehicle out of the mud whilst his missus sat clean and dry in her sparkly white Tshirt and shorts in the driver's seat (yeah thanks Bonnie - I think I got the wrong end of that deal!!) Well the Dad Steve and I pushed and pushed and pushed this flipping car but nothing happened except getting liberally sprayed in mud. By now the kids were beginning to stress... they were smart kids - they were stressed we were out of the car, stressed we were stuck and increasingly stressed at how late it was getting. There was no mobile phone signal, no one was expecting us back (as we were heading directly home afterwards) and frankly, we were in a bit of a pickle.

In the absence of any other plan we kept trying to push this darn beast of a car out of the mud. We dug away at the mud around the wheels, put shrub under the front wheels to gain traction but nothing worked. By now the kids were besides themselves. I remember Steve looking at me and basically saying - we had no choice, out of somewhere we had to find the grit to push this car out of the mud. I was already completely knackered and marginally concerned about the various animal noises surrounding me, let alone the herd of elephants that seem to be wandering around in the visible distance. 

So we took a deep breath, dug out feet into the mud as far as they could go and pushed with every bit of strength we found from somewhere. Slowly the car began to give, we didn't acknowledge I just remember digging my feet deeper into the same spot and swearing that I wouldn't stop pushing until this car moved and the kids were ok. Slowly, slowly it began to move, the kids were cheering but Steve and I just kept on going. With a final slurp the car jumped free - Steve leapt forward like a triumphant, all conqueroring hero, arms aloft cheering. I however was rather knackered and as the car moved, my arms slipped outward, my feet firmly wedged in the mud, and in slow motion, I had assumed a fully extended position as I faceplanted the biggest pile of elephant poop you could imagine. His wife immediately leapt out of the car shouting for me not to move. "How sweet" I thought, "she has come to help me after I jointly saved her entire family from obvious painful death being eaten by wild African animals". Well no, she just wanted to get her camera....

I had a long time to ponder the incident on a quiet drive back to Nairobi wearing only underwear and a borrowed TShirt. The fact that you could take yourself to what you thought was your limit (either physically or mentally) and if you were on your own that may have been it. But having the kids there and the overwhelming need to protect them meant that, from somewhere, no idea where, you find strength and mental fortitude you never knew you had. And these weren't even my own kids. 

So whilst I don't recommend an elephant poop spa (although I have to say my skin was just Glowing afterwards) nor do I recommend morbidly obsessing about doing heroic deeds to save my children from imminent disaster, sometimes when I think I'm being a particularly crap Mum I do stop and try and put things into perspective. I may not be the most homemaking, casserole-baking, eternally-patient mother going but I love my kids like no other person on this planet,  I will always be there for them and if the worst happen, I would willing lay down in elephant poop 100 times over to save them. 

Houston - We Don't Have A Problem...But I Do Have A Dream...

When I was 18 I went to Space Academy in America. The idea had be born several years before. I'd been at a slight crossroads; my life-long dream to be a doctor had sort of changed overnight (that's another story...)  I had always wanted to be a doctor... and now - no more doctoring for me. I remember my family trying to convince me to reconsider but my mind was made up. The only problem I then had was what on earth to do now... 

Then one day I was watching the fairly awful 80's movie "Space Camp" - for those of you who haven't seen it... a bunch of bratty kids, go to Space camp, get picked to sit on a shuttle during a test firing and something goes wrong and they get launched into space. (Oops think its du jour these days to warn of a plot spoiler but seriously you're not missing an awful lot.) However at 16 I was fascinated. Right, if I can't be a doctor I'll focus on my other great interest and do that whole space thing... In truth I had no idea really what "bit" of Space thing I was going to do, I just generally REALLY liked the idea. 

So in all ernst of a 16 year old who absolutely thought they were quite grown-up I announced to my mother that I wanted to go to Space Camp. I remember her looking through the hatch from the kitchen to the lounge (hey it was the 80's hatches were very fashionable!!) and make some comment of "sure you can dear as long as you pay for it".

So, bearing in mind the internet was far far away in a land not quite thought of yet and me being completely trusting in society, I wrote a letter - a real letter, paper, pen, everything - saying I wanted to go to Space Camp and sent it to "NASA, Houston, America". I wish the story demonstrated a higher level of sophistication but alas no. Several months later a simple brochure was posted through my door.  Success! However I then worked out to go I would need to raise several thousand pounds to cover not only the course but flights, travel, insurance the lot giving further proof I was a spreadsheet girl before spreadsheets were invented.

So I got creative... I started small. I had already been working a Saturday job since I was 12 (it was legal back then - honest) but at £1.95 an hour I wouldn't be going far. So I got 2 jobs, a part time office job in addition to the job at C&A's (oh yes people blue polyester uniforms whoo hoo!) and yes, in addition to college. I then got very creative... I'd raid jumble sales looking for anything antiquey (dragging Mum with me) and then every couple of months have a stall in an antiques fair where we'd re-flog everything for a hefty mark up. At 16 I was already a wheeler dealer! 

At 17 I remember announcing to the world that not only did I have enough money to go to Space Camp but I'd arranged to stay with some friends of an Uncle and would actually be combining the 2 week course in Alabama with 3 week holiday in New York. And that's exactly what I did and if I do say so myself had a flipping AMAZING time.

What struck me out of all that was when I first told people about my plans to go (and fund my trip) to Space Academy most people looked at a very naive 16 year old and smiled sympathetically? Patronisingly? Cynically? And to be fair they had cause. But at 16, I had a "dream",  I saw great hope and opportunities in the world and had an unwavering belief I could achieve anything if I was that determined.... I was a kitsch 80's movie in my own right - where was Molly Ringwold when you needed her?? 

So the question for today is at what point do we loose that childlike hope, dreams and seeing the world as full of possibilities? If a 16 year old today told me they were going to raise this money and go on an amazing trip I'd be more than cynical at the success rates of that. But back then I had an absolute belief I could change the world - or at the very least the bit of the world I lived in - that, in the words of an old teacher of mine, "I was only restricted by my own limitations". Today when faced with a challenge my natural instinct is to see the associated hurdles and obstacles as problems, as negatives; back then they were true, fun challenges that I 100% knew I'd win, the game was just to work out how. 

So whilst I don't actually recommend spending your Saturday mornings trawling jumble sales for glass dressing-table sets (especially as we now have ebay), perhaps sometimes I can remember some of the youthful hope and optimism whenever my girls announce they want to achieve something rather radical, to not automatically start listing issues but, instead,  to see whatever it is I can do to help and inspire them. And through that teach them that they truly can achieve whatever it is they want and indeed, perhaps, change the world. In the meantime I'm just off to destroy any DVD that has bratty teenagers going off to incredibly expensive holiday camps in America....

Kiss Your Kids, Look Twice and Wear Clean Knickers

At the age of 21 I got hit by a car... and I mean absolutely splattered. It was at the beginning of my 4th year at Uni and my parents had called me to tell me that my Grandmother had passed away. Whilst it was very sad, in all honesty we hadn't been close combined with the fact she had suffered dementia for many years so had been "away with the fairies" for as long as I could remember. But of course, I loved my Grandmother and was told her funeral would be at the end of the week. Now - truth be told - the timing sucked! Us 4th years had returned a week early to kick off our major projects - a culmination of our time with our noses in books. The week was full of project meetings, design workshops and I remember anguishing over how on earth I was going to take time off on the Friday to make the funeral. 

It was at that point I stepped out in front of a Volvo. Oh no, not a little Corsa or something I stood at least a fighting chance with but instead a big, old, solid Volvo with no crumple zones except me. It was the whole deal, road sealed off, 1st Emergency Responders, 2 ambulance crews the lot . In front of a crowd of my peers and general gawpers I had my clothes and shoes cut off me, was strapped to neck boards, back boards and leg boards, had my face bound in surgical gauze before being blue lighted off to Southampton General. 

Luckily nothing was broken although my face didn't come off quite so lightly (ok ok folks hold the jokes please!!) I remember very clearly 2 hours of extremely painful facial surgery as they basically stitched my nose and mouth back onto my head and back together. Needless to say I made it to my Grandmother's funeral, although on the day as my mother so kindly pointed out, I looked as if I could have crawled in next to her. 

One of my favourite "songs" is Baz Luhrmann's "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)". It is based on a famous graduation speech and in it he gives advice to his peers on how to get through life. One of the best lyrics in the song is "The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind. The kind that blindsides you at 4 PM on some idle Tuesday." Many people's lives were blindsided that Tuesday... mine (and my nose obviously) but the poor, completely blameless woman who hit me was absolutely traumatised, my parents who received a call saying "your daughter has been hit by a car and suffered severe head trauma - that's all we know"  and even that poor Japanese bloke on the side of the road that had to watch my jeans being cut off me....

Today I've learnt many things from this experience... I never leave my kids without kissing them and saying I love them, I always look twice before crossing the road but, most importantly, when I'm stressed to hell over time and getting everything done, I try and see what exactly is truly important versus all those other things that just seem really urgent. 

So today at 2.30 when an impromptu urgent meeting was called I realised I wouldn't get to pick up my kids and take them to their first ballet show when all 4 were in it together. However in 10 years time no one would remember that meeting I couldn't go to but my kids would remember Mummy let them down at the last minute on their ballet show. And the crazy thing was, the moment I mentioned this to the meeting organiser, it was absolutely no problem to reschedule the meeting to Monday. in fact I was the only one that had attributed such levels of urgency to it not those I had originally perceived. 

So whilst I don't recommend throwing yourself under a Volvo to have life changing moment, perhaps sometimes we could step back and just see if we have our priorities in balance...family, relationships, career and to sense check that with our limited time we understand those things on our To Do list that are truly important versus those that just seems important at the time. And if that fails... kiss your kids often, look twice when crossing the road and don't forget to wear clean underwear. 

From Russia With Love...and Vapour Rub

So I had to do an emergency dash from the outback of North West Russia to Moscow. This involved taking an overnight sleeper train, out one night - back the next. At the station in my non-existent Russian I managed to purchase 2 beds in the same cabin for the outward journey thereby ensuring my personal space - hurrah! However on the return journey the train was full, they had just one bed left - and it meant I would have to share. My back was against the wall - I needed to do the journey so had no choice. 

Going out was borderline luxurious as Russian trains go but on having lunch with a friend of mine in Moscow he began to put the fear of God into me about my potential sleeping partner for the return. After a couple of hours he had me completely convinced I would be spending the night with a large, shabby, incredibly smelly Russian man. I was so convinced I actually stopped off at a chemist to buy the Russian equivalent of Vicks vapour rub - if the smell was that bad I could rub the vapour rub under my nose a la mode of CSI and dead bodies.

I found my cabin, opened the door and my heart sunk. There, sitting on one of the cabin beds was a large, shabby, bearded Russian man - luckily absent of dead body smell but ticking all the other boxes of my fears. He sat there grinning at me and then muttered something in Russian. I couldn't respond, didn't understand for a start and my mind went completely blank. After 10 minutes of just sitting there staring at me the man got up and left...phew... and returned... not phew.... with his teenage son...really not phew. The 2 of them proceeded to then just sit there on the edge of the bed grinning at me. They didn't move, have any other expression although occasionally said something to me in Russian which I just didn't get. After 2 hours of this I had reconciled myself that I would be sleeping fully clothed including my boots - hell, who was I kidding? I wouldn't be sleeping more like keeping watch.

At some point in this very weird stand-off there was a knock at the door and an equally large, shabby and bearded Russian woman entered the room. You know what? It didn't matter a blind bit that I never spoke Russian. In less than 20 seconds I had a very clear understanding of this woman's issues! She was obviously the older man's wife and on entering the room had taken one look at me and informed her hubby, less than politely that if he thought he was staying another minute longer in this cabin with this English hussy who would obviously throw herself at her man during the course of the night then he had another thing coming. In 2 minutes she had his belongings in her hand and had both men shuffling out of the room whilst screaming one word of English - "Out! Out! Out!" 

I don't know where that poor man slept that night on what was indeed a jam packed train and in truth, I don't really care. I bolted my door after a while and had a very pleasant nap back to Petrozavodsk arriving suitably refreshed with my virtue well and truly in tact. 

However, all this was  a very stark demonstration of non-verbal communication; I think I read somewhere words are only 10% of what we "say". The 2 men obviously hadn't mastered the other 90%. The wife however - crystal clear!  

I thought of this today when I was embroiled in a long and complex email chain. Relying on email, IM or text means all we are sending is that 10%; chuck in an emoticon and you can probably improve that rating a fraction. Today, instead of prolonging the email agony I got up and went and spoke to the gent concerned and in 10 minutes we had completely sorted any problems and left smiling and joking - harmony restored. 

So whilst I don't recommend hitching up on an overnight train ride with some complete weirdy stranger and a pot of vapour rub or at the other extreme, busting into a room shouting "Out! Out! Out!" maybe occasionally I need to rely less on the impersonal convenience of texts and email and instead embrace my coffee-addiction and invite colleagues to sit down and have a good old chat... preferably not in Russian

Coffee Equality, Car-jacking with a Side Order of Flies

In my 20s I moved to Kenya for work. Times were obviously very different "back then" - there was no security, no safety briefing, actually there was really naff all. One hot day in October I basically pitched up at Nairobi Airport with a rucksack and a postit with some blokes name on it that would meet me there and take me to my apartment.  A pasty-faced, fuzzy-haired white girl from Surrey - I'm sure I cut quite a picture wandering around completely disorientated trying to work out who on earth I was meeting - naaah I didn't look out of place at all. 

By some grace of God, I did find the bloke and arrived at my new home - an apartment block conveniently situated right in the centre of town - next to the prison block. My new boss dropped by to give me the low down - he'd take me to see the golf course on Monday for lunch until then don't walk into town, don't talk to locals, don't wear or carry anything valuable and (on giving me keys to my new car), lock the doors at all times or you will be car-jacked. Excellent - think that was all the bases covered. After he left I pondered for a while about what he was proposing and came to a conclusion very quickly. Buggar that for a game of soldiers! I was not planning on spending the next 2 years of my life seeing a sanitised version of such an amazing country. 

I changed into jeans, T-shirt, put 10 shillings in my back pocket in case I was mugged and walked into town. It is fair to say over the next 2 years, I was indeed mugged on more occasions than I care to mention, car-jacked at gunpoint, had such a horrific car accident that my car ended up on top of a tree, was caught in student riots, broke ribs and was hit by a very jam packed matatu. I drove my bosses crazy at work with what they saw as my unnecessary risk taking behaviour - I smiled, nodded, ignored them and just carried on doing my do...

On the flip side, most of my friends during that 2 year period were made from that 1st walk into town (you'll be pleased to know I made it past the prison block before I started befriending people!) I got chatting to a local Kenyan called Jacob; on realising I wasn't a tourist with cash loads to spend he took me to the local bar in town for a beer and a chat. 2 weeks later I was driving across Kenya to meet his family that still lived in traditional mud huts on the boarder of Uganda. I had discos by car lights with kids from the slums, I ate chicken heads and fried flies for Saturday lunch among "family", I became fluent in Swahili and spent many weekends in town sitting on the bonnets of the taxis along with all the taxi drivers staring at the most beautiful sky in the world and chatting about Arsenal (I kid you not...). I hand fed giraffe, ploughed fields by hand and ate more roadkill than was probably wise (let's not mention that bout of dysentry shall we?!) 

During my time in Africa I would often be the only white person in the room, indeed I would often be the only white person for miles - standing out as much as I did that first day at the airport. I once commented to my friend Jacob if it bothered him that I was white... he didn't laugh or deny but instead just looked really confused and said "White is just one of the colours we all come in, a bit like coffee". 

I came back from Africa nearly 14 years ago now, and while I  never did learn golf and never achieved the "Employee of the Month Award" that experience - that I could only have ever gained through work - has had such a profound effect on me personally and today is strongly influencing how I raise my girls. Not to ignore, gloss over or pretend that people aren't different; those differences are there for whatever reason and by understanding, accepting, learning and looking beyond the "2 week touristy view" we often learn more about ourselves. And if they ever ask those blunt childlike questions about peoples' differences I can smile sweetly and in the essence of Jacob's words simply say "Sweetheart, its a bit like coffee, comes in many shapes and forms but its all good"

So one day I will take my girls back to Kenya, I will introduce them to my friends of old, the people, the children, the wildlife and one of the most beautiful skies in the world although I may have to hold off on that fried fly thing...