Holidays….

The time for a break… A rest… A change..

A chance for headspace..
And I know this one is working…. My mind is less noisy, the cogs slowing, grey matter slumping…
Just like I am, on the comfiest sofa in the world, the worry free sofa… Next to my dad, lovely dad who keeps twitching as he nods off for a minute or two so he can watch the next couple of minutes!
My body relaxed from a few glasses of something nice…
My tummy full from a delicious meal, comforted by my food baby. (I knew there was a reason I invited my sister to join us this half term… Her husband! Chef extraordinaire! Ha ha! )
My favourite movie of all time – the Thomas Crown Affair – with Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo – part of my vision chocolate…. Who wouldn’t want a Thomas Crown in their life? And Rene Russo’s wardrobe, style, chic-ness? I daydream about a hideout, a getaway, shabby shack in the Bahamas… 

  
The big man, Mr OCD is due to arrive shortly…  Not too dissimilar to PB or TC… 
  

Then the holiday will be complete… 
Well almost…. Just a little thought, a moment, a subtle nod to my missing mum…. Who would have loved the last two days on the beach with her grandchildren, eating ice creams, crazy bath times and noisy meals…
Tomorrow… Sun’s out and Surf’s up dudes!

I learnt an important lesson today…Do what you know you want to do, even if you are scared sh*tless…. Do what someone else says to do if they have done it before…. Even if they are younger than you, not as experienced as you… 
Hold your breath, throw yourself into it… Don’t look back… Scream if you have to and hold on tight…
The speed is the adventure…

The adrenalin is the excitement…

The bumps and jolts are part of the course.. And just add to the ride…even if you lose your breathe!
And when the dust settles, you will find yourself a bit of a mess…. But dust yourself off, shake it off, pick yourself up and …. go back and do it again!
The first time is always the best, even if the scariest! 
 

 

There’s nothing like the feeling you get when arriving at your destination…. But the trick is to enjoy the journey, however long it takes and no matter how many times you have to stop or slow down
7 hours of driving…. 
7 hours, 3 movies on the boys’ tv’s – how to train your dragon, Jonny English and Wreckit Ralph – audio only for me of course… 
7 hours, 2 stops.. One for coffee and comfort, one to handover the forgotten passport to james (travelling from

London to Paris unexpectedly via Bristol!) and for Grandad to be handed over to us from family Amey’s car..
7 hours, driving almost blind by the low sun not being able to see the road ahead or inky black, pitch black, Cornish darkness… Trusting the road ahead continued even though I couldn’t see it

7 hours, 2 traffic jams – broken down Lorry on the m42 and rush hour over the Bristol bridge..at least we got to count the cars!

7 hours, one box of breadsticks for tom, one bag of gluten free pretzels for willy, one packet of giant rice cakes, a tub of sliced Apple, one of grapes and one berries, one packet of wiggly worms gone in 2 minutes and 2 fun size fudges… And those were just the snacks I brought and not the ones I bought… Eaten by my bottomless pits of sons… Don’t mention the crumbs to Mr OCD (they will be hidden by the sand!)
7 hours, driving, numb bum
7 hours, driving, dry eyes
7 hours, took longer than expected… But felt less than anticipated 
7 hours after leaving Yorkshire we arrive in Rock… And it is like coming home. Bliss. I love it here. So grateful for generous parents in law… I love it here. The darkness. The smell of the sea. The anticipation of the first surf. 
7 hours sleep before the new day starts!
  

I am getting seriously annoyed with myself. I seem to be going through all the emotions under the line… Guilt and the grump today! 
So I decided to take action. I decided to ignore it and fake happy and positive.
I had to. I had to do that until I genuinely felt it! I couldn’t stand in front of 30 ten year olds without meaning the words I said, sharing the wonderful experiences of my life without authentic gratitude and positive attitude…
Spending time with Tom always helps – he is on half term already. He is always full of the joys… Excited and happy about everything… We worked through my list of things to do – he helped me put away the shopping delivery, make little Christmas goodie bags for all my top ordering clients – he told me I was being too generous! He took photos for social media and he emptied the dish washer while I made him a cup of earl grey (!)…
So by the time I realised I had forgotten to take the car to the garage for a service and was already running late for my class, I was in too good a mood to feel bad!
Today after I had shared my life journey and experience, the teacher invited me to stay and help facilitate the topic of the day – jobs and careers. We asked the children a couple of questions… 
What paid jobs can men do that women can’t and what jobs are there that women do that men can’t? 
What jobs at home do women do that men can’t and vice versa…
 In my mixed gender group, they declared that women can’t do heavy lifting jobs and that men can’t be beauticians… That daddy’s can’t cook.. But that mummy’s do most things at home… !!
However by the end of the discussion, the class agreed that anyone can do any job and can do anything they want, they just have to decide what it is they want to be! Then work out how to do it…
So as I drove home, I decided I wanted to be happy me 
again. So with my own advice to the children ringing in my ears, I decided I needed to work out what I needed to do to make me happy… 
And first I needed to understand what was making me feel unhappy so that I could address it… 
I have written a long list of unhappiness but against each point is an action to address it.
Scanning through my list One of the first things I wrote down was my ugly, post summer, hard skinned, dry flakey feet that have been neglected since the end of the flip flop season…
This is what I would call with my consultant hat on – ‘a quick win’… Something that can have a good impact without very little investment of time or money….
So I sat on a serious massage chair, having my feet pumiced and peeled, and polished…. I feel better not just because I have pretty toes… But the unpleasant task and amazing job has been done. By a man! 
What’s next on the unhappy list?!  

 

Sunday afternoons…

The boys are outside playing with some sort of ball… either rugby, or football… or could even be a soggy tennis ball. I don’t know. But they are outside…

James has just left to go for a quick jog… to sweat out the wine from last night or to wake himself up … having rather embarrassingly snored the way through Transylvania 2 at the cinema.

And I am feet up on the coffee table, a pile of the Sunday papers and a hot green tea….

In half an hour we are invited next door for Sunday family roast and Granny will feed us all up and Grandpa will poor the wine… The boys will eat their body weight in roast potatoes and we will discuss the Sunday papers, the weather, Strictly and how many tries Tom scored at rugby this morning…

So I have 25 minutes… to blog or to read…

And today, after yesterday’s turmoil of emotions, I am letting my brain, my mind and my heart feel nothing… think nothing… live in the moment and I am going to indulge in the papers and my tea!

That was utterly delicious.
2pm I was meant to be on a spin bike….

At 2.01, I was eating a bar of chocolate and by 2.02pm I was in bed. Curled up around the cushions, duvet tucked under my leg as and under my chin… The gentle rumble of the car in the distance and the quiet rhythmic hum of a little plane somewhere up above doing loop the loop… And my body, sinking…. Sinking heavier and heavier in to the softness… The darkness of sleep gently lapping further and further towards my consciousness… Until weightlessness, black oblivion…
2.59 and I am awake! Moments before my alarm…
2.10… Two ham and cheese sandwiches made and wrapped, apples cut and oranges packed…
2.13… Quick ‘hi’ to grandpa as I dash out the door
2.22 and I am watching willy play tig while I tap out this blog.

2.31 back in the car…now for the double dash to York for Tom and possibly Mr OCD if he caught his train, my thoughts of what to cook for supper and the freezer contents in my head!
My bed, my sleep, my blissful bedilicious moments a distant memory….

After yesterday, today was all about finding myself again. Yesterday I didn’t feel like me…. A glass of good red wine, a chapter of a mind expanding book and early to bed is a magical recipe to waking up feeling so much better than the day before.

Plus Thursdays are my volunteering days! And there is nothing more thought provoking, grounding and inspirational than spending an hour or so with the Year 6 primary school girls of Leeds. They inspire me as well as make me feel blessed with all the many things, experiences and life I am so lucky and grateful to have.

As volunteers we are ‘mentors’ and part of a programme to enhance the lives of children, encouraging them to be more self-efficient, confident and raise their aspirations.

Previously, in my corporate life, the words ‘mentors’ and ‘coaches’ were used interchangeably. I believed this ‘person’ was there to coach me, my peers and colleagues to do a better job; to push me, guide me, make me realize my potential, even if I couldn’t see it.

I now strongly believe that they are different and serve different purposes. I have both a coach for my mind and for my body: a fantastic life coach who helps me unwind and unravel my thoughts, feelings, attitudes and helps me untangle the chaos to see the path forward and a coach that today has put me through my paces so that my legs are still trembling at the sprints and my stomach muscles are aching, a coach to get my body into physical fitness. As my Dad always taught me – a fit and healthy body, leads to a fit and healthy mind or work hard, play hard (he was referring to lacrosse, tennis, squash… not the other sort!). A coach is there cheering for you on the sidelines, urging you to keep going and exercise whatever muscle is in play – the big brain muscle or the triceps, biceps and glutes!

So that leads me to re-question the term ‘mentor’.

And it was Cheryl Sandberg who made me rethink this, if I am honest. For she says in her book ‘Lean in’ – you shouldn’t have to ask someone to be your ‘mentor’… they just are.

And I am leaning more towards her way of thinking. For I have had many mentors in my life… and not one have I asked to be my ‘mentor’. But I have watched them, had coffee with them, sat at the dinner table with them, even had far to much to drink with them! And each time I have left their presence, I have felt inspired. And each time, I have taken a little piece of them away with me that I have wanted to replicate…

My first line manager at Accenture – young, seriously bright, arrogant, cocksure, but brilliant at building talented teams that wanted to follow him, brilliant at playing the bigger game, painting the bigger picture… making himself indispensable!

My last line manager before leaving the 9-5, who ruffled feathers but stood up for what she believed in, the people she believed in and had a team who would have done anything for her… who faced cancer and beat it.

My oldest friend, who I stood weekend after weekend on the lacrosse pitch with, who has always been entrepreneurial while we were all off working for someone else, who continues to challenge and change and follow her dreams…

My Dad, who has always worked hard, tirelessly, at work, at looking after my mum and who I have never heard complain, not even once….

My father-in-law, who has time for everyone, listens intently, doesn’t care what others think of him and for as long as I have known him, has never let a hangover stop him from mowing the lawn…

I could go on forever…

My Mum – who said, always buy the best you can afford; my Mother-in-law who is the most incredible host, amazing food, atmosphere and yet she is there right in the midst of the party making it all look effortless… And even Mr OCD who has always said to me.. ‘worrying about something that may never happen is a waste of time, we will act when we know the facts’.

So in essence, we are all mentors.

Mentors to someone.

Something we do or say can inspire someone else at any given time. And we may never know it…

And I just love this quote which just about sums up my thoughts on mentorship: ‘Success isn’t about what you accomplish in your life, it’s about what you inspire others to’…

Therefore, if we are all mentors and inspire others even without knowing, we must all be a success!

I think that means I can open another bottle of wine in celebration!  Cheers!

Existentionalism.

It is a word. And it was also a comment on my blog yesterday.

I didn’t quite understand what it meant in relation to what I had written. So I looked it up. Fascinating…. Some bits hurt my head when I tried to over think it…

‘There are several philosophical positions all related to existential philosophy but the main identifiable common proposition, is that existence precedes essence’

I read further to understand that this meant that the most important consideration for individuals is that they are ‘individuals’ and that they are entirely responsible for their own actions.

I liked Sartre’s words the most: man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world—and defines himself afterwards.

This implies that people can make a conscious choice to be or do whatever they want – to be cruel or kind, committed or lazy..   and it is that choice that makes humans neither of those qualities ‘essentially’.

Amazing. We have the power within us. To take action to change to be a better person, do something better, improve… make the right choice, live out the good qualities daily.

Today I made a choice. I took action. I stepped off the merry-go-round of my current life. I put ‘me’ as my ‘eat the frog’ on the top of my list.

My initial intention this morning was not that… My initial intention was to continue my usual day, pilates before breakfast, breakfast with the boys, double drop offs, coffee with friends, cross off my tasks on my lists, spin and pick ups (x3 as James arrives home today!)..

While my conscious choice was to have a committed, planned, rewarding day… It has not turned out like that….

With Tom off to school early on a Friday morning, it is my quiet time with Willy – we read, we do spellings, we play a game and we giggle and go to school happily. But this morning something went wrong… He did not like his socks. He did not want to come out of his room. He did not want to go to school. He did not want to buckle himself in to the car seat. He did not want to put on his shoes. He did not want to put on his shoes and he did not want to walk in to school.

So I carried my long, lean little man, sobbing in to my neck through the front doors of the school. He would not let go, his arms double wrapped around my neck. Now our little village school has a wonderful teacher, and I am not sure of her title but she is brilliant with children, on an emotional and psychological level. When we had finally managed to coax Willy from around my neck we both sat on her big purple cushion, which keeps all children safe while they share their secrets and worries. She handed Willy a big sheet of paper and asked him to draw on one side what made him happy at school and on the other, anything that making him sad.

Willy loves drawing and he is very detailed and neat. He asked me to help him spell words… so he could write the things that people said to him. And while everything he drew that makes him sad is fixable, trivial, it made us realise that Willy is very sensitive and the huge changes in our lives recently have impacted him more than we thought. For a little 6 year old, his world has changed rather dramatically with his Daddy not living at home during the week and his brother in a different school, and with Mummy away this week, he has felt abandoned, lonely, uncertain, a bit out of sorts.

For each of the little worries he has, we assigned a pencil… and he gave the pencil to who he thought could fix the problem. He took one. The teacher had a few. I was given one. A pink one.

The pink pencil represented me. Mummy is sad. Mummy is angry. Mummy shouted at me to get out of my room.

Existentialism. I am responsible for my actions. I am responsible for me, my behaviours, attitudes and the impact it has on others.

Existentialism. I am taking action to work on myself, to work out what is making me sad, angry, short tempered.

Today, the pink pencil and I are at the top of my list.

  There’s something special about going to London… 
Well for me anyway… 
The big smoke, the city, the capital. Going south, going home from home.
I love to dress up in my best coat and scarf. I even put on some lippie.. You must remember I am Downton’s Lady Mary reincarnated in the new century.. Or maybe I am more Lady Edith today? 
I get a posh coffee, a good book, make a few lists and cross a few off (so satisfying!). 
I am even on a Grand Central although these days they are less ‘grand’ … But you can tell they once were – the larger seats, fewer places in a carriage. They are a bit worn, frayed and tired around the edges but at least I don’t feel like a sardine, packed in to a hurtling tin on tracks as I do on an East Coast… Where the seats are new and plug sockets work… But even if you are tapping away on a laptop, your elbow bash and jostle with the person next you and your knees clash with the one opposite….
So the Grand Central still has an air of peace and grandeur… Everyone seems a little hushed and as I sit, I love to play the ‘who are they?’ game!
Next to me a young gentleman all suited, checking his phone every 2 minutes, distracting himself with a movie on an iPad, spilling his fizzy pop all over himself – I bet his is going to an interview. Personally, I would advise him to have had a shave…
And the couple opposite – French! I know because she asked me ‘Je cherche mes places – le dix-neuf et vingt’ and I replied in my rather rusty rustic French! My education did come in handy… He sits, looking out the window through red rimmed half specs (for those that know the history of Arbonne, you will smile for they are the trademark of our wonderful founder, the brains behind the botanicals, science and visionary behind the business)… His wife, beautiful skin, beautiful diamonds, beautiful smile… On her iPad, her iPhone… They don’t speak English… So why are they on a train from York to London..? I bet to get the Eurostar back to Paris… Why Yorkshire? Visiting a child married to a ‘ros beef’.. Maybe I will pluck up the courage to ask…. Get the grey matter working and dive deep into the archives… 
I will amuse myself for the next hour and 45 minutes playing the game – the lady on the table next to me looks like me a couple of years ago – papers, org charts, architecture diagrams, a pack showing options and recommendations, .. Hands taking her hair…a big sigh every now and then… 
In the early days, when I used to visit james in Yorkshire, I used to think an hour 45 was an eternity! Now it flashes by in moments… I relish the time to think, the time to reflect, listen to music, let my mind wander… Watch the english countryside fly by, still green, blue skies, low lying clouds, hay bales piling, sheep grazing.. 
My mind wanders to mum — she will be in the hospital now for her tests. What will be will be… 
I am looking forward to holding her, smaller than me, holding her soft soft fluttery hands… 
I am looking forward to a bear hug with my dad.
I am looking forward to a rare evening with james, just us. 
And some wine. 
And the journey home to my bear Cubs… 

Today, I have a real sandwich going on. A lot of noise in my head. A lot of tension. I am an elastic band waiting to snap… a few little pings have already happened and poor Tom suffered my sharp tongue, his ball in the bin. (How many times do you have to say ‘no balls inside’??)

Mum has lump.

Willy wants pancakes. Now.

Mum also has bad blood results – something about her pituitary gland not functioning properly.

Tom wants to play mathletics and needs my help to turn on the computer. Now.

Mum has an appointment for a mammogram on Tuesday. I need to book my train tickets.

Willy shouts that the pancakes need flipping… NOW.

The doctors have said that if the pituitary isn’t working, it could mean a tumor.

Tom has won his mathletics race and I need to go and see it! And where is his pancake?

How do you encourage an elderly lady into an MRI scanner, to see if she has a brain tumor? The thudding would completely freak her out…. Is it worth it?

Willy finds me.. He has spilt water, he has tried to clean it up, the cloth was too wet, so he has used loo roll.

How do you encourage an elderly lady to de-robe and place her breasts on a cold machine? In front of people she doesn’t know?

Tom can’t untie his stud boots.

I need to book my train tickets. I need to be with my Mum. Hold her hand. Tell her everything will be ok. Support my Dad as he supports my Mum.

The dog has walked through the bog roll mush on the kitchen floor.

Oh god my dad… he fell at tennis and has a black eye. I need to hold his hand too.

Willy needs to take his laxative and we have no chocolate treats left. I lie. I tell him I’ll find one if he drinks it.

Would you even give an elderly Alzheimer’s patient an MRI? If it is a tumor, wouldn’t that be a way to let her escape her living hell?

It’s 10.25. We need to get to football. The kitchen is a bombsite…. Loo roll, muddy paw prints, open and discarded yoghurt pots, flour from the pancakes…

Is it cruel to think like that? Did I bring that on? Manifest the tumor, the lump? Because I can’t bear seeing my once glamorous, multi-lingual, articulate mum alive in the sorry, pitiful, shuffly, grunting state she is in?

James left at the crack of dawn to cycle some ungodly distance, let’s hope I am back before he is… or I will get a dressing down from Mr OCD.

I must book my train tickets.

I must read up on pituitary glands.

I must get something for lunch.

I must get to football.

I must mop the kitchen floor…

I must go and thank Grandpa, find out about Granny’s golf…

I must put a wash on, change the sheets…

I must feed the dog, do Tom’s laces, get rid of the yoghurt pot, post this blog.

I must find my off switch.