No fast food in space...

Spiderman has been experiencing a blip.

The last few weeks at school have been a trying time for him, his teachers and myself alike, while he has tested new boundaries and expressed his 'irritation' for all things...including learning.

Thankfully the last ten days have seen him turn a corner and we appear to be back on track, (admittedly seemingly encouraged by the lack of all things electronic) and he also seems to actually be excited by a recent school project.

I admit, I am excited by his project too. His project is all about Space, the planets and our moon; something that has seen him avidly researching 'Moon Facts' and replaying the lunar landings until the cows come home.

In turn, his growing knowledge has also started to inspire Batman and Superman and the last few nights have seen the three of them in the garden, wrapped up warmly, poised delicately with binoculars, checking out star constellations and crescent moons.

This evening brought further excitement. When I told them about Mars One.
"You mean someone is going to Mars?"
"What? Like forever?"
"Will they have babies?"
"How will they breathe?"
"Can they still order pizza from Domino's?

They found the whole thing fascinating, and so do I - that within the next 8 years man or woman could be landing on Mars; within my and their lifetime.

My hobbits however are less than impressed about going, with looks of horror on their faces as they each refused to go.
"No way."
"Nope, not for me."
"Couldn't live without Domino's Pizza."

Oh it is so wonderful to hear where I am in the pecking order.

However it is also wonderful to have children who get excited about something so exhilarating and inspiring that even I feel quite overwhelmed by it. Is this what it felt like back in 1969 when man landed on the moon? Did they consider it to be impossible as they gathered around their black and white TV's?

Now we are here, and hopefully within the next decade, humans will walk on Mars. Maybe they will find life? Water? Or maybe they will find proof that men really did originate from there?

Alas for me, I will still be plodding along back here on Earth, reprimanding my children and removing hardware and electronics to assist them in making the right choices...however after this evening, I also have another threat to keep them on the straight and narrow.

"If you don't behave, I'll send your ass to Mars."

Just so we are clear...

Clarity.

Makes everything clearer. Smoother. Normal even. Just a little bit of communication so that people understand and can relate to what you are doing or feeling.

When I worked for BA and there was a plane delay, I would make a point of telling everyone that I was checking in or boarding for their flight, as much information that I was able to. It helped them. There were less arguments, less stress at the Gate and even some camaraderie to be found.

We are simple creatures. We like to be told what is happening; it gives us a sense of control.

Now, of course I am well aware that not every reader of my blog knows every intimate part of my life...good God, why would you want to? I am sure that you have your own dilemmas to deal with and adding mine to the mix would be rude and a little bit presumptuous of me.

Nevertheless, I do feel compelled to blog this evening over the issues once again, of communication. Call it; a second part to 'New Balls Please.'

A recent experience has led me down this route. A recent experience has made me completely realise that there are men out there whose only focus is themselves and their ego. Not that I was completely oblivious to that fact, but it is with sad realisation that someone I trusted and allowed back into my life on their request, felt the need to lie to me, ignore me and in general behave badly.

Then finally, after gaining and breaking my trust yet again - they suggested that in a roundabout way that we stay in touch, by commenting on my blog.

Please. Don't do me any favours. Do not think that I want to ever hear from you again by blog, by email, by text or snail mail.

Seriously people, if you are even considering contacting an ex flame to enquire about their general well being or contemplating a new relationship, and there is a little part of you that is just unsure...then DON'T DO IT!! Step away from your 'phone...leave them alone. It took months maybe years to get over you, so don't even consider making them feel shit again. It makes you selfish, weak, shitty and quite frankly, a cockwomble (look it up under Urban Dictionary.)

As for my dilemma, it is no longer a dilemma. I now have complete clarity and for once I am speaking what is really on my mind. I am finally waking up to the fact that being nice, is not always the answer.

So Goodbye. You know who you are.

...and just so we are clear...

New balls please...

All of you men (and women) who have behaved badly towards someone who cares about you, need to go stand in the corner right now.

I am not talking about the usual couple type arguments that come and go like the change of the weather, but all of those who have been deliberately dishonest, lied, broken promises, played mind games and generally made someone else feel crap by your actions.

Badly behaved characters return in real life too...

Yes, you. Go stand in the corner and face the wall and reflect on your behaviour.

Did you think that those that were hurt wouldn't eventually see your behaviour for what it truly is? That we wouldn't wake up to the knowledge that your behaviour is wrong and actually you don't deserve the best?

Many of my friends are tired of being lied to by 'potential' love interests...would it really be such a terrible thing to just be honest? If you had the balls enough to contact someone, tell someone a pack of lies or flirt with them - then you surely still have the cojones to tell them the truth and not hide behind silence and blame culture?

Grown up men behaving like teenage boys with no responsibility and no respect to the women they are talking to...do you seriously think that you deserve such amazing women in your life?

A good tennis game starts with two freshly faced partners, ready to play...a bad tennis game will always have one that plays unfairly, loses their temper when things don't go their way and love is always a zero score...

Is it all about winning? Is it all about scoring the ace and knocking out your partner?

Well, do you know what? If the above sounds like you I would like to tell you without further ado... Game over and new balls please...

Pants, pot noodle and passports...

Due to a random drunken decision six weeks ago, Pootle and I found ourselves jetting off to Ireland this weekend. Dublin to be precise.

The hobbits and I have recently just moved house and Pootle is in the process of buying hers, so this felt like something we needed to do to let our hair down, however we were also reliably informed that Dublin was expensive...not a good time for added expense.

"Don't worry," Pootle reassured me, "we take clean pants, our passports and we can survive on Pot noodles should we need to."

So leaving unpacked boxes and the heating system on low, our adventure started with the unforgettable flight journey with Ryan Air; attended by the wicked witch of the west and her mate.

Could the staff on this low budget airline be any more miserable? Muttering through the safety procedure, grumbling about the inconvenience of changing a five euro note and almost pushing us down the steps on arrival. Ryan Air - making it memorable.

However, not to have our excitement quelled...here we were in Dublin. In Ireland. The home of James Joyce, The Pogues, Leprechauns and most importantly...the black stuff...Guinness.

...and what a fabulous city it is.

Many people made suggestions for our weekend, but we were warned by the mother of Pootle, than in no uncertain terms not to go to Main Street. Allegedly, there were undesirables there...i.e. Drunkards, people who partied all night, men etc... So we promptly googled it and made our way to Temple Bar. A city of buzzing night life and Irish jigging...a match made in heaven.

We visited the Leprechaun museum, the only place to make me feel tiny on a chair, tried Irish Stew in a small pub; drank a large Whiskey at the Jameson's factory...and got a tad tipsy on Guinness on the Guinness tour.

The best bit however, just had to be rocking it late into the wee early hours of sunday morning back at Temple Bar, with some new found friends. People, like us, who were not quite ready to sit in their rocking chairs and give into the aches and pains of older age.

So if you ever get a chance to go to Dublin...enjoy the Guinness, the Whiskey, and the friendliness of the Irish...after all, all you need to get away is just your pants, your passport and some pot noodles...

Decluttering...

I am currently going through a spate of de-cluttering.

Emptying wardrobe contents, rifling through full boxes of old photos and reaching into the depths of cupboards with a shaky hand and a nervous twitch, slightly alarmed at what I might find.

It is an interesting process, de-cluttering. A cleansing and decision making process.

The hobbits and I are moving house soon and naturally are quite excited by the changes ahead. However the mere act of decluttering has seen me acknowledge the past as well as the future.

It is an inevitable thing. Take a box of photos that contain the last twenty odd years of your life, and you can't help but reminisce, shed a tear of joy or sadness, and laugh at old outfits that were worn in 1989.

This paraphernalia, including old pieces of furniture and even old clothes show a timeline of events that happened in your life and remind you of decisions and paths that you took...some for the good, some for the not so good.

Many of my big decision making moments over the years have been emotionally fraught, painful, refreshing and above all, scary...they would have kept me awake all night most probably, and I would have in no doubt, drowned my friends in my angst and fear whilst thinking through some of these decisions.

However, once the decision had been made, I was, and am, essentially on my own; bumbling my way through my resolution in an attempt to see it through to the best of my ability and to a successful conclusion. Alas, we know decisions don't always work out like that...not every choice we make comes out the way we intended.

I have made other decisions this past month that have been tinged with a hint of fear for the future; moving house; being strong in the face of adversity and letting go of something that could have potentially been special. I did all of these with a different emotion attached; a spring in my step, a gulp in my throat and a heaviness in my heart - but all with the same profound base; the care and health of my family and myself.

Are they the right ones? Well, only time will tell. However, I do have the benefit of past behaviour and all the best psychologists will say that this is always the best way to predict the future. Ergo, we have managed it this far on my decision making abilities without too much of a scathing, that hopefully, the best is yet to come.

...just a number...

My friend L recently informed me that he went on a course last week and met a young woman who was, in his words, simply perfect.

They laughed, they talked, they connected... and L had visions of their beautiful future together in front of a warm fire, two labradors and soft furnishings all sewn up in his mind's eye.

However his dream was rudely interrupted, when the young lady in question turned to him and uttered the worst sentence known to a man of his age...
"Oh, you are so nice," she smiled, "you remind me of my dad".

Oh.

This weekend I went to see a band that I hadn't seen in twenty odd years. Pootle and I scanned the room when we arrived, and Pootle deduced quite promptly that we were the youngest in the room. Correct that - she was potentially the youngest in the room. I looked around and noted that I recognised many of the faces ... and alas, they were no longer that young.

It came as quite a shock to me to recognise some of these men and women. They were faces I remembered from the past; they were middle aged drinkers, and old rockers that had once been lovers of pints of Bitter on a friday night at the local pub, and all night ravers on a dark night in an empty field. Now, they were parents...maybe even, grandparents...

Where did that time go? Am I the only who doesn't feel my actual age? If I don't look in the mirror and see the obvious reminder of where I am in my timeline, then I still feel as though I am in my mid twenties.
Seeing and recognising those 40 plus year olds in the bar shocked me, not because they had aged...but because I had aged right alongside them.

Another nail in my coffin was a conversation I had with a young lad this morning. Upon discovering he was just about to turn 21, I had a sharp intake of breath - I was now old enough to be his mum! Just like L had experienced this past week, I was now in a position where this young lad could say, "Oh, you are just like my mum,' then laugh as another wrinkle appeared on my forehead.

So what to do? Should I act like the person in the mirror, or act like the person that is still within? The one who still does like the odd pint of bitter? Who has fond memories of staggering home in the early hours of the morning and still getting up for work three hours later? Or is it time to embrace the next stage in the timeline? Middle aged acceptance...

Dare I say it - but I think the secret bitter drinker in me may just win. I think I'd prefer to stay in my twenties and avoid all mirrors. I am beginning to realise that thinking that we are old is what ages us...not the age itself.

It is, after all, just a number...

Foot thumping...

Our family pet rabbit is miffed.

Notice how I was very clear to say 'family pet rabbit' - I wouldn't want to give anyone any ideas of any other particular type of rabbit that may be a little annoyed and the connotations of that...

So anyway, annoyed rabbit...pissed off...aggrieved...restless little bunny.

The reason for his dismay is that I purchased today a new hutch for Mr Easter. Over the past year, Mr Easter has slowly but surely chewed his way through his old hutch which consequently left him with more than a draft around his nether regions.

You would think that having a new home would make him happy and delirious with the new opportunity to chew something else for a change and with new hutch walls to hang up his latest pornographic picture of Jessica Rabbit.

Alas, that does not seem to be the case.

He has thumped his foot in annoyance and made his feelings very clear.

"He is glaring at me," Pootle remarked this evening over a cuppa. "He is looking at me, disgusted with this change."
"I don't know why, it is a nicer hutch."
"Hmm...I'm not too sure," she laments still maintaining eye contact with Mr Easter, "after all, he had a two storey pent house before, now he just has a lower floor bedsit."

We both watch Mr Easter as he tests the new cage like the dinosaurs did in Jurassic Park - looking for the weakest link in his prison.

It is true - the new hutch is not the same. With the previous one he did have a bedroom upstairs, space to dance and a room for poo downstairs - it was a much grander hutch - however his old hutch has for a long time been held together with random pieces of wood, and sadly now that winter is drawing closer just won't do.

Isn't it typical however, that now that he has lost his larger house that he is indignant? If only he had realised earlier that had he cared for his old hutch, swept it occasionally, stopped chewing through the beams that it would have lasted so much longer?

A reminder, if we ever needed one, that we don't truly appreciate the things we love and care for until they have gone...and unfortunately for Mr Easter, no amount of foot thumping is ever going to change that.