Hypocrite

I am one, no doubt. I smile and say nice things to people when I feel like I would like to tell them to go to hell instead. It's when they cross my path uphill in a park, chasing their cute little doggies, and I am fighting against gravity with my napping toddler in his buggy. And a little bit of shopping, no harm when he is asleep. And a cup of takeaway coffee, because it's so much easier to balance everything with one hand available, isn't it? Someone tells me I'm wrong, he's obviously mistaken.
But they say sorry. Actually, it's more of a mumbled 'ory', but its enough for me to smile (as much as it is physically possible, since I'm still struggling in an upward direction, so in fact it's more of a grim), and say 'it's ok'. When it's definitely not ok, I'm angry and would love to plan my route better rather than carelessly following the sun.
So, I am a hypocrite. When I say I am too tired to read a third goodnight book, and ask to have the lights turned off instead, and gaze at the ceiling with a mini solar system (the latest souvenir from our visit to the London Observatory), chatting about the planets and how it would be to go to the Moon.
In reality, I could have read that book, but I just didn't want to. So, it was a lie. I lied. But at the same time I expect my children to be honest, and tell the truth. At all times.
Oh, mother...

Material girl, material boy, and material mother

Things in bulks surround me, they make me feel overwhelmed, and they limit me more than I wish. Despite my sincere attempts not to carry every single piece of baby/child-related equipment when on a walk, I end up with, well, things in bulks.
I honestly wonder how other mums manage to survive their everyday lives with buggies clear of stuff, just one almost-designer-type of bag happily hanging over, and they are able to have their take-away coffee, and talk to someone on the phone, and giggle, and push their lovely child(ren), who are clean, happy, and contempt.
Me, in turn, I am usually the visual representation of a more-is-less motto (yes, it was deliberately meant the other way round, unfortunately). The school bag, the nappy bag, the snacks bag, the library bag...
Not that I'm jealous, just wondering.

Since children do copy their parents, and that's, in essence, how they learn about life and habits, I seem to be caring for future materialists. At least they may develop their analytical abilities to the full, explaining everything around us with no spiritual input required. Just things.

In result, I believe the others look at me with pity. While I care about it less and less (another obvious sign of aging...), it seems to result in unusual kindness and sincere support when I least expect it. Like the other day, we were walking through a foot tunnel underneath Thames, only to find out that the lift at the other end was not working. Then, a truly decent and incredibly nice guy suggested to help us (no flattery here, I have a husband who I happen to, you know, admire and respect, and love; even when I do not express this with everyday boxes of chocolates, bunches of deep-red roses, and shirts ironed flawlessly). I ended up carrying my happy mini man in his buggy with a man I have never seen before in my life, all the way up the 100+ stairs to the street level.

Miracles do happen...

When was the last time...

... You did something for the first time?

I read it somewhere (ok, it was on Facebook), and it struck me. It painfully showed me how predictable and boring my life has recently become. That is, in the last six years, or so. While it should be one of the most unique and precious, and memorable experiences of my life, the motherhood suddenly formed into plain, non-adventurous short-term planned existence, with nappies, tantrums, and truly exiting visits to playgrounds at the centre of attention.
I might have exaggerated a bit right now, showing only one side of the story (omitting the emotions, the moments, the spontaneous loveyoumummy words, the joy and laughter). The purpose though was to wake me up a bit, and try identifying again who I am. Who all of the mothers are when they are no longer on their own, having another human being in charge of them. Although, technically, and legally, it's the other way round.
I guess we tend to forget our true inner me when we are snowed under everyday stuff. I guess that's the reason why all the meditation, yoga (which I love, by the way), and relaxation techniques became so popular. But the thing is, none of these is needed. All you need is 5 minutes a day to stop. And think. Who you are. Where you're going with your life. What was nice that happen to you today. What made you sad. How can you work around those happy moments to live better tomorrow.
No need for 25-year success story planned in details to define you (even when such long-term perspective can improve your everyday life, as you stay focus on what you really want to do).

Funny how those cliche discoveries come to me now. Better later than never, I guess (and I have a suspicious feeling that last quote came to me several times here already:).

What is in a name

'What is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet'
Shakespeare.
The guy who probably never really existed (the are many claiming the opposite, my secondary school literature teacher included), yet so many versatile quotes floating around for the last 500 years, or so.

Recently I noticed the overwhelming popularity of twisted names.
A rose is no longer the rose, there is some multi-petal delicately scented flower representative available instead. I mean, are there any sellers left out there, or have they all been successfully swollen by shop attendants, retail assistants, or - in extreme cases - partners (apologies, Waitrose)? What about janitors, or caretakers? There are Site Managers now serving the dwellers, or the Concierge Representatives doing exactly the same work but for a title ranking high to the stars.

I have absolutely nothing against anybody working, quite envy in a way; in fact I respect and value all who have enough guts, will and motivation to work rather than put the lame 'I'm in need for some cash' sign and sit. It's just funny to see how the descriptive name of a job evaluated to another level, sometimes next to an absurd, or a ridiculous one. All in the name of appearing more important without the need of actually showing the importance of your actions. All in the name of time passing by, and necessity to instantly prove something.


Therefore I have become a respectful and graceful childcare provider (don't you dare calling me a minder!:) for my small gang of two. Which usually feels like 6. But that's another story...

Demotivational week

It's been a long week away from posting. Half-term, and nothing more needed to be said:)
However, I turned away from my usual, occasionally emerging ability to identify useful ways of spending time with my precious ones.
I finally become lazy, and I am not afraid to admit it, for once.
Therefore, the past week was a pure definition of staying-in, laying-in, watching cartoons, playing games, becoming almost friends (acquaintances, at least) with several members of staff at local McDonald's, going for a walk, or two (only when a balcony with bubbles was not enough, or when there was an urgent need for waffles as an extremely healthy tea option).
Surprisingly to me, that totally laid back approach totally worked in a sense of bonding, and limiting agony of being somewhere on time, despite a flock of ducks passing by down the river, becoming absolutely wonderful and worth looking at for ages.
This week, we were the starers. And we really enjoyed it.

And I think I underestimated the power of doing nothing up until now. And discovering that at the age of 37 was somehow refreshing. And yes, it might be devastating for my foreseeable future when becoming a habit. Do I care? Not as much as I used to. I know it won't, so why bother?

You gave your best shot ...

... And that's important - we read in the Chinese myth about the Great Race which formed the calendar, from Rat to Pig. I guess today it is rarely the case to hear that, unless you're involved into your 6-year old school achievements, and want to encourage her, not frighten.

I finally understood why they called it a rat race. Over-ambitious, frightening, heart-weakening, pointless really, and missing the point of any joy in life. The Rat in the myth decided to push his up-till-then best friend, Cat, from the Ox's back to make sure he, not anyone else, is first. Why? To be the first in the 12-year cycle?

I guess we miss the point too often nowadays. Looks like it all started 'several moons ago'...

(Looks like I'm really bouncing back to youth at an accelerated rate. Not just because I got into the body shop new beauty routine. Rather due to child-centered literature I dig into these days...)

Brainstorming ideas and beyond in brief

It's nearly 2am, an insane hour when my Mini-Man would usually request a hug, but for some mysterious reason this is not the case this time.

I'm buying a silver metal wine bottle stopper at some 'non European' eBay shop. Doesn't sound like a reasonable 35+ mother of 2, actually coincidently a 35+2, does it?;)))

Oh, and my hair went crazy. 'What did you do to your hair; I've never seen them so ... curly;)?' - 'Well, I washed them, and used some decent sensitive scalp mask/conditioner , which appears to have a surprise-gift side-effect' ...

And I am seriously thinking of organising a book club for mums. It might be a virtual one, but a real occasional meet-up would be nice. 


This is what a sucked-into-'toddlership'-lifestyle can do to you.