Leftover risotto…

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

I am shocked to find myself ravenously gobbling (yes gobbling) up the boys’ leftover creamy, cheesy leftover risotto…

Even more shocked to find that I am ravenously gobbling up the boys’ leftover risotto from the pan… AND with the spoon!

I stop gobbling for a few minutes and change the spoon for a fork.

I continue gobbling.

Somehow having a fork makes it ok…

To eat from a pan…?

Or to eat leftovers?

To eat creamy carbs on a week night when I haven’t exercised?…

I am not sure…

So why I am shocked? I bet many people eat kids leftovers. I bet quite a few eat from a pan… saves washing up right?

It’s not something I would do.

The eating off a spoon – terribly uncouth.

The eating from a pan – even more so!

The eating kids leftovers – in my opinion and experience, a slippery slope of adding in extra unrequired calories a day which can lead to the middle aged middle.

These are behaviours, I wouldn’t usually allow myself to do.

My personal standards today have clearly slipped!

So that begs the question, why is that? What happened today to make me resort to eating leftover boy’s tea off a spoon from the pan?

Looking at the facts of what needed to happen today:

Tom needed to be ready to leave at 7.20am to get to school on time for 8am.

Willy and I both needed to be at the same school for 9.15am.

Willy needed picking up from the school at 2.15pm.

Tom needed picking up from the same school at 4.45pm.

2 drop offs / 2 pick ups and the rest of the day was mine to do what I wanted.

That sounds boringly easy. Simple. And definitely not ‘eating leftovers with a spoon from a pan’- like…

Or at least what I would have thought – pre-kids, suited and booted, off on the corporate ladder warpath, ignorant to life as a mum…

For adding in to the simple recipe of 4 drop off and pick ups – add in the additional factors:

The school is a 40 minute each way commute.

You could argue that I could have made one trip both ways, hung out near the school for a few hours.

However, while Tom gets dressed, makes and eats his breakfast, does his ablutions independently and without any fuss… Willy does not.

Willy likes to take his time, having breakfast in his pyjamas (he hates to get his school clothes with one spot of a meal on them, let alone any spillage of water – Mr OCD in miniature).

Willy likes 3 rounds of toast, made for him with just the right amount of butter.

Any rushing Willy or deferring him from his routine, ends up meaning disaster. He would not be ready for 7.20 am.

The return journey… I could have picked up Willy at 2.15 and hung about around school for Tom.   But Tom was on an away rugby fixture and 4.45pm pick up is likely to mean 5.15pm. And in my professional Mum’s opinion 3 hours is too long to hang around in coffee shops… or go shopping with a 6 year old (chaos or massive expenditure)…. And going home to drop Willy off and back again would be just a waste of time and petrol…

So the simple recipe of today has been logistically tricky… not only in terms of cost effectiveness, timeliness but also the added important factor of keeping 2 small boys fed, watered and most importantly happy – ensuring both of them get the same level of love and attention as each other…. (I am still conscious of Willy’s melt down only a few weeks ago because I spend too much time with Tom…albeit on school runs, but he doesn’t understand that).

Add in to the simple recipe, the ingredients that are required to keep my life plans and my business moving in the direction that I want it.

Add in to the simple recipe, the ingredients that are required to keep my health and sanity in tact.

Add in to the simple recipe, the necessary ingredients that are required to keep the household functioning, the endless list of ‘jobs’ that come with being a home owner, a wife, a friend… HMRC to ring, the garage to ring and pay a bill, anniversary present to buy, etc etc etc…

I had thought that leaving my corporate job would leave me to have a more balanced life for my children, my relationships and me….

When I imagined this balanced life – the image of an old fashioned scale came into my mind… and rather than being heavily tipped over to the corporate, career side with my family, friendships and me left wanting more, swaying precariously high up… the scale would be even, equal, perfectly level, calm, immobile…

I realize now that that is an image that is something unachievable. There is no such thing as perfect. There is no such thing as perfect balance. Trying to achieve that is setting a standard far too high, impossible! And as such just another reason to beat myself up for not achieving something…

This image and realization then triggers another memory… a clip or a talk that I stumbled across once.. A guest on Oprah, once said exactly that. Work / life balance is just another reason, another weapon for women to beat themselves up for not getting it right.

I love what she says afterwards… Embrace the beautiful mess that you are.. that we all are.

So today I embrace being a beautiful mess…. Driving the same route multiple times, catching quick coffees with friends to fill the time between road trips, scribbling business plans on note pads, phone calls from the car… a beautiful mess of a Mum with boys on my knee at tea time, boys on my lap on the sofa… coaxing little ones to bed with promises of treats… patiently watching Willy flap and cry for 10 minutes in a particularly bad night terror as I have my cup of herbal sleep tea… protecting him from sharp corners, walls and tables…

It is therefore rather fitting that my supper was a beautiful mess too… a beautiful mess in the bottom of the pan that tasted so good… off a spoon.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/11/13/elizabeth-gilbert-life-you-want_n_6148472.html

beautiful mess

The little jeweled box

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

The little box..

While on holiday with my Dad and sister in Cornwall over half term we had many discussions about Mum and how we felt…   My Dad is by far the best at coping, dealing, managing with the sadness, loss, change… Maybe it is because he has had longer to come to terms with the demise of my Mum’s brain, her personality, her… having lived with it daily for many years…

One evening, I asked him how he managed to stay so positive and focused on the future, without feeling guilty or letting the grief overwhelm him as it was me. What could I do,  so that I could focus on getting my life back on track and being the best version of myself, to being the best mother to my boys, the caring wife, the brave, fearless and professional business owner… so that I could get back to being myself, my positive self, the optimist, happy, full of vitality and spirit.

He talked about a box.

He puts ‘Mum’ in a box.

And every now and then, he will allow himself to open the box… either when he is visiting her, or in quiet moments at home.

He will open the box and think of her – and smile at happy memories.

He will open the box and think of her – and allow sadness in.

He will close the box of Annie. And open the box of the life of John, Dad and Grandad and fill it. Fill it with adventures, of ice creams, silliness and cricket, rugby or tennis… making new friends and having fun.

This is a technique I started to apply on hearing about it. For Mum has been floating around my head like a ghost and interrupting everything in the life of Ali.

I am getting better. I tried to put Mum in box. At first the box was too small. Too plain. She wouldn’t go in. So typical of her. She never did want someone wanted her to do, if she didn’t want to do it first.

So I have covered it in diamonds and pearls. Her favourites.

And filled it with chocolates – Swiss. It had to be. She only ever ate Lindt. Anything else was inferior.

And filled it with kittens – Siamese kittens. Soft, silky and squeaky. Her babies.

She is going in more frequently now… a little less stubborn. And she is staying in her box more too.

I am finding I have control of the box, rather than her having control of my mind.

I can go to the box at any time and open the lid to check to see if she is ok. Sometimes, she is sleeping. Sometimes, she just looks up and smiles while playing with the kittens and waves to let me know she is ok.

Sometimes she invites me in for a chocolate. The sweetness of her treats, softens the bitterness of the memories.

Sometimes, I stay a while and let the memories float across my mind. The first time she picked me up from boarding school… I couldn’t see her in the crowd… only Dad with his wonky walk in the distance… but before I could get to him, being swept up in her arms and smothered with kisses, love and the smell of her Fendi perfume.   The time she first held Tom… pride and love oozing from every part of her. The same memory tinged with sadness as I know she would be so proud of Tom now.. and Willy.

Sometimes, the painful memories creep in and I have to close the lid… The last time she came to Yorkshire and Tom flying out of the classroom door and in to Grandad’s arms… Mum not knowing who they were… and the realization that this would be the last time she saw them and the boys had her in their lives. And always the haunting memory of her face against the window pain, rattling at the door, trying to follow us out of the mental hospital.

I softly close the lid of the jeweled box and let her get back to her kittens and chocolates.

I softly close the lid of the jeweled box of Mum and go back to my life and know that I can visit whenever I want to, need to and would like to…

CIS:LOAN:GILBERT.413-2008
CIS:LOAN:GILBERT.413-2008
Posted on by Ali Mortimer

Half term almost over! It’s had its rock bottoms… And it’s ‘Rock highs’! 

I am a routine person and while I love a bit of disruption I am actually excited for the early morning alarm, the chaos of the breakfast dash, find the book bag, hunt the jumper craziness…. 
And then the 9.05 peace… 

A cup of coffee.

My lists.

My plans.

My calendar. 

A good sharp pencil…

A clear mind…
Ready for the day’s adventure…

Ready to embrace November…
  

Topsy Turvy Days

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

How strange today that I don’t feel like blogging. Because I usually love it.

How strange today that I don’t feel like dressing up. Because I usually love any excuse to wear fancy dress, get out my make up set…

How strange today that I don’t feel like trick or treating. Because I usually love leading the pack and knocking on dark doors…

How strange today that I don’t feel like being social. Because I usually love being with others.

How strange today that I don’t feel like doing anything. Because usually I love being busy.

How strange today that I don’t feel like speaking to anyone. Because usually I love sharing stories, laughing, debating.

How strange today that I just want to be left alone. Because I usually dislike solitude.

How strange today that I just want to sit and eat and lounge on my sofa. Because I usually dislike eating for no reason and dislike inactivity….

How strange today is…. I’m all topsy turvy.

It must be a full moon!

…..Or Halloween!!!

….. or just one of those days..!

the-bat-hanging-upside-down-laughs-at-the-topsy-turvy-world-quote-1

Date night….with James

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

Date night…. 

With James….

The anticipation..

The excitement…

Building up all day….

Couldn’t concentrate on anything else…

What should I wear? What would he be wearing? 

Where will we go?

Will there be any surprises?

Date night doesn’t happen that often…

He didn’t disappoint…

James Bond that is…. 

But it was quite nice to see James Mortimer again too 😉

  

Shattered

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

The word that is resounding in my brain this evening as I sit to write my daily blog… is just ‘shattered’…

Shatter: “to be broken into fragments or become weak or insubstantial…”

I actually woke up this morning full of beans and that was despite minimal sleep over night last night – thanks to long drive and being overtired when I got into bed albeit early, I don’t think I nodded off until well after midnight… and also thanks to a little boy who was struggling to breathe due to a blocked nose who kept appearing in the darkness by my bedside… After the 3rd time taking him back to bed, I let him crawl into bed with me… only to be kept awake by continual sniffing, snorting and then finally snoring… and a hot wriggling little body wanting to get closer and closer to me, little arms flinging around my head…

Normally a night like that would leave me ‘shattered’ in the morning, but I am still reaping the rewards of a very relaxing week away in Cornish air…

The shattering started with the car… that is making a very strange rattle somewhere underneath and making the steering wheel wiggle and jiggle when I go over 70… Not great… something has become weak… or ‘shattered’… and so I am car less for the next few days… stranded, while someone pieces back together or strengthens whatever it is that is no longer substantial enough to carry a tonne of Range Rover. (Thank goodness for my chauffeur – aka Grandpa!)

The second shattering… well, a rather excitable, ferocious, hilarious, energetic pillow fight by the boys and some friends in Tom’s room left his prize Christening present, in tiny fragments all over his carpet… shattered; a million tiny shards that was once a good old ‘yorkshire yard of ale’ glass, proudly mounted on the beams in his bedroom…. Gathering dust (lots of it!…) until his 18th or 21st when no doubt he would neck it and then follow in the Godfather who gave it to him’s footsteps and see the contents for a second time behind the marquee…   This was not mendable…. Half an hour on my knees and a dustpan to gather all the pieces and I am still seeing tiny diamond shards glinting in his carpet. It will be slippers for a while. Disappointing… but to be honest, I am surprised it lasted the 7 plus years it has! He can save up for another…

The final shattering … me! I am now weak, insubstantial, in bits and pieces… for it was actually Willy who threw the cushion that destroyed the yard. Willy who is carbon copy of Mr OCD when it comes to perfection…. And he has to be perfect… hates to be told off, told he is wrong, not quite right… however, 32 years his junior, Willy has not yet controlled his temper, reactions to these situations of imperfection. The red mist descends…   And I have learnt that the only thing to do in these times, is stay patient… but it takes every ounce of willpower within me to keep calm, remain unreactive, speaking softly so that I don’t feed the anger, stoke the flames of his frustration…. I have learnt to give him his space.. until he has pieced his shattered ego back together…

These little episodes can last as little as 15 minutes or a couple of hours before he reappears, wanting to share something he has discovered… before quietly and softly saying ‘I’m sorry for being bad / sad / mean, Mummy’… Tonight, given the lack of sleep from the night before, it took him longer to clear his thoughts… but as he siddled up to me on the sofa, and curled into me and said his little apology so sincerely, that’s when my tension dissipated… and my resolve shattered into little pieces, I weaken and become insubstantial… and I realize how much I have been holding my breath….

While the Yard can’t be mended or pieced back together and the car can be bolted, welded or fixed, I can also regain my strength…become substantial and whole…

It’s time for sleep.

IMG_2623

Home Sweet Home

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

There is nothing like taking the last turn in to your own village after 360 mile journey…

There is nothing like driving back through your own gates and walking through your own front door…

There is nothing like carrying your sleeping boys up to their own beds and hearing their sighs of comfort as they snuggle under their own duvets….

There is nothing like unpacking the car on your own, laden with bags, boxes and rubbish… and realising for the first time how much easier it is when there is 2 of you.

There is nothing like realising how amazing single mum’s are… hats off to them!

There is nothing like leaning against the aga to sooth an aching back…feeling the warmth of your own kitchen and feeling waves of gratitude…

There is nothing like putting on the first of many washes and getting ahead of the game before bed…

There is nothing like munching on a piece of hot buttery toast as a reward for doing so well on a long drive alone…

There is nothing like the relief as you find the Halloween costumes have been delivered while you have been away…happy boys tomorrow!

There is nothing like opening 4 letters from HMRC explaining they have recalculated your tax for the YE 2013/14 and it is now double and you have multiple late payments (!)…. (Thank you, thank you, thank you… it must have meant I earnt a lot of money that year and benefitted from it at the time!!)

There is nothing like blogging on a laptop after a week of finger tapping on an iphone…

There’s nothing like getting in to your own bed, having your own pillow, a good book and an early night….

There’s nothing like home sweet home… There’s no place like home….

theres_no_place_like_home_sized-537x405

Blue sky again..

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

As I left Yorkshire for the long drive south, I felt many things… Feelings about so many things… A big melange, a boiling pot and my life a spinning whirlpool faster and faster, pulling me down… 

Anxious as I had never driven that long, or that far … Ever. Let alone with 2 boys. Anxious that I hadn’t packed everything we needed, thought of any and every eventuality. Anxious that Mr OCD was going to Paris… 
Sadness because of my mum… Always present. My heart still raw and my mind still raging and weeping at the memory of her weakness, frailty, loss of speech, mobility, recognition… her at the mental hospital window… Sadness that Mr OCD wasn’t going to be with us initially…
Isolation…  A huge wave of isolation. Inexplicable .. But perhaps from so much change, loss… Old feelings dredged up from previous times of change and loss. Isolated from Old friends, my family, my job, my family … Isolated without Mr OCD for the first time on a family holiday he wouldn’t be with us for the whole time due to work commitments.. 
Guilt… Guilt that we were going on holiday without Mum… Guilt that I get to see the boys daily, hug them, kiss them, laugh and have breakfast with them…Guilt that we were going on holiday and Mr OCD couldn’t … Guilt was a bad one… Overwhelming at times…for so many reasons…
Hopelessness… At a loss.. Unsure how to handle myself, the sadness the guilt… I used all the tools I have learnt over time to overcome many of these feelings, but with my heart not in it, it didn’t work… No one could help… 
Self-loathing… Not good enough… At anything… Parenting, marriage, home maker, friendships… My angry little dobby saboteur rattling at the cages of my mind… Running riot around my positive mental garden…
As I said – a melting pot of negativity…all the elements of the taboo topic of depression… Feelings thought better brushed under the carpet in certain social circles..
And yet right now, in my pj’s and under a blanket curled up next to my dad, those feelings, that turmoil of the mind and soul, the whirlpool of my world has calmed… The water still.
The dark thunders clouds of negativity no longer threatening a storm, but lighter fluffy puffballs that are easier to disperse, blow away with a happy thought. 
A week away, wrapped up in family fun, mountains of good food, fresh air, restful slumber, wine and laughter, relaxation and rest has been just what the doctor ordered to make the sky of life blue again. 
And I am ready to face normality again and ready to go home. Now that’s the sign of a good holiday!
  

Esc…

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

As we escaped the rain for a hot chocolate this morning, the bar was covered in little paintings… And several caught my eye… A lovely simple sketch of lovers kissing, the words ‘Work like a captain, play like a pirate’ and this one…. 
  
 
Esc … Escape…. And while this week hasn’t been on a deckchair, it has definitely felt like an escape from reality, real life..  
Busy days and lazy days, puddings and ice creams, wetsuits and wellies, sofa snoozes and sofa suppers, rose for lunch and red for supper, sunshine and rain, lie-ins and tigers (old family joke), bacon and black pudding, sand surfing and sea surfing, hot chocolate and marshmallows, family and family, nieces and nephews, woolly hats and sunglasses, pasties and posh, pj’s and blankets, cuddles and kisses, signal free and animal free, sandy feet and sandy car, doc Martin and downton, Indie and Bond….
One more day of gorgeously, delightful muddle and chaos…. My kind of palm tree and deck chair…

Princess Lyra…

Posted on by Ali Mortimer

Oh to be a child again… The energy! The ability to run, run, run, jump in muddy puddles, splash through a river, run for countless cricket balls, cricket runs and overs.. Recharge with fuel, burgers and fudge cake.. And run through the sand dunes to get to the sandy mountains and run up and down and up and down, over and over… Delight and joy beaming from their faces, finding new paths, new ways to play, new games… Innovation at its best, innovation at its inception…. 
 Oh… To be a child … But oh to be a 5 year old girl child again…
You get to change clothes at least 3 times before breakfast – all in varying shades of pink. You get to boss around your big boy cousins and little brother, tell them where to hide and what the rules of the game are. You get to correct them… “They are NOT sparkles on my cardigan, sparkles are teeny tiny and these are big so they are JEWELS!” 
You get to wear your bejewelled cardigan with your best sparkly pink tutu skirt to the beach and to the sand dunes and you get to have special tiaras (NO Aunty Ali, they are not crowns…) on your silver blue Frozen Wellies… 
And the best bit of all… Because you are scared of prickles and so is your sparkly skirt…. You get to be carried all the way home! 
Oh to be a little princess again… The innocence … For it is genuine truth that comes out of your mouth, honest words… 
“Instead of worrying about the prickles, why don’t you count my freckles?” … 

“But you don’t have any!” … 
“So count her wrinkles then” pipes up my sister…

“But she doesn’t have any, Mummy!”
And that is why Princesses get to be Princesses… For all their demanding, bossing, hands-on-hipping, pouting, flouncing and twirling… They can make your heart melt like butter… And you will do anything for them….