On tenterhooks: today we see if we can fly

Later today I will take my driving test. Oh yes, at the ripe old age of 43.

This would be the second time, but I count it as a first as the initial try was 22 years ago. I barely remember it and I am a completely different person now. For a start, I am sitting here with a bag of frozen peas against my back, as I seemed to have strained something just because I slept on a different mattress a couple of nights ago. 21 year old me wouldn't have noticed!

Back then, young Sarah was cocky, reckless and easily distracted. Those traits still remain, but they are now tempered greatly by experience. Also, this time round, being able to drive is a hundred times more important. In 1994, travelling involved just me and a backpack. Now, it's me, a backpack and a six year old. A much more complicated proposition.

Back then too, I was in student digs, lived in a city and could catch a ride with friends whenever I wanted. I barely had any possessions, and didn't do big grocery shops. Pretty much everything I wanted was within a half hour's walk. Why I decided to take lessons is a mystery to me now.

As to why I am getting my licence now? The driving need is my commute to work. Getting to the office takes 90 minutes by public transport and only 30 by car. I am unutterably grateful for the lifts I've received but that cannot continue. I love what I'm doing now so getting a job closer to home is a last resort.

Apart from the commute, being able to drive would open up the world for us: we'd be able to get to places that we couldn't go to because it would take too long by train or we actually can't get to by other means. Forests, beaches and strange places with intriguing names we've only ever seen on a map. We'd be able to visit folk in far away places! By golly, the places we'd go, the things we'd do!

Wish me luck, friends!

Three Most Excellent Days

What we got up to this Easter weekend

I am sat in the midst of the bombsite that is my living room on Easter Sunday -- Little Monster had decided to fling everything out of various drawers and my wardrobe around -- and feeling grateful for the amazing last few days.

My long weekend began with a tremendously fruitful meeting with a client up North. We got on like a house on fire, and I honestly believe this is the start of a brilliant working relationship*.

Business aside, my personal life has also been wonderful.

Every day that I get to go to work, I am grateful for the generosity of my dear friend A. His kindness has been nothing short of staggering. But for him and his equally awesome wife, I would not be here, cheerfully lamenting the mess in my living room.

Serendipity has been bringing another just as big-hearted friend, Yo, more often into my orbit. Little Monster and I had been in town late one evening, unusual itself for that time of day, when I saw her in front of us. I called out to her and it turned out that she had been trying to find my number on her phone right at that minute! The result was a lovely dinner together that time, and a few days later, this morning, a traditional Polish Easter brunch which culminated in us just hanging out in my living room playing with Little Monster till dusk.

Saturday, Little Monster and I decided to visit High Lodge Thetford Forest.

Eep! We may be lost!

In my naivety, I thought we would be able to get there on foot from the train station. Oh, we did all right, but by criminy it took a long time. We followed the map but were faced with roads and no pedestrian walkways, so detoured onto "public footpaths" into the forest. We wound up trekking through the trees with a vague idea that we should head towards traffic "over there" to get on the road to High Lodge. There was a minute or two where I thought I might have gotten us lost as we'd gone off the beaten path, and were trudging through undergrowth, following the sound of cars.

Alas, poor crocodile,
we knew him well.

Finally,we found the road that led to High Lodge and ran on to it. By then, we had been walking for over an hour and were just a tad tired. To our dismay, the road to our destination seemed endless. Roadside banners teased us with what was ahead, but twenty minutes or so in and there was still just road ahead. So we started hitching! It was my first time doing so, and bubs really got into the spirit of it, I was so proud of her. At least ten vehicles passed us by before one family stopped and offered us a lift. Thank goodness for small acts of compassion.

I must say, our seemingly epic journey was worth it. High Lodge Thetford Forest is a child's wonderland, full of delightfully challenging structures for climbing, sliding, jumping and all those things kids love. We gravitated instantly to the breathtakingly tall, winding slide and Little Monster just grinned and grinned and grinned. I think her cheeks must have been aching by the time we had to go.

Sympathy for the Monster

We spent the afternoon running from area to area and trying just about everything. My favourite section was the sound play area, the bells, gongs, sound pillows were enchanting. There were even story trails like the Stick Man and The Gruffalo. We had lunch in what they charmingly called The Pantry and finished on the giant see-saw. All that and we still hadn't exhausted all that the Forest offered: there was Go Ape, and archery, and a bouncy slide, and I am sure there are places we hadn't yet discovered. The only downer was that we had to get a taxi back to the station -- walking it was out of the question. The fare was shocking to say the least. Thankfully, I had just enough cash to pay for it. A thoroughly good day was had by all.

Just one of the Wild Play places

On the romantic (?**) front, things have been unexpected. This weekend I enjoyed the company of two people who were facing extraordinary challenges. One was pulling himself out from under a traumatic past, and the other was coming to terms with a gradually worsening condition that would drastically alter his life. Both of them have shown remarkable strength and grit, and I feel privileged that I am a part of their journey, even if it is but a slight one. Getting to know them has put my own life into perspective, but it has also made me consider my role at this particular point in theirs. For that, I am humbly thankful. I look forward to our next encounters and hope we grow to be good friends.

I have so much to be grateful for. Even the times when I am at a loss to know what to do with Little Monster, the times when I am almost in tears because she's desperate for a playmate and I just cannot be that. The times when all I can do is lay in bed, incapable of action. Thankfully, those times are brief and mere blips in an otherwise brilliant life.

*Workship? Businesship?
** I don't know how to name what it is that I do. I don't exactly date, in that my purpose in meeting new people is not to find love in the conventional sense. I suppose you might call it cultivating companionships.

Volcano, the Fire-Breathing Piglet

I have been terribly distracted of late. Unsurprising really -- new job, new people. The things that should be important (money -- cue eye roll) have fallen by the wayside. But this new chapter is awfully exciting, so I'm enjoying every minute I can.

 Last night, Little Monster asked me to tell her a "made up story", that is, one I make up on the spot. And I loved telling it so much, I thought I'd share it here.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then let us begin.

Once there was a Little Monster who wouldn't go to bed. Mama, in despair, asked her what-oh-what would do the trick?  And she replied 'A fire-breathing piglet.'

So Mama went outside and gathered earth, clay, some leaves and water from the Weeping Rock. With these ingredients, she sculpted a piglet. She brought it inside and showed it to Little Monster, who clapped in delight. 

Mama said 'We need something for the fire and I know just thing.' She smiled wickedly and went out again. This time she sneaked into Little Monster's father's house and stole a lighter. Into the belly of the piglet it went with a pop.

It was perfect, but how to bring it to life? pondered Mama and Little Monster. 

Then Little Monster said 'Evil Queen, under the volcano!' Mama's eyebrow went up. (Under? Under!)

So off she went.

Mama travelled through a jungle alive with man-eating flora, swirling dusty deserts that choked, and an ocean filled with enormous sea-monsters. Finally, she reached the Evil Queen's volcano (all this took five long, drawn-out seconds). 

She knocked on the door.

'WHAT IS IT!?' roared the Evil Queen as she flung it open. 'Oh, it's you.'

Mama raised her other eyebrow. 'Do we know each other?'

The Evil Queen rolled her eyes and banged the side of her head. 'Sorry, I am ahead of myself. We will do. Start again. What do you want? Come, come. I'm busy. Kingdoms to destroy, Princesses to poison, you know the drill.'

Mama told her about the piglet. The Evil Queen sighed a great big sigh, then snatched it out of Mama's hands and threw it into the volcano.

There was a loud WHOOMPH! and out of the lava flew, flew,  Little Monster's piglet. It was a sight to behold. It came to Mama and settled in her arms, a little sooty but clearly quite content.

'Now, shoo! Tell your Little Monster, she owes me a favour,' said the Evil Queen and slammed the door behind Mama.

Mama made it home via the Hundred Acre Woods, which we won't ever talk about again (smoking ruins, thanks for the suggestion Adam), and presented Little Monster with her very own fire-breathing piglet.

There was much mutual squealing and cuddling. 

'What shall we call her?' asked Mama, as she settled both of them into bed.

Little Monster replied with delighted glowing eyes, 'Volcano!'

And thus ends our tale of Volcano, the Fire-Breathing Piglet.

Happy Jar, Sad Jar

My daughter is full to her brain with wisdom.

Our Happy Jar

On 1 January 2016, we started a Happy Jar. The basic premise being, at the end of every day we each write a note describing what made us happy that day. At the end of the year, we'll open the jar and read the notes. Last week, she said 'Mummy, where's the Sad Jar?' and then went on to say that we also need an Angry Jar, Disgust Jar and Fear Jar (you see where she was coming from). And it got me thinking: actually she's right.

Happiness is a good thing* but then so are all the other emotions -- can't have one without the others. It's a complete package. Sometimes, the sad can be overwhelming, and can lead to tragedy. As when anger becomes an all-consuming rage that burns your bridges. Fear can be paralyzing and disgust can lead to shame. Can you have a surfeit of happiness? I imagine that such a thing would be ecstasy, unsustainable and one must come down eventually. Being happy all the time is equally untenable, I should think.

When people talk about being happy, like it should be one's default state, as though to be otherwise is a tragedy, I am always reminded of Buffy's lament in season six: "I was happy... I was warm ... and I was loved ... and I was finished. Complete." Sounds heavenly, right? Well... she was also dead.

I wonder what our "resting" state should be. I know it should not be a constant melancholy (been there: it quickly spirals into a "make it stop" death wish), nor anger (little sparks will sting those around you), nor fear or any of the others. What of happiness? It can only be a force for good, no? Is there a neutral zone, where we feel... nothing? Or are we always feeling?

I am, at this moment, happy. It's a low-level sort of happy, in that I can smile easily and all is right with the world. I wonder how quickly I will reach irritability? Perhaps this is contentment, which is of course, a form of happiness.

I am still looking for that elusive thing called "meaningful work", and I continue to chafe a little at what I perceive as the restrictions of my current situation. But I am beginning to appreciate the opportunities this time is giving me: a deepening understanding of myself, time to really work out what it is that I am seeking, time to be me, something I had spent so many years suppressing.

My friend Yo, whom I spent a perfectly congenial morning enjoying a slow breakfast, asked a pertinent question: what do I value in my life? She suggested that when I know, I should put those things in my life. I think it's sterling advice and something I shall be meditating on. Well, at least let my subconscious chew on it for a while.

In the meantime, my daughter shall have her Sad Jar and together, we'll record both the highs and the lows of this year, like the very best stories and paintings - rich in contrasts.


*But I hesitate at the pursuit of it. It seems counter intuitive to strive for something that should be effortless and light.

You, me and Santa

It's Boxing Day 2015 and I've just spent my first Christmas as a single person in 21 years. It's also the first without family around me, not even my Little Monster. But I wasn't alone.

Bubs and me spent Christmas Eve with a friend and a young family we used to live next to. Yo cooked up a traditional Polish meal for us and there were even presents under a tree! Bubs had a great time helping -- she asked us to guess what dessert was and tricked us into believing it was cake. Much fun was had. And for Christmas Day itself, my lovely friends shared their dinner with me while bubs was at her grandparents' with her father.

So, Santa.

As an unrepentant atheist parent, I am conflicted about the whole Father Christmas thing. I've always told bubs that all her presents were from people who loved her. But of course, everywhere we turn, the inevitable "So what have you asked Santa for this Christmas?" question is asked, and he appears in every place we go. Understandably, bubs is confused too. She knows I don't believe in Santa. But feedback from everyone else indicates otherwise. I could see her mulling over this conundrum in the run up.

On the way home in the taxi, the driver asked if bubs had been good for Santa. The answer was a very firm, "Santa doesn't exist!" and she scrambled out of the cab (the driver was startled and I think a little horrified that someone so young was already so cynical). Minutes later, she scribbled a note to Santa on her sketch pad asking him for a bike and propped it up on the window for him to see. I tried to explain it was too late but she was adamant. Of course, Christmas Day dawned and no bike. Well, she said, that means Santa doesn't exist. I think she'd already decided that and it was a last ditch attempt to prove herself wrong. She's a little sad, and angry I think, but seems to accept that it is so. I suspect that she'd asked Santa for her parents to be together at Christmas and that is what led to the realisation that he isn't real.

But we shared a good Christmas morning together -- she loved her Space Putty and toy Tribble -- and I loved watching her play while I did last minute wrapping. Her father came to collect her and I got the cold shoulder for, I suspect, sending her away. I was a bit saddened, but I know it was the best thing for her. At least for today.

She's not home yet from her grandparents'; I wonder how it went. But when she comes home, I will tell her that I missed her and that I wasn't sending her away. I will tell her that other people love her too and I can't keep her all to myself. She makes so many people happy, it would be too selfish of me not to share.

I have said many times, and as recently as yesterday, that I am not cut out to be a mother. I think I have been looking at this wrong. The shape that I am is not that of a mother as I believe should be, But if I turn my head just so, I can may be see a glimmer of one. And of course, I have the tools and a willing helper to re-shape me. Customised and everything. 

Things I am grateful for - notes from a Single Mum

What a weekend!

I am grateful for PTAs, without whom there wouldn't have been a school film, Christmas Fayre and dozens of excellent events. Little Monster had a brilliant time despite falling off her chair (well-deserved bump on the caboose since she was tilting her chair backwards, had a bit of a cheeky grin on when she told me).

A strange thing happened to me at the fair - I had a slight panic attack, elevated heart-rate, hyperventilation, desperate desire to flee. I had to move to less crowded corner to breathe properly. I don't think I'd ever been that uncomfortable in a crowd before. I guess it must have been the enclosed space. It only lasted a couple of minutes, but I was wound tight as a spindle, and had to grit my teeth for Little Monster's sake. Fortunately, we then found friends and just like magic, the tension evaporated. It's amazing what a friendly smile and a welcoming greeting can do. And mulled wine. That took the edge off too.

When we got home, I had to have a bit of a "lie down". Damn, was I was tired. And continued to be so all the way through our dear friends' party. Ah! What a lovely, cosy evening! Our first Canadian tree-trimming party.

Apparently, in Canada, you went outside, chopped your own tree down, brought it in-doors and trimmed it to fit the space. And it's a tradition to invite friends and family to help decorate it and the house while consuming much food and alcohol.

Little Monster and I had the best time - there was gorgeous food, such amazing cakes! and great company, stories, songs and colouring in! Everyone was invited to draw and colour in themed pictures to hang on the walls. Of course, Little Monster was in her element. Although, I think her favourite bit was actually doing the tree (our contribution was home-made baubles from pine cones which we painted silver and covered in glitter.)

Sunday we went a little stir crazy at home but a little wrestling, and careful chopping up of a Romanesco broccoli for dinner sorted us out. 

I am, once again, down to my last few pounds but you know what? My life is incredibly rich. Yes, there are moments of sadness, slices of despair, but I can't help but be thankful that I have had the privilege of experiencing the wonderful gifts that life has offered.

Womanning up

These past few days have been a little revelatory*.  It seems my "This Is A Bad Idea" alert has malfunctioned.

I wonder at my unthinking capacity to be used. A couple of incidents over the last few weeks have made me wonder if I am such a people-pleaser that I don't even notice when I am being ill-treated until the damage is felt. And even then, the discomfort only surfaces hours or even days later. It's almost as if I go into shock.

I don't really know why I don't care for myself as well as I should. I believe I do value myself -- removing myself from a situation that was extinguishing me is an indicator -- and yet, I find myself doing things just to please someone I barely know. Or rather, so that they would, god help me, like me.

So, I am saying to myself, "What are you? A child? Woman up for fuck's sake!" This is a perpetual tussle within me. But I have a new frame. She comes in size 12 shoes, and wants only for me to be with her, to be present for her. I am her world and right now, who and what I am, she sees and learns from. If I don't love myself, and show her that I do, only bad things can ensue. Sure, she'll learn from them, but I'd rather she have a role model that she can be proud of.

And I'd rather be a role model I'd be proud of too.

*Then again, since I left my old life, every other day seems to throw up something new about myself. It's like I had been shattered into millions of little pieces, then scattered all over the place. Each day, as I journey, I uncover a different piece, so shaped by its environs that it no longer fits into its old spot. So I have to study it anew, and make a new place for it within the new me. 

"Does the walker choose the path, or the path, the walker?"

~ Garth Nix, Sabriel, and all his books of The Old Kingdom*.

 

Today, I turned 42.

I'm learning that one needs the bounce-backability of a child to weather the storms of a fresh start. And I've had two pretty big ones in the last 12 months.

A year ago, I was stumbling amid the burning debris of my broken home. But I wasn't alone. My family and friends held me up and showed me how much they cared. On this day, I was treated with such kindness, and I felt so loved. And today -- this week -- has been no different.

Two months ago, I left a secure (-ish) job because I found myself in a constant state of rage. As someone who had suffered with depression twice, I knew this state would inevitably lead to a deep, dark hole. And drugs would only camouflage the journey. If I didn't change my situation, I would lose myself and my daughter will know someone she called 'mum' but it wouldn't be me.

So I quit with nothing to go to. I've been looking for work and set up a small shop but for some reason I still haven't got my site up and my creative consultant pitch remains unformed.

The last few weeks have been particularly trying - I ran out of money and had to ask for help.

This year, too, I faced my daughter's entry to big school. I worried about her settling into that society; I worried that she would hate it and refuse to go. After initially being cross most of the time (her teacher's description) she's settled in. And I am so proud that she's now able to demonstrate care for others. It was my greatest fear that she would be incapable of empathy.

In the last week, I've also been distractingly preoccupied by things I can't have. Or more precisely, people I can't have. I have no idea what is up with me. It's damned unhelpful.

On the other hand, my alter ego won me a writing gig. No cash, but opened up a personal avenue that I hadn't realised I craved. I also sold a short story, a voice over and a bedtime story. Just a couple of days ago, I made a new connection and a possible new venture has unfolded. It's terribly ENFP of me, all these little projects here and there, but it's also grin-inducingly exciting.

My dear friend, Irish, took me out for lunch the other day and observed that I was really happy.
And you know what, despite the lack of money, companionship, despite the distractions and the worries? I find that, yes, I really am. Truly, deeply so.


*Henry Rollins once derided a date for reading the Harry Potter books because she was a grown woman and shouldn't be reading children's books. Much as I love Henry, he's an idiot in this. Just because you're a grown up, doesn't mean you have to abandon the child in you, doesn't mean you should dismiss childish things.