Hello everyone,
I suppose we have had a rather quiet weekend in comparison to last. No Parties and no worrying over BBQ's and finally no more wondering if Frankenstein is OK in his baby grow or if he would rather the cone. Following his last Vet check on Friday, he was given the all-clear and was ready for some more strenuous exercise, not that he had calmed down mind. With that in hand, I had mentioned to the Vet about possibly enrolling him into agility classes as he has so much energy and is a quick learner. She had agreed and suggested some local groups and classes which I will be sure to hit up, however, I think I will start to show him this year, especially since I will have a few on my doorstep. Who knows we might just win!
What with it being the Bank Holiday here in the UK as well this weekend, the last one before Santa comes, Mr Warehouse and I applied ourselves well and have done the garden. Well, at least some of it. You see most Bank Holidays in the UK are drizzly, wet and grey - If you haven't already noticed. However on the contrary, this one has been blisteringly hot, one of which my future husband and I can enjoy whilst not being as sun burnt as the last time there was a heatwave here.
Saturday Mr Warehouse was working the morning for some extra pennies so I decided to head out for the afternoon, popping by to my seamstress to see if she could work some magic by adding sleeves to my dress for a family event coming up soon. That night we looked after my future niece and nephews whilst their parents were out. Sunday I had reserved for hitting the shops in the hope of finding that elusive rattan garden corner sofa furniture set. And so leaving the pups at home in the coolness of the house Mr Warehouse and I headed out into the 30-something-degree weather and popped by a few stores picking up a much-needed hose for our newly acquired tap, some compost and numerous reduced flowers and bulbs, ready to pot. I was quiet surprised with myself as I sat back and looked at all our hard work for a Sunday afternoon, flowers and plants potted, garden watered and grass cut. Very well done us and as Mr Warehouse said as we settled in for the night that it really is starting to look a bit more like home. I just hope that my green-fingers don't ruin the plants as I am known for not being able to keep most plants in my life alive. Well, apart from that one cactus that looked like a penis and just kept growing?!
I remember thinking as we walked around garden centres and DIY shops as a child that this was the height of boring and that peaking as an adult was when you had been to or had any dealings with a DIY shop and gardening, well, that was just another hell I forced myself through in order to get pocket money. I didn't enjoy it and hated the fact that there were bugs everywhere, it was tough thick clay type mud which was never easy to work with and that it was arduously long work making me ache and hurt by the end of it all. I think it was probably at that point that I vowed, whilst my front garden, and even my back one, in my childhood home looked beautiful and people always commented on it, I would always choose to have my plants in pots, moreso for convenience.
Today however as Bank Holiday Monday, our extra day out of the office and away from work has been less productive. It started off well, however, with promises of getting the Save the Dates done and ready to post out, however, instead we searched for a suit for Chris, again for the family occasion and scoured several shops in again soaring temperatures only to then buy online as there were limited sizes and styles. It started to lag however when we started the inventory of the wedding items we have purchased in preparation for next year, slowly wilting under the inescapable heat. Finally, I cracked and snoozed for longer than anticipated in the late afternoon. Since then we have set up the printer, and the laptop and printed out what our draft was, however on closer inspection there are some slight changes we probably will need to make before sending out, and that will be left now probably for a couple of weeks as Mr Warehouse will be preoccupied with other, more matrimonial duties and events ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts
Monday, 26 August 2019
Monday, 8 June 2015
Baby Brain!
Hallo there!
I hope this week finds you all in good health and enjoying the British weather we are having at the moment, unless you are in the Bahamas and reading along or somewhere else hot and sunny to which I congratulate you on your choice of weather and hope someone brings you a cocktail soon.
This week I am feeling much better than I have been with a mixture of Hayfever, a hectic workload and not much sleep resulting in me feeling grumpy of late. However this weekend, spending it with friends, family and good food, all in the sunshine washing it down with copious amounts of Blossom Hill has obviously had a positive impact on me. Something else that has had an impact on me, and possibly put me in a favouring mood is children. To be more specific I should explain before someone starts throwing pregnancy tests at me! No I am not pregnant, or at least I think I am not anyway, but at Sunday's BBQ with Mr. Warehouse and his large family clan I felt more than ever that time was a-ticking and that my womb should probably be put up for rent in the next few years.
I am almost positive that every girl my age has this problem though. There we are in the prime of our life, beautiful and as wonderful as we probably ever will feel. But at the back of our minds we know that there is only a limited amount of time that we have to procreate in. The hurry to get a career, find a man, settle down and start churning out sproglett's is immense and so is the pressure. Careers are limited now, and dating opportunities once college and university is over and done with are relatively slim unless you brave the dark depths of Internet dating. Forgive me for thinking so, but life seemed so much easier for our grandparents. I mean, you were cooped up in education until you were sixteen or so, then you found a nice job working in an office as a typist. Soon a young man would see you about town and ask you on a date. You would go jiving in a 1950's dance-hall and end up courting until your father was approached for your hand in marriage. Before you know it your 2.5 kids a dog and are looking like something out of a Betty Crocker cook book - Or at least in my head I am! Now I am sure that isn't perfect for everyone but for me it would and I am slightly disappointed in the fact I never made it to Uni and therefore maybe never met my future husband?
All of that aside however, if you had asked me a year ago, or even six-months ago, what my opinion of children, especially babies, was I would freeze with fear. Scared by snotty noses, nervous of nappies and wary of whimpers I had successfully avoided all contact with small humans for many years, even my own little cousins. However, over the past few months since Mr. Warehouse and I have been together I have felt increasingly more comfortable around children and babies, although granted I wouldn't know how to look after one on my own. I somewhat cockily think that I will just pick it up. Can't be that hard surely?! There just little people. "Who depend on you for everything" my inside voices say menacingly. And then it dawns on me how horrible that feeling must be. You can't have a lie-in. You can't just hit the town for a girls night out. You can't just make a quick detour after work to Debenhams just because you want to have a look for a nice pair of heels - Hell you can't even wear heels now your a mom! Leggings and flat footwear only for the school run and even then that's only after you have made several packed lunches and have prevented world war three from happening over Cornflakes or Coco Pops.
I know that I am only twenty-three but I am well aware that I am not in a stable enough relationship or even financially strong enough for a child right now, let alone my living arrangements and lifestyle. People, and possibly more-so girls always question I find about "What would happen if I found out I was pregnant right now?" and I honestly think my answer is simple. I just don't know. Maybe before I would have said I would choose adoption or in some certain cases abortion, but maybe now my mind would change right now with my life as it is - A stable stead job, a good and loving boyfriend and a place of my own. Albeit it would be very far from perfect and the life I have wanted for myself from such a young age I think I would still learn to manage. After all, that is my job.
I would definitely have to move somewhere bigger, leaving behind my pent house apartment with its sloped-ceiling, and cosy feel. Instead trading it in for somewhere more practical and with less stairs. I would at some stage have to think about giving up work to take maternity leave to live a life at home juggling Cbeebies, pots of 'HiPP' and a never ending rota of washing, instead of engineers and job paperwork. During pregnancy I would have to give up all the good things like wine, eggs Benedict and smoked salmon. I would have to sleep on my back and not my tummy as I usually do and would end up waddling more than a duck with a chaffing problem. All of this coupled with the lack of freedom, sleep and constant anxiety - Yes, I don't think I would enjoy motherhood as a twenty-something with her life full steam ahead. I would want to do it the proper way; Travel a bit, get a good job, nice place to live, meet someone and fall in love, move in, get married, and then start a little clan of my own.
All that said though I kind of like the idea of being someone's sole provider. Their playmate, their comforter, their mother. I would be the kind of parent that would let them stay up and watch horror films (but only after I had watched them first to make sure they're not too scary). I would be the kind of mom that would rustle up some freshly baked goods when a broken heart is in need of mending. I would like to think that I would be that "hawt" soccer Moom that has all the kids round and secretly shares out some vodka between them all , in moderation of course. Hmm, yes. I think that motherhood would suit me in a way but there is a lot to do before we get there. Besides, a white picket fence and a four-bed detached isn't going to fund itself you know.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
I hope this week finds you all in good health and enjoying the British weather we are having at the moment, unless you are in the Bahamas and reading along or somewhere else hot and sunny to which I congratulate you on your choice of weather and hope someone brings you a cocktail soon.
This week I am feeling much better than I have been with a mixture of Hayfever, a hectic workload and not much sleep resulting in me feeling grumpy of late. However this weekend, spending it with friends, family and good food, all in the sunshine washing it down with copious amounts of Blossom Hill has obviously had a positive impact on me. Something else that has had an impact on me, and possibly put me in a favouring mood is children. To be more specific I should explain before someone starts throwing pregnancy tests at me! No I am not pregnant, or at least I think I am not anyway, but at Sunday's BBQ with Mr. Warehouse and his large family clan I felt more than ever that time was a-ticking and that my womb should probably be put up for rent in the next few years.
I am almost positive that every girl my age has this problem though. There we are in the prime of our life, beautiful and as wonderful as we probably ever will feel. But at the back of our minds we know that there is only a limited amount of time that we have to procreate in. The hurry to get a career, find a man, settle down and start churning out sproglett's is immense and so is the pressure. Careers are limited now, and dating opportunities once college and university is over and done with are relatively slim unless you brave the dark depths of Internet dating. Forgive me for thinking so, but life seemed so much easier for our grandparents. I mean, you were cooped up in education until you were sixteen or so, then you found a nice job working in an office as a typist. Soon a young man would see you about town and ask you on a date. You would go jiving in a 1950's dance-hall and end up courting until your father was approached for your hand in marriage. Before you know it your 2.5 kids a dog and are looking like something out of a Betty Crocker cook book - Or at least in my head I am! Now I am sure that isn't perfect for everyone but for me it would and I am slightly disappointed in the fact I never made it to Uni and therefore maybe never met my future husband?
All of that aside however, if you had asked me a year ago, or even six-months ago, what my opinion of children, especially babies, was I would freeze with fear. Scared by snotty noses, nervous of nappies and wary of whimpers I had successfully avoided all contact with small humans for many years, even my own little cousins. However, over the past few months since Mr. Warehouse and I have been together I have felt increasingly more comfortable around children and babies, although granted I wouldn't know how to look after one on my own. I somewhat cockily think that I will just pick it up. Can't be that hard surely?! There just little people. "Who depend on you for everything" my inside voices say menacingly. And then it dawns on me how horrible that feeling must be. You can't have a lie-in. You can't just hit the town for a girls night out. You can't just make a quick detour after work to Debenhams just because you want to have a look for a nice pair of heels - Hell you can't even wear heels now your a mom! Leggings and flat footwear only for the school run and even then that's only after you have made several packed lunches and have prevented world war three from happening over Cornflakes or Coco Pops.
I know that I am only twenty-three but I am well aware that I am not in a stable enough relationship or even financially strong enough for a child right now, let alone my living arrangements and lifestyle. People, and possibly more-so girls always question I find about "What would happen if I found out I was pregnant right now?" and I honestly think my answer is simple. I just don't know. Maybe before I would have said I would choose adoption or in some certain cases abortion, but maybe now my mind would change right now with my life as it is - A stable stead job, a good and loving boyfriend and a place of my own. Albeit it would be very far from perfect and the life I have wanted for myself from such a young age I think I would still learn to manage. After all, that is my job.
I would definitely have to move somewhere bigger, leaving behind my pent house apartment with its sloped-ceiling, and cosy feel. Instead trading it in for somewhere more practical and with less stairs. I would at some stage have to think about giving up work to take maternity leave to live a life at home juggling Cbeebies, pots of 'HiPP' and a never ending rota of washing, instead of engineers and job paperwork. During pregnancy I would have to give up all the good things like wine, eggs Benedict and smoked salmon. I would have to sleep on my back and not my tummy as I usually do and would end up waddling more than a duck with a chaffing problem. All of this coupled with the lack of freedom, sleep and constant anxiety - Yes, I don't think I would enjoy motherhood as a twenty-something with her life full steam ahead. I would want to do it the proper way; Travel a bit, get a good job, nice place to live, meet someone and fall in love, move in, get married, and then start a little clan of my own.
All that said though I kind of like the idea of being someone's sole provider. Their playmate, their comforter, their mother. I would be the kind of parent that would let them stay up and watch horror films (but only after I had watched them first to make sure they're not too scary). I would be the kind of mom that would rustle up some freshly baked goods when a broken heart is in need of mending. I would like to think that I would be that "hawt" soccer Moom that has all the kids round and secretly shares out some vodka between them all , in moderation of course. Hmm, yes. I think that motherhood would suit me in a way but there is a lot to do before we get there. Besides, a white picket fence and a four-bed detached isn't going to fund itself you know.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 1 June 2015
I'm Getting Old
Good Evening,
So today I went to a funeral. It was not someone I knew terribly well but it was someone I had shared several happy memories with. But as I sat there, dry eyed and holding on tightly to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's hand tightly watching everyone around me fall to pieces as we all watched a silent and still coffin, I felt myself grow a little older. Gone are the days now of drinking in the park and mucking around at school. Today I think I faced the fact that whilst I am still young, I am not getting any younger.
Growing up is tough, but I think one of the toughest things is seeing those around you slowly disappear. I once asked my Nana as a young child what the worst part of getting older is and she explained simply that as we grow older, the more often we have to go into the wardrobe and reach out for that Little Black Dress, each time getting quicker and quicker in concession.
You see as we all progress in the journey of life we realise that faces change, as do people and their personalities. Some change for the better and some not so much. You yourself as you get older and maybe wiser will change too. And again, some change for the better and some not so much. People will come and go from life as changing as the seasons. Some of the characters you will meet along the road may break your heart and will be the ones that got away. I know Mr. Workaholic is for me. But then I look at the situation I found myself in back in Northamptonshire when I was in my happy little blissful bubble with him. I was twenty and more than happy to settle down with an itchy finger and an empty spare room I needed to fill. Looking back now, albeit through rose tinted glasses, I now know it was not where my life was designed to go and if given a second chance again to give it another shot, I am almost certain now I would decline. Since Mr. Workaholic I have had many a dating disaster including Mr. Carrots, Mr. Coffee and Mr. Sick - Although I am hardly sure you can call that one a date?! Not all of them were awful though. For example I have met wonderful people like Mr. Cheese, Mr. Coffee and even a stint with a couple of lustful lovers over Tinder. But none of them being that all-illusive 'One'.
You will have noticed that Mr. Warehouse has been excluded from the above. Now this does not mean we are getting married (Step away from the facinator!) but nor does it mean that he is another frog in my quest for a Prince Charming. It merely means that for the first time in a while I am beginning to accept that this may be 'it' - Whatever 'it' is?! And after only six-months or so into our relationship it's hard to say if Mr. Warehouse is my one and only. When you have had something so perfectly perfect before it is hard not to compare your feelings this time around to that of how you felt last time you were truly, madly,deeply in love. But I know now that it wasn't perfect as I once thought.
In the long run I honestly don't think Mr. Workaholic and I would have ever worked out. We were not wholly compatible - But then again who is? He never ate vegetables and all that graced his plate was beige this and beige that. Living on chicken dinosaurs and Carbonara flushed down with Redbull was not a healthy or sustainable diet. How was I meant to raise children around a father who ate about as much greens as a breeze block? And whilst we had a laugh and fooled around a lot with minimal arguing, there were some things in life that are just not meant to be. I am in a much better place right now than I ever was with Mr. Workaholic. I am somewhere whereby I don't have to rely on someone else or their income. I depend on me and only me. I pay my own rent, my own bills (Lets not talk about British Gas!) and afford my own things. On the other hand, Mr. Cheese in his own right was wonderfully charming, good looking and very affluent with friends and family in all the right places, but lacked basic skills in the bedroom as well as the "fun and frivolous" department. I could never really be my true self around him, only a segment of me. I knew both at the time and now that if I had continued any longer I would have definitely been settling for something, never to be completely satisfied.
Whilst the intellectual conversation surrounding politics, literature and other current affairs was there with Mr. Workaholic and Mr. Cheese I was lacking in other areas and although I am not stating that for a second Mr. Warehouse tick's every box, he does try and that is worth more than anything I could ever ask for. Today and the past week or so has really opened my eyes to the world a little and in a way I have come to the conclusion that one day it will be my funeral, and someone will be standing up there on the pew reading out my life story. I want to know that I will have lived life to the fullest and trying not to regret or dwell on what could have been, only looking forward in anticipation for what is to come. And so I end this weeks blog post in a somewhat thoughtful and reflective mood, leaving to ponder the possibilities that tomorrow will bring.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 30 March 2015
Life After Las Vegas!
Afternoon Everybody!
So my first week back from my Las Vegas wanderings and suffice to say that the holiday blues are well and truly kicking in - Especially since it has been raining pretty much all week long since our last conversation. Which brings me round again to the year that ensues.
This year I have found myself asking some important questions in terms of my life progression, who I associate with, who I date and what I will do, not to mention where I will travel. Alot of those things I don't know yet and some I do but for the most part I think I have come to realise that at the ripe old age of twenty-four this year I don't have that much to show for it.
By this point in most Twenty-something's lives they have gone to University, pissed it up at freshers, dated (and slept with) some dodgy people and earned a degree from it all, graduating in long gowns and pointy hats in the knowledge that it will stay on the mantelpiece of their family for years to come as a reminder that they are better than you. If you have not gone down that route (and sometimes even if you have) then you take a Gap Year otherwise known as a "Gaahp Yaarh" for those of a more affluent background! This may include many of the above such as pissing it up with other fellow travellers and dating/fucking some dodgy people along the way. Unfortunately for me I have got drunk many a time and fallen in the gutters of Great Britain, not to mention the amount of wrong-'uns that I have kissed so far on my journey of finding a future-husband. All of this is lovely but the more I commit to the daily grind, the more I feel the need for a random and spontaneous holiday of discovery.
I need to grow. Expand. Develop. Things in life sometime get too stale and somewhere along the line you loose yourself a little bit. I want to loose myself completely and then re-find me. I doubt this can be done on a two week break to Thailand but that is what I am planning. A chance to make some new friends, meet new people and learn about other cultures. A chance to see the world before life gets any more serious.
Now don't get me wrong, I love the creature comforts of home and all but I know that within the next five years at least it will be harder to escape, and in ten years it will be practically impossible to get away even for a weekend let alone skipping off for some travelling and self-discovery bollocks. In time I do want marriage and a family of my own but right now there is no need to be so cautious. I am twenty-three and should be as throw-away and carefree as a plastic bottle containing cheap vodka. I think I need to experience this not only for me but also for my future generations - My Children, my grandchildren, maybe even my great grandchildren. Oh can you imagine their wonderment when Grandma tells the kids about the time she rode an Elephant through the forests of Thailand or when she cuddled a baby lion in South Africa or about that fling with a surfer on an Mexican beach at spring break?
At the moment I have had many a tale to tell about life gone by, anecdotes from dates and general life, but now is time for a change. This year I have already travelled to America. Now its time to conquer Asia as well. 2015 with be the year of travelling and exploring the world. Who knows maybe it will even spill over into next year as well.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So my first week back from my Las Vegas wanderings and suffice to say that the holiday blues are well and truly kicking in - Especially since it has been raining pretty much all week long since our last conversation. Which brings me round again to the year that ensues.
This year I have found myself asking some important questions in terms of my life progression, who I associate with, who I date and what I will do, not to mention where I will travel. Alot of those things I don't know yet and some I do but for the most part I think I have come to realise that at the ripe old age of twenty-four this year I don't have that much to show for it.
By this point in most Twenty-something's lives they have gone to University, pissed it up at freshers, dated (and slept with) some dodgy people and earned a degree from it all, graduating in long gowns and pointy hats in the knowledge that it will stay on the mantelpiece of their family for years to come as a reminder that they are better than you. If you have not gone down that route (and sometimes even if you have) then you take a Gap Year otherwise known as a "Gaahp Yaarh" for those of a more affluent background! This may include many of the above such as pissing it up with other fellow travellers and dating/fucking some dodgy people along the way. Unfortunately for me I have got drunk many a time and fallen in the gutters of Great Britain, not to mention the amount of wrong-'uns that I have kissed so far on my journey of finding a future-husband. All of this is lovely but the more I commit to the daily grind, the more I feel the need for a random and spontaneous holiday of discovery.
I need to grow. Expand. Develop. Things in life sometime get too stale and somewhere along the line you loose yourself a little bit. I want to loose myself completely and then re-find me. I doubt this can be done on a two week break to Thailand but that is what I am planning. A chance to make some new friends, meet new people and learn about other cultures. A chance to see the world before life gets any more serious.
Now don't get me wrong, I love the creature comforts of home and all but I know that within the next five years at least it will be harder to escape, and in ten years it will be practically impossible to get away even for a weekend let alone skipping off for some travelling and self-discovery bollocks. In time I do want marriage and a family of my own but right now there is no need to be so cautious. I am twenty-three and should be as throw-away and carefree as a plastic bottle containing cheap vodka. I think I need to experience this not only for me but also for my future generations - My Children, my grandchildren, maybe even my great grandchildren. Oh can you imagine their wonderment when Grandma tells the kids about the time she rode an Elephant through the forests of Thailand or when she cuddled a baby lion in South Africa or about that fling with a surfer on an Mexican beach at spring break?
At the moment I have had many a tale to tell about life gone by, anecdotes from dates and general life, but now is time for a change. This year I have already travelled to America. Now its time to conquer Asia as well. 2015 with be the year of travelling and exploring the world. Who knows maybe it will even spill over into next year as well.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 24 March 2014
A Mothers Love: Part I
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com :) xx
Evening everyone,
Parents. You can't choose them can you. Once young people themselves they become known to you only as Mom or Dad. And every year we take forty-eight hours out of the year to celebrate and appreciate them as the people who taught us everything we know now. As some of you may know I love my father till the ends of the earth, but what many of you probably don't know and have maybe wondered why my mother is hardly mentioned. Well now I feel is the right time to tell you why; And just in time for Mothers Day!
The year was 1991. The first Starbucks opened in LA, the World Wide Web is announced to the world and Ötzi the Iceman is found in the Alps. But over eight-hundred miles away from the mountain region that would soon bear my initials a little miracle was happening and at just gone lunch time at a busy maternity ward in Bedfordshire a baby girl arrived. I was born to a soldier and his wife, and as I was handed to my first-time parents I opened my tiny eyes to the world making my father cry with joy. And to think that he nearly missed my late arrival for a bacon sandwich! Growing up was as to be expected in a military family and I always knew from a young age that things weren't like other families. My father would be away for long periods of time often missing important events like Birthdays and Christmas'. But I knew that he was needed elsewhere, helping out in war zones like Northern Ireland and the first Gulf war of the early 1990's and then again in later years when dictatorship in the Middle East ruled again. This left me alone with my mother alot of the time to which the majority of the time was pleasant but certainly not a time where I would look forward to being in her constant company as I always felt inside that there wasn't anything special shared between us.
The arrival of my brother in early summer of 1994 was a welcomed edition to our little family and as a result we moved to a larger family home in the quiet suburbs, close to family and soon to be life-long friends. With my fair hair and porcelain skin I was the apple of my fathers eye and a cutie no grandma could refuse, but with a new baby boy in the family I felt a little cast out and with this the feelings of discontent my mother emulated started to breed. Even as we got older, I knew that something wasn't right, the way she bonded with my baby brother was different to my experiences. As my Dad was away alot on weekends with the Army, he was always under the impression that the wife had something wonderful planned for the children whilst Daddy was away. On numerous Friday evenings my Dad was fed plans of girlie shopping trips and mother-daughter craft days before he went away and on numerous Sunday afternoon's he would be served up lies of what never happened. Instead, Mother would always take my brother shopping or on a trip out somewhere to visit friends for coffee whilst I was left at home alone, watching TV or browsing that new thing called The Internet!
Approaching adult-hood hormones ravaged my pre-teenage body and I became more aware of myself and my personality. I started listening to rock music, experimenting with fashion, make-up and hair-styles and generally rebelling against my Christian upbringing. At times I found myself completely intolerable to my mothers attitude, her mood swings and her manipulative games. As a teenager I found solace in music and socialising with friends but even that she tried to snuff out always cementing unreasonable curfews for no reason and finding constant chores to do around the house. Looking back I can see no reason for her acting in this way but what I do recall is the readiness for an confrontation and the argumentative streak. So many times my mom would promise me a weekend of fun and activities to bond over and so many times there would be a reason not to follow through. One day I think I just gave up hope and as a result stopped believing what I was told. Starting secondary school a hatred began a slow simmer.
I came home from one of my first weeks of middle school to find my mother home from work, crying and screaming at me to watch the TV. In a panic and not wanting to upset her further I sat on the floor of my childhood living room. It was the first moment I think we had spent together in a while and we watched silently, both captivated by what we were witnessing unfolding. The horror that we saw, the devastation that it caused and the inevitable consequences it would have on our family. The date was September eleventh 2001. I was less than a fortnight away from my eleventh birthday.
A year or so later, a crisp, brown envelope landed on our door mat that was to alter life as I knew it forever. The second Gulf war had been in progress for a few years but now with Saddam Hussain's power growing by the minute, Great Britain stepped in and after nearly all his working life in training for this moment my Dad left for war. People ask me all the time what it was like. Truth is I was accustom to it already. He had never been there on my birthday as long as I can remember apart from maybe one or two and had always been away for military exercises and camps so for me as a girl with a father in the Army I knew that someday the time would come that all the practise he had done in preparing for war would finally happen. Standing there at the huge green gates of my school with my beloved old man crouched in front of me in his combats a crowd of excited school children gathered a few yards behind me desperate to get a glimpse of my hero's attire. Without saying anything of importance I was told that he loved me and then left. Back to my classmates, I sobbed silent tears knowing that I might not ever see my father alive again and that all to easily he could come home dressed in nothing more than a white bag and dog-tags.
With my strong maternal instinct and a personality I hoped would brighten the darkness we were all in as a family but to no avail as my mother sunk into a fast and heavy depression leaving her completely incapable of caring for her young children and leaving me to step into the shoes. I cooked and cleaned, sorted out the washing and made sure that my brother was always dressed ready for school with a full packed-lunch for the day ahead. I ironed the clothes and sorted the bills into piles of ones that could wait and ones that could not. Looking back I feel that this is where I taught myself to create a facade of perfection, despite the distance from truth it was. After dealing with depression at the time and also later on in my life, those memories are one of the fewer things I don't begrudge my mother for. I can't imagine how hard it must have been however I feel that despite all of that the role of a parent should always take centre-stage and for motherhood never to be put on a back burner. It wasn't until a few years later after speaking to friends and family that not only was my mother in a dark place but I too was in the grips of my first ever experience with depression without even realising it. Shut off from family and friends I think it was during that time I left my childhood behind and became who I am today.
After nearly a years tour a man returned home to his family, a mere shell of what he once was. After a few hours with him snuggled on his lap as I always had, I knew he would never be the same man who left me at the school gates. Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder had stolen life from him as he knew it constantly keeping him on edge. I remember once being in the car driving with him when a swift crack of a passing branch caught one of the window's. Without thinking my Dad frantically started searching for something, patting down the doors and the area around the drivers seat. He was looking for something. He was looking for his gun. War had turned my beloved Papa into a nervous wreck jumping at any crack, pop or bang. They talk of the hundred-mile stare and even to this day I can catch my Dad doing it. Just thinking, remembering, haunting himself with images of war and conflict. He has never spoken about what he saw or experienced but I cannot imagine that there would be much good to tell.
Life deteriorated after that and as a family we separated, going off to do our own thing and only meeting around a dinner table at night for dinner whereby nothing of much importance would be said. Laughter rarely happened during those years and as the frequency of arguments between my parents escalated I was aware that their marriage would never last. At twelve I started to notice a huge distance between my mother and father. My mother had a new lease of life and a bounce in her step. I started to notice that mother would spend longer looking in the mirror; Prettying herself, doing her make-up, sorting her hair and generally making more of an effort. But this was not for my Dad's pleasure. No. She would venture out of an evening starting off once a week, only to be increased as the years passed by, to go for coffee or drinks with friends, to go to meetings that never existed and see friends she hardly ever saw. Watching helplessly as my Dad slipped deeper into PTSD but desperately clinging onto the marriage by bring gifts of chocolate, flowers and other romantic gestures to the table that was otherwise empty apart from himself. It was clear how much my father loved his wife of over a decade but it seemed she had other things in her sights, including men.
For a few years whilst I was at high school my parents tried to put a brave face on and pretend but the cracks were still there and the gaps were getting bigger. By the time I had finished my exams and graduated from compulsory education it was plain to see that it was the beginning of the end. The torture of watching my dad struggle with the uncertain faithfulness of his wife was sometimes unbearable for me also and being old enough to understand and listen and watch the story unfold was all the more eye-opening for me as a teenager. Although life and boys had somewhat passed me by it wouldn't be long before I was attracting the affections of a Rugby playing High school student now know as Mr. Ginge, my first ever proper boyfriend! But less than a week into what would be a year long relationship with Mr. Ginge I was told the news no child wants to hear.
In true Mother style I found out about my parents divorce in the car during a blazing argument with her. Turned out my father had an affair when I was nine and the marriage had never recovered although I have always said that the affair was not the only thing that contributed to the marriage's demise but also the fact that we were a military family whereby my father was away alot and also went to war, coupled with my mother's fleeting mid-week escapades all contributed towards the broken home statistic I found myself in. I still remember her screaming to me in her shrill tones and then quietening her voice just enough to make the impact of her words all the more earth-shattering. "Well your father and I are getting a divorce!" She said matter-of-factly in a abnormally calm voice. It was then that my world crumbled. Without my father there I knew life would not be worth living. What was I going to do without him to take the edge of her cruel demeanour? Who was going to save me from her wrath? But they were the least of my worries as the divorce lawyers and solicitors were rallied up the evil was only getting started.
Evening everyone,
Parents. You can't choose them can you. Once young people themselves they become known to you only as Mom or Dad. And every year we take forty-eight hours out of the year to celebrate and appreciate them as the people who taught us everything we know now. As some of you may know I love my father till the ends of the earth, but what many of you probably don't know and have maybe wondered why my mother is hardly mentioned. Well now I feel is the right time to tell you why; And just in time for Mothers Day!
The year was 1991. The first Starbucks opened in LA, the World Wide Web is announced to the world and Ötzi the Iceman is found in the Alps. But over eight-hundred miles away from the mountain region that would soon bear my initials a little miracle was happening and at just gone lunch time at a busy maternity ward in Bedfordshire a baby girl arrived. I was born to a soldier and his wife, and as I was handed to my first-time parents I opened my tiny eyes to the world making my father cry with joy. And to think that he nearly missed my late arrival for a bacon sandwich! Growing up was as to be expected in a military family and I always knew from a young age that things weren't like other families. My father would be away for long periods of time often missing important events like Birthdays and Christmas'. But I knew that he was needed elsewhere, helping out in war zones like Northern Ireland and the first Gulf war of the early 1990's and then again in later years when dictatorship in the Middle East ruled again. This left me alone with my mother alot of the time to which the majority of the time was pleasant but certainly not a time where I would look forward to being in her constant company as I always felt inside that there wasn't anything special shared between us.
The arrival of my brother in early summer of 1994 was a welcomed edition to our little family and as a result we moved to a larger family home in the quiet suburbs, close to family and soon to be life-long friends. With my fair hair and porcelain skin I was the apple of my fathers eye and a cutie no grandma could refuse, but with a new baby boy in the family I felt a little cast out and with this the feelings of discontent my mother emulated started to breed. Even as we got older, I knew that something wasn't right, the way she bonded with my baby brother was different to my experiences. As my Dad was away alot on weekends with the Army, he was always under the impression that the wife had something wonderful planned for the children whilst Daddy was away. On numerous Friday evenings my Dad was fed plans of girlie shopping trips and mother-daughter craft days before he went away and on numerous Sunday afternoon's he would be served up lies of what never happened. Instead, Mother would always take my brother shopping or on a trip out somewhere to visit friends for coffee whilst I was left at home alone, watching TV or browsing that new thing called The Internet!
Approaching adult-hood hormones ravaged my pre-teenage body and I became more aware of myself and my personality. I started listening to rock music, experimenting with fashion, make-up and hair-styles and generally rebelling against my Christian upbringing. At times I found myself completely intolerable to my mothers attitude, her mood swings and her manipulative games. As a teenager I found solace in music and socialising with friends but even that she tried to snuff out always cementing unreasonable curfews for no reason and finding constant chores to do around the house. Looking back I can see no reason for her acting in this way but what I do recall is the readiness for an confrontation and the argumentative streak. So many times my mom would promise me a weekend of fun and activities to bond over and so many times there would be a reason not to follow through. One day I think I just gave up hope and as a result stopped believing what I was told. Starting secondary school a hatred began a slow simmer.
I came home from one of my first weeks of middle school to find my mother home from work, crying and screaming at me to watch the TV. In a panic and not wanting to upset her further I sat on the floor of my childhood living room. It was the first moment I think we had spent together in a while and we watched silently, both captivated by what we were witnessing unfolding. The horror that we saw, the devastation that it caused and the inevitable consequences it would have on our family. The date was September eleventh 2001. I was less than a fortnight away from my eleventh birthday.
A year or so later, a crisp, brown envelope landed on our door mat that was to alter life as I knew it forever. The second Gulf war had been in progress for a few years but now with Saddam Hussain's power growing by the minute, Great Britain stepped in and after nearly all his working life in training for this moment my Dad left for war. People ask me all the time what it was like. Truth is I was accustom to it already. He had never been there on my birthday as long as I can remember apart from maybe one or two and had always been away for military exercises and camps so for me as a girl with a father in the Army I knew that someday the time would come that all the practise he had done in preparing for war would finally happen. Standing there at the huge green gates of my school with my beloved old man crouched in front of me in his combats a crowd of excited school children gathered a few yards behind me desperate to get a glimpse of my hero's attire. Without saying anything of importance I was told that he loved me and then left. Back to my classmates, I sobbed silent tears knowing that I might not ever see my father alive again and that all to easily he could come home dressed in nothing more than a white bag and dog-tags.
With my strong maternal instinct and a personality I hoped would brighten the darkness we were all in as a family but to no avail as my mother sunk into a fast and heavy depression leaving her completely incapable of caring for her young children and leaving me to step into the shoes. I cooked and cleaned, sorted out the washing and made sure that my brother was always dressed ready for school with a full packed-lunch for the day ahead. I ironed the clothes and sorted the bills into piles of ones that could wait and ones that could not. Looking back I feel that this is where I taught myself to create a facade of perfection, despite the distance from truth it was. After dealing with depression at the time and also later on in my life, those memories are one of the fewer things I don't begrudge my mother for. I can't imagine how hard it must have been however I feel that despite all of that the role of a parent should always take centre-stage and for motherhood never to be put on a back burner. It wasn't until a few years later after speaking to friends and family that not only was my mother in a dark place but I too was in the grips of my first ever experience with depression without even realising it. Shut off from family and friends I think it was during that time I left my childhood behind and became who I am today.
After nearly a years tour a man returned home to his family, a mere shell of what he once was. After a few hours with him snuggled on his lap as I always had, I knew he would never be the same man who left me at the school gates. Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder had stolen life from him as he knew it constantly keeping him on edge. I remember once being in the car driving with him when a swift crack of a passing branch caught one of the window's. Without thinking my Dad frantically started searching for something, patting down the doors and the area around the drivers seat. He was looking for something. He was looking for his gun. War had turned my beloved Papa into a nervous wreck jumping at any crack, pop or bang. They talk of the hundred-mile stare and even to this day I can catch my Dad doing it. Just thinking, remembering, haunting himself with images of war and conflict. He has never spoken about what he saw or experienced but I cannot imagine that there would be much good to tell.
Life deteriorated after that and as a family we separated, going off to do our own thing and only meeting around a dinner table at night for dinner whereby nothing of much importance would be said. Laughter rarely happened during those years and as the frequency of arguments between my parents escalated I was aware that their marriage would never last. At twelve I started to notice a huge distance between my mother and father. My mother had a new lease of life and a bounce in her step. I started to notice that mother would spend longer looking in the mirror; Prettying herself, doing her make-up, sorting her hair and generally making more of an effort. But this was not for my Dad's pleasure. No. She would venture out of an evening starting off once a week, only to be increased as the years passed by, to go for coffee or drinks with friends, to go to meetings that never existed and see friends she hardly ever saw. Watching helplessly as my Dad slipped deeper into PTSD but desperately clinging onto the marriage by bring gifts of chocolate, flowers and other romantic gestures to the table that was otherwise empty apart from himself. It was clear how much my father loved his wife of over a decade but it seemed she had other things in her sights, including men.
For a few years whilst I was at high school my parents tried to put a brave face on and pretend but the cracks were still there and the gaps were getting bigger. By the time I had finished my exams and graduated from compulsory education it was plain to see that it was the beginning of the end. The torture of watching my dad struggle with the uncertain faithfulness of his wife was sometimes unbearable for me also and being old enough to understand and listen and watch the story unfold was all the more eye-opening for me as a teenager. Although life and boys had somewhat passed me by it wouldn't be long before I was attracting the affections of a Rugby playing High school student now know as Mr. Ginge, my first ever proper boyfriend! But less than a week into what would be a year long relationship with Mr. Ginge I was told the news no child wants to hear.
In true Mother style I found out about my parents divorce in the car during a blazing argument with her. Turned out my father had an affair when I was nine and the marriage had never recovered although I have always said that the affair was not the only thing that contributed to the marriage's demise but also the fact that we were a military family whereby my father was away alot and also went to war, coupled with my mother's fleeting mid-week escapades all contributed towards the broken home statistic I found myself in. I still remember her screaming to me in her shrill tones and then quietening her voice just enough to make the impact of her words all the more earth-shattering. "Well your father and I are getting a divorce!" She said matter-of-factly in a abnormally calm voice. It was then that my world crumbled. Without my father there I knew life would not be worth living. What was I going to do without him to take the edge of her cruel demeanour? Who was going to save me from her wrath? But they were the least of my worries as the divorce lawyers and solicitors were rallied up the evil was only getting started.
* * *
To Be Continued ...
* * *
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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