Wow, it's been a while.
Anyway, some comic relief. Enjoy.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
A new level of wrong...
We read a lot of books with Charlie. Every week he goes to the library with Grandma and comes back with 8 new books (and pizza, but that's a different story). One of this week's discoveries was a story called Mice and Beans by Pam Munoz Ryan. It's adorable, a [mouse]tail about Rosa Maria organising a birthday celebration for Catalina, the youngest grandchild in her huge family. Obviously with any Mexican celebration, there is a pinata filled with candy and treats. Which Charlie decided was fabulous. You get to destroy something with a stick and get candy as a reward; what's not to love about that? So I did a little skipping around on eBay and found this Cookie Monter Pull Pinata. Now is it just my perverse little mind, or do you really release the candy by pulling ribbons out of Cookie Monster's butt? I don't now about you, but Cookie Monster shitting candy on kids strikes a new level of wrong for me...
Watching - The Cat in the Hat Knows a Lot About That
Listening - to the sounds of Charlie making Playdoh ice cream
Reading - The London Hanged. Still.
Wearing - Jeggings, several layers of T shirt, odd stripey socks and a hoodie.
Wanting - to go to Michaels or AC Moore for crafty stuff.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
The Shape of a Mother
Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I've felt as though I no longer had any control over my body. My son is now 3 years old, and I am finally beginning to feel like I have a tenuous claim of ownership over my body. I've never been skinny. Whilst my friends tended to fall into the cute, pixie-faced petite blonde category of human, I'm tall, strong, brunette and curvy. It's isolating. Being surrounded by people but never feeling like one of them is desperately isolating. It's lonely. When I fell pregnant aged 21 it was even more difficult to feel like I had any connection to them. My friends with babies had fallen away from my world after high school. They majority of them were pregnant within a few months of finishing our GCSEs at age 16, moved into a house in town with their boyfriends and made a life for themselves as a mummy. I stayed in school to sit my A levels, I went to university, I travelled. I never planned to be a mummy, it just wasn't on my radar. My close friends were the same. Even those who were settling down and getting married weren't having babies yet. Once again, I felt stuck out on a limb and on my own. When my baby was born I felt awful. My complete lack of control over my body was suddenly hugely apparent. I was a fit, strong UK size 14 when he was born. I ballooned to a size 18 because I loaded up with sugar. It was the only thing which could make me feel like I had any energy. I had stretch marks from my thighs to my boobs and everywhere between. I went from a 34C to a 36E, which give me back trouble, something I'd never experienced before.
But how the heck was I going to lose weight and get back into shape? I was a final year university student, with a young baby. I wanted to get back into playing rugby, but my knee wasn't up to it (I'd torn the medial collateral ligament, twice, and when I eventually did try to play again I managed a week and a half training before I blew my knee out totally, snapping the anterior cruciate ligament and the medial meniscus cartilage which resulted in surgery). I don't have the time to go to the gym, or swim or run. I certainly can't afford it. So I just lived. I went out with my friends and danced while finishing my degree. I got a job working in my local pub, and then at the rugby club, so I was always on the move and laughing, so much laughing! I went back to summer camp and spent my summer riding ponies and walking around camp and swimming in the lake. And steadily the weight came off. But even though now, three years later, I am smaller than I was before I found out I was pregnant, I'm a completely different shape. My post-baby boobs are different sizes. My tummy looks like a sagging carrier bag of oatmeal, draped over some killer abs (they're there, they're just hiding). My arms are bulkier with muscle, because lifting my boy takes some effort. I'm not OK with this.
I breathed a sigh of relief and had a little smile to myself when this picture of Julia Roberts appeared in magazines. A celebrity mummy who hadn't rushed to her plastic surgeon to have
a tummy tuck and breast lift. Hurrah! There was hope for us all! But it wasn't enough. I'm much younger than Julia Roberts, and my friends are my age without the mum-tums. Whilst I've never felt pressured to conform, knowing what my body used to be like and and it is now upsets me. Then I found this website and our unhealthy attitudes to the naked female body whilst randomly clicking StumbleUpon. It meant something to me. Having been a rugby player I was familiar with the variety and stunning beauty of all our bodies. Team showers after matches for me weren't a torturous ordeal but just another thing which held us together not only as a team but as friends. Carrying our conversations about the match, the state of our latest unfinished essays, our plans to get silly celebrating that night, or whatever mundane topic was up for discussion we'd drag ourselves in from the pitch, get undressed and all head to the shower. The conversations would continue regardless, although perhaps with the occasional deviation to comment on what a great set of boobs someone has! Reading through that website though, I came across this. The Shape of a Mother. It's wonderful. At last something which says more than just "you're beautiful" or "you're body did something amazing", but instead says "I know how it can make you feel ugly, I understand how you can feel hijacked, but you are still a beautiful woman, wobbly bits, screaming toddler and all". I urge all my fellow mummies to go and check it out to see that every one's body recovers from pregnancy differently, but every one's body changes. And all of you without children, please read it too. Realise that when you stare, a little bit grossed out, at my mum-tum when I walk around in a bikini, I am no longer going to feel ashamed, but proud of what that means.
Watching - Charlie, attempting to balance on a stool shaped like an elephant, and failing dismally. The boy is a constant work-out for my giggle-gland :D
Listening - to the music in my head, which is currently the song "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails / Johnny Cash. My internal monologue is trying to decide which version is better.
Wearing - Black leggings, an over sized pink vest I "distressed", and a purple and slate check shirt.
Reading - lots of Dr. Seuss. I feel slightly deprived having never read them as a child.
Wanting - Dairy Milk.
But how the heck was I going to lose weight and get back into shape? I was a final year university student, with a young baby. I wanted to get back into playing rugby, but my knee wasn't up to it (I'd torn the medial collateral ligament, twice, and when I eventually did try to play again I managed a week and a half training before I blew my knee out totally, snapping the anterior cruciate ligament and the medial meniscus cartilage which resulted in surgery). I don't have the time to go to the gym, or swim or run. I certainly can't afford it. So I just lived. I went out with my friends and danced while finishing my degree. I got a job working in my local pub, and then at the rugby club, so I was always on the move and laughing, so much laughing! I went back to summer camp and spent my summer riding ponies and walking around camp and swimming in the lake. And steadily the weight came off. But even though now, three years later, I am smaller than I was before I found out I was pregnant, I'm a completely different shape. My post-baby boobs are different sizes. My tummy looks like a sagging carrier bag of oatmeal, draped over some killer abs (they're there, they're just hiding). My arms are bulkier with muscle, because lifting my boy takes some effort. I'm not OK with this.
I breathed a sigh of relief and had a little smile to myself when this picture of Julia Roberts appeared in magazines. A celebrity mummy who hadn't rushed to her plastic surgeon to have
a tummy tuck and breast lift. Hurrah! There was hope for us all! But it wasn't enough. I'm much younger than Julia Roberts, and my friends are my age without the mum-tums. Whilst I've never felt pressured to conform, knowing what my body used to be like and and it is now upsets me. Then I found this website and our unhealthy attitudes to the naked female body whilst randomly clicking StumbleUpon. It meant something to me. Having been a rugby player I was familiar with the variety and stunning beauty of all our bodies. Team showers after matches for me weren't a torturous ordeal but just another thing which held us together not only as a team but as friends. Carrying our conversations about the match, the state of our latest unfinished essays, our plans to get silly celebrating that night, or whatever mundane topic was up for discussion we'd drag ourselves in from the pitch, get undressed and all head to the shower. The conversations would continue regardless, although perhaps with the occasional deviation to comment on what a great set of boobs someone has! Reading through that website though, I came across this. The Shape of a Mother. It's wonderful. At last something which says more than just "you're beautiful" or "you're body did something amazing", but instead says "I know how it can make you feel ugly, I understand how you can feel hijacked, but you are still a beautiful woman, wobbly bits, screaming toddler and all". I urge all my fellow mummies to go and check it out to see that every one's body recovers from pregnancy differently, but every one's body changes. And all of you without children, please read it too. Realise that when you stare, a little bit grossed out, at my mum-tum when I walk around in a bikini, I am no longer going to feel ashamed, but proud of what that means.
Watching - Charlie, attempting to balance on a stool shaped like an elephant, and failing dismally. The boy is a constant work-out for my giggle-gland :D
Listening - to the music in my head, which is currently the song "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails / Johnny Cash. My internal monologue is trying to decide which version is better.
Wearing - Black leggings, an over sized pink vest I "distressed", and a purple and slate check shirt.
Reading - lots of Dr. Seuss. I feel slightly deprived having never read them as a child.
Wanting - Dairy Milk.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Listening, Reading, Watching, Wearing, Wanting
Listening - Mostly to Lady Gaga, because watching my boys dance around the living room to Telephone is somewhat hilarious.
Reading - Random sites found via StumbleUpon
Watching - Sesame Street. Obviously...
Wearing - Black leggings, denim skirt and a purple T.
Wanting - My boots to arrive. Purply goodness!
Reading - Random sites found via StumbleUpon
Watching - Sesame Street. Obviously...
Wearing - Black leggings, denim skirt and a purple T.
Wanting - My boots to arrive. Purply goodness!
Spreading love and happiness, one post-it at a time...
If you don't already know about Operation Beautiful, you've missed out. It's a simple concept; spreading a little bit of love, and confidence, one post-it message at a time. As women we live in a world of unrealistic expectations, our magazines perpetuate the myth that natural beauty is best whilst photo-shopping images to create unnaturally "perfect" models. We are told that we can have our cake and eat it, but we must punish ourselves with brutal diet and exercise regimes to compensate for those extra cake-related calories. Heaven forbid we enjoy that cake, go back for seconds, and not give a rat's arse if that cake happens to make us a little thicker around our middles. Operation Beautiful does it's best to spread a little joy, to tell us that we are beautiful no matter what shape we are, we are worthy no matter what job we do, we are loved no matter what our relationship status. And that has got to be a worthy message.
It struck a particular chord with me as I discovered Operation Beautiful this summer whilst at camp. You can barely move but for teenage insecurities at camp. It's a diversity camp, and everyone is accepted and loved for you they are (it's corny, but amazingly it's true. It's an incredible place). But that doesn't change the fact that wherever there are teenagers, or people for that matter, there are going to be body issues, crises of confidence and all of the other crap that goes with a rapidly changing body, social world and a sea of hormones. So I took up the idea of Operation Beautiful and ran with it. And a pack of post-its... And you should too.
It struck a particular chord with me as I discovered Operation Beautiful this summer whilst at camp. You can barely move but for teenage insecurities at camp. It's a diversity camp, and everyone is accepted and loved for you they are (it's corny, but amazingly it's true. It's an incredible place). But that doesn't change the fact that wherever there are teenagers, or people for that matter, there are going to be body issues, crises of confidence and all of the other crap that goes with a rapidly changing body, social world and a sea of hormones. So I took up the idea of Operation Beautiful and ran with it. And a pack of post-its... And you should too.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Stumbling through cyberspace, one click at a time.
Recently, I discovered StumbleUpon. OK, that's not entirely true. I was introduced to StumbleUpon some months ago by accident, borrowing a computer to quickly check my email and getting sidetracked by the task bar urging me to Stumble!. Anything which uses exclamation points is going to catch my attention, I'm just like that. So I clicked a couple of times and if I'm honest, wasn't hugely enamoured with any of the pages it threw up. But I was bored, as with most of my greatest discoveries, so I decided I would venture towards StumbleUpon with my own laptop. Once I'd realised you could select your own areas of interest it made sense as to why nothing on the borrowed computer had caught my attention; frankly video games and anomalies in the laws of physics aren't my cup of tea. But with my own settings; fashion, art, cult movies, photography, women's rights, history, equestrianism, rugby, heavy metal and crafting to name a few, suddenly StumbleUpon came alive to me. Granted, for every delight of a page it suggests there are just as many that receive nothing more than a confused expression before I merrily clicked on my way again. I've discovered new blogs, new online stores, new music, new games, new ideas to occupy my three-year-old... I shall sign off with an idea stolen from just one such website, found at NoGoodForMe.com, a brief snapshot of my existence right now - Listening, Reading, Watching, Wearing, Wanting - which I intend to finish every posting with.
Listening - Nothing at this moment, but thanks to the wonder of Pandora radio, I've been listening to a lot of folk metal and ska punk.
Reading - The London Hanged - Crime and Civil Society in the Eighteenth Century by Peter Linebaugh. Criminology + social history = happy me.
Watching - I've recently been obsessing over Criminal Minds. I can't help it!
Wearing - Skinny jeans from Primark (so shoot me), silver sparkly Chucks with pink laces, and my awesome Dungeon shirt from camp this summer.
Wanting - Not wanting, but needing my immigration stuff to be sorted. It's such a nightmare, all I want is to be able to live and work in the same country as my family...
Listening - Nothing at this moment, but thanks to the wonder of Pandora radio, I've been listening to a lot of folk metal and ska punk.
Reading - The London Hanged - Crime and Civil Society in the Eighteenth Century by Peter Linebaugh. Criminology + social history = happy me.
Watching - I've recently been obsessing over Criminal Minds. I can't help it!
Wearing - Skinny jeans from Primark (so shoot me), silver sparkly Chucks with pink laces, and my awesome Dungeon shirt from camp this summer.
Wanting - Not wanting, but needing my immigration stuff to be sorted. It's such a nightmare, all I want is to be able to live and work in the same country as my family...
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