Reasons my (5 year old) son found for me NOT to go on the trip I've just been on, to the Hay Literary Festival where I was due to give a workshop on how to write a thriller, and take part in an event with two other authors:
1. Everyone in my class knows how to write a story. If the people coming to see you don't know, they should have listened properly at school.
2. Wales is very cold mummy. Everyone knows that.
3. It's a bank holiday mummy. That means you're not allowed to work.
It was hard to argue with really - his reasons were pretty solid. But go I did. And I'm so pleased I did - I met some great people, met a whole bunch of enthusiastic and talented teenagers, took part in one of the best literary festivals we have in this country.
But there was no mobile phone reception. Like, NONE. I'd promised to call at 6.30pm to read my children a story over the phone. I promised to check in, sending pictures of things I thought they'd like. And I couldn't do it. Like really, could not do it. That's rural Wales for you. I got into a panic, I tried borrowing my publicist's phone, but her signal was dead, too. I was signing books, meeting lovely people who had listened to me talk and then actually bought my book, and all I could think about was my children, waiting for me to call, their little faces so full of disappointment when I didn't... Then, finally, the signing was over and I walked and walked, over a mile from the festival, in the pouring rain, until I found a signal. And what did I discover? That my kids had forgotten all about the promise, gone to bed no problem, with none of the sense of betrayal, of broken promises that I'd been killing myself with.
The moral of the tale? The guilt I beat myself up with is totally stupid and I should just relax and enjoy myself.
And only go places with good mobile reception...
Tuesday 28 May 2013
Sunday 26 May 2013
I love grandparents...
... Particularly when it's sunny outside, the toddler is napping and the other two are busy pestering two indulgent, loving people for attention.
And I've figured out the whole low-in-energy thing. It's the sun, pure and simple. I was out last night (Rupert Everett at the Southbank Literary Festival. Brilliant fun) and my husband is away, but this morning I bounded out of bed with the children, made smoothies, chased them around the garden and all of this was before 7am. Why? Because it was sunny. Is sunny. I'm just in such a good mood.
Of course it isn't going to last. I'm going to the Hay Literary Festival tomorrow and according to the weather reports I need to pack wellies and an umbrella. But for today all is good.
At least until my in-laws go home...:)
And I've figured out the whole low-in-energy thing. It's the sun, pure and simple. I was out last night (Rupert Everett at the Southbank Literary Festival. Brilliant fun) and my husband is away, but this morning I bounded out of bed with the children, made smoothies, chased them around the garden and all of this was before 7am. Why? Because it was sunny. Is sunny. I'm just in such a good mood.
Of course it isn't going to last. I'm going to the Hay Literary Festival tomorrow and according to the weather reports I need to pack wellies and an umbrella. But for today all is good.
At least until my in-laws go home...:)
Saturday 25 May 2013
Good mum, bad mum
I have just shut my children in the garden for 30 minutes. I didn't lock the door but near as damnit. 'Outside?' you're thinking. 'But that's good, that's healthy.' Yes, it is, but that's not why I did it. It is Saturday morning and I need a cup of coffee, need half an hour to plan my day, to just... think. And they weren't being awful, but they were being LOUD, teasing each other, needling each other until one started to shout or scream and they would all erupt and...
So I've just marched them out of the back door into the garden. Sorry neighbours.
The thing is, I know that when I'm fully engaged, the whole parenting thing is actually much easier and also much more enjoyable. Take the time to sit down, do a puzzle, play a game, and they all respond brilliantly. But I don't always have time to do that. Okay, I rarely have time to to that. I have breakfast to make, breakfast to clear up, food to buy (husband is away, in-laws are coming for lunch tomorrow). I have work to do (I'm giving a workshop on 'how to write a thriller' on Monday at the Hay Literature Festival. Super exciting, but I need to plan, to think. I mean, I'd quite like to go to a workshop on how to write a thriller myself... Bit scary to think that I'm now apparently the expert), birthday parties to organise. Birthday presents. Damn, forgot to put that on the list.
The real problem here is not the children; it's me, trying to do too much and ending up feeling incredibly scattered, all over the place. Right now, as I'm writing, I'm thinking about the laundry basket piling up, the front gate that keeps banging and needs a new bolt, the edits that I need to get on with, the strategies I need to employ to get it into my daughter's head that she has to wipe front to back and not the other way around...
But actually, right now it's all good. They are pottering around outside, sweeping up blossom, throwing it over each other. Right now, no one is screaming, and here, sitting at the kitchen island, I feel calm, in control, like it's all doable. Twenty minutes on my own and the list gets reduced in no time.
Of course it may not end up being twenty minutes. Any minute now one of them could fall over; decide they want to play with something that one of the others is playing with. Then the screaming will start once again. Then all bets are off...
So I've just marched them out of the back door into the garden. Sorry neighbours.
The thing is, I know that when I'm fully engaged, the whole parenting thing is actually much easier and also much more enjoyable. Take the time to sit down, do a puzzle, play a game, and they all respond brilliantly. But I don't always have time to do that. Okay, I rarely have time to to that. I have breakfast to make, breakfast to clear up, food to buy (husband is away, in-laws are coming for lunch tomorrow). I have work to do (I'm giving a workshop on 'how to write a thriller' on Monday at the Hay Literature Festival. Super exciting, but I need to plan, to think. I mean, I'd quite like to go to a workshop on how to write a thriller myself... Bit scary to think that I'm now apparently the expert), birthday parties to organise. Birthday presents. Damn, forgot to put that on the list.
The real problem here is not the children; it's me, trying to do too much and ending up feeling incredibly scattered, all over the place. Right now, as I'm writing, I'm thinking about the laundry basket piling up, the front gate that keeps banging and needs a new bolt, the edits that I need to get on with, the strategies I need to employ to get it into my daughter's head that she has to wipe front to back and not the other way around...
But actually, right now it's all good. They are pottering around outside, sweeping up blossom, throwing it over each other. Right now, no one is screaming, and here, sitting at the kitchen island, I feel calm, in control, like it's all doable. Twenty minutes on my own and the list gets reduced in no time.
Of course it may not end up being twenty minutes. Any minute now one of them could fall over; decide they want to play with something that one of the others is playing with. Then the screaming will start once again. Then all bets are off...
Friday 24 May 2013
Energy... will it ever come back?!
It can't be just me who's tired all the time. Actually I know it isn't; I had supper with two great friends the other night, and all we could talk about was how frazzled we were. Sometimes it's actual lack of sleep that's the problem -because of waking children/babies, or because my stress levels are so high I'm waking up at 5am with a whole list of worries, and unable to get back to sleep. Other times, it's not lack of sleep that's the problem but more a general lethargy, an inability to jump out of bed in the morning, a general feeling that life feels harder than usual.
Right now it's the latter; the truth is, I'm sleeping like a baby. Partly because I finished my latest book a few weeks ago and so a major stress-creator has disappeared from my life for a while, but also because of a book I read when my youngest was a few months old. Diggy had reflux, rarely napped properly, and was prone to screaming several times in the night and I was so tired I was barely human. And then I stumbled across this book by Dr Weissbluth. It was all about children's sleeping patterns and how sleep begets sleep, but as I read it I started to recognise myself in the case studies (about very young children. Go figure...). I get stressed out, I get hyper, I sleep less, I get more hyper, I sleep even less... and it's the same with babies apparently. They miss a nap, they make up for it with adrenaline, and then they can't soothe themselves back to sleep.
The good doc suggested putting my 'difficult baby' to bed super early, like 5pm, for a few weeks. And I was dubious; VERY dubious. But I tried it. And what do you know? Suddenly he was sleeping through. A few weeks later, though, I was still waking up on high alert listening for the cries which never came. So, in desperation, I tried the same method on myself. Bed at 9pm. I never thought it would work, but blow me, it only took two nights and I was cured. No more 5am wakings worrying about plots, laundry, bills and homework (my children's, not mine). I wouldn't recommend it every night. Otherwise you will have NO FRIENDS. But every so often, it's not a bad idea.
No, my lack of energy is not about sleep. Not right now, anyway. So what else? Well, one culprit might be low levels of Vitamin D. My friend Emma has been eulogising the benefits of Vitamin D and I think she's right. Lack of sunlight means we're all pretty low and doctors are now finding links between low levels of Vitamin D and loads of nasty illnesses from heart disease to cancer.
And Iron, too... Many a time I have felt at death's door, barely able to drag myself upstairs, only to feel entirely better after downing a couple of sachets of Spatone iron supplement.
So that's my plan to revive myself. Good food, supplements and maybe an early night or two. And if all of that fails, there's always chocolate, right?
Right now it's the latter; the truth is, I'm sleeping like a baby. Partly because I finished my latest book a few weeks ago and so a major stress-creator has disappeared from my life for a while, but also because of a book I read when my youngest was a few months old. Diggy had reflux, rarely napped properly, and was prone to screaming several times in the night and I was so tired I was barely human. And then I stumbled across this book by Dr Weissbluth. It was all about children's sleeping patterns and how sleep begets sleep, but as I read it I started to recognise myself in the case studies (about very young children. Go figure...). I get stressed out, I get hyper, I sleep less, I get more hyper, I sleep even less... and it's the same with babies apparently. They miss a nap, they make up for it with adrenaline, and then they can't soothe themselves back to sleep.
The good doc suggested putting my 'difficult baby' to bed super early, like 5pm, for a few weeks. And I was dubious; VERY dubious. But I tried it. And what do you know? Suddenly he was sleeping through. A few weeks later, though, I was still waking up on high alert listening for the cries which never came. So, in desperation, I tried the same method on myself. Bed at 9pm. I never thought it would work, but blow me, it only took two nights and I was cured. No more 5am wakings worrying about plots, laundry, bills and homework (my children's, not mine). I wouldn't recommend it every night. Otherwise you will have NO FRIENDS. But every so often, it's not a bad idea.
No, my lack of energy is not about sleep. Not right now, anyway. So what else? Well, one culprit might be low levels of Vitamin D. My friend Emma has been eulogising the benefits of Vitamin D and I think she's right. Lack of sunlight means we're all pretty low and doctors are now finding links between low levels of Vitamin D and loads of nasty illnesses from heart disease to cancer.
And Iron, too... Many a time I have felt at death's door, barely able to drag myself upstairs, only to feel entirely better after downing a couple of sachets of Spatone iron supplement.
So that's my plan to revive myself. Good food, supplements and maybe an early night or two. And if all of that fails, there's always chocolate, right?
Thursday 23 May 2013
First things first
This is the blog of a working mother of three (Atticus, age 5, Allegra, age 4, and Diggory, age 22 months), the things I've learnt along the way, the things I struggle with day-to-day, the things I think I've cracked and the things I truly haven't. Like feeling guilty. Like feeling that there's never enough of me. Like knowing that I need some downtime but failing to do much about it because there's always so much to do...
I don't have the answers (I'm hoping you might supply those), but I do know that all my working mother friends are crying out for somewhere to talk, to download, to exchange ideas. Because it's really tough, but it's also really worth it, and whilst the idea of 'having it all' is meaningless because none of us would agree on what 'all' is, we can, surely, learn from each other to get some balance. At least I hope I can.
A bit about me... I'm a writer. Which is great; it means I work from home most of the time and I get to see my children much more than I would if I was in an office an hour's commute away. But it also means I have serious boundary issues (there are none differentiating 'work' from 'home'). It means I get to go to book festivals, have to travel up and down the country to give author talks to fantastic teenagers, but it also means being away from home for days at a time. It means that some days I can drop everything and play in the garden, but around deadline time I work around the clock and because I'm self-employed there's no such thing as annual leave (or maternity leave, for that matter). I'm not complaining - if I was, you'd be justified in shooting me. I love what I do. LOVE IT. Just like most of my working friends love what they do, too. But that doesn't make it any easier when I'm walking out the door to the sound of crying because one of my children is ill and I can't stay home to be with them because I have a commitment elsewhere.
Why the title? Two phones and a packet of wet wipes? Well, that's one of the things I've learnt. See, I used to get into a whole lot of trouble with my phone. Like, always having it on, always checking it. I'd be with my children, trying to give them my full attention but instead I'd be scrolling through emails and checking my editor hadn't called with her feedback on my latest manuscript. Or I'd be with my agent having a discussion about Brazilian publishers and we'd be continually interrupted by pictures of my children being texted to me by my nanny (which, naturally, I'd be desperate to share immediately and have to literally sit on my hands to stop myself from interrupting the conversation to do so).
I love my iphone; it's a portable work station and it's got everything on it from photographs to contact details to my calendar. At least it used to. The problem is, one minute the phone was freeing me up, and the next it was weighing me down because it NEVER STOPPED.
Which is why these days I have two mobiles. I know. Streamlining is all, and here I am adding a second phone into the equation. Ridiculous, huh? Not to mention expensive. But it's worth it. Totally worth it. I have a work phone, and I have a home phone. Key people have both numbers (my husband and my nanny), but mostly I just give out one: the home mobile number goes to other mothers, family, friends. The work number goes to everyone I work with. Agents, librarians, editors, publicists, television and radio researchers. It helps keep me sane, and, perhaps more importantly, it helps me slip into the correct identity. Work me, Home me. It sounds simple, but it really isn't easy making the switch, whether I'm going from adrenaline-fuelled work me to *in my dreams* patient, fully-engaged mother, or going from chilled out mother *wearing-sweats-and-ugg-boots-that-are-covered-in-various-unidentifiable-goo-stains* to totally-focused author talking with very clever people on the radio. Ever had to have a conversation with your boss or client on the telephone with an 18 month old hanging from your shoulder whilst another child (or more) is/are screaming in the background? You'll know what I mean, then. The two don't mix. At all.
As for the wet wipes, well, do I really have to explain? I never carried them before I had children. Now I don't leave the house without them, mostly because I can always guarantee that however much I try, I will always fail to spot that blob of snot/gunge that has been deposited on me just as I walk out of the door. And it's a personal thing, but I find Huggies wipes to be the best. Nicest texture, and they don't split.
So there we have it. Hope you enjoy. And please get in touch...
Gemma
I don't have the answers (I'm hoping you might supply those), but I do know that all my working mother friends are crying out for somewhere to talk, to download, to exchange ideas. Because it's really tough, but it's also really worth it, and whilst the idea of 'having it all' is meaningless because none of us would agree on what 'all' is, we can, surely, learn from each other to get some balance. At least I hope I can.
A bit about me... I'm a writer. Which is great; it means I work from home most of the time and I get to see my children much more than I would if I was in an office an hour's commute away. But it also means I have serious boundary issues (there are none differentiating 'work' from 'home'). It means I get to go to book festivals, have to travel up and down the country to give author talks to fantastic teenagers, but it also means being away from home for days at a time. It means that some days I can drop everything and play in the garden, but around deadline time I work around the clock and because I'm self-employed there's no such thing as annual leave (or maternity leave, for that matter). I'm not complaining - if I was, you'd be justified in shooting me. I love what I do. LOVE IT. Just like most of my working friends love what they do, too. But that doesn't make it any easier when I'm walking out the door to the sound of crying because one of my children is ill and I can't stay home to be with them because I have a commitment elsewhere.
Why the title? Two phones and a packet of wet wipes? Well, that's one of the things I've learnt. See, I used to get into a whole lot of trouble with my phone. Like, always having it on, always checking it. I'd be with my children, trying to give them my full attention but instead I'd be scrolling through emails and checking my editor hadn't called with her feedback on my latest manuscript. Or I'd be with my agent having a discussion about Brazilian publishers and we'd be continually interrupted by pictures of my children being texted to me by my nanny (which, naturally, I'd be desperate to share immediately and have to literally sit on my hands to stop myself from interrupting the conversation to do so).
I love my iphone; it's a portable work station and it's got everything on it from photographs to contact details to my calendar. At least it used to. The problem is, one minute the phone was freeing me up, and the next it was weighing me down because it NEVER STOPPED.
Which is why these days I have two mobiles. I know. Streamlining is all, and here I am adding a second phone into the equation. Ridiculous, huh? Not to mention expensive. But it's worth it. Totally worth it. I have a work phone, and I have a home phone. Key people have both numbers (my husband and my nanny), but mostly I just give out one: the home mobile number goes to other mothers, family, friends. The work number goes to everyone I work with. Agents, librarians, editors, publicists, television and radio researchers. It helps keep me sane, and, perhaps more importantly, it helps me slip into the correct identity. Work me, Home me. It sounds simple, but it really isn't easy making the switch, whether I'm going from adrenaline-fuelled work me to *in my dreams* patient, fully-engaged mother, or going from chilled out mother *wearing-sweats-and-ugg-boots-that-are-covered-in-various-unidentifiable-goo-stains* to totally-focused author talking with very clever people on the radio. Ever had to have a conversation with your boss or client on the telephone with an 18 month old hanging from your shoulder whilst another child (or more) is/are screaming in the background? You'll know what I mean, then. The two don't mix. At all.
As for the wet wipes, well, do I really have to explain? I never carried them before I had children. Now I don't leave the house without them, mostly because I can always guarantee that however much I try, I will always fail to spot that blob of snot/gunge that has been deposited on me just as I walk out of the door. And it's a personal thing, but I find Huggies wipes to be the best. Nicest texture, and they don't split.
So there we have it. Hope you enjoy. And please get in touch...
Gemma
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