Nov 202014
 

Yes. Before you start, I KNOW suburbian isn’t word. But it should be.

So, the other night I was at that point in the evening when you know you should be going to bed but, in actual fact, you are nursing the dregs of a bottle of wine (that was part of the M&S meal deal) and watching crap on tele.

As is the case in these situations, we flicked through the channels and happened upon the top 10 hits of Queen. Or something to that effect. Now (bearing in mind that a week or so before when watching Alison Hammond on Strictly, my husband revealed he had not recognised the song Wuthering Heights, or who sang it) we had whittled our way down to the top Queen song ever and THIS conversation happened:

Husband: I wonder what no.1 will be?

Me: Er…duh! Bohemian Rhapsody.

Husband: Oh, yes. Of course.

(We watch for a few minutes. Yes, I was singing along)

Husband: So, can he really sing?

Me: Freddie Mercury?

Husband: Yes. Can he sing? I mean, really.

Me: Er, YES!!

Husband: But, I mean…would he win The Voice?

 

 

Yes. I was as stunned into silence, as I presume you are.

My husband is a reasonably sane man and, whilst not well-versed in 80s pop (he grew up in SA), he is reasonably cultured.

Or so I thought.

Clearly, ignorance of la Bush and questioning the vocal capability of Freddie Mercury calls this into question. Can you seek divorce on grounds of your husband being a musical luddite?

All those misconceptions of married bliss. And another one bites the dust.

queen-bohemian-rhapsody

Oct 072014
 

working-mom-275x300I have always been one to vehemently champion the working mother, being one myself and all. And, up until now, everything has gone as well as it can. I have three kids and have always gone back to work through financial need and because I think I might have gone beyond bonkers with boredom if I didn’t.

I thought, as they got older, it would be easier. Not so. My youngest has just started school and (I naively presumed) with all three of them in the same school, life would be easier. Not one bloody bit. I now have three sets of pick-ups, homework, kitbags to wash, snacks to organise, reading to be heard etc. etc. We live about 30 mins from school and by the time we get home (usually around 5:30pm) we have homework, showers, supper, PJs, teeth and reading to do. That leaves about 30s for my kids to actually relax. Be kids. Play.

Bit crap, isn’t it?

And so, for the first time, I am wondering if it would be better if I was at home. I mean, it’s flippin’ manic. All of the above plus 5 lots of washing, the housework, the bills, the food planning/shopping/cooking/cajoling/clearing. We have no babysitter. This not only means no nights out but we have the impending Parents’ evenings to attend, as teachers (yes, both of us in the same school). What do we do with the kids?

Our weekends are a blur of kids’ parties (bloody ****ing things), MORE homework, chores and passing out in front of Strictly. Having made a different home-made pizza for everyone. And cleared up.

My oldest daughter is entering tweenage and squawks at how unfair it all is. My son has Aspergers and needs a lot of attention which former daughter finds unfair (surprise!). My youngest is as feisty as …. and requires taming at any opportunity lest she release the wrath of a four-year-old redhead.

It’s tiring. So, so tiring.

We are trying to do it all and scraping through, but I worry that my kids’ childhood will be gone in a whiffling breeze and when we are finally sorted and good-to-go it will be ‘Where are the kids? Oh, university!’.

Life.

Complicated, isn’t it?

Oct 052014
 

Hello Wall,

You and I seem to be newly acquainted. It’s funny how, in a household so full of people, so bloody busy, there is a serious lack of communication.

I chatted to you just the other day – did you notice?

The kids were tired and being grotty little monsters after school, OH wasn’t home and no matter what I said or how I said it, nobody took any notice.

And so I turned to you. Told you everything. Exhaled. Felt better.

I like how you listen. To my wittering, my screeching, my need to just, well, have a conversation. I kinda had another wall for a time. But I think that wall may have been demolished; I had no warning, no planning permission, no health and safety memo. Nothing. It was there one day and gone the next. I am searching amongst the rubble, but it seems that’s all there is. I have asked the council what’s going on, but I get some prepared statement; a promise of nothing. Lies.

And so, I seem to be back. And, do you know what? It feels good. The awkward silence has dissolved and you and I are back on track. Which is always a good place to be.

Sarah x

Sep 222014
 

Dear Blog,

It’s been a while since we’ve spoken and it’s my fault; I’m just so busy.

I won’t bore you with the details but it ranges from the wildly exciting to the excruciatingly mundane and I just don’t have any more time or energy to write to you. I’m sorry about that.

I still love you and you will always be ‘the one’. I know you’ll always be there for me and I am forever grateful for that.

I just wanted to let you know; I haven’t forgotten about you. I think about you a lot and I thought you should know that. For what it’s worth.

I will come back. Everybody needs their wall.

Sarah x

Aug 162014
 

imageSome people say they are lucky. You know they type; they always win prizes in raffles, parking spaces magically appear for them and life always seem to turn out with a cherry on the top.

I do believe in luck. I think. Or, perhaps, coincidence. I’m not a mathematician and probability eludes me, but there are some things in life that happen for no good reason whatsoever. We call it luck. Sometimes good; sometimes bad.

“The harder I practice; the luckier I get”

I think there are times when you can make your own luck. And that’s what I am trying to do at the moment. Create opportunities for myself that prompt exclamations from observers of ‘Lucky you!’. I smile and nod, but I am making it happen; it isn’t luck, it is sheer determination.

For example, I write this sitting on the train from King’s Cross to Edinburgh. I am going to the festivals for the weekend with the intention of, naturally, seeing a few shows but moreover to promote and distribute poetry. I assume you are aware that I co-run a website called ‘Paper Swans’ and we ran a micropoetry competition on Twitter, the winners of which have had their poems printed on pocket cards (currently residing in my suitcase) to be given out and discussed at the Edinburgh Book Festival. When I said to a friend that I was going to Edinburgh, his response was (naturally) ‘Lucky you.’ Don’t worry – I didn’t labour the point, but it made me think and about all the time and effort (and money) I have put into making this happen. It will be a success – I know it will, because I will fulfil what I am setting out to do. Luck will be if I happen to meet a poetry agent or small publisher who takes an interest in what we are doing. Luck is if I get through the weekend without it raining or if I bump into Hugh Jackman at a bar. But getting to Edinburgh, having these beautiful poetry to cards to give out – I made that happen (with my cohort, Stephanie, of course!).

It’s funny how pensive you get on a train, isn’t it? Hours of time to kill, the outside rushing by. In a few hours I will be swept away with the hubbub of ‘arty types’ and, as I’m travelling alone, I’ll be feeling as alive as hell.

And if you’re wishing you could do something exciting too? Well, good luck to you.

Aug 112014
 

dr_seussI have spent the last two weeks with an old university friend who I haven’t seen for 14 years (since her wedding). The key reason for our prolonged separation is that she lives in the British Virgin Islands and I, alas, don’t. However, after a late night Facebook conversation, she flew in the face of sensibility and headed for the UK!

IMG_1822We are both bookworms and so when I suggested we do the London book bench trail, she gave a resounding YES and we had one of the best days out I’ve had in a while. If you haven’t heard about the book benches, you can read more here, but basically there are 50 benches secreted around London, each celebrating a different author. They are to be auctioned off in October and I wish I had the means to buy one!  They are so beautiful and it was like doing a treasure hunt around London. We walked for 5 hours solid and completed two trails – ‘Riverside’ and ‘City’. Along the way we came across other ‘bench hunters’ and everyone was very amenable when we turfed them off various benches so we could take photos. I loved it so much, I went back with the kids the next day! The Riverside trail is perfect for the kids – most of the benches are children’s authors and it starts at London Bridge and ends by the Globe theatre – all along the South Bank which is perfect to scooter! All three of my children (ages 4, 7 & 9) scootered the whole thing AND over millennium Bridge to St Paul’s AND along Fleet Street and The Strand to Charing Cross. If you find yourself in London and needing a day out, this is perfect. Plenty of cafes and restaurants along the way and all the sights to see – Tower Bridge, The Gherkin, HMS Victory, The Golden Hinde, The Globe, St Paul’s…just brilliant.

I’ll leave you with the benches, which speak for themselves. It might take a few moments to load (go and make a cuppa – it’s worth the wait!)…which is your favourite? Can you guess the author for each one?

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Jul 262014
 

imagesI saw his photo weeks ago. He looked nice. Groomed. Professional.

Today, I knocked at his door. He led me upstairs and he nodded for me to sit. We chatted. I told him some of my untold secrets about my life, my body, my needs. He just listened.

Then he asked me to remove my top and sit on the bed. I did so. He looked at me; hands slid over my face, my neck.

Silence.

Then he said, ‘Just lay face down on the bed’.

I did so, aware of my exposed torso, his hands all over my body, pushing me down.

He asked me to turn over. I did. He said he would mostly be behind me and I should just relax. It would take about 20 minutes.

I put on my top, paid him and left.

I am sore.

But that’s what you get when you go to the osteopath.

Jul 212014
 

I have noticed, recently, that a few well-established blogs are going about somewhat of a transformation – namely – they are changing their name and twitter handle etc. The key reason behind this seems to be that the blog name no longer reflects who they are or what they write about. Brave move. Stupid move? I don’t think so. Partly because they are so well-set in the blogging world that everyone will know who they are anyway, and followers will just keep on following. I also think it is wise to move with the times, keep up with changes and also with who you are. These bloggers are actually staying true to themselves and what blogging IS, so hats off to them.

imagesNow, I have always been a teeny bit of a sheep. So all this got me thinking….this blog is now weeks off being 3 years old and I wondered – perhaps it has also outgrown its name?

I named it ‘Hello Wall…’ after Shirley Valentine, a 42 year old housewife, stuck with no proper conversation or raison d’être and so, she finds sanctuary in talking to the wall. (For further clarification – take a look at my ‘About Me‘ page for an excerpt).

So I look to my life: not solely a housewife, a part-time one. 41. Lots going on with Paper Swans taking off…

Hmmm…

I then remember a conversation I had just last night, where I questioned if I had changed in the last few years? Life has certainly moved forward and things seem better generally, but are things really different? The answer I got then answers the question I have now raised about whether my blog needs a change?

What was the answer?

Well, you’d have to ask the kitchen wall…

 

 

I apologise for the overuse of italics in this post. Oh, bugger. I’ve done it again.

Jun 272014
 

My body speaks to me; the ultimate body language.

It says:

‘FFS turn the lights out.’

‘Yes, your bum DOES look big in that.’ 

‘You used to be so much slimmer, I mean LOOK at you!’

‘Really? Shorts?’

‘Stop eating. Just stop.’

‘You look hideous in that, just look at your belly.’

IMG_1623

Ah, yes. My belly. My nemesis.

We all have parts of our bodies that torture us. Some people can eat cake and it goes to their hips; their thighs; their arms – me? It’s all about the belly.

As soon as I eat (especially carbs) my belly expands. I’m sure if you cared to stare at it for 10 minutes while I eat pasta you would actually witness its growth. Recently, one of my pupils asked if I was pregnant. They say kids speak the truth, and, although a wholly inappropriate comment, I knew that they saw what I see.

Without carbs, it goes flat (ish). but one sniff at a bagel and it literally balloons.

And I hate it. My belly. I hate it. Before I had kids it would poing back into place but three kids later….not so much.

Then I realised what a pile of crap this is.

Some of you probably don’t know, but I am the co-founder of Paper Swans which is dedicated to poetry and flash fiction. And over at Paper Swans we have launched our #bodybeautiful project for women just like me. And you, possibly. Women, who thanks to the media indoctrination, think that we should be skeletal and unnaturally proportioned. So five poets have written postcards (free for the taking – mine is about peeing when you sneeze.  I know.) about the subject of a post-child belly and we are getting our #showusyourbelly campaign trending. I am in awe and moved by the women who have been so brave and gutsy to send me photographs of their bellies for our slideshow. It’s totally anonymous, emails are deleted as soon as the image is added to the slideshow, and it is a campaign to normalise women’s bodies. Show that we are all the same. We even have a celebrity belly on there but you won’t know which it is because celebrity status means nothing when it comes to post-natal bodies. Mumsnet featured us in their newsletter this week and we are hoping the word will spread…

I really hope you’ll take a look and JOIN IN. It’s all for the right reasons and whatever size or shape you are we think your bellies are wonderful. I have even come to terms with my own because of it. Free therapy! And women, empowering themselves.

Gotta be good.

#showusyourbelly

Jun 152014
 

IMG_2125Yep. In 5 days time it’s Britmums Live. And this year I am a butterfly. No, not literally, but there to smile and chat to the more apprehensive amongst you and assure you that we are all the same. Some might seem louder, but that’s just compensation for nerves. Crap. I’M nervous and I’m a flipping’ butterfly!!

But that’s because I know how it is.

I decided to write this post as a sort of interview with myself. Three years ago. When I was first attending Britmums and had SO many questions that didn’t quite seems to be answered…

I don’t know ANYONE who is going.

You and most other people. Those that have the most tenuous of links to someone will be all gushy and loud and (thinking thank GOD I’ve found someone). Give it five minutes and you will be that person. If not, FIND THE BUTTERFLIES.

What do I wear?

Anything you like. Jeans, trainers, dresses, heels, fancy dress…it’s all there and NOBODY cares. Really. I’d go for something comfy – jeans and flats. This year I am being dressed by the lovely Boden so I will be elegance personified. With wings. (Not the sanitary kind I hasten to add).

What do I do with my suitcase?

There is a bag and coat check at the venue. Fear not. They will take care of any excess baggage.

I haven’t been blogging very long…

Doesn’t mean you’re not FABULOUS! (and nobody cares)

When I meet people and they say ‘I blog at..’ and I have no idea – WHAT DO I DO??

Smile and say ‘I haven’t read your blog. Do you have a business card?’

If they do, you have their details and they feel great.

If they don’t, they feel embarrassed and you have the upper hand.

Nobody looks like their Twitter avatar. Who ARE these people?

Your guess is as good as mine. Smile. They like that. Then get out your phone/tablet/card and say…So, WHO are you again? (they will be the ones to feel like their profile isn’t big enough;-))

What if I get to the evening and everyone has plans and I don’t?

PLEASE come and find me (or another butterfly). DO NOT go back to your hotel.

I am going to All Bar One on Friday evening and eating far too much on Saturday. Come and find me.

I am there to meet brands and monetise my blog.

Good luck to you. Go and schmooze…hand out cards, tweet, instagram, Facebook…THEY LOVE IT!

I don’t want to walk in by myself.

Come to the Butterflies page on Facebook. We match up and get people to meet beforehand, like a coffee shop or pub, so they can walk in with friends.

I walk into a seminar and there are TABLES!! Where do I sit?

If you are feeling confident, go up to a free seat and ask “Is anyone sitting here?’ Chances are the answer will be NO and it is a mis-match of lots of bloggers.

Alternatively, (served me well in the past) sit at the end of a free table People will join you. You can do the seminar and not have to talk to anyone. It’s OK. Really.

I am only there for the BiBs…

Good luck. I am not bitter. At all. ;-)

I don’t know my way around London. Help! Scary!

It’s Ok. Everyone is so self-obsessed in London, they won’t notice.

Please, PLEASE, if you have ANY other questions – ask! nothing too silly and all will be answered.

 

I feel very privileged to be a butterfly seeing as I am really quite shy. But I think that means I understand. And I really do.

See you on Friday xx

xx

May 202014
 

I have been having a bit of a rant to anyone who would listen to this week and I thought it only fitting that I should my views to you lovely lot as well.

Last week I read an article that really grabbed me. I am one of the few teachers that actually read the Times Educational Supplement magazine and last week there was an article about how children address men and women differently. I found the article so engaging and clever and pertinent to my feminist tendencies that I ripped it out of the magazine as a keeper. Nobody would have noticed except for the fact that by the next day the story had been picked up by the BBC and (heaven forfend) the Daily Fail.

imageIt basically spoke about the imbalance of the titles ‘Sir’ and ‘Miss’ which are given to teachers at school. Sir coming from sire or being equated with knighthood and Miss being, well, anybody really. It went on to comment that in further education, you get a bachelor of arts degree or a Masters and anybody with any academic seniority is a fellow, all terms which have masculine connotations.

I had never noticed this before and, whilst it has not shaped who I am, it does stress the underlying sexism that is in our society. Something that, if you are not on the receiving end, goes unseen but when you feel the effects of it, it is a deep and stabbing undercurrent in the world that we live in.

It stems to racism too. Again, something I had never thought of but brought to my attention in the book Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman (children’s Laureate). Plasters. By and large all ‘pink’, all ‘skin colour’. But, whose skin?

These little subtleties may go unnoticed and be ‘liveable’ but when it is you they are grazing each day, you they are itching like that label that won’t sit straight, it gets to you. It irritates and it scratches.

Perhaps we need to cut out the label?

May 152014
 

photoOof, it’s been one of those weeks. You know the kind; you start with it all planned out and then it decides to head south. Via the M25 on a Friday evening. A lot of stopping and starting, a lot of muttered expletives and despite all your efforts to keep ahead of the traffic you realise, with ignoble despondency, that you’re going nowhere. And you’ve run out of sneaky car sweeties (it’s not just me who secretes them in the glove box, surely?).

As the hours pass me by, my ‘To Do’ list gets ever longer and my energy levels ever shorter. I am in the land of ‘I can’t be arsed’ and my ticket out of here is somewhere in the pile of stuff that adorns the kitchen worktop.

I have made myself feel better by writing down what I need to do on a piece of paper (which I’ve lost) and consequently, on my Reminders App. I feel better; I have achieved something and even had the foresight to include ‘making a list’ on my list, just so I had something to cross off.

I know, I know. I need to get a life. I’ll put in on my list. When I can be arsed.

May 152014
 

Last Friday I had the opportunity to go to a bloggy thing at London Zoo. I’ve never done one of these before and I was pleasantly surprised. I was able to take my 4 year-old daughter with me and while we were do the ‘grown-up’ stuff, she was taken very good care of by some children’s entertainers who had more energy in their little fingers than I display in a month. They kept in character throughout, even when we said goodbye, which left we wondering if they were like that all the time…? Good God, I do hope not ;-/

Anyway, the event was run by Bounty and Maynards and was about the psychology of children – the positive effect play and discovery can have on them. I was really impressed with how it was run; in small groups we moved around different areas which included:

A_Maynards_96The magical cave of Myths and Monsters

This demonstrated how important storytelling is to feed and expand the imagination (mine as well as the kids!)

The Doctor’s surgery of body bits

Using objects to play games like ‘Guess the Object’ (blindfolded) or hide and seek with something (my daughter loves it when I hide her teddy around the house)

The safari animals

Acting out animals thought movement, noise and description. My group is the one in the photo but fortunately I was not the one who had to pretend to be a squirrel!

The Explore and Play app

This is the free app which gives children factual information about the different topics after you have found them by scanning around your room. My kids enjoyed playing on this when we got home, especially my nine-year old!

A_Maynards_112 A_Maynards_104

 

 

 

 

 

It was well-organised and all the demonstrators were great fun. The most pertinent comment one of them made (she with the plaits in the photo) was the look on our faces when we described the ‘shows’ we used to do for our parents. It made me realise how much I had enjoyed doing them and the fact that we could all remember doing shows/dressing up/dances for our parents with our faces lit up with memories, spoke volumes.

I know for a fact I don’t play with my kids as much as I should. Partly due to screens, partly due to time constraints and partly due to energy. I have three kids and I work. They play together and I am usually exhausted. But when I make the effort to play with them, make up games in the car, do an activity with them, it is not only the pleasure of doing it that rewards me but the knowledge that they are making memories. I feel that kids of today are so ‘spoon-fed’ that they are losing independent thought and inquisition. I see it when I teach as well as kids I see socially. It is not down to spoiling them (although we often do) but more about the fact that everything is instant for them. They want an answer, they google it. They want to know how something works, go to YouTube. They are raised in a world of instant gratification and no longer strive to explore and discover. Little kids do, and this is what we need to nurture.

*gets down off orange box*

glass wing butterfly london zooglass wing butterfly london zooAfter all the fun we got free rein to go around London Zoo. It was so lovely, just me and H. She starts school in September and I have vowed to spend my day off each week making the most of her. We had particular fun in the butterfly house where, despite the man saying they never land on people, three of them landed on me and the biggest moth in the world landed on my leg. I smiled broadly but I think the look of bug-terror gave me away. H loved it, she had glass wings landing on her finger which attracted her an audience (never one to shy away, my daughter). Then we strolled through Regents Park back to the tube to head home. It was just lovely. So a big thank you to Maynards from me and H.

By the way, if any of you know the blog/twitter of the pregnant lady in the photos with the white top (her name was Vita) could you let me know?