My son and I are currently reading together ‘The Midnight gang’ by David Walliams. I found the book in Tesco the other day for £5 only and since at the moment he is loving ‘The World’s worst children’ by the same author and I can see how this encourages him to read on his own if he wants to continue the story when I leave his bedroom at night, I had no hesitation to add it in my shopping basket even if at first I had had no intention to buy him a new book that day. The strawberries and bread I had purchased that day would make him stronger and taller but there is nothing like a good book to feed a soul!
Despite my kids both generally sleep through the night since they were around 7 months old, they have had periods when they had regular really frightening nightmares and have been waking up in the middle of the night, absolutely unable to fall back asleep as terrified to remain alone in their rooms.
Unfortunately we have the smallest double bed size in our room, a queen size, and my husband is quite big. We found in the past that letting them sleep with us was simply another nightmare for us, as not only there was definitively not enough space for 3 of us (let alone 4 when they had a nightmare during the same night at different times) but also because they move a lot in their sleep.
In the past we tried to lie next to their bed to comfort them so they could fall asleep again but they often cannot let go completely as they know that we will go back to our bed as soon as we think they are asleep again: that’s when they open their eyes wide open and they start crying terrified as we were about to leave the room…!
We are brainwashed about horror every day on TV, social media, newspapers. A bomb killing hundreds of civilians does not make any more effect on us, chemical weapons used on kids don’t mean anything to our lives, we don’t interrupt our routine if gay people are tortured and killed in mass not far from our borders. Even when we get the odd terrorist attack on our lands, we have plenty of sharing to do on Facebook about our indignation or the immense sadness that is a young child being killed at a concert, but the ugly truth is that deep down we don’t really care about that either…
It is only when we know of the details, it’s when we realize we knew one of the victims very well, someone who lead the same existence as we do to the point it could have been us instead of them in those tragic circumstances, that we finally get properly the proportion of the facts we are hearing. The real terror, the nightmares, the incommensurate sense of each and everyone life’s meaning suddenly kicks into our flash, not only within our cold logical thinking as it’s been doing until now. At least that’s what happened to me in the last 24 hours.
It is undeniable that the political events of the past few months have put a dark light on the future of Europeans living across the UK, no matter how long ago they arrived.
My husband had been considering applying for citizenship much before all of this happened, he even passed the ‘life in the UK’ test in August 2014. But because our daughter was a baby at the time and we did not get much sleep at night, we kept on pushing back filling out all the forms for him to apply for British nationality, providing the traveling diary requested which was the longest job to put together with all the papers requested.
I care for my husband. Even on the days I feel miles away from him.
On the days I cannot forgive him for having once again forgotten to take down the compost bin the only time I mentioned I might not have a chance to do it myself, hoping one of us will remember this week as I always do. Or for having forgotten to help with our daughter’s potty training or our son’s homework, for wasting the left overs in the fridge as always even if we said we will finish the following day, for often missing to tell me about a work engagement that forces me into babysitting duty last minute. Even on the days I feel so disconnected to him, to the point I don’t want him to look at me or touch me because I feel uncomfortable with myself and I might not even know why.
I never thought being a mother would be so hard. I mean to the point that there are moments I regret having had kids. All in all I am sure I won’t when they will be older and out of the house, living their own lives and connecting with us time to time, but in this precise moment that I feel so overwhelmed I do.
Maybe what I will regret when they are older, after being totally immersed with them 24/7 and resenting feeling totally drained by motherhood (emotionally and physically), when they will be teens and they won’t want to stay with me anymore all of a sudden, then I will terribly miss them and curse them to have poisoned me with an addiction to cuddling, speaking and taking care of them so much, much more than I would have had time left for myself every single day for 15 years.
I have been wanting to write a post on my blog about the company I work for in a long time. However I am not sure what I want to say or from where to start. My employer and I have a very complicated relationship.
It started wonderfully well: I was enthusiastic and gave my best since the start; they were very happy to have hired me and already gave me a promotion with a small increase of salary only 3 months after I joined. In the first year I worked there, I was full of hopes so I remained understanding at first with all the unkept promises of a manager position for me soon available and with the full exploitation of my abilities and my dedication to work towards a goal which (I always suspected deep down) was never really there to be reached.
Little by little I started realising (probably like every big company) how much they were systematically misleading their employees, not only me, to get them to work hard, even when they knew they could not keep their word. How many deluded people were leaving for disappointment and how high was the turn over in the admin team as very little scope for career progression was available, even to the best members of staff.