http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/en-EUMokoFeed10http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/f4/0796d1dc8b22b1f8f4eb19767a29c5_160x200.jpghttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/09/05/what-f2d8e886c957fd8aee5b5d4e12851c4b-4687729/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-09-05:/2008/09/05/what-f2d8e886c957fd8aee5b5d4e12851c4b-4687729/Fri, 05 Sep 2008 21:42:35 +0200 <p>There has been some debate recently on the glass ceiling in the UK getting thicker and harder for women to smash through. Frankly speaking, I had never seen any glass ceiling in my working life prior to my children in the now more than ever working life. The reason for that is less my brilliance and 'throbbing with testosterone temples', and more the simple fact that I had always been simply too low and far to notice any ceiling above my head whatsoever. I probably noticed but a few dusty cobwebs hanging over my head from the long intact glass structure, though.</p> <p>Anyway, with only limited aspiration to climb high (am vertigo prone, by the way, I know- excuses, excuses, lame excuses)and simple desire to earn my own living and live,( I did much of the former e.i I paid for my clothes, food and shelter, but did very little of the latter, e.i. I barely lived) my life was lived along the key call: wake up call, work call, toss and turn call. Sometimes I managed to squeeze in socialising or mindless TV watching (with pizza) inbetween work and sleep call, but otherwise life was confined to bed or desk.</p> <p>So where did I want to go from there...oh yes, children. What children? What type of working woman has time for them? Surely, you cannot blame work policies for hindering career progression of working mums? That would be just as pointless as blaming miniskirts for fat legs in some women. If you have them fat and short, you just....have them, err.. fat and short. So is NOT wearing a mini skirt an option, perhaps? Tell me now, please...Am I losing it or have I lost it already? Yeah, probably, I have Adios. And (wine)glass smashing night to all..</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/09/05/what-f2d8e886c957fd8aee5b5d4e12851c4b-4687729/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>glass-ceilingworking-mumhttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/09/05/what-f2d8e886c957fd8aee5b5d4e12851c4b-4687729/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/09/03/i-declare-to-all-i-am-not-a-pedophile-4678881/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-09-03:/2008/09/03/i-declare-to-all-i-am-not-a-pedophile-4678881/Wed, 03 Sep 2008 23:25:08 +0200 <p>But I may well have been registered as such in the thick files of police monitoring the net. Yes, I stumbled across and saw naked boys on the net, and with erections at that. How coud that happen to a decent, asexual mum of two?<br> Yesterday, my three year old was poncing around the house naked. Some children just hate clothes. He simply hates dressing, and so do I (I mean, I hate dressing him, less so myslef, just to be clear:I like to be dressed). So while he jumped and tumbled, he must have felt some sensation in his willy. He started exploring it, with his hand. Tickle, tickle, tickle, and his three year old willy went completely stiff. I was a bit concerned, dressed him quickly in spite of my aversion to this task, and went on the net to find out how normal/abnormal such things are.<br> The unfortunate combination of words: erection and small boys threw up a disturbing array of pics. I glanced and panicked. And prey to God I am not taken away from my children to be locked </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/09/03/i-declare-to-all-i-am-not-a-pedophile-4678881/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/09/03/i-declare-to-all-i-am-not-a-pedophile-4678881/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/30/no-more-benefits-for-mums-4659799/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-08-30:/2008/08/30/no-more-benefits-for-mums-4659799/Sat, 30 Aug 2008 23:04:26 +0200 <p>I hate the notion of stay at home mums getting benefits. I hate it because they are the source of heated and often misguided debates, in which many scream and cry out loud something to the effect of: <strong>do not pamper with governmental money all those women who, after all, chose to have babies and should have prepared for the cost of raising a family</strong>.<br> Well, to me that statement is a sign of total ignorance on the part of the screamers and cryers about what raising of a family is and what it implies. And just to be clear, having kids is not<br> <u>luxury holidays you save up for and then worry about nothing for a few weeks or months</u>.<br> Raising a family is a JOB, with an 18 year contract.A JOB which, if done with full support of society, and done well, can make an enormous difference to the standard of life of the society as a whole. Think of the crime, of education, of family and community ties, values, health (both mental and physical).<br> It is a JOB which should be rewarded with SALARIES, instead of paltry and so often begrudged benefits.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/30/no-more-benefits-for-mums-4659799/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/30/no-more-benefits-for-mums-4659799/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/21/mother-not-care-4620047/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-08-21:/2008/08/21/mother-not-care-4620047/Thu, 21 Aug 2008 22:03:13 +0200 <p>I have not intended this blog as a platform for ranting against non human third parties -institutions, businesses, governments etc...This blog is just to catch the odd thought and digitilize it for others to have a laugh or yawn, depending on predispostion and sense of humour. But when a truly infuriating thing happens, soryy, I just can't help it. And so decided to spread a bit of a malice and smear a bit of mud on the cosy logo of Mothercare. Yeah, mothercare -not<br> They do not give a toss about a mother and her kids once they have hooked your credit card details. So what went wrong?<br> I ordered a stroller. Online, of course, to cut out the hassle, even if it meant four days waiting time, as opposed to grabbing that bloody buggy straight from the store.. 4 DAYS -That's the promise, that's the aim, that's the mission which is shoved to customers' attention on Mothercare's website. Four days seemed bearable,so- in the meantime I dragged and dusted a two year old buggy, which is a bit on the deprived side (no rain cover, no tray, no umbrella, no roof). So the order went smoothly. Card details accepted, order confirmed, and at the bottom of the page: surprise, surprise. :WE AIM TO DELIVER THIS ITEM WIHTIN 25 WORKING DAYS<br> It's a month, with weekends included.For God's sake. And that tactic is so underhand.Bait and switch- I think it's called.<br> So having been baited and switched, I decided to switch my order off in return.<br> I called them only to find out that it's impossible, as the item had already been dispatched. Reassured, and with a temporarily restored faith in MC, I waited for the buggy to arrive any time.<br> After a week, I called again. The customer service rep did not even check my order number, just took my name. Then I heard the item had been shipped. Should be with me soon. I - gracious soul=sucker- gave them another 4 days. But there was No sight of that thing on wheels. </p> <p>I called for the third time, I highlighted my case, and was told the item is 'en route'. They started getting French with me, so I decided to get tough. I asked them for a tracking number and the name of courier company they use. This request met with a blank stare, that is at least what I imagined at the other side of the telephone life. 'We do not tracking, it's all internal'. Whatever..to me it was all infernal treatment.<br> I lost patience. And a lot of time, and alot of money on taxis saving my kid from getting drenched in the recently frequent showers.But, there is a silver line. I gained some knowledge which I would be happy to share. I CRACKED THE CODE used by mother-NOT-care when they speak to you.</p> <p>Here, what it really means when they say dispatch, ship, en route<br> DISPATCH: a stray dog pissed around the item, a warehouse manager shifted the item from one corner to the next to prevent damage (well done)<br> SHIP: the warehouse manager goes on holidays, on a cruiseliner with wifey, and, to pleasure himself in the idle moments,-WANKER!- took along his laptop with all the online customers' orders stored on the hard disc.<br> En ROUTE: the waves get high, the deck tilts, the laptop slides down into the big blue sea, the warehouse manager calls the office, saying (lying) he had a vision of a baby boom coming soon and asked the company to recruit an army of customer service reps. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/21/mother-not-care-4620047/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>bad-customer-servicehttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/21/mother-not-care-4620047/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/19/was-it-racisim-4611038/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-08-19:/2008/08/19/was-it-racisim-4611038/Tue, 19 Aug 2008 22:56:57 +0200 <p>An outing to the local playground in the park gave me some foul food for thought and a bit of indigestion. </p> <p>I took the kiddies out. The day was rather rainy throughout, but had to snatch a few moments between the rainy spells to air the little rascals, otherwise they go mad, and I do too, but much more.</p> <p>There is a new installation in the park playground. A spinning wheel, the metal sort- a bit like a plate- that is installed in the ground, with a bench on it, and barriers around. So kiddies, who are game for a spell of dizziness, jump on and spin. My children love it, and I am wondering if that may be some government-blessed way of seeking alternative states of minds. But then it could be the first step to serious stuff: Spin on a wheel when you're 3, roll a joint at 14, sort coke at 19 and so we roll down the hill. By the way, downhill rolling is another fave game of my children. Fortunately, a thorough wash is good enough to deal with the after effects.</p> <p>Gosh, I am straying...anybody there still?</p> <p>About the spinning wheel.<br> I and my kids got on it. My little girl is just too little to stay seated on her own, I need to support her and be there with her. And being on the wheel, I cannot spin it. My son is not big enough to spin it with mummy and sister on it. So we were kind of stuck on the wheel, not moving, trying to figure out how to get it going, when two big black children (brother and sister) approached and offered us a spin. Great. We were up for it. And so the grabbed the barriers, and on the outside of the wheel ran and pushed the wheel round. Quite fast. Faster than my kiddies are used to, anyway. My son screamed. With joy. My daughter shrieked, with less joy and more uncertainty. I made silly faces and 'ahhhh' noises, demonstrating I was joining in the fun. All in all, we were a bunch of human noise on a wheel.<br> Then I asked the kind kids to stop, which they did somewaht reluctantly. The fun was obviously mutual. I stayed for a while seated on the bench, just making sure I was steady on feet before I got up. Then I realized with amazement that a bunch of parents were watching us with expressions of clear concern and apprehension in her faces.<br> One guy even came by and as if in passing asked if everything was OK.<br> Yes, it was. Perfect. Why wouldn't it?<br> Then I realized that the scene of me and my children on the wheel must have looked to the others a bit suspcious, rough perhaps.<br> But I bet, if the children were white, there would be no concern registering on the onlookers' faces, actually I bet (what a gambler I am), the whole scene would hardly register in anyone's mind and memory.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/19/was-it-racisim-4611038/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>racehttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/19/was-it-racisim-4611038/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/03/it-s-amazing-that-people-read-4535279/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-08-03:/2008/08/03/it-s-amazing-that-people-read-4535279/Sun, 03 Aug 2008 02:15:39 +0200 <p>I have not been active here for over a month. Many things happened, mostly a thick and sprawling mental block stood in the way of my will to write. Today though I logged on, glimpsed at statistics and - oh gosh- almost 300 visitors came and viewed my pages. Who are these people, and how do they stumble across something that even I have forgotten the existance of? Kind of got motivated to start writing again. After all, there are people out there who read, or simply glimpse and move on, or glimpse and yawn, I will never know. That brings me to conclude there is some room for improvement in the technological aspect of blog management, time every visitor to a blog, and publish the data regarding how long each page was viewed. In this way, I could know what was passed over in a hurry and what hooked for longer..<br> Yawn<br> Good night. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/03/it-s-amazing-that-people-read-4535279/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>readersbloghttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/08/03/it-s-amazing-that-people-read-4535279/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/23/girls-who-devise-plays-can-t-be-stupid-4349870/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-06-23:/2008/06/23/girls-who-devise-plays-can-t-be-stupid-4349870/Mon, 23 Jun 2008 01:54:48 +0200 <p>I have to confess something really terrible. I drank alcohol while pregnant. Drank it before I actually got to know I was pregnant. Yes, yes, it was unplanned, unexpected and yes..quite understandable since I had sex after having missed a pill or two. Surely my attitude of forgetfulness and negligence had for most part of my life resulted in trivial consequences such as failing to return on time books to the library or for days losing sight of house keys. But then came a moment when it resulted in another human life. Gosh, I should have had a contraceptive injection or something more permament and independent of my clogged brain. Or should I?<br> Well, I do not regret having my babies. They are precious to me. What I regret is that I had not given them the start that most modern mothers give to their children, and they start giving it to them before the little creatures are even conceived.<br> Folic acid<br> Trust Funds<br> Registration with the best private school<br> To name just a couple.<br> I had given to my babies none of the good, healthy and future oriented stuff. Instead I smoked and drank. Drank and smoked. But only Until I found out that I was growing little stupified fetuses in me.<br> That 'stupified' bit actually is something what I wanted to write this post about.<br> My little daughter-1 year old -is lovely. But since the moment of her birth I had been utterly and deeply convinced she is afflicted with Foetal Alchol Syndrome. I saw in her symptoms of mental retardation since she was about 3 months. She could not speak coherently, could not point to the objects I named, and flashcards with letters beat her black and blue.<br> To make things more serious, she was born with a rather peculiar look. Add to that a few odd developmental abnormalities (problems with hips, skin, eye- of of which fortunately has since cleared) and there was no doubt as to the fact that she was infused with too much alcohol . I cannot describe the agony I went through because of the FAS diagnosis which I formulated myself, with a little bit of help of online forums and medical resources. Fuelled by guilt, my anguish began to become unbearable. And so was the sight of the growing older and ever more mentally impaired being.<br> I almost freaked out when she showed such abnormal behaviour as failing to recognize me in the mornings when she was 6 months old.<br> My heart jumped with horror when my friend's babies started waving bye byes, and she only stared.<br> I could not sleep for weeks, when she started scratching her head with her wrist instead of her her nails.<br> I was brought to tears when she stuck her tough out and - drooling badly-kept it out there for hours. That surely looked stupid.<br> The anxiety stories can go on and on, but one turned to be just ground breaking.<br> My little girl, like most little girls, like to be carried. And I, like most busy mums, cannot do that all the time. So I put her down. Now, to me a reasonable child's behaviour would be to claw and tug at mum's skirt, wail, howl and cry uncontrollably until the fed up parent gives up and picks the stubborn munchkin up . That was at least what my older sensible son did. The little girl showed none of the 'sensible' perseverance , except for the perseveringly ear shattering howls and shrieking. So howling like mad, she never stayed by me, she just ran away, mostly to climb the stairs or a small coffee table made from glass. How bizarre. How unsensible. How mental. How stupid. How FAS.<br> NOT.<br> In fact, that actually turned out to me clever ploy. So clever it took me 4 months to understand it and appreciate.<br> That clever little girl achieved her goal (getting back into her mummy's arms)quicker and easier but doing something, she knew, I would stop her from doing immediately. Of course by picking her up.Clever. So much for FAS. Welcome sanity, and no, I won't drink to that.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/23/girls-who-devise-plays-can-t-be-stupid-4349870/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>healthalcoholparentinghttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/23/girls-who-devise-plays-can-t-be-stupid-4349870/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/21/chardonney-and-ciggies-4345561/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-06-21:/2008/06/21/chardonney-and-ciggies-4345561/Sat, 21 Jun 2008 22:37:24 +0200 <p>What does a single girl do after a long and tiring day of hard work in the office? If not getting plastered in a pub, if not having a pseudo romatic date (only because of the candles), if not toning up her thighs in a gym, a single working girl collapses on a sofa, with a glass (bottle) of white wine and a fag. Bliss. Just letting the alcohol soothe the jumpy nerves, and smoke do the rest of the job, whatever it is (even if it's only cutting short by a few minutes the life of stress and chronic fatigue ).<br> Well, that is not the life of a single, working girl in the big city.<br> Apparently chardoney and fags are a mum's good friends.Revelation to me. I have to say. Since having babies I have found myself living the life of an Amish, well except for the very few special occasions when old and single friends come by with plenty of enthusism and wine bottles to drink their broken hearts better till small hours.<br> So back to mums and chardonney. A bottle at the end of a hard day filled with kids and housework seems to be the standard among mums, the stay at home type in particuler. Kids in beds, white whine out of the fridge. Kind of a treat to a woman whose biggest entertainment of the day is ...cannot really think of any, so will just leave the dots.<br> I tried that 'wine by the end of the day treat' yesterday. Bought the chardoneney at Tesco. Put it in a freezer. Could not wait for the moment of uncorking the bottle, opening the long started never finished book, putting my feet up...So - to fast forward my getting to the moment of bliss- I skipped the time consuming tasks of tooth brushing, nail clipping, ear cleaning, and bathing. Rushed the kiddies quickly into beds. Skipped every second page in a bed time story, well tried to do that, but the kiddies are not so stupid, they hate abridged versions of a story, so had to read the whole lot...got a bit fatigued...gave in to a bit of snooze, still smacking my lips at the thought of a chilled white.<br> The next morning, I found myself on the edge of the bed. With the book's pages squashed between my shoulder and head.<br> The first thing I thought of when I woke up was about the state of my pore clogged face, the make up of yesterday working overnight its way into the deepest realms of my skin horrified my enough to jolt me out of bed to have a good wash.<br> The next thing I thought was the completely unnecessary, annoying and awkward chore of the day: how the hell will I clear the broken bottle of chardonney from the freezer?</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/21/chardonney-and-ciggies-4345561/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>mumswinelifehttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/21/chardonney-and-ciggies-4345561/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/17/title-4329318/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-06-17:/2008/06/17/title-4329318/Tue, 17 Jun 2008 22:32:48 +0200 <p>A few posts back I wrote that I was about to throw myslef in the full time frenzy of finding full time time job. You know, it's the 20 CVs per day frenzy and registering with X number of online recruitment agencies, those who spend a lot of time claiming they have the dream job for me, but after the first phone call give up delivering the dream to me. In other words, they never get back to me. Surely, I am not that stupid, or that rude, or that forgettable. Am I..am I...am I..??????Anyway, digressions aside, I started with the subject of job hunting, just to announce that there was a slack in the activity. Worry not, pick it up, I will soon. It's just some other daily life activities interfered and stole the time.And energy for that matter. And my enthusiasm dropped too. But today, I got fired up again about the whole business to get a job. I met my rich friend. A mum of a lovely, though outsized toddler. Her chief concern of the day every day is to make her life just soooo perfect for herself and her tod; she does it by hunting down for her little offspring the perfect pair of socks perfectly matching his new booties, getting dead set on finding a pair of sandals with a buckle made from pure silver, and swooping in Boots on the last pack of wipes saturated with just the perfect blend of botty soothing herbs.Then, when she accomplishes those deeds, she takes a brief break in front of the telly only to ponder how imperfect her deeds (i.e.purchases) actually were and starts heading back to the shops to have the imperfect goods replaced, refunded or repaired.<br> OK, so how does that tie in with my earlier statement about me getting fired up to find a job..? Well, I guess I would love to have the money to buy the silver buckle sandals, the lavender scented socks, the gold coated wipes and other fab what nots. But then, I missed one link in my chain of thought. It's not her job that pays for her extravagances, it's her husband. So where does that leave me? Well, I think I will just have to curb my desire to buy, buy, buy and serve it to my cynic mind on a plate of sour grapes. After all, those silly spenders of their rich husbands' money have lives so little, they can easily be filled with a dozen reciepts from Debenhams, John Lewis or Laura Ashley. My life takes far more. Even if it is 2356 signs worth of blog post.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/17/title-4329318/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>moneyworking-mumlifeshoppinghttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/17/title-4329318/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/17/why-to-be-a-stay-at-home-mum-4325204/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-06-17:/2008/06/17/why-to-be-a-stay-at-home-mum-4325204/Tue, 17 Jun 2008 01:31:35 +0200 <p>Has anyone ever wondered what SAHMs go through ? Well, apart from the piles of dirty nappies and wipes after wipes after wipes...Why does any sensible, educated and enlightened by the stroke of feminism woman would choose to stay at home in the company with inarticulate, irrational, incontinent, incapable creatures? Some call it maternal instinct. Yes, there is some of that. But it does not stretch so far as to make life feel like bliss made in heaven. And when it does stop stretching, life becomes a dreary and stressful experience. How much can anyone endure hours of monotonous whinging, moaning closely followed by fits of tantrums, during which food lands on the ceiling and on a CD player. Well, no sane woman could endure that for long.Not for the 2,3,4,0r even 10 years that many women choose to stay at home with their offspring. So why do they do that? I have a theory about that, and it says that they choose full time mummying because the alternative is gruelling and gruesome. The alternative is to 'have it all': nice home and a nice career. Except that 'nice' is more often in theory than practice. Nice career often, in most cases of working women, amounts to spending 8 hours per day at the till, at the computer, at the phone, at the shelves, or at some other inanimate object with which we are asked engage to produce some not so nice money (not nice because it is never enough to comfortably cover full time child care expenses, bags of nappies, and basic essentials to keep the family alive such a case of chardonney per month). Add to that, the arsehole of a manager (what kind of recruitment system is in place in this country that it's always arseholes that get promoted?) and the choice becomes a no-brainer. Yeah, cots, snots and play blocks , give them to me any time, they just seem to be a doddle. Of, course, high flying career women have none of these concerns. But then they belong to a different breed, I guess one that should stop breeding. After all the 30 minutes of 'quality' time with their children can only ensure that their children remember what mummy looks and smells like. That's mad. But then women like it mad, in or out of the house..it's always mad. And sad. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/17/why-to-be-a-stay-at-home-mum-4325204/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>stay-at-home-mumworking-mummotherhoodhttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/17/why-to-be-a-stay-at-home-mum-4325204/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/09/have-you-ever-considered-having-a-baby-4294833/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-06-09:/2008/06/09/have-you-ever-considered-having-a-baby-4294833/Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:52:09 +0200 <p>A couple of days ago my best friend from high school paid us a visit. She stayed with us 3 days. It was a dizziness inducing breath of fresh air, that vist of her. Some real woman, with expensive perfume wafitng around her head and shoulders, matching jewellery, matching make-up, zero roots, strict GI diet, and maxi appetite for life. Some of that 'let's take care of number ONE' spirit rubbed off on me, but with only fleeting effect. She left us on Saturday, and today I am back to biscuit scoffing and earings in the knickers drawer ways of my life. With my life bursting at seams with tamtrums, dirty nappies, pukes and teething problems, it's hard to find two matching socks, not to mention earings.But that's my problem.<br> My friend has different issues to deal with. Unmarried. Unbabied. A bit put off by the time pressures of the rigmadomestic life , she is trying to decide if she parts to join the club. Surely, deeo down she knows that some crush turning into love turning into rampant sex churning off babies will do most of the decision making for her. But still, at least for now, she is being quite rational about it. She actually used the visit in our domestic chaos as a test. 'If they play with me and miss me once I am gone, then it's OK for me to have my own kids'She said with a wink, but only to conceal that she was dead serious about the result.<br> 'Sure, why not. I'll tell you if they break down and cry for you when you leave'. And so she spent three days- to my utmost joy- playing with my children, dancing. drawing, rolling around the floor, and getting exhausted, but still reserving enough energy to crack a botlle of wine after kids have gone to bed.<br> Three days later...my friend is now gone<br> Kids are happy, no sign of tears, tucked away in beds<br> I am close to a nervous breakdown.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/09/have-you-ever-considered-having-a-baby-4294833/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/09/have-you-ever-considered-having-a-baby-4294833/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/01/too-depressed-4256321/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-06-01:/2008/06/01/too-depressed-4256321/Sun, 01 Jun 2008 22:29:07 +0200 <p>to write anything sensible. Just as well, it doesn't serve any purpose to anyone, except myself, sometimes..but not this time. Not tonight. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/01/too-depressed-4256321/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/06/01/too-depressed-4256321/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/29/title-4240652/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-28:/2008/05/29/title-4240652/Thu, 29 May 2008 00:46:51 +0200 <p>I have been feeling a bit unsociable lately. But that's hardly surprising, - my ugly and distorted look (aka coldsores, about which I wrote yesterday) sapped all the residual confidence in me. But willy nilly, I had to go out and face the big world. My 3-year old had to be taken to the nursery. And Shopping had to be made.<br> Having smeared my lips with zovirax and donning a pair of sunglasses (as if they could help), I set off.<br> Our neighbourhood is quiet (apart from the one off shooting, siege or sexual assault), so I did pretty all right all the way to the bus stop. There I had to face the Bus Driver.He smiled. He just smiled.Nothing but smiled. His jaw firmly attached to the hinges, no sign of dropping uncontrollably on the steering wheel, 'accidently' honking a horn, stopping the traffic and announcing through a megaphone: I have a monster on board. 'Gosh, they must be trained to keep their nerve, those public transport drivers'. -I thought. I and my child took our seats, and I started to get relaxed. With my eyes busy counting the trees in the street, I managed to avoid eye contact with everyone on the bus. I was doing all right for 5 minutes. And it wasn't until I had to move a bit my neck (it was getting stiff) and eyes with it, that I realized the bus was empty. Big relief/ As they say, the things that we worry most about often never happen, ...but- very much my xperience- sometimes, they do<br> The moment I dropped my boy at the nursery and went shopping I started getting the LOOKS, from almost every passer by. And the looks spoke all sorts of things/.For instance<br> 1. <strong>the old lady on the bench look said</strong>: what a nice mummy, pity the disease<br> 2. <strong>the prim, middle aged and middle class woman </strong>screamed with her eyes: Gee, don't you dare to get close, I am sure that nasty thing is catching<br> 3. <strong>some fat office girls waddling along to Pret a Manger </strong>looked at me with the expression: ok we may be fat, but at least we look human and can have a laugh<br> 4.<strong><strong><strong> A white down and out, beer holding, rug wearing guy </strong></strong></strong>did not look, he coughed and coughed again, which meant: she's got Aids!<br> 5.<strong>dark skinned man with a cigarette looked and muttered (I could have sworn I heard!)- </strong>somebody had one blow job too many, slut.</p> <p>How did all that make me feel? Of course oppressed, harrassed and depressed. At least I know that in a few days time I will be better: coldsore free. And still young, white, slim, sane and sober.Unlike the others..above mentioned. Oppressors. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/29/title-4240652/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>self-imageparanoiahttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/29/title-4240652/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/28/when-your-face-grows-out-of-shape-4233305/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-27:/2008/05/28/when-your-face-grows-out-of-shape-4233305/Wed, 28 May 2008 00:51:09 +0200 <p>The bank holiday was a complete disaster. And it was not only that rain and no sun whatsoever. It was my flu-like condition. High fever, the strained muscles feeling all over my body. I just wanted to have a quiet time, preferably in bed, with a nice cup of warm tea delivered to me. Fat chance, wishful thinking, get real silly me. No down time for me when two kids are toddling around and their father is complaining of some vague pains and aches too. So he basically labelled himself 'unwell' and unfit to take over the 'madhouse' for a few hours.Then, on the last day of the bank holiday he left. To work. The children were quick to fall asleep. I could have an early night. Blissss.....not for long though,: my happy time ended in a burst of tears this morning when I woke up with my lips bursting with god knows how many blisters . They are all over. Like little beads lined along and around my lips.<br> Covered in tonnes of zovirax, I am now trying to have a bit of a sandwich, but I'd better settle for a drink with a straw. Am not sure though if I could do the spout with my lips necessary for sucking that juice..On second thought I will just go to bed.<br> In pain. Distorted. Ugly. Hungry..</p> <p>OK there is a funny side to my facial tragedy. I have just looked at myself in the mirror in the dim light of the bathroom. And I discovered I have got Victoria Beckham pout. But without the trying...<br> may well just run downstairs to get the drink and straw. A pout -may be just as good as a spout. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/28/when-your-face-grows-out-of-shape-4233305/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>coldsoreshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/28/when-your-face-grows-out-of-shape-4233305/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/22/english-social-constipation-lingers-on-f-4209459/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-22:/2008/05/22/english-social-constipation-lingers-on-f-4209459/Thu, 22 May 2008 22:10:35 +0200 <p>Took the kids to the playground today. Hate that. Not the playground itself, but the theatre that goes on amongst parents. They just can never behave normally. At least in my local parks. They are always so hyper, on an almost E-induced ecstasy when it comes to their offspring's little physical activities. It's always all so super, so well done, and fanstastic, so wow, you are a star, so great everything. And no matter if it is only a few swings by a drowsy tod, no matter if it's some clumsy and half-way-brought-to a halt attempt on a 20 inch slide, anything the little 'brats' do always have to be accompanied by louder than usual gushes of excitement. All produced by the parents, naturally. The children normally remain either silent or get fits of tantrums. And who wouldn't?<br> Is that how little kiddies are being brought up to be confident grown-ups in the UK? I suspect that is the intention. To bring up children who truly, no matter what the truth is, believe in themselves, and believe in being a great star (food for thought for Simon C.? :-) </p> <p>And the results of it all? Dubious, I would say, at the very least. Having lived in England for more than 10 years, I'd say the English are rather shy and uncertain of other members of public, <em>the smile is OK but words are intrusion</em> mentality must have something to do with the traumatic amounts of embarassment they endured at the tender age of playground games.</p> <p>By the way, I don't play that 'wow, you're so great' game with my own kids. All they hear from me is: g<em>et on with it and be careful not to break your leg, or neck, or your arm, and don't let go cause you'll smash your tender skull in smithereens</em>. He he he ....hope the conspiring universe won't take it as a wish.. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/22/english-social-constipation-lingers-on-f-4209459/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/22/english-social-constipation-lingers-on-f-4209459/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/20/title-4199929/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-20:/2008/05/20/title-4199929/Tue, 20 May 2008 21:14:50 +0200 <p>My looking for job is not going well at all. I got a rejection letter. It came first class. Why did they bother...I think I prefer no news instead of the standard 'on this occasion you were not selected'. At least, in the absence of bad news, I </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/20/title-4199929/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/20/title-4199929/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/18/desperate-to-earn-money-4187977/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-18:/2008/05/18/desperate-to-earn-money-4187977/Sun, 18 May 2008 01:31:30 +0200 <p>Funny how my motherhood has changed my attitude to money. Before money was not an issue. There was always some cash in my account. And more importantly there was the certainty that more was due to come on a specified day of the month. So I was not particulalry bothered to have spent 50 quid on a round of beers for a bunch of people, whose names, faces and their peculiar 0-in more or less detail discussed- hobbies, observations or feelings had evaporated from my memory by the time I took my hangover busting morning coffee (naturally the expensive sort, from Starbucks). God, if I had not been spending lavishly on beer and that coffee for years and years as a single, fully employed silly girl, I would have at least owned half of the house in which I live with my partner. But then, I never had even for one second thought I would end up with two children, no earnings and a partner to take the sole responsibility for my (our) existance.</p> <p>So now, 3 years down the line of mothering, I am determined to pull myself together and find myself money earning occuption.As a matter of fact I have already started sending my CVs. I am prepared to take on anything. So far, so so bad. Rejection.rejection. total dejection...On the plus side, some firms informed me I was overqualified. But most did not bother to get in touch.</p> <p>Cannot give up, there are so many things I need the money for!!!I guess, this this the first time in my life that any job advert that says: <u>looking for money-motivated individual</u> is for me! Although, I always have the feeling that beneath that statement lies a call for some sucker prepared to accept a crap basic and a sweet prospect of bitterly unrealistic OTE. Am I wrong..</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/18/desperate-to-earn-money-4187977/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/18/desperate-to-earn-money-4187977/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/15/extreme-motherhood-4178953/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-15:/2008/05/15/extreme-motherhood-4178953/Thu, 15 May 2008 20:32:33 +0200 <p>I guess that should be the title of this blog. I am almost the sole carer of my two children. Almost 24/7. My partner works away a lot, and pops around for fleeting visits once or twice a week. With him away from home, I am in charge of two helpless human being, who are lovable, messy and unpredicatble, who throw up, throw tantrums or simply pee on the throw. The older one has been ill for a couple of days and so banned from attending his nursery or any other social gatherings. This meant social exclusion for me for many many hours in a row. Today my frustration with the domestic imprisonment with kiddy babbling for entertainment peaked, and I threw a tantrum of my own. Surely, I am just a human being, in fact a temperamental toddler in strangly overstretched, wrinkly skin and suprisingly dry pants. Smashed a bottle of milk against the wall (thank God they are plastic in this country- the bottles I mean, not the walls)and ..well probably will stop writng now lest any social workers or health visitors read this and decide to pay you a visit. I want to assure only that neither of my children shared the fate of the milk bottle, neither flew so far as the wall..</p> <p>It's quite uncanny how much total strangers feel empowered to interefere in your life, here in the UK. Especially, when you have children. Or, on second thoughts, probably only when you have children, and the intereference is all about the children, for their good, for their sake and in their interest. Otherwise you are left alone..whether you want it or not. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/15/extreme-motherhood-4178953/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/15/extreme-motherhood-4178953/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/14/meningitis-scare-4174817/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-14:/2008/05/14/meningitis-scare-4174817/Wed, 14 May 2008 21:09:14 +0200 <p>I don't remember having a temperature more than 38C myself, so when my 3 year old son had 40 C I panicked. He was all blazing hot, eyes rolling, head drooping. And giving in to a bit of raving..'I am miserable. I don't love you' Poor little boy. I rushed him to the doctor's and heard from her- on medical examination- it was just a viral infection. Nothing serious, but she gave me a warning:<u> st<em>ay alert and watch out for the realy serious symptoms. Eyes senstitivity , drowsiness, stiff neck. <em>Oh, and -very important- those purple spots that when you rub them would not blanche, ie. go white. And, pour as much fluids into him as possible. Also give him some ligh food to eat </em></em></u>. Food and Fluids: that may be difficult- I thought to myself. This boy just survives on air and all the invisible or visible particles floating in it. Anything served on something as suspicious as a plate or glass is dismissed after two bites or gulps. But anyway I took him home, full of hope he would be all right. Just before we reached the house, we popped to our local shop and got a big rasperry icecream. 'That's smart'I thought smugly of my tactic to trick trickle some liquid down the young patient's throat. My son tucked in, with a little help from the hot sun. Actually half of the icecream melted and poured down his arm by the time we reached home, but worry not. Soap and water did the trick, and as for the light blue shirt so messed with the apparently indelible fruity stains, well stains -I had developed a kind of a blind spot for them quite a long time ago. Around the time when I was putting my son on solids for the first time..<br> Back at home, I stayed alert. As the day went by, and the bottle of calpol got emptier, my little boy seemed better. Less hot, less tired. I felt less panicky. The atmosphere was peaceful and cosy until around 6 pm, when my boy almost collapsed on my lap and said he wanted to go to bed. Such volunteering happens very rarely. Was he becoming unarousably drowsy? I felt suspcious, but decided to stay clam. As I stroked his head, and his arms, I saw THIS and jumped up. In fright. In panick. In almost paralysing fear. There, around his elbow, were two big purple patches. I rubbed them, they would not blanche. With my heart pounding its way out of my chest, I grabbed my mobile phone and dialled 999. 'I need an ambulance, my son is got meningitis.' There was a questions asking voice on the other side of the line, but the furious rush of blood through my head drowned everything out. 'I know.. I know for sure, he had a high fever since yesterday, and has just deteriorated, please me address....' I forced myslef to calm down a bit, when the voice refused to take my address before I answered some questions.<br> 'Yes, he has..no he hasn't....yes they are purple, yes big..on his arms, no, they would not go white...I am rubbing them right now..Yes, RUBBING. And they are not going white..no...Hold on a sec..they seem to be going. No, no, not white, they just seem to be going, I mean going completely away..Disappearing, vanishing...Gosh I think it's false alarm..I am sorry to bother you. I truly am sorry.<br> I put the receiver down, and tasted his arm. The purple spot tasted of rasperry. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/14/meningitis-scare-4174817/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/14/meningitis-scare-4174817/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/12/mummy-i-don-love-you-4166004/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-12:/2008/05/12/mummy-i-don-love-you-4166004/Mon, 12 May 2008 23:13:42 +0200 <p>This is what my 3 year old son told me today.<br> We woke up. At 7 a.m. Quite a norm. Washed, got dressed,ate breakfast.He bit a toast with jam three times. Then said -ENOUGH- the word that drives me nuts.<br> Then I declared we would go to socialise in the local park, meet some friends, have some fun. 'I don't want' he said. The 3 year old stood in the hallway, stubborn. refusing to move. He does it on occasion when he wants to be difficult for some reason.I negotiate with him for a minute or two. No use. He says he is wobbly, which in his language means 'shiverish', which I take just as a sign of his morning tantrum. So I decide not to take any shit, and do what I planned to do: meet another mum with her toddling daughter. I open the door. Get out. With the younger child in the pram. I rattle the keys. Make a stern face. The 3 year old follows reluctantly. I nudge him to step on his buggy board. He cries. I take him by his hand and place it on the pram handle. 'Hold on tight' I say with a forced playfulness. Off to the park. Beautiful sun, some breeze. All perfect, except for the crying, crying, crying. Have had enough. I can feel tension growing up in me, and try to release it by quickening my pace. I start running. When I reach the park I am slightly out of my breath. Some swinging, some playing around, and the three year old starts throwing up, complains of stiff neck and looks as if he is about to faint. I call for an ambulance. A few medical checks later, I Get reassurance that all is OK. 'He seems OK. He just looks a bit fed up. Call us if his condition gets worse'- one of the paramedics says. On our way back home, my son says he is miserable. I ask him why. He tells me that I took him out of the house crying and paid no attention to his shivers.'Mummy, I am sad' he cries. 'I am sorry. Tell me, how I can make you happy. Tell me, what I can do for you' I ask. 'Nothing' he says.'Why' I ask worried. His eyes get teary. 'Mummy, I don't love you' </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/12/mummy-i-don-love-you-4166004/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/12/mummy-i-don-love-you-4166004/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/11/still-living-not-quitting-4161684/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-11:/2008/05/11/still-living-not-quitting-4161684/Sun, 11 May 2008 23:49:12 +0200 <p>Looking back on my life I have just realized that I am a shameless quitter. I had 15 jobs, three times as many relationships, 100 diets, 200 hand bags, and twice as many hobbies. Of course some of these lasted barely more than a split second. And now I am in a situation where life demands long term committment . I am a mother. And there is nothing more essential in motherhood than committment. Well, some of you may argue that the word 'essential' is not the best one. After all, one can always abandon one's kids. Put them away in care fosters' parents. The kid would surely survive. But this option is good for those who are prepared to live with the feeling of guilt, or harrowing questions ringing in their ears: <u>what would have been, if.</u>..I am prepared to take neither on board. No soul gnawing questions for me, and thank you, I will pass on the feeling of quilt as well. I will stick around until the moment my birds fly the nest. And although I know that's a long sticking around time, I am determined not to quit. So for the next 18 years, I am prepared to face the highs and lows. I know there are many many things to happen. What these things will be God only knows and the mere thought of what they could be gives me severe worry headaches and palpitations at night. So For the moment I won't think ahead more than tomorrow. I'll just wake up around 7, and prepare breakfast for my children, who do not eat breakfast. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/11/still-living-not-quitting-4161684/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/11/still-living-not-quitting-4161684/#commentshttp://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/10/why-blogging-4154368/tag:livingintheuk.blog.co.uk,2008-05-09:/2008/05/10/why-blogging-4154368/Sat, 10 May 2008 00:43:46 +0200 <p>Apparently, a new blog is set up every second. That's a lot of blogs per minute, 60! Don't you agree? And even more per hour:1200! And so it goes on and on, tick tock tick tock...new blog; new blog, new blog.....It's getting mind-bogglingly crowded here, in the cyberspace.. So why throwing in yet another blog into the packed space? Well,by analogy, one may ask: why to have children on our overcrowded planet? There are already millions and millions of them in the world. Many of them are starving, many of them sick, many of them suffering, and ALL of them a big burden and strain on the natural resources available to us on Earth.. And yes, many people, being very much aware of this situation, just give up on the idea of procreating altogether. Others simply love sex and give themselves up to it with abandon and they do not mind its 'side effects' coming after 9 months or so.<br> So, edging back on track- I belong to the second category of people: love sex and do not mind its side effects. In other words:I love writing and would not mind if it yielded some fruit- preferably in the form of a multi-million contract with a film producer, who would get so thrilled with my blog, so full of hope for its money spinning potential, that he or she would eagerly shove a neat contract under my nose to sign by way of confirming that I would not mind my life turned into a movie, with Julia Roberts -who else!-playing me.</p> <p>OK, on a serious note, I like my life, and my children, and their father. We have lots of great moments behind us, lots more -I hope- to come.Those that have passed I will keep referring to, those that are currently part of our lives, I will write about as we go, as we live, as we love.<br> ..and argue, and hate, and break down and cry.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/10/why-blogging-4154368/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://livingintheUK.blog.co.uk/2008/05/10/why-blogging-4154368/#comments