I came across a post by the Unmumsy Mum, yesterday: An Open Letter to the Mum with the Red Coat. In it, she speaks about feeling judged. It really resonated with me and as I reflected on why, I realised that when my children were younger, I felt judged a lot of the time.

It was at its worst when the girls were all pre-school age. When daughter 4 was born, daughter 1 was 4 years and 8 months, so I had 4 kids under the age of 5. I can clearly remember a mum from a toddler group saying to me when she heard I was having a second baby: but your first child is still a baby! These words have stuck in my head ever since. It was the start of me feeling judged.

When I went shopping in my local town with the double buggy, I would huff and puff my way around the shops – doggedly determined to show everyone that I could cope with a small tribe myself. Which is just as well, because very few people offered me help – in the form of perhaps holding a door open, or squeezing to the side just a little, so that I could get passed. No. Overwhelmingly I felt judged. I was tutted at by other women, mainly older women who might have known better, but whose memories had faded with the years. I was stared at. I would smile back, thinking they were making a fleeting, but kind connection. No. They would continue to stare at me, stony faced. Sometimes when I was feeling particularly sleep deprived or brave, I asked them what they wanted of me and they would always turn away. They had made their judgement, without even wanting to test out my willingness to smile.

I soon discovered that however well behaved my children were, independent cafe owners and pub landlords felt very unnerved by our presence. I ended up using the larger chains, who seemed far more accommodating and kind. The issue was never space – I wouldn’t try to squeeze us all in to a quaint tea shop and expect a hug with my cup of tea. The thing was that because other parents also felt judged, they gravitated to the places they could almost relax. Many independent hostelries should have painted: children not welcome, on their doors.

In fact, I felt unwelcome so often in those early years, that when I occasionally did feel welcome, I would be ridiculously happy: oh thank you so much for showing some kindness to my relatively well-behaved children today and for not giving me, ‘that look’. Please can I give you a hug?

It was pathetic. Why couldn’t people just help, ask, chat, smile, not judge?

We all make assumptions, but they don’t have to lead to judgements. God knows, life as a parent is hard enough.

 

I love Autumn: those deep reds and golds, reflecting the sun’s warmth. That chill in the morning air, that makes you wish you’d worn a coat. The evenings drawing in, giving you an excuse to light the fire and put on your pj’s at 4.30pm. It’s not as cold or as dark as Winter. There’s a glow to Autumn that is still hanging on to the heat of the Summer.

On our dog walk this morning, the grass looked as if it was covered in frost, but of course it wasn’t. It was covered in tiny spiders’ webs that were glistening with dew. Partner was suddenly the font of all knowledge on spiders and told me that in every square foot of grass, there are hundreds of them busying away. He saw a programme once – I was almost impressed.

I was more impressed than I was with the professional leaf blower, who was shifting leaves yesterday on our estate, with his powerful machine. They billowed up in all their gorgeous, golden glory. A feast of autumn confetti for those who were lucky enough to be twitching their curtains and watching the show. Then they settled back down, a mere few feet from where they started. Perhaps I am missing the point. Perhaps someone who may have seen a programme on leaf blowing can put me right. I have always seen the job of the leaf blower as a thankless task. One undertaken by retired men, who need a purpose while their wife is at pilates. One of those jobs that is further down the list than mowing the lawn and strimming the hedge, but that they eventually get to with a sigh. My mum used to use a rake. Every Sunday in Autumn she would be out in our garden with her woolly hat on and a rake. I can clearly remember asking her why she was bothering, because more leaves will fall during the night. Besides, I liked kicking the leaves up at my sisters and smelling their earthy, rotting smell.

I love Autumn. Especially when we have got through the horror and drama of Halloween and we can look forward to fireworks and huge bonfires. Collecting chestnuts, despite no-one actually liking them when they are roasted.

Autumn has the anticipation of Christmas hanging around it, without the stress. There is a frisson of Christmas excitement in October. It builds-up in November, reaching fever pitch and drunken parties by mid-December: hangovers and too much Camembert. By Christmas day, you are wondering how you actually ever drank mulled wine without feeling repulsed, but in the Autumn it is pure nectar, as it is symbolising the start of something, that like childbirth you have forgotten how it ends.

I love Autumn. I looked at the spring bulbs on offer in the supermarket this morning and I thought how lovely it would be to plant them now and see them spring into life in February, when we are feeling at our lowest ebb. When we are so low that we grab hold of Valentine’s Day by its balls and thrash the hell out of it, because we all need an excuse to drink champagne in the depths of Winter. But today, I resisted the urge to buy. I resisted because I want to be mindful and live in the moment of Autumn. I want to indulge in the richness of the colours and maybe, in December when it is too late, I’ll plant those bulbs.

As I lay in bed this morning, awake a little earlier than I would have liked, a piece of the jigsaw puzzle of my life slotted so easily into place, that I wondered why I hadn’t found it long before. The truth is, that piece of the jigsaw has always been lying there, next to others and I had picked it up and tried to place it in the jigsaw many times before, but it hadn’t quite fitted and so I’d laid it back down to the side. This morning I picked it up and it was the final piece. It was the piece that completed the puzzle. On this piece the word that is written is: affection.

Affection can mean many things. It can be deeply needed and unwanted. It can be between lovers and family and four legged friends. Humans need affection and depending on who or what this affection is between, it can be shown in a multitude of ways. Above all, affection makes us feel secure and wanted.

‘Secure’ and ‘wanted’ – the power of these words is the crux of my missing jigsaw piece. You see, you can have a relationship with someone or something that looks as if it functions. It can even feel as if it functions pretty well. Yet, without that missing jigsaw piece that has the word: affection on it, it is, ‘functional’ and for me, this is a word that lacks power. A lack of affection makes us unhappy, stressed and lonely. Yes, we can still function. To others looking in our lives look good, because we are functioning. We are getting on, succeeding, reproducing, aspiring. We are achieving all these things and more – so why don’t we feel happy? How can we possibly not feel ecstatically fulfilled? What the hell is wrong with us?

What the hell is wrong with me? I asked myself. Over and over again. I searched for the answer. I am a kind and thoughtful and intelligent person, I told myself, over and over again. Why can’t I find the answer? Why can’t I complete this puzzle.

Then this morning, there it was. So now it is complete. That final piece of my jigsaw is so powerful, yet I had passed it over. I had picked it up and turned it around with my finger tips many times. I had even tried to fit it in the hole, but I had underestimated its power. I had underestimated just how important affection is. So important that a lack of it can undermine almost everything you have built up in your life. Showing affection is essential. I know that now. I want you to know it too.

It isn’t just important, it is essential.

 

 

As a mum to 5 girls, I have been particularly interested in all the reports in the papers recently, about how much we are damaging girls psychologically by calling them, ‘pretty’. According to psychologists, this is undermining their self esteem, as they grow up feeling that they are ultimately defined by their looks. In one article I read, Linda Palmer, Chief Executive of Lady Geek, seemed to be getting particularly hysterical. In an article entitled: Don’t you dare tell my daughter she’s ‘pretty’, she says: ‘tell your own daughter, and your nieces and cousins and grandchildren…just how much they can achieve. Don’t define girls by their looks; show them what they can do.’ I thought about the last couple of times I had seen two of my nieces and remembered that on each occasion I had complimented them on what they were wearing. Shit, I thought after reading Linda’s article, does this mean I am part of what she calls: ‘the “sugar and spice” adage that ‘just won’t die – setting our girls up for failure’? But you see, I don’t think I am. Because if you strip away the fear of me complimenting their skirt and their sparkly cardigan (and for that compliment I got a twirl) you will see that there is so much more to what I say to them than this. This is just a small part of the way in which I talk to them. My complimenting their clothes is not defining who they are, it is simply complimenting them on their clothes. I also recently told one of my nephews that I liked his t shirt. People are also getting very hett up about the different ways girls and boys are spoken to. Examples are cited of how little girls are told by strangers that they are pretty, while their brothers are told that they are smart. Is this really true? I mean, I am constantly telling people that all their children are gorgeous. Crikey – there I go again. I must stop before I set any more children up for failure.

I am not dismissing the reports. I do think that as parents and relatives it is important that we don’t only talk to girls about their looks, but what I am questioning is, do we? Or is this is yet another example of reports that have been seized upon by journalists to terrify parents and undermine their confidence? 

In another article I read, Sarah Newton, the author of: ‘Help! My Teenager is an Alien: The Everyday Situation Guide for Parents’, tells us that statements like: ‘you’re so pretty’ to our daughters, ‘can have a devastating effect on a girl in the long run’. Oh god, I think I may have told my 4 year old she looked like a beautiful princess a couple of times when she wore her Cinderella outfit. Hell, I may have told ALL of them at some point or other in all those years of dressing up and parties. Should I have even let them dress up in those damn Disney dresses? Don’t worry though, ‘a subtle shift in language can ensure your daughter grows up much more prepared for success and the adult world.’ Thank goodness for that, I can redeem myself by ‘commenting on what they are doing and asking what interests them. Instead of telling them they are good girls, we should be saying how patient they are or that they listen intently. Instead of commenting on how a girl should or shouldn’t behave, we should be telling them that we love the fact that they can express themselves and stick up for themselves.’

My point is, that we are telling our daughters all these things, aren’t we? I have never been a parent who constantly tells my girls how beautiful they are and reading all these recent articles I wondered whether it’s because my gut instinct as a parent is that sub consciously I don’t want to define them by their looks. However, I’m not sure parents should get too hung up about it. Yes, it is sad that a recent BBC survey had found that six out of ten eight to 12-year-olds thought they’d be happier thinner, and that research by Girl Guiding UK had found that girls under ten often link happiness with body image. However, the blame for this cannot simply lie with the parents. There is a much bigger picture here. There is a media fire that is burning so hot on body image that it is impossible for girls to grow up unaffected by it. The message to parents should certainly be not to add fuel to the fire, but equally the blame for the pressures their daughters may feel as they are growing up, should not be laid squarely at their feet. 

Think of a time recently, because I bet there’s been one, where you have had to face ‘moving on’. 

This phrase is so personal to each unique situation it is relating to and it can also be incredibly difficult to achieve. It is, however, so vitally important that we do achieve it: for us, for the people around us and depending on the situation, for the other people who are affected by our ability to do so. 

If you are unable to move on, then you are holding on. What you are trying to hold on to may be hugely important to you, but holding on is so often holding you back. Of course, some things are good to hold on to, such as memories, but at some point it is important to face the concept of moving on. 

Last week I read a letter in the Times to an agony aunt. It was from a man who had lost his wife to cancer and was struggling emotionally with the thought of starting another relationship. When we read stories like this one, we are all able to understand his dilemma and whilst we sympathise with his difficulty, we would most certainly all be advising him to move on. 

When someone feels that they have been wronged in some way, they will often find it particularly hard to move on. Whilst this is understandable, the person who is most affected by this inability, is the person themselves. Bitterness eats away at them and turns them into someone who people may at one time may have sympathised with, but who start to feel frustrated with the person’s resoluteness not to let go of the past. This can be the case in a divorce, where one partner had an affair. Hanging on to hatred for that person is simply stopping them from building a positive and happy life and where children are involved it merely serves to make their lives unnecessarily harder. When moving on requires forgiveness, it can feel incredibly difficult to let go, but ultimately a huge relief from a damaging burden. 

I think it’s important to remember that moving on doesn’t necessarily require you to forget, but to release yourself from the chains of the past. The past is gone and holding on to it prevents us from building a positive future.

It can hurt to let go, but sometimes it hurts more to hold on.

Not another one! No sooner had I sighed a huge sigh of relief that I had completed my answers to 73 questions, after being nominated by Charlie at Mess and Merlot, than I am tagged by Fran at Whinge Whinge Wine to yet again delve into the depths of my brain to find more answers to her searching questions. Fran has been shortlisted for best comic writer at the Mumsnet Blogging Awards, so do go and check out her blog.

So, here goes…

1) There is no electricity and won’t be for the next week. NONE. After eating the contents of the freezer (assuming you have a gas cooker) what the hell do you do with yourself?

Book into a 5 star hotel and claim on the insurance

2) What time constitutes a lie-in in your house?

8am. The kids lie-in now, so what did we go and do? We got 2 dogs who wake us up early.

3) Why is your greatest achievement, bar your children?

Becoming a Taekwon-do World Champion

4) What is your favourite blog post ever (your own, or someone else’s)?

Ooh tricky…I rather like Twat …I just love that word. I loved one of Hurrah for Gin’s I read recently: Mum’s night out

5) If you could only use Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, which one would you choose?

Facebook

6) How often per month do you think ‘screw it, I’ll give up blogging’?

Ha! I’ve only just started, so not often. Give it time…

7) If I was a newbie and just starting my blog, and I came to you for advice, what would you tell me?

Say goodbye to your family and home cooked meals

8) Chocolate or strawberry milkshake?

Strawberry

9) What is the best fruit?

Mango

10) What are your top three hits/bands from the 80s…

Wake me up before you go, go!  – Wham
Girls just wanna have fun – Cyndi Lauper
Eye of the Tiger – Survivor

Now apparently I have to tag people to answer my questions. So, I challenge you: Helen at Just Saying Mum, Mac at Reflections from me, Sharon at After the Playground and Talya at Motherhood: The Real Deal.

Enjoy!

1. What would you like to stop?
2. Which celebrity would you choose to personal train you?
3. What age were you when you had the most fun?
4. What have you had to get used to recently?
5. What is the most annoying habit of someone who lives in your house?
6. Who is your favourite comedian?
7. Who inspires you?
8. What song, if any, makes you cry?
9. What meal do you cook the most?
10. Where is your favourite place on earth? (It may not be somewhere you have been, just somewhere that you feel is amazing).

Vogue’s 73 questions posed to celebrities had completely passed me by, until Charlie at Mess and Merlot, blogged her answers in a post and tagged me. Most people who have been tagged have vlogged their answers. I am going to save you all from having to endure me on screen and simply write them down. So here they are:

Vogue’s 73 Questions List