The moment I realised I'm not Superwoman!

Life can be great, and also very difficult, and often all at once... no surprises there! At the moment, I've got a lot of great stuff going on, but you know when lots of little things all just mount up and suddenly everything feels just a little bit shit and more?? Well...that's today for me! Busy at work, crazy busy at home, 2 little boys to bring up (not just drag up!) and bring them up well! Other half just had an op and still miles away while he recuperates, house to keep tidy, children to stop fighting, homework to get done, food to stop eating (that weight is just creeping back on!) and exercise to find time to do... (errrrr, still not managed to pencil that in yet!). I know lots of people have it harder but these are my mini-crises for today.

I called my mum tonight, upset about lots of little shitty bits (or 'shibitits' as I like to call them) and bless her...she tried her best (as always) to solve all my problems. I told her I didn't necessarily need her to solve them, just to listen to my woes and that would make me feel better. We chatted for 20 minutes, her encouragement didn't really make me feel better bless her and then I remembered what had happened earlier in the day...

... I love handbags... to those that know me well, that's no surprise. At one point during my (ex) marriage I counted 134 and realised that there just MIGHT be something wrong in my relationship that was causing me to buy so many, that there was something missing in my life! Eeeeeeek! (I've since sold most of them on Ebay/ to friends for a bargain!) and I'm now divorced from said husband and all from a head-count of the Radley's!

 I often get texts from friends saying that they're going to a funeral/ to the beach/ to a BBQ dressed as a Smurf and don't have a suitable bag, can I help? Well of course! I might have got rid of most of them, but there's still around 40 lurking around my house, which I'm more than happy to offer to my friends on loan. 

I love most handbags, and I'm not the most materialistic woman in the world, but there is something so specifically appealing about designer handbags... it's such a heavenly shopping experience! The colours, fabrics, sizes, shapes, pockets and straps, not to mention total lack of price-tags! So at lunchtime today, after working extremely hard all morning designing edit schedules for documentaries (trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, and with the help of my talented colleagues, just about managing to do it),  I decided it was time for a bit of retail heaven... off to Harvey Nics and Selfridges I went.

Harvey Nics first. Felt very rich and privileged as the security guard opened the door for me. Sauntered in.  Loving that they had a new huge collection of Cambridge Satchels, I was sporting one myself (bought half-price from the internet, not that they needed to know) so felt right at home. Drifted towards the Marc Jacobs, the Alexandra Wangs and the Chloe's, lovely but it wasn't very busy and I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable... if I was to continue with my handbag journey I needed Selfridges... so I walked out towards the Yellow and Black Mecca, narrowly avoiding Louis Vuitton (I love an LV but my most expensive handbag, my 'LV Neverfull' had a strap broken over Christmas so I just couldn't bring myself to venture even past the window for risk of a tearful episode!) onwards I marched to those double doors. I walked in, this was it... straight towards the Anya Hindmarch stand. There I saw a lovely black hand-held, the assistant walked straight towards me, showing me how they come with not one but TWO long different coloured straps, and all for only £895. I showed genuine concern, but I wasn't entirely convinced that even with a lottery win would I feel fully comfortable spending over a months rent on a handbag! Oh who am I kidding :-) I was very happy, I was clearly managing to pull off the 'I can afford this handbag' look, she asked me if she could put it aside for me, I told her I'd come back later... 

Out into the rest of Manchester...onto WH Smiths to buy some poly-pockets for the office... yes very glamorous I know! Bought what I needed, nipped into Marks and Sparks for a sarnie then on my way back to the office (got to rush, always in a rush, so much to do) nipped into Zara.... aahhhh this was more my price range. Walked straight into a gorgeous black 'shopper' (that's a handbag for those of you who aren't familiar, well in this context anyway). Checked the tag... £79.99, much more my price range. Grabbed hold of it and walked to the mirror... better rush, almost time for my afternoon meeting. Stood in front of the mirror.... GREAT bag, but not to buy today, just about to walk away from the mirror... took a back step. Yes, it was... my bloody poncho was on inside out! Seams-a-showing, white label complete with washing instructions dangling in the wind! Brilliant! The last 20 minutes of handbag heaven, all in an inside-out poncho came hurrying back to my senses! Yes, this is when I realised that I'm not Superwoman. Instead of being upset, I smiled and carried on back to the office.

So there you have it... we might always try to be everything to everyone, think that there is so much expected of us, and so much to do just to function every day, but when all else fails, stick your poncho on inside out and pretend to be a rich shopper then... later... ring your boyfriend and your mum and have a giggle about it. It's really not the end of the world and puts thing in persepective... just a little bit. 

Goodnight all

xx

So what do I tell them...?

Firstly, apologies for not writing on here sooner, have been very busy with work, kids, holiday J with Mr X, more work, kids and oh yeah… ex-husbands!

Okay, so here’s a little conundrum…

Recently, after being officially separated for the last 22 months (and divorced for the last 15 of those), things have become very strained between me and my ex-husband. There’s only really been a semi-amicable ‘business partnership’ for those months between us anyway, merely to facilitate issues regarding our children... But that’s not what concerns me.

What concerns me is this… What do your tell your children about your bitter, battle of words between you and your ex, their dad?

Yes, at the ripe old age of 7 years, my oldest has decided that he wants to know more. He’s noticing the fact that for the first time there are strained words between us during drop-offs/ pick-ups and I can tell that it hurts my little one. Let me state, for the record (very Judge Judy, I know!) that I only want what’s best for my boys, they are my world and I would give them my last breath, never mind my last penny! I didn’t want to end it with their dad (looking back though, I do laugh! Oh how I laugh! I don’t know how we’d ever have made it work – I can’t pretend to be as posh as he seems to think he is! Lol! Think Hyacinth Bouquet but with even more ‘pretend’ posh going on, and in chinos!!) I’ve never raised my voice/ argued with him in front of the children before now, but suddenly as Mr Ex-husband doesn’t want to seem to talk about anything in private or at all for that matter, it’s become a side-effect! (‘Put it in an email’ seems to be his mantra!)

But how do I know what to do for the best?

My world revolves around my little boys… I get to work at a convenient time that fits in with dropping them off at school, I leave work with enough time to pick them up, I have amazing childcare that I know suits them down to the ground and I plan all my free time around them, I take time off work when they’re sick, I sleep in their beds when they have nightmares, I mop up sick, stop nose-bleeds and explain how babies are made to them (only when absolutely necessary and the Claire Raynor books are out of stock in the library!)… all this on my own for 93% of the time!! – I love them to bits… but I’m scared.

I grew up from divorced parentage. Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s not totally destroyed me (my mum, for the record, is amazing), but I’d say it’s affected the way I am and behave today! My innate fear of rejection, I know, comes from the fact that my dad didn’t want anything to do with me for 26 years… I don’t want my boys to feel like this when they’re older.

I know, I know that there’ll be some of you out there who will say ‘but maybe your own dad wanted to get in touch, but he couldn’t’… well to those people I say… Yes he could. If you really want something enough then NOTHING will stop you from getting it, especially concerning your own flesh and blood (oooh, getting all serious aren’t I!)  But I suppose that’s why, despite his shortcomings, I’m continually asking my ex to get involved, to call them between visits, to come to the Christmas play.

So my little boy asked me if I liked his daddy yesterday. It is so hard to answer that question when they ask. If Jeremy Kyle had asked me the same question then you could almost imagine the answer! In the same way that Mrs Merton asked Debbie McGee…’Debbie, what first attracted you to millionaire Paul Daniels?’ you can imagine the retort to ‘Danni, what first made you want to divorce lying, cheating, bed-hopping, faux-posh Mr Ex-Husband?!’ So there lies the answer. But I’m really trying not to get embroiled in that detail, I want to know what to tell my son.

So when he asked me this very serious question, I replied that we had things to talk about concerning him and his brother and that daddy didn’t really want to talk about them. I know that there will be some of you with the opinion that I shouldn’t even open that can of worms (of giving details) at all! But I think there comes I time when they know they’re just being fobbed off… so with the minimum of detail, but the maximum amount of love, instead of telling him that everything was ‘fine’…I told him the following;

 I told him that we had different opinions of some things and that’s why we got mad with each other, but that we both loved our boys very much. I told that them I wished Daddy would talk to me about them more and I also told them that I would always be there for them NO MATTER WHAT. Thomas looked at me and then kissed me three times on the cheek, then went back to singing ‘Starships’ by Nicki Minaj!

They’re so bloody clever at such an early age, he’s already got me sussed!

I’m not turning my children away from their dad, despite what I know in my own head, because I didn’t know my own dad, and I don’t want that for my boys. But I think that’s a two-way street. Their dad has to want to see them. He has to fight tooth and nail for them above all other things…and the way things are going (and the involvement of a third-party Rottweiler who seems to be calling the shots) it’s not looking so hopeful.

All I know is, I will fight to the ends of the earth to look after them and protect them from harm. I will queue like a maniac in the Christmas Sales, just to get the Moshi Monster/ Lego figure/ J D Bug scooter * that they want off Santa, and I will continue to sit through shit films at the cinema just because I know they’re having a good time… and I will ultimately be 2 parents if that’s what I have to be in the end.

But as regards their Dad, how he treats them and what they think about it… well I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

(* for further info on all these boy-related toys, just message me! Lol!)

Crazy Ramblings of a Single Mum – Part 1

Crazy Ramblings of a Single Mum – Part 1

The truth about single mums!

So here it is, my first blog! Scared…not much! I figured for 'Day One' I’d tell it how it is! For anyone who knows me, they’ll know I’m very much an open book with way too many exclamation marks!! Oh shit there I go again.

So, this is me. I’m a single mum to 2 boys (6 & 5 aka – Kevin and Perry, in all ways but one!) and I have been on and off for the last two and a half years. I work full-time and try and entertain some kind of love-life in the inbetween times. Trust me, not quite as easy as it sounds. Especially when you return home to your crazy mother (aka – childminder extraordinaire) who has hung wet washing on every conceivable orifice in your home in the chance that it all may dry ONE day, and I mean EVERY ledge in EVERY room, meanwhile I’m scooping it up and hiding it, as Mr X is arriving in an hour for red wine and I’ve still got to bath the kids/ throw them in bed/ tidy up and hey, look like ‘the house is always this tidy!; but hey lets not try and rush mad mother out of the door too soon! Lol!

Single mums are part nurse/ part counselor/ part sex kitten (or at least we try to be once we’ve picked all the Lego Ninjago figures up)/ part Employee of the year and part social animal (but only every other weekend mind, when we tend to get loopy at the prospect of 2 child-free nights and sometimes take it a bit far- oops!), it’s not easy, but it’s my life and I do love it.

I spent many years of my life trying not to be my mother. I tried harder than most to work at my marriage because I didn’t want to be the divorced, single mum that she was. It turns out that my besties had known this for f**cking ages, which distressed me slightly as I hadn’t noticed.

Turns out that I needn’t have worried so much as I bloody love my mum and she’s an amazing woman, I probably don’t tell her enough, but then she did buy my eldest son an electric guitar WITH AMP for his 7^th birthday (not until May so don’t tell him). As you can imagine I’m hardly overjoyed at this thought (a sincerity my terraced neighbours will perhaps unite in), so I think I’ll tell her I love her more…starting tomorrow.

D

x