To blog or not to blog

that is the question.

I’m not sure I should carry on with my blog. Why, you may ask?

Well...

My husband reads my blog, which means I can’t always say everything I would want to say if it really were my journal.

My friend reads my blog, and when we meet up she already knows what’s been going on in my life.

Historically, I’m a quitter. I quit ballet, horse riding and brownies when I was little. I paid a full year at a gym but didn’t go beyond the induction. Actually, I’m such a quitter I'm not sure how I’ve managed to stay married and in my job for the past nine years!

I’m really fighting the urge to quit this right now.

I began to feel as if I spent more time writing about my life than actually living it.

I began to resent feeling compelled to post every night because that’s how I started and I felt any less would look to be slacking.

So. I cut back to every other night, which was better, but I still have the urge to quit.

There are millions of blogs out there and I just don’t think I have enough to say that’s any different.

On the flipside, I think if I were pregnant right now I would be fine as I think it would be really nice to record the whole experience.

I also think if I didn’t work full time I would feel better about posting as it wouldn’t get in the way quite like it does now. Right now we put Peanut to bed, eat dinner and then I sit with the laptop attached to me. It’s not exactly romantic and conducive to baby making if you know what I mean.

And then this morning, because I guess I’ve had a few days to myself, I found myself thinking of things I wanted to say.

Maybe that’s it, maybe I just need to blog without obligation, as Huckdoll would say.

Maybe I need my blog to be for me. Or maybe I quit the race and just enjoy being a part of everyone else’s journey.

When panic sets in

I was getting ready for work this morning and reached the part of my daily prep where I put my jewellery on.

Necklace, earrings, watch, ring on right hand, wedding ring, engagement ring...where's my engagement ring? Crap, where did I have it last? When did I take it off? I hope I didn't lose it at swimming lessons yesterday?

I start to rummage through the four dresser drawers, on top of which I always place my jewellery last thing at night, thinking it may have been knocked down into one. Nope, no metal clattering noises to be heard.

Shit, I really have lost it. Husband is not going to be impressed. And I kinda don't want to have lost it either - it's got 42 bloody diamonds in it! Ok, I admit, 41 of them are like fairy dust but one isn't, and anyway, I love it.

Cue Peanut who walks in to see what all the fuss is about...

Me: Mummy's lost her ring! What's mummy done with her ring???

Peanut: I got it. It’s in my pocket.

Me: What? What pocket?

Peanut: In my trousers. Yesterday.

Me: Really? [thinking to myself: where on earth are her trousers? won't it have fallen out? oh crap, they're in the washing machine!].

I rush to the kitchen and search through the dirty laundry in the machine. I locate the offending article and reach with two of my fingers into a very small pocket.

Sure enough it was there. Expensive diamonds hiding inside cheap kid trousers.

I didn't tell her off as, after all, I found the ring and everything was just fine. With its happy ending, it was quite cute and funny really.

I have a picture in my head of Peanut quietly, while no one else notices what she’s up to, reaching on top of my dresser and taking my ring as her special treasure.

Though I think tonight I'll be putting them that little bit further out of the reach of her tiny hands.

Pick me up

I don’t want to write a ‘woe is me’ post, I really don’t. But at the same time it would be false of me to pretend everything in my head is fine and dandy.

So what’s wrong? Well, truthfully, nothing major. Just a bunch of little things that mean I’m beating myself up, and then down again.

It’s my birthday this coming week; I’m going to turn 34 on Thursday. I don’t like it much as a number and I certainly don’t want to be associated with it.

It feels like only a blink ago I was 25, fresh home from Australia, falling in love, planning a wedding, making babies, oh and of course, spending money for England.

So where am I now? Old, unattractive, too fat for my clothes, without money to buy any new ones and really hoping to get pregnant but so far not succeeding. Like I said, woe is me.

My mind has been filled of late with silly thoughts like these:

Am I too old to be wearing a hoodie? Why am I even wearing a hoodie? Cheap and warm would be the answer to that.

Why do I feel like I’ve lost my game? Actually I can answer that too. I’ve lost my game because I can no longer afford to play. In a world where image matters I can no longer afford to participate. The irony is that I can’t afford to play anymore because in my twenties I played the game a little too hard and now it’s biting me on my fat, old, ugly ass.

I also had a dream the other night about Milo Ventimiglia [being representative of men my own age-ish]. He didn’t even notice me. I mean, why would he notice a past her prime mother with bad hair when he’s dating an 18 year old?

So anyway, as I see it I have two choices: I can wallow in my own self-pity or I can do something about it all.

How you look affects your self esteem, there’s no escaping it, so I’m going to choose the latter. As my birthday [usually] falls on the last day of February I have a tendency to consider March 1st as my second chance at resolutions. It is, after all, the first day of my very own New Year and that’s good enough for me. It means I get to start over on the resolutions I made in January that haven’t really stuck.

With that in mind, I went out for a walk this afternoon. On my own! Peanut was at MIL’s causing a riot with her cousins and husband was snoozing. I think I needed that hour to myself. Just me and my iPod, walking through town with the fresh winter breeze in my face, blowing all my cobwebs away.

It felt good. Just the pick me up I needed.

I hate mornings

I hate that more tube delays sucked an extra 30 minutes out of my day. Making me late for work. Again.

I hate how my job is boring me senseless. After 3 years of doing the same project again and again it's soooooo dull.

I hate that Peanut was so tired and grumpy this morning she called me a 'poo poo head'. Nice.

I hate that Peanut told me she didn't want to go to nursery today, knowing I couldn't grant her wish to stay at home.

I hate what I'm wearing today. My new Gap top has turned out to be more tent like than I imagined. I know, I know, I bought it because it would be good 'in the long term'. Unfortunately, even I think I look like I 'could be pregnant' so lord only knows what the gossip hags read into it today.

However, on the flip side, I love that I got to spend an unexpected hour with my friend this morning. Tube delays are good for some things.

Cabin fever

Some weekends we're really busy, rushing from a to b. Other weekends we have so little to do we don't know where to begin. This weekend was one of those.

Back in the days when financial frivolity was the norm, I'm sure we would have made a list of things we needed and places we needed to go. After all, there's no bigger fix for boredom than buying something new and lovely, and the ensuing rush from taking that item home to play with and admire.

Except we don't live like that anymore. Apart from our grocery shop on Friday, and asking next door's builder to fix a broken bit of our footpath yesterday, we haven't been near anywhere that required us to part with money.

Which is great for our bank balance but not always so great for our minds. Husband always gets cabin fever on a Sunday if our weekends are too quiet. Despite a busy day yesterday [football with his nephew in the morning and a family walk in the great outdoors - lake & forest - in the afternoon] he was still grumpy quite a bit today. I called him McFrosty this evening but I don't think he got the reference.

As for me, my mood has been surprisingly ok today so maybe my optimism can hang in there a little while longer. After all, there's only room for one person with pmt!

Day 27 tomorrow...

Virgin Meme

I got my first meme tag! [Thanks Huckdoll!]. After 45 days and 48 posts I now feel like a proper blogger in a world of proper bloggers.

Unfortunately for Huckdoll, her meme is about reading. Something I rarely do, well not fiction anyway [far too bloody practical for that]. It’s either magazines or non-fiction ‘how to’ books beside my bed!

Anyway, here are the instructions for my ‘Page 123’ meme:

1. pick up the nearest book [of at least 123 pages].
2. open the book to page 123.
3. find the fifth sentence.
4. post the next three sentences.
5. tag five people and then post a comment here once you post it to your blog, so I can come and see.

Here goes…

My book is ‘Honey We’re Killing The Kids: The Ten Rules For Healthy And Happy Children’ by Kristina Murrin. Page 123 is within the ‘Discipline and Boundaries’ chapter.

If you can’t say no to yourself as an adult, your life will be driven by whim and impulse and you will find it difficult to delay gratification; falling victim to the ‘I want it now’ syndrome.

Although no is a negative word, it can be used to teach your child positive lessons. It’s a powerful word, however, so it’s important to learn how to use it properly.

I tag the following five lovely people, who I’m sure read more interesting books than I do!

Bliss in Bloom
Clever Girl Goes Blog
Latte Mommy
Life of a Valley Girl
Life with Lance