For the first time in years, I am totally without communication. I am on a train, late at night, going to a rural train station to drive home. My phone battery is flat. And it's terrifying. What if the train breaks down? What if the car breaks down? How did I reach this state of dependency?
At university and even for the first year of working, I didn't have a mobile phone. I didn't have an e-mail address. In years to come I'm sure my son will find this impossible to imagine. I got my first phone aged 22. SO what did we do in those dark ages before the light found us? Well. We made plans and kept to them. We applied logic. If we were meeting somewhere with unpredictable timings, we made contingencies. And I confess I spent a lot less time worrying about not being contactable than I do now. With hindsight, I felt free. And yet this mobile technology is supposed to be helping us to be living our lives to the full, be able to run our lives from anywhere in the world. But the question is- why on earth would you want to?
I am the first person to see the values in being easily contacted. And yet it seems to have bred a laziness, an inability to think logically around every day problems. If there is a moment's delay, impatience kicks in. Because technology is there, we use it, even when we really don't need to. The minute anything gets hard or uncertain, we can find out the answer straight away. Stuck on a crossword clue? There's a website for that. Can't find the pub you're meeting your mate at? There's a phone service or GPS application for that. Make a cup of coffee? Well OK, there's not yet an app for that, but you take the point. When did it become necessary for everything from information to entertainment to be so damn available? Perhaps we SHOULD have to wait for things, perhaps we SHOULD have to figure a few things out for ourselves, or be allowed to be out without a phone and just get home when we said we would. We wonder why children are ungrateful, why they don't appreciate the value of information or presents. With the internet there ready to answer in seconds the most complex question they may have, communication instantly by IM, text, e-mail, can we really be surprised that the nation is becoming more and more impatient? If the workplace didn't have e-mail, imagine how much less stressful your day would be. Just because we have technology and communication at our fingertips – it doesn't necessarily mean we should always be using it.
Thursday 15 October 2009
Tuesday 13 October 2009
The Next Big Idea
In my desperate search to find things to write about I find myself wondering - do you have to be a chef to do a cookery book? Do you have to have your own show on TV? Or can anyone write one?
I thought it might be a nice idea for a cookery book to have something like "The Family Cookbook" - classic and modern recipes for families today. It could have quick and easy sections, lunch ideas, dinner party meal planners, baking, desserts, starters, mains etc, but also a section for children's recipes from 6 months onwards. Would use all sorts of recipes from both sides of the family for an eclectic mix - everything from mum's chicken soup to Dot's stuffed vine leaves or olive and salami pasta, my lamb tagine and Nick's caramel slice. Plus Sue Oldrey's lemon pudding and so on. Might be a fun idea - one that's simple, doesn't require loads of tricky ingredients - easy cooking for family, special occasions and nice treats. Might be that no-one is interested, but it could be fun. Could even be produced with a ring-binder section at the back to keep your own family recipes in.
I shall research this area forthwith!
I thought it might be a nice idea for a cookery book to have something like "The Family Cookbook" - classic and modern recipes for families today. It could have quick and easy sections, lunch ideas, dinner party meal planners, baking, desserts, starters, mains etc, but also a section for children's recipes from 6 months onwards. Would use all sorts of recipes from both sides of the family for an eclectic mix - everything from mum's chicken soup to Dot's stuffed vine leaves or olive and salami pasta, my lamb tagine and Nick's caramel slice. Plus Sue Oldrey's lemon pudding and so on. Might be a fun idea - one that's simple, doesn't require loads of tricky ingredients - easy cooking for family, special occasions and nice treats. Might be that no-one is interested, but it could be fun. Could even be produced with a ring-binder section at the back to keep your own family recipes in.
I shall research this area forthwith!
Monday 12 October 2009
Fever
J is not well. Why is it that as a parent, as soon as your little one is ill, all common sense and pragmatism deserts you completely? I know full well that his temperature is just because he had his jabs on Friday and that he's just building up his immune system. However, I can't help that little voice telling me it's something else, something more serious, something that will strike as soon as I leave the room and I'll come back to a lifeless body... no, I can't even think that. For a split second every time I go into his quiet room I panic - and then he moves or cries or breathes, perfectly fine, and I wryly smile at how neurotic I am.
So yesterday, with temperature soaring and a projectile vomit all over the kitchen, I find myself ringing NHS Direct out of sheer desperation. I just needed someone with some authority to tell me he was fine. Confidence, it would seem, is a preference only for those without children.
It's not easy, being entirely responsible for a whole life other than your own.
And then there's the parent etiquette thing. I took J to his Monday morning class today at the library, and everyone was very sympathetic. But could I detect a glint of blame in some of the mothers' eyes? Was I imagining the unspoken comments - was it irresponsible of me to take him out with other children, just in case it's something contagious?
There is a strange dichotomy amongst parents. Out loud, they say things like "the second Blake gets chicken pox, let me know, we'll be straight round" But underneath what they're thinking is "If you let your disease-ridden offspring anywhere near my precious darling I'll skin you alive." It's a jungle out there. You spend your life hacking through the pleasantries to the primal, fearsomely protective animal behind, the one that would do just about anything for their own child. Sure, they all sympathise, but are they really just wondering how you could be so stupid as to expose their children to whatever hideous ailment your own poor baby has. Even when you tell them it's not contagious, they don't believe you. I am meant to be going to a friend's this afternoon, and she texted last night having noticed my FB status about J not being well. Was it genuine concern for J that prompted the text? Or was she checking whether it was something likely to be passed on to her son as well?
Perhaps I should stop imagining this subtext, these unspoken atrocities, and give my fellow mums a little more credit. But then there's that nagging little voice again. The same one that assures me that the looks I'm getting as I walk down the street are just as malicious as I think, that those kids over there really are laughing at me, that those women really are criticising every badly dressed, overweight step I take. That voice tells me it's true - because we are just judging others on the uncharitable thoughts we all have as well. Some of us are better at smothering them than others - but that doesn't mean they're not there.
So yesterday, with temperature soaring and a projectile vomit all over the kitchen, I find myself ringing NHS Direct out of sheer desperation. I just needed someone with some authority to tell me he was fine. Confidence, it would seem, is a preference only for those without children.
It's not easy, being entirely responsible for a whole life other than your own.
And then there's the parent etiquette thing. I took J to his Monday morning class today at the library, and everyone was very sympathetic. But could I detect a glint of blame in some of the mothers' eyes? Was I imagining the unspoken comments - was it irresponsible of me to take him out with other children, just in case it's something contagious?
There is a strange dichotomy amongst parents. Out loud, they say things like "the second Blake gets chicken pox, let me know, we'll be straight round" But underneath what they're thinking is "If you let your disease-ridden offspring anywhere near my precious darling I'll skin you alive." It's a jungle out there. You spend your life hacking through the pleasantries to the primal, fearsomely protective animal behind, the one that would do just about anything for their own child. Sure, they all sympathise, but are they really just wondering how you could be so stupid as to expose their children to whatever hideous ailment your own poor baby has. Even when you tell them it's not contagious, they don't believe you. I am meant to be going to a friend's this afternoon, and she texted last night having noticed my FB status about J not being well. Was it genuine concern for J that prompted the text? Or was she checking whether it was something likely to be passed on to her son as well?
Perhaps I should stop imagining this subtext, these unspoken atrocities, and give my fellow mums a little more credit. But then there's that nagging little voice again. The same one that assures me that the looks I'm getting as I walk down the street are just as malicious as I think, that those kids over there really are laughing at me, that those women really are criticising every badly dressed, overweight step I take. That voice tells me it's true - because we are just judging others on the uncharitable thoughts we all have as well. Some of us are better at smothering them than others - but that doesn't mean they're not there.
Saturday 10 October 2009
My Tiny Life
By the way, the title of this blog is not some self-deprecating, teen-angst-ridden put-down. (Enough hyphens there?) It's simply meant to reflect the tininess of ones own life compared to the enormity of the world. Then again, since ones life is the biggest, longest, most incredible thing any of us will ever have - perhaps I should have called it My Enormous Great Behemoth of a Life.
I'll sleep on it.
I'll sleep on it.
End of an era
It says a lot about me that I have just spent about ten minutes deciding whether or not to capitalise the first letters of the title of this blog, eventually decided to take out the troublesome words altogether, and then choose a template that uses block capitals. Really.
Anyway, I begin this new blog with the best of intentions. It is the end of an era, and the beginning of one. Next week, my husband goes back to work for the first time in fourteen months, and I will, quite literally, be left holding the baby.
Not such a baby now, he's getting on for 13 months, and I haven't written a word in my other blog since pregnancy. Given that its title was Bumpdom and Beyond, I feel I have done my own titular assignations a significant disservice. Still, onward and upward.
So yes, some time ago, my husband and I decided it would be brilliant if he took a few months off work when the baby came - we were in the very fortunate position of being able to afford it thanks to his contracting jobs in the City. Who says banking doesn't have its upsides... that was 14 months ago now, and the last year has been great. And stressful and worrying and argumentative and everything else that goes with a new baby. The best and worst in both of us are brought to the surface a little more often than we might like - but we have survived. Many of my friends have commented that they didn't think their own marriages would have survived a year at such close quarters. To them I say - having different interests really is a wonderful thing. I am sure I shall dwell on this subject more over the coming months, so won't go into it all now.
Because he's got a job. He hasn't looked at many and this one doesn't pay anything like as well as banking did, but it's a job that has him really excited, and that counts for an awful lot.
So on Thursday I shall find myself in the position all my friends with babies were in after just two terrifying weeks of parenthood - home alone with my son. And to be honest - I can't wait. Not that I don't like having my husband around, I truly do - but I am looking forward to the time that it's just the two of us, that new "two of us" that sometimes causes a father some not inconsiderable anguish. (My son has a little sleepsuit set with various slogans on them - one of them is "Mummy's New Man" I don't think my husband was too impressed with that one - perhaps it's a little close to the bone)There are aspects of it that scare me though. I have got used to having that spare set of hands when I need it, and think I have taken for granted just how helpful those hands can be. But I feel stupidly like I am going it alone, as though it's some sort of adventure. I have a year's mothering experience under my belt (along with over a year's worth of eating for two, sadly) and hope that I will really enjoy this next phase.
So here goes - I've enrolled on a writing course, I am trying to launch a new career as freelance writer, and I'll be home alone every day. I have truly appreciated having the two of us around for the first year of our son's life, but it does feel like the time to make a change. The purpose of this blog is varied. It should partly reflect and record things that happen to me, how I am feeling about things, and as a record for my son when he is old enough to read but not so old as to be bored stupid by his mother's ramblings. Secondly, it gets me writing. Whatever I write, i doubt anyone else is reading this, so no point worrying about that. Just getting back into the habit of writing is enough. And lastly - hopefully it will allow me to play around with a few ideas that could turn themselves into something better. As most ideas can, if given the right encouragement.
Right, primed and ready to go, my writing career awaits.
Time to put the kettle on.
Anyway, I begin this new blog with the best of intentions. It is the end of an era, and the beginning of one. Next week, my husband goes back to work for the first time in fourteen months, and I will, quite literally, be left holding the baby.
Not such a baby now, he's getting on for 13 months, and I haven't written a word in my other blog since pregnancy. Given that its title was Bumpdom and Beyond, I feel I have done my own titular assignations a significant disservice. Still, onward and upward.
So yes, some time ago, my husband and I decided it would be brilliant if he took a few months off work when the baby came - we were in the very fortunate position of being able to afford it thanks to his contracting jobs in the City. Who says banking doesn't have its upsides... that was 14 months ago now, and the last year has been great. And stressful and worrying and argumentative and everything else that goes with a new baby. The best and worst in both of us are brought to the surface a little more often than we might like - but we have survived. Many of my friends have commented that they didn't think their own marriages would have survived a year at such close quarters. To them I say - having different interests really is a wonderful thing. I am sure I shall dwell on this subject more over the coming months, so won't go into it all now.
Because he's got a job. He hasn't looked at many and this one doesn't pay anything like as well as banking did, but it's a job that has him really excited, and that counts for an awful lot.
So on Thursday I shall find myself in the position all my friends with babies were in after just two terrifying weeks of parenthood - home alone with my son. And to be honest - I can't wait. Not that I don't like having my husband around, I truly do - but I am looking forward to the time that it's just the two of us, that new "two of us" that sometimes causes a father some not inconsiderable anguish. (My son has a little sleepsuit set with various slogans on them - one of them is "Mummy's New Man" I don't think my husband was too impressed with that one - perhaps it's a little close to the bone)There are aspects of it that scare me though. I have got used to having that spare set of hands when I need it, and think I have taken for granted just how helpful those hands can be. But I feel stupidly like I am going it alone, as though it's some sort of adventure. I have a year's mothering experience under my belt (along with over a year's worth of eating for two, sadly) and hope that I will really enjoy this next phase.
So here goes - I've enrolled on a writing course, I am trying to launch a new career as freelance writer, and I'll be home alone every day. I have truly appreciated having the two of us around for the first year of our son's life, but it does feel like the time to make a change. The purpose of this blog is varied. It should partly reflect and record things that happen to me, how I am feeling about things, and as a record for my son when he is old enough to read but not so old as to be bored stupid by his mother's ramblings. Secondly, it gets me writing. Whatever I write, i doubt anyone else is reading this, so no point worrying about that. Just getting back into the habit of writing is enough. And lastly - hopefully it will allow me to play around with a few ideas that could turn themselves into something better. As most ideas can, if given the right encouragement.
Right, primed and ready to go, my writing career awaits.
Time to put the kettle on.
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