…a lesson learnt?

It’s been a while since I blogged.

Twig is approaching 3 years old, and oh my is she the little threenager already! If you aren’t clear on what a threenager may be, here’s a handy definition:

“The threenager is that age when your 3-year-old continually acts like they are going on 13. They have an attitude for miles, a stubborn streak, and want what they want, when they want. Hell hath no fury like a threenager who refuses to nap.”

Credit to Google for that one, but it pretty much sums up Twig at the moment. I’ve been repeatedly tweeting about how I am fed up with, well, repeating myself! Twig is increasingly picking and choosing when to follow instruction, something I’ve not really had to worry about until now.

Last night twig woke unexpectedly at 1am, my lovely husband sorted her (milk and a blankie, we think she was possibly cold- a ridiculous situation after the recent heatwave!) so this morning she was perhaps a little tired, being used to sleeping 10 solid hours a night (give or take) 

I decided we’d pop to Sainsbury’s for bread and porridge, then head to a local park with her Bing scooter, which she’s recently gotten to grips with. Twig was very happy with this plan, although getting her sorted to go out included twenty requests that she sit still to brush her teeth, warnings of going to the corner if she didn’t let me brush her hair, and her nearly toppling over after she failed to listen and stand still whilst tying shoe laces. She was, however, a good girl going round the shop.

Then we returned to the car.

I was confronted with a toddler who climbed into the car herself (to be helpful) but then decided she didn’t want to go in her car seat. Plonking herself onto the seat next to it, she refused to move. I kept my cool, asked her nicely, then more firmly, to get into her seat. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again….

I sent a whatsapp to my family group chat, initially finding it amusing. But then I stood for nearly twenty minutes in this situation. People were watching me, I still kept my cool, but had had enough. 

Wrestling her into her car seat, she was told we were no longer going to the park. If she can’t listen to me in a stationary car, what hope do I have in the park? 

Then the crying began.

Then the screaming.

Then the absolute toddler meltdown.

We got home, and I left her to it. Eventually she calmed down, we had a cuddle, and I explained again why we hadn’t gone to the park.

This all may sound quite standard to many parents, but I am not used to Twig melting down to such an extreme. But did she learn her lesson? During our cuddle and make up she seemed to.

Something else I have noticed lately is her expectation to receive toys/gifts when we are in the shops. In part my fault, moreso, in my opinion, her dad’s. He works a lot and I think promising her toys relieves some of the guilt. But we are now at a point where Twig picks toys, plays with them for five minutes, and thats it. I never wanted a spoilt child, yet that is what we are creating. I couldn’t help but think this morning was an accumulation of Twig being used to getting what she wants, as well as tired threenager-ness.

And so a sweeping declaration right here- no more random toys. Treats need to be going to the park or seeing family. And I want to stick to it. 

So, has Twig learnt a lesson? I hope so. Have I? Definitely. 

I like to think we are consistent with our discipline for Twig, with a warning system and time out in the corner/her room if needed. Lately it’s been more tricky with her selective hearing and came to a head this morning. 

Have you had similar problems with your toddler not listening? How did you overcome it, if at all? 

Oi! Where’s your baby?!

so today is another fabulous #effitfriday for the parent bloggers where we may opt to rant like toddlers.

Now I am a creature of habit. Even without work, Twiglet and I have our set days, and Monday is food shop day. I love food shop day. I know, that’s a bit sad, but I really do. The joy of looking at the baby clothes. The homeware section. The DVDs! Then of course, meals and treats for the week. 

Now one big upside of the food shop is the parking. Parent child bays are the parking spaces for the Sheldon Coopers in the world. They are close to the entrance so you won’t get wet in the rain, but not so close that you are right in the main door at risk of trolley bashes. Because of their location, you are often sheltered from the wind and direct sun, but not to the point of being chilly. They have a generous amount of space either side of your car, enough so you are safe trying to get baby in the car with your door wide open and yet not obstruct other shoppers paths. They are also directly opposite all the amazing baby-friendly trolleys. Twiglet and I always favour the car seat friendly ones for easy transfer from car to shop and back, plus no cold plastic seats. Bliss.

Now, there is one day in our recent past that sticks in my head. I had parked up, and was double checking I hadnt forgotten to pack my purse (a continued fear). I half noticed a woman had pulled up in the space next to me, a slightly rusted red car, the back seat piled high with a random assortment of objects. 

Now it suddenly dawned on me that with all the junk in the back, there was no room for a baby seat, let alone a baby. No child in the front either. 

Was she…? Did she dare to…? Surely not!

But yes. This woman, without a child to be seen, intended to park in that specifically assigned space. And I was furious! On the rare occasions I hadn’t been fortunate enough to get a Parent Child space, I had often wondered if the soft top convertible on the end actually transported a child about the place, or if the people carrier parked across two spaces actually had young children or a bunch of teens who could cope in a normal space. But this was different somehow. Perhaps because it was so empty in the car park generally, or the simple fact I was witnessing the ‘crime’ unfold. 

Now in the 30 seconds for all of this to skip through my brain, Twiglet got impatient so I went about sorting us out, grabbing the trolley and so on. The woman remained in her car, and it became obvious she was waiting for me to leave before leaving her car.

I gave her a pointed look at I passed but she avoided my gaze.

Going around the shop, I wondered if I should tell someone. But who? The car park police? Is it as bad as someone using a disabled spot without being disabled? Probably not. But as a new mum, I can tell you something as simple as a Parent Child bay can sometimes be the difference between a good day and a bad day.

My confusion continued when I spotted the woman pushing a trolley intended for a young child to sit in. She had no child. She clearly wasn’t waiting for one to join her. Then I felt bad. I didn’t know this woman. Maybe she had lost a child and parking there gave her comfort. Maybe she just wasn’t all there. The bigger likelihood to me was that she was just a bit odd. Still, she continued to ignore me as we often crossed paths, which gave me satisfaction she knew she’d done wrong. 

When I left, her car remained and my disbelief surged up again. There were very few spaces left now, and some poor parent may end up Parent Child bay-less.

Essentially, my point is, if you are out and think ‘oh no harm parking there’, somewhere in the shop there is likely a righteous mum like myself quietly judging you. So just don’t risk it ok?

Anxiety and Never-Not

Really interesting and honest look at childhood anxiety

The Belle Jar

I have never not been a worrier.

I can’t remember a time when the unappeasable spectre of What If wasn’t buried somewhere deep in my brain. It’s been there since before I can remember; certainly before I had any real names for it. Before I had words like anxiety or apprehension or intrusive thoughts, it was there, shivering and electric.

I say never not instead of always, because the former implies the possibility of an absence.

As a kid, I was obsessed with the binary of good/bad. There were good kids, like Heather, who smiled and ate everything on her plate and did whatever she told and never seemed to feel squinched up and mean inside. Then there were kids like Jay, who used art time exclusively to draw pictures of penises urinating some kind of black tar-like substance. It seemed pretty clear to me early on which side of the…

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The truth about…

so I saw tomorrow’s theme for blog posts is #thetruthabout and immediately thought back to earlier today.

This post is the truth about that screaming baby. 

A close friend of mine is visiting from Yorkshire, so we decided to stick to our old tradition of meeting in the centre of our fine city (Norwich, just FYI) and go to our favourite restaurant where we used to work together, and order our usual starter of garlic bread with cheese. The only difference in this plan to countless before was that this time I would have my baby with me. 

All started well, we’d been for coffee, Twiglet was an angel, smiling, cuddling and eating her rusk biscuit. 

The First Screams occurred not long after arrival, she didn’t want to be in her high chair and so made it known. A couple behind my friend were polite and didn’t look our way, but I was immediately anxious we were ruining someone’s romantic lunch. So I guess the first #truthabout is that a baby may seem spoiled wanting to be up and out of the high chair, when in fact they’ve already put up with many inane grown up situations so far that day! 

The Second Screams occurred as the clock struck 12:24, 24 minutes past Twiglets lunch. She was hungry, and so  made it known. This is easily rectified with an organic purée or whatever floats your boat for baby meals, so please bear with the parent desperately trying to find said meal from within the Mary Poppins bag of nappies! The second #truthabout here being…nappy bags have a lot of equipment hidden within them, so bear with mum/dad/carer! 

The Third Screams, and by far the worst, came midway through our main course. She did not like her high chair. She did not want food. She did not need a nappy change. She did not want cuddles. She was teething. 

I always feel awful for Twiglet when showing signs of teething, because other than calpol and hugs I can do little else. When I think to times when my teeth have ached or been sensitive, I feel doubly sorry for teething babies, having whole sets of teeth cutting their way through the gums! 😬

The worst part was a couple who had just been seated opposite us. They heard Twiglet, exchanged a look, and moved tables. They actually moved. Because of me and my baby. I was mortified, even minutes later when I spotted the gentleman giving me dirty looks as I tried to comfort my tired teething baby. At that point I should have gotten grouchy. It was a family friendly restaurant, early afternoon, you expect children to be about. I should have been really grouchy, I was hugging, rocking, soothing as best I could. I should have given dirty looks back. Because #thetruthabout a crying baby is, you can do everything right, have all the right toys, all the right foods, stick as close to their routine as you like; the truth is if a baby is teething, it can strike at any time, anywhere, and the baby will cry. A lot. 

So the truth about that screaming baby you see is, sometimes the baby’s just got to scream. And odds are the parent/carer is doing all they can to fix it, so no dirty looks please, we really are trying.

…and then the blossom was dancing again

Permanently looking like a panda is the standard look for me these days. I adore my baby, but she is slowly driving me insane after more than eight months of sleep that lasts a maximum of two hours at a time.

I think I hit my ‘wall’ last weekend. I could feel my eyes were heavy, my limbs were slow and just driving to my parents house was enough activity for the day.  The mulch of blossom on my car (creating ANOTHER job I just didn’t have time for), the cold weather, and the constant fact I just wasn’t sleeping enough was just building up into a ball of despair in me. It felt like a big cloud was hanging low over my head, shrouding everything in gloom.

Arriving at my parents, I put Twiglet down in the kitchen, immediately started telling my mum stories from the week, keeping a close eye on a baby who was now crawling, pulling herself up and grabbing everything in sight- a lot had changed in a week, and I was struggling to adjust to a much more active and accident-prone baby.  Halfway into our first story, I spot Twiglet trying to use the vegetable rack, which is on wheels, to pull herself up. I heaved a sigh and scooped her up, muttering ‘it’s not a good day, is it?’ Mum turned from the sink and calmly replied ‘it’s not a bad day, it’s just your attitude.’ 

Now that may sound harsh, or nonchalant in the face of exhaustion, or may just ring true based on my mood, but to me it was like an epiphany. She was completely right. Looking at my active, inquisitive baby, I suddenly remembered she was hardly at an age to be purposefully naughty, she was, and still is, exploring her world. 

So for the last week, tired, reasonably rested, hungry, whatever my state, I’ve worked hard to be more positive for my baby. And it’s worked. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still dying for a good nights sleep, but I’m once again enjoying all the little things. Her laugh, her fascination with an empty bottle over any expensive toy, her baby chat, her determination to climb on any piece of furniture, her singing, all of it. Just making sure I remain positive has pushed that cloud away, and made me feel happier in myself.  

 Twiglet is such a happy baby, and last week in the car I just ended up grinning; in the mirror I have installed in the car on the headrest so I can see her, she was talking and waving to me, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. A wind whipped up at the traffic lights and the blossom swirled up, then floated over the traffic like natures confetti welcoming the summer and I thought ‘if that’s not a pathetic fallacy, I don’t know what is’

Mums offhand comment has really pulled me back and helped me keep upbeat, so thank you mum- the blossom is dancing again. 🌸

An open letter to my neighbours…

Dear neighbours,

We’re not friends. At best we are mere acquaintances. At worst, simply people living next to each other, living our own lives oblivious to one another’s. 

I want you to know I understand the walls are old and thin. And that I understand everyone has their own quirks, habits, routines. That I understand sometimes children tantrum and scream, or that sometimes you just need to turn up your favourite song just because. But I also want you to know you seriously suck. Like, really.

I’ve often mentioned during our polite exchanges that for more than eight months now my baby has had me up every two hours every night. I am exhausted. This is in no way an exaggeration. With two children of your own I assumed you’d understand my desperate need for sleep at any given opportunity. Apparently not.

Is it just ignorance that makes you want to loudly clean out and Hoover your fireplace at 10pm? Or pure whim that you’ve chosen to rearrange your house tonight at 9pm? Perhaps the hour is not that late to you, despite your children waking you, and us, up at the crack of dawn every day with their adorable screaming and tantruming. I can’t tell you how much I love that, knowing my baby is still sleeping and my partner has only had six hours sleep after a 13 hour day, to be woken up by you. And if it’s not the children, it’s you, whistling. Got to love a whistler. 

It seems worse because I’ve spoken to you before about noise. Several times. And I don’t believe the sound only travels one way. It can’t, surely? 

My Twitter followers probably think I’m insane, or an old lady, the number of times I’ve ranted about your inconsiderate behaviours. I just need to vent. We are far too polite and British to do it in person. 

To sum up, please be quiet. Please just THINK, because next door I’m likely despairing, and wondering if we indeed disturb you just as much. 

Yours,

The sleep deprived neighbour 

I will NEVER…!

So it’s been eight months since my baby girl was born, and being a parent is a constant learning curve. It’s fun, it’s draining, it’s the most amazing experience and the most testing. Over these eight months I’ve looked fondly back at my pregnancy and smiled at all the things I swore I’d NEVER do as a parent…and have since done.

1. I will NEVER let my baby get so completely messy at meal times.

Turns out this one isn’t always optional, especially when it’s something green and not so tasty. Or a rusk. Got to love a crumbly drool covered rusk biscuit.

2. I will NEVER talk to her in crazy baby talk

“Ooh she’s such a good girly whirly”… you can’t help it. They are so cute and squishy and love cooey baby talk, so why not? You’ll find you really really don’t care if people think you’re bonkers

3. I will NEVER co-sleep with my baby. 

I used to recoil in horror when people said they shared their bed with their baby. We all know it’s not safe, it’s not recommended, and yet…it’s so relaxing with a warm baby curled up next to you.  Plus, try getting up every two hours for eight months straight to breast feed, you’d soon be letting baby share with you too.

4. I will NEVER be one of those mums who goes shopping EVERY week

I used to watch the Baby Club wandering the city, window shopping or using a need for a pair of socks as an excuse to go out, and I’d think ‘No way will I do that’. But with a baby activities are limited and getting regular fresh air is a must, so if admiring the latest Kath Kidson dress in the window means we both get to go out I’m sold.

5. I will NEVER take my baby to a restaurant and disturb other people

I hated going for a romantic meal, and on the next table is a loud screamy baby. Mood. Killer.

Unfortunately, to keep up with friends and family, sometimes a lunch is necessary- it’s also hard to guess what mood baby will be in. She can be smiley and happy when we go in, yet order the starter and all manner of baby hell breaks loose. And people have to deal. I am mortified if baby girl gets too fussy, but she’s a baby and gets to scream if she wants to. Plus she’s mine so shush your mouth, she is wonderful, screams or no screams.

6. I will NEVER let her do what she wants

So, within reason, babies do try and get into everything and anything they shouldn’t. And obviously if it can be swallowed or is a general danger, baby does not get what she wants (this includes chewing the TV remote) But watching her crawl over to my pile of To Watch DVDs and pull them off the shelf is just so darn adorable…! The newest challenge is making sure daddy doesn’t give her what she wants when she screams, but I’m sure that will come up in later toddler based blog posts.

7. I will NEVER let the baby take over my house

Babies have a lot more stuff than I ever anticipated. Enough said.

8. I will NEVER visit people and expect them to babysit

Turns out most people WANT to play with baby and give you a break. As a new mum you quickly realise it’s worth making the most of every moment.

9. I will NEVER lose my patience and ask “What do you want?!”

I refer to point 3. You’re very tired, baby is tired, it doesn’t always end with a smile on your face, but you do get through it. Eventually. And asking baby what they want, despite the fact the biggest word they can say is ‘ma’, just seems to be an adult brain trying to make sense of a senseless situation, so give us a break eh?

10. I will NEVER expect my partner to help out at night

My fiancée runs a pub, works very long hours. However, when he is home from work at around midnight still buzzing from a days work, he has far more energy than me to walk her to sleep for the umpteenth time.

Despite all these ‘failures’, I am loving parenting. And I’m pleased to say there are one or two ideas my naive hormone addled pregnant brain had that I’ve kept to. The best one being ‘I will NEVER forget how lucky I am’. 💓

YOU are Mr Miyagi…

Dead Ends by Erin Lange

‘I had a foot on some guys throat and a hand in my pocket the first time I saw Billy D…’

Dane Washington and Billy D couldn’t be more different.

Dane is a bully. He says he has ‘standards’; he doesn’t hit girls, and he doesn’t hit special ed kids.

Billy D is too kind to hit anyone. He has Down’s syndrome and hangs out with teachers in his lunch break.

But one chance encounter leads them to realise that they have more in common than they think…

Erin Lange has an excellent knack for drawing the reader in from the first page. Her characters are all very unique and layered, pushing you to read on and find out more- with Dane and Billy D, this was certainly the case. Two very different characters, thrown together in a believable kind of way, which then leads you through a dramatic, funny, heart breaking and intriguing adventure.

It is about the journeys we take, literally and figuratively, and you’re reminded of this throughout by the little running man in the corner of the pages, which also act like a flip book, another little quirk!

I found Billy D particularly poignant, perhaps because I have a family member who has Down’s syndrome. The quirks and behaviours described in the book were very real to me, and often made me giggle, or smile knowingly as I thought of an event entirely different yet entirely the same as that I was reading. I loved that he hadn’t been portrayed as a victim, or someone who goes through life in a daze not fully engaged with the world. He also wasn’t portrayed as some kind of saint, he still had flaws and a sneakiness to him as well. As the story unfolds, you often forget Billy D is any ‘different’ to any other character, as you follow his personal journey as he attempts, sometimes unknowingly, to find answers to questions he doesn’t even realise he has.

I found Dane to be the classic ‘bad kid who’s not all that bad really’ kind of character, but I did like his stubbornness and the way his own values he’d created are challenged and righted, and not always just by Billy D. As a teacher, it reminded me again that often kids acting out in class have deeper issues outside of school that might drive them to behave in negative ways (something you may struggle to bear in mind when dealing with the fourth or fifth class of the day!)

This novel did cater for a lot of different minorities, and even touched on the issue of gay parents in a real and blunt fashion which I liked. Again, it’s all about it being believable, and the character reactions to this issue were very much what I’d expect to see from my students (both positive and negative; some accepting, some blurting out questions without thinking how to word it, some judging without meaning to) It also wasn’t dwelled upon, it was just another element of the characters story.

Erin writes in a way that as events pick up pace, so too does your reading speed as you race to keep up and find out what happens next, which was something I delighted in.

I felt a little guilty in that I was comparing this a lot to the first novel I read by Erin Lange, Butter, which I thoroughly loved. This was very different, to the point where I’ve now decided each should be judged on their own merit. I felt that this book touched on a lot of issues, and told a unique story that kept me guessing until the end.

This is a story about unlikely friendships, unanswered questions and being your own Mr Miyagi when times get tough; a book that can make you laugh, and cry, and laugh again in quick succession. It also leads you to wonder if any journey in life will really lead you to a truly dead end.

“Now that I’ve been sperminated…”

It has been a while since a book has inspired me to blog, and even longer since I have had a book I’ve been unable to put down and finished in a matter of days.

Trouble by Non Pratt:

‘Hannah is smart and funny.
She’s also fifteen and pregnant

Aaron is the new boy at school.
He doesn’t want to attract attention.

So why does Aaron offer to be the pretend dad to Hannah’s unborn baby?’

This book takes you through the three trimesters of Hannah’s pregnancy, switching between Hannah and Aaron’s point of view. Both of their stories interlink but are also very different, and keep you guessing throughout. Be assured this is not another kooky Juno story (not that I am anti-Juno, I was just relieved this stood apart as its own story)

From the first page it is readable and, more importantly, believeable.

As a secondary school teacher, I observe and encounter the harsh realities of being a modern day teenager on a daily basis; from gross Public Displays of Affection in corridors (at which I regularly hurl the classic ‘don’t make me vomit up my lunch, get to lesson!!”), stories from weekend parties/gatherings and the reassuring smiles of BFFs, to friendship fall outs and the cruellest of cyber bullying. The characters and events in this book are so real you’d think Non had based this story on real teens.

The story flows so that you don’t even realise when 200+ pages have gone by. It will make you smile, cry, laugh and often make you cringe as you are reminded of your own teenage shenanigans as well, all in equal measure.

The love of being a parent, first loves, the ties that friendships form and all other forms of love and hate in between are presented beautifully, and make you grateful for the love that exists in your own life.

I wont go into much more detail about Hannah and Aaron’s story (never was a fan of spoilers, and it’s not a story I’d want to ruin for someone) but my favourite quote, ‘now that I’ve been sperminated’, is now my favourite phrase of all time, and this book has made it to my Bookshelf of Joy (all my faves are there) with ease.

May the New Year bring you courage to break your resolutions early…!

New year. New start? Not for me.

Every new years eve, a slowly growing feeling of dread fills me, starting on Boxing Day, right up to NYE itself.

The build up to midnight.  The noise and hubub of everyone around you, clamouring to be near someone they’d like to kiss.  The anticlimax once Big Ben finishes chiming and the immense smoke of the fireworks display, definitely costing more than my yearly pay packet, fades away on the television screen and you are once more shown the comparitive displays of neighbouring countries. The moment for us has passed, now let us relive it, twenty-gazillion times.

This year for me was different.  For one thing, I wasn’t working behind the bar.  This year marked the first year in my five year relationship where my partner and I were free to go where we wanted, with whom we wanted, without having to make sure the Christmas tree in the corner didn’t get stripped and drunks didn’t crush one another in the throws of new year joy.  There was also a lack of frustration, waiting for patrons to leave the building before we could truly celebrate ourselves- this was always one of the greatest challenges to my lack of patience.

Secondly, my feeling of dread was less so, spending the new year with my partners mother and two of his brothers and their other halves meant it was less mad and pressured than the usual new year affair.

Thirdly, there were no mechanical disasters (I will never forget the fateful year I wrote off my car going to the rescue of my stranded, and drunk, sister on an icey night- don’t worry, she got a taxi whilst I waited for the pick up truck!), nor did I wake the next morning with a horrendous hangover (a rarity these days anyway, but I’m still glad it didn’t occur for New Years Day)

Now I do love a celebration, and the happiness and excitement of others often catches me before the final bong of aforementioned Big Ben.  For me, New Years Eve is exciting as it marks a brand new year with my significant other, soppy as it sounds.  But that is as far as it goes for me.

For others, it marks a brand new start. I’m not sure why.  For me, January 1st is just another day.  It’s still winter, the sun still rises and sets, and people stay the same.  You could just as easily turn around and say tomorrow’s Monday, it’s a brand new start! Or each new month brings a brand new start.  Or each new day.

Although not a believer in resolutions, it gives me hope some people may change for the better, but on ther whole, they don’t.  This said, this only applies to those that I feel need to improve as people, but who am I to judge? If I don’t like someone, I don’t tend to interact with them much anyway.

My own resolutions, which flashed into my mind as we began the countdown, were fairly simple, and fairly easy to break too:

1) Buy less Costa coffee.  Every day I waste £2 on a Costa express on the way to work, hoping it will perk me up before a busy/mad/unpredicatble day at school.  It does, for about an hour.  I also worked out it means I spend £10 a week, £40 a month, just on coffee.  That’s a pair of Converse.  Or a posh dress. Or a pair of jeans! This resolution is easy to keep, particularly as Kirsty brought me in a special coffee machine that takes magic coffee pods at work.  Easy to keep, that is, until we near the first half term break of the year; pressure is suddenly high again, assessments to mark, reports to write, remembering to buy the magic coffee pods and just generally getting enough sleep all make buying that Costa much more appealing.  Sorry Converse. Sorry dress.  Sorry jeans. Sorry coffee machine.

2) Be happier.  Again, this post probably makes me sound cynical and grumpy, which I often can be, but I honestly try to be as happy as possible as much of the time as possible.  One of my best friends is insanely happy, all the time, to the point one of her students asked if she was on happy pills.  Just talking to her for 10 minutes can perk me up, she’s like a drug or a happy virus, her mood is catching, and this I am very envious of.  Sadly, I cannot keep that level of personal joy up consistently, I’m like the drumming gorilla on the duracell advert, sometimes I need a recharge, particuarly as I avergae about 5-6 hours of sleep a night during the week.  I love my life, I love My Boy, I love my family and friends, but still, I need to turn into a grump to stay sane.  Besides, being grumpy often means people are less likely to mess with me, so perhaps it is more courageous to not achieve this one, particularly when dealing with hormonal teenagers or raging drunks.

3) STOP BUYING SO MANY DVDS ON AMAZON.  This will never happen.  They’ve made it too easy to order things, the site remembering my payment details means it takes just one click for me to get a little rush of purchasing excitement.  Besides, my love of film means I can pay back to Kirsty what she gives to me in good books, recommendations for the wierd and wonderful 🙂  I  just need to make sure no one looks in the cupboard under the stairs, my not-so-secret DVD stash is hidden there and it’s getting a little bit ridiculous…

4) Stay out of debt with the dinner ladies.  Our school is brilliant, a cashless system of fingerprint scans, very futuristic, and allows teachers, who are often in a rush or waiting for pay day, to go into a mini-overdraft until they can ‘top up’.  This has led to a running joke amongst a few of my students, who take great pleasure in asking how much I owe the dinner ladies.  Perhaps just bringing a little amusement to moody teenagers is enough reason to remain in debt, annoying the less accomodating of canteen staff (fortunately for me, 99% of them are lovely and know me by name now due to my consistent debt!) Still, an additional aim to take some soup to school could potentially help with this resolution. Until I forget to buy the soup.

5) Tolerate my neighbours.  This isn’t a religious aim, just an actual my-neighbours-annoy-the-hell-out-of-me-but-I-must-live-with-it type of thing.  There are hundreds of tweets on my part, lamenting the constant screaming of my neighbours non-toddler and new born.  The new born I could tolerate, it can’t help it, but the spoilt brat, not so much.  Where is Super Nanny when needed? Perhaps it would be braver to just confront them, but there is a social rule that one not tell parents what to do, particularly when one has limited experience with young children oneself.  In this case, tolerance may be limited to not talking to them much. Damn terrace housing.

So, yes, my small and breakable resolutions really just apply to some of my quirks or daily trials, some more costly to my bank balance than others, but aren’t those quirks what make us stand out? Is it really neccessary to make such resolutions, when they’re so easily broken?  This just leads to a feeling of failure when one does break them.  Besides, accepting you’ll break them is much less stressful than trying to maintain the impossible.  We are all creatures of comfort and reaction after all.

I think my aim for being happier is the best one, as the amazing people in my life always bring me out of my grumps repeatedly, sometimes without even realising it.  For this, I am thankful, and consider myself insanely lucky to have such people in my life.

I am taking the plunge, being brave and accepting few of these resolutions will really last.  The brave part being, I’m accepting how flawed I am, and am quite happy that way.  And I haven’t even bothered with the rejoining of the gym.  Last year the receptionists amusement at my return on January 3rd made me defiantly decide if I rejoin, it will be because I am motivated and it will not be in January.  keep ’em guessing I say.

At the end of all of this, my long-running stream of thought, I genuinely wish anyone who has made them the best of luck with their resolutions, as I am sure their willpower and determination is far greater than mine.  And a happy, healthy and prosperous new year is my annual wish to all too, for what is there to look forward to without these three things?