Spirituality vs Motherhood

After my mini breakdown I went to work in a complementary health and healing centre. I was stunned to find that people at work enquired after my spiritual beliefs. That they HUGGED rather than shook hands and that you could have healing on your lunch break! I already had chosen Wiccan as my path, but it was something I was pretty secretive about. People have an uncanny idea that you worship the devil and have naked orgies ( I wish re the orgies ). 

But that centre was the Goddess working for me. I needed to be shown to embrace my softer and more spiritual side. I needed to take stock of my life at that time, get well and find my new world. Spirituality wasnt just to be confined to evenings and weekends, nor kept a secret. 

As a good old fashioned hedge witch ( that means I practice alone and not in a coven ) , I have enjoyed discovering and appreciating the beauty and wonder of nature. Before children I took time to meditate, balance my chakras, have Indian head massages, carry crystals and watch the cycle of the moon. 

Now I struggle to balance the life of a modern Wiccan and a modern Mummy. Although, it is not impossible.

Todlers and athames dont mix so an altar is out of the question, I have no time for massage and none for chakra balancing. My chakras are now as balanced as my mind. Which is to say, not.

I do still take the time to honour the festivals and seasons, but its not nearly so regimented as before. In fact, its less about me. Like everything in my new life, its more about what my little ones have added to my life. I now find a new fork in my path, teaching my children about natures and kindness, about love and sharing, these are the foundations of my own core spiritual beliefs. It is a joy to share them, and learn more myself as I now answer those difficult toddler questions about things I have taken for granted. What is fog? What is thunder? How is the sea? 

Through their eyes I am seeing an already glorious universe anew. It is fresh and innocent and full of wonder. I no longer hide my path and have a sign on my car that says A Witch and her little Witchlings on Board. I dont mind if people dont like it. Though, if you know of any naked orgies……

I cant wait to keep showing my babies how wonderful the world is, if you just remember three things. Look after yourself, look after others and look after the things around you. And as they fall asleep I whisper to them:

I see the moon, and the moon sees me

Goddess bless the moon and Goddess bless me

I need a break?

Every day is a relentless fast paced, exhausting ride. It starts with a feed for 3 month old Pudge about 5.30am, then a bath for Pudge, Stretch and me. All in the same bath as the Aga only  allows for one bath per day. Stretch attempts to empty  the bath onto the fooor with various boats and ducks. Pudge then goes with his Daddy to get dressed and Stretch and I begin our first wrestle of the day, getting him out of the bath, his naked break for freedom across the landing with bits flying everywhere and hooded towel streaming backwards in a cape ( Stretch, not me ).  A full blown bribing / threatening battle commences over the act of dressing as Stretch races to his bed and attempts to use the slide bare arsed to no effect as he squeaks his way slowly and painfully to the bottom. ” you cant go to school / the park / shopping /  to the dinosaur museum / for a walk without your clothes / the cookie monster says get dressed quickly! ”  Stretch h as a pathological terror of the cookie monster.  Dressed, I quickly get myself ready, make up slapped on, least fat showing outfit and hair dried whilst making the bed with one hand and checking Facebook at the same time. I vow to find time to reply to friends properly. Breakfast. Porridhe made and refused. Fruit peeled and chopped and refused. Toast licked then refused. Cheese given. Another feed for Pudge whilst trying to sterilise bottles, pack schoolbags, going out bags, put washing on, drag last lot out of dryer and add to 8ft high clean not yet put away never to be ironed pile. Why so many clothes when I never have anything to wear? 

Husband cant find his trousers. Neither can he remember where he took them off. At work? I joke. Trousers found in obvious place on top of fridge, with the shoes, in a toy box, by the back door? 

Now Stretch is systematically untidying the house. I must go out in order to protect the house.  Pudge does not like going out, but will have to lump it as Stretch is now using the Stannah stairlift as a a firemans pole. And screaming Help! Rescue me! Fireman Sam! Fireman Sam might always be ‘ cool and calm ‘ but I am not.  

Stretch strapped into car seat in the front and Pudge wailing immediately in the back. Mumbled apologies whilst fastening what wil be an unfeasible amount of straps that face parents per day. A random activity devised on the spot to entertain Stretch until lunchtime. Gruffalo hunting, feed the ducks, seek dinosaur poo at the nature reserve ( cowpats ) , a soft play zone, playdates ( dodgy as Stretch is a bit hands on ), the park ( dodgy as there are fireman poles and Stretch will definitely take a flying leap for them. Much strap related hoo haa is involved. In and out of the car x 2, Stretch also undoing his mid drive so random pulling into someones drive to restrap him in and threaten the cookie monster, supermarket trollies, buggies, reins etc etc. Finally lunchtime arrives, mostly in the car seat whilst Pudge being fed in drivers seat. The passengers footwell is a wreckage of wellies, juice, rejected fruit, toy cars, cocktail sausages and dummies. I promise myself I will find the time to clean and polish my car one day. Nappies are changed on the back seat of the car whilst people ask me if Im leaving the parking space. Look love, I want to shout, Ive got two shitty arses to wipe and the biggest one is half kicking me to death here!  Return towards home, Stretch passes out on the way, Pudge is only wail free at 30mph or more. I realise Im still listening to Justin Fletcher when I get home. 

Deep breath. Primed for action as I leap from the car to remove Stretch from his multitude of straps before Pudge notices decrease in movement. Race Stretch into house like a Fireman Sam rescue in reverse. Place on bed, dummy in, monitor on, , race back downstairs, dodge elderly in laws  with zimmers who are  the back door muttering about the cold even though its 18 degrees outside and they are deaf to the almighty screams of a 3 month old in the car in the yard.  ‘Your car doors are open ‘ father in law tuts as I try to get past him. ” i know, its baby, he’s in the car! ”  I hop from foot to foot as Father in law stops mid door way ‘pardon? ‘  

The screams are escalating, “baby is in the car ! ” I panic 

‘You want to brinng, its freezing out there……..’  

Baby in, loved, changed, pacified, look at the clock. 12.32. FUCK OFF! 

Make dinner, children awake, changed, fed, bribed and threatened and into the car. More straps and more random activities. More back seat  seat wails at every red light, and screams of No, poo pants! 

Home at 4.58. Husband home. Says hes knackered, trousers already removed, . 

Serve dinner, washup, 8ft clothes mountain reduced to 3ft and 12ft put through the wash, tomorrows clothes laid out, pjs picked, bottles sterlised, toys put away, more feeds, more bottoms changed. 

Stretches bedtime, another cookie monster threat. Then I fall asleep around 9.30pm, husband brings up baby at 10pm then leaves me tomdo night feeds but Im lucky because I go to bed early. 

Last week the husband took the children and I did his job for the day at the family pottery exhibition. I was bored, lonely and couldnt wait to see my babies. Conclusion motherhood = happy insanity.

self sabotage circle

Easter Sunday. My house is strewn with shiny foil and empty chocolate wrappers. I cannot hand on heart blame 2 year old Stretch. Nor the other half. My teeth actually ache from the amount of sugar I have consumed, and Im not sure if I am shivering because its chilly tonight or if its some awful overdose of partially digested caramel bar. Or the Sunday roast? Or the hot cross buns? Ugh. And this is whilst Im supposed to be dieting! Lets face it, its not going well! I managed to lose 30lbs since Pudge was born 11 weeks ago. But 29.5 lbs of that was probably baby and I may have to concede that only .5lb has come off my arse.

I swore I was going to be like a supermodel and drop my baby weight immediately after giving birth. And I did. But newsflash! I wasnt thin when I got pregnant. So the baby weight is gone and Im still looking at a slightly more stretched version of my pre Pudge days. 

Im not enormous, nor am I slim, but I realised today that action must and will be taken! A startlingly lovely moment when your baby finds the ability to hold something for the first time. They reach out a chubby dimpled little hand for the thing that has caught their interest, open their fingers and grasp! Almost amazing themselves that they did it! Pudge did this today. His darling pink fingers took a firm hold of MY DOUBLE CHIN. I didnt even know it was so present or viewable except in poorly done selfies, but ho! 

As my heart soared and broke at the same time I made my vow. No more procrastinating, no more faddy diets or diet pills or starving then bingeing. Just three healthy meals a day from now on with exercise. 

I just have to finish this family sized bar of Cadburys caramel first. Because like many people with an addictive personality I must have all or none. I can easily go 3 days with no food, then eat a whole pizza and cheesecake. Why? Because I must be perfect, and NOW! I cannot wait for my slim body so I rush at it, then blow it and create a self sabotage circle. Im annoying myself. I give myself unnattainable deadlines eg the family party next weekend that I MUST lose 1 stone for. Why? Do my family not know what I look like? Do they care? Will they think less of me? Am I the centre of the universe? No. Its me that wants the perfection, they dont give a monkeys! 

With unattainable deadlines comes the obligatory failure. A lifetime of mini victories but essentially a grand disappointment. I can do this! I just have to accept that it will take time and that my family will have to see me, double chin and all in a weeks time.  

Audrey Hepburn said that the prettiest girl in the room was the one smiling. Its true. I dont assess other women in the way that I imagine they assess me. I pick my friends based on loyalty, craziness and common ground. Not because they are fatter than me so I look better or thinner than me so their bony bodies will create a skinnier me by osmosis. And will I be happy once Im thin? All the things I say I will do WHEN IM THIN like swimming, running, skiing. Ironically a lot of things that would help to get me thinner.

Its always the same though. And Im in my mid 30s. Am I really still going to be doing this Bridget Jones style body moan in my mid 40s? So here we go, the diet starts tomorrow! Its a new me! Half a stone by the weekend! I’ll just finish these chocolate buttons first……..

 

I used to be….

Before I moved to my lovely village and embarked on this Good Life I used to be someone else. Not in a witness protection kind of way.

I used to be a size 14. I could go into any shop, buy a 14 and know it would fit. I am definitely no longer a size 14. I cant even blame pregnancy. Its not my babies who have widened my hips, its Mr Kipling and Papa Joes who have been sneaking their cakey pizza fat fingers around my bum and thighs.

I used to be a career woman. I worked as a charity fundraiser for about 12 years, holding down some pretty unbelievable jobs and earning some brilliant money. I was on the way to promotions and more money and more responsibility.

I used to be confident and self assured. I knew where I was going in life, I had it all figured out. I knew exactly how to tackle my day and was never ambushed by exploding nappies, exploding children, exploding laundry baskets or exploding handbags. Handbags once so small I had to carry my cigs loose as the pack wouldnt fit are now huge bin bag sized affairs bursting with two sizes of nappies, wipes, creams, milk, bottles, crisps, old fruit ( not Dale Winton ) , pens, shopping lists, parking change, a shoe, unopened post, a Whiskas sachet?, an unread book, a phone charger for a phone I dont own, fruit shoots, dummies, countless socks, blankets, muslin cloths and things lower down that I never get to.

I used to be glamorous, make up immaculate, nails done, shoes polished, clothes for the whole week chosen on a Sunday night and hung up. Not chosen for least milky vomit stained, shoes flat for comfort, make up done with one hand, other hand preventing Stretch from eating my eyeliner, nails are never done, last time I painted them I spent nearly half an hour sifting through a nappy up to the window light for fear Stretch had eaten some poisonous berry only to discover it was a red chip of nail varnish.

I used to be sexy. Stop laughing. I did.

I used to have money in the bank. When I wanted something, I bought it.

Except I didnt. I didnt buy things. I didnt take holidays or go anywhere or have evenings out or even have friends. I went to work. I came home. I spent time with my ex husband.

I didnt used to be glamorous. I was tired and generally hungover.

I didnt used to be confident. I was a nervous wreck, afraid of my own shadow and putting a brave face on it everytime I stepped out of the house, despite all the encouragement my ex used to give me. I didnt know where I was going.

I didnt used to be a career woman. I got lucky and I was creative and had some brill ideas w hich really worked. In practice I wasnt always that great, I tried very hard but it didnt always pay off.

I didnt used to be a size 14. Well, for about 6 months! Id been a size 28 before that for years and slowly lost the weight.

I didnt used to be who I am now. Sometimes I hear myself bemoaning my lost old life. As much as there were some bloody brilliant bits and people,

I think I had better start saying I am and I will be.

 

An age old issue

When did I get to be old? I dont mean the walking stick kind of old, but culturally..? It seems only 5 minutes since I was night clubbing, staggering home in the day light, drinking ridiculous amounts and listening to Radio 1. Somewhere along the line I no longer go clubbing, I dont drink, I get up at 6am, not get home at 6am and I have slipped into Radio 2, and lets be honest here, I often slip further into Smooth Radio, Classic FM or even Radio 4.

I recently tried Radio 1 and I had no clue what anyone was talking about, not just that I didnt know the bands but I couldnt even follow the conversation!

I used to get Heat magazine every week, this week for the first time in years I bought it again, I dont know who anyone is? Nor what they are famous for? What is TOWIE? Who are the Kardashians? And as for Nicki Minaj, what is it? I was delighted when I saw Jordan! She is still around, apparently married again with a new baby! And Posh Spice is nearly 40! Well, she cant be because shes only 3 or 4 years older than me and Im….oh…shit.

This Miley Cyrus needs a bath and to be grounded in my opinion, and I dont know who 1 Direction are or this Harry Styles but he looks like an infant to me. Is Big Brother still going? And since when does everyone need implants for a fat arse? They can have mine for free.

I like BBC Breakfast in the morning for my news because the presenters are sensible. I have had to Google the new judge on The Voice, but I DID know who Kylie was of course because I adored Tears on my Pillow when I was 12, thats 24 years ago! This is ridiculous! Someone is stealing time from me!

I had thought I was still ‘with it ‘ , I know what a selfie is, I understand trending and I FACEBOOK.

But I am going to have to face the very real possibility that I am staring at the age old issue of old age.  The signs are clear. When I listen to CDs ( not Ipods or mp3s as I dont know how they work or what they really do ), Im looking for a song I can sing along with, I turn it up when its Elton John, Madonna, The Bee Gees or The Psychedelic Furs. My last album I bought was Now thats what I call Musicals.

I think of Coldplay as a new band. I am utterly gobsmacked that someone born in 1996 can vote! Surely Ive only just qualified to vote? I mean the last time I voted was, well, when did Tony Blair get in again?

I like to shop in Waitrose because its clean and bright.

1. I dont use self service checkouts. I pretend its because Im keeping people in work, but its really because I dont know how they work. And if I do get forced onto one by a keen teenage membet of staff it always shouts criticisms at me! Unidentified item in the baggage area! Or starts to flash, then the teenager comes back, waves his credit card at it then goes away without a word leaving me trying to insert money into every nook on the machine.

My TV choices are Midsomer Murders, Strictly Come Dancing and Countryfile. I like to be in bed by 9pm. I like baths not showers. I say Oooh thats better when I drink a cup of tea and my knees click when I get out of bed. I have to admit it, Im just not young any more. Bugger.

Where theres a witch theres a way….

I do not look like the typical witch. I dont have a warty nose or pointy hat ( although I may have the odd hair which evilly sprouts from my chin if not observed scrupilously ). Nor am I gothed up to the eyeballs in black velvet and dyed black hair. Not any more at least. I look like an average woman. Because I am. Im the Vauxhall Meriva of women. Not least because its the car I drive, but because Im what Top Gear would label mid range. Im not rich nor on the breadline, Im not enormously fat nor elfinly slender, Im not startlingly pretty or bog residingly ugly, Im not …. well you get me…. Im in the middle. I call myself a witch because I follow a way of life called Wicca. It is not casting nasty spells under a full moon or having rampant orgies on church altars. Its nothing to do with religion really, its just following a nature based type of system. Watching what the moon does, following the seasons, believing that animals, plants and our surrounding landscapes are sacred and beautiful and have everything to offer us humans should we seek it. In the most basic terms, I believe nature grows dock leaves next to nettles because the Earth is a bloody clever and brilliant place and I like to be grateful about it.

I am a typical villager, I like to get involved with committees, support local oroduce and businesses, moan about the speed people drive through the village, attempt to grow veg even though I have a fear of spiders (yes, I know they are more scared of me), I support the village shop, run a reading group, etc etc, you get the picture. Ive got two sons who are my world. I didnt deliberately intend to be the career woman who leaves it to her mid 30s to suddenly hear the clock ticking and race to have kids. Truth be known, I didnt ever want children. My mum who works in a school remembers me freezing in terror as on a visit to her at work one of the smaller variety of children slipped its hand into mine. “Its touching me!” I whimpered.

I never understood kids, they stare! They say rude things. They are sticky. They poo in their pants! And no it isnt different because they are yours, my eldest Stretch, does all of those things and its still weird and off putting. However, my life took a bit of an odd turn after I was 30 and its fair to say honestly I had a bit of a meltdown. So the job and everything went and I took nearly a year out. Not to find myself or anything so serene, more to stop losing myself. I was already heavily into Wiccan and my writing and so focussed on those things for a while before re entering the world, albeit a softer focussed Miss Marple type of world in rural Dorset. Before long I was pregnant and not long after that, pregnant again. So no going back to work for a while yet then!

Number 2 son, Pudge, is just 6 weeks old. This time its love. I worship him. Im not afraid to say I was terrified of son number 1, Stretch. He was a screaming colicky baby who was very hard to get close to and I suffered a big old bout if the baby blues for good measure too. I think he was a year old before I could say I really liked him. I always adored and loved him. But as for liking, I think I was just too scared of him and afraid I was messing up.

Now we are great mates at times, sharing in jokes and laughing, alongside the outrageous tantrums and time outs. Pudge is so likeable, not because he is different to Stretch but because I am different this time.Less unsure, more confident, less fussed what others think of me and whether I am a yummy mummy or a slummy mummy. Although I would like to know when Im going to fit back into my size 12 jeans. I can currently get them on, but only on my arms as sleeves. And I might have been 16 the last time I wore them. There is much work ahead I think to recover some form of female figure which fits clothes in a standard type of way and does not require lycra.

I am determined that this year I will complete one of these manuscripts which have been lurking in my drawers, on memory sticks and on desk tops for yonks. I have always written, ever since I was small, getting my first typewriter aged 8. I would type long into the night much to the stress of my parents. But I think I have deliberately unconsciously avoided finishing anything so that I dont have to be rejected. So its time to face the music! Finish and be damned.

So, there you have it, a small start to my blog, the basic intention of which is to show a different side to witches, a standard side to mummies, a frustrated procrastinating side to writers and a bog standard mid range side to a mid 30s woman. If you do happen to read this, thanks! Thats nice!