Match made in hell…

I feel like a month has gone by since my post, so much has happened.  As I fly by the seat of my pants through each day it occurs to me that most days go by in an absolute blur.

Today for example I don’t think I looked at the clock more than twice. Once to check the time before a meeting at 1 pm and then again at 4 pm when Jane walked out the door and I wondered where she was going? Jane comes in at noon and those four hours of constantly ringing phones, chasing prescriptions from the Doctors, queries, appointments and questions, felt like about 4 minutes.

We were interviewing today too. I wanted to grab the first one by the hand and say please, please come and work here, we need you but of course we don’t want to come over as desperate. even though we are definitely borderline desperate.

I love working at the surgery but it is for the hardcore. It is busy, always, every day, every minute in fact.

As a society we have become quite impatient. We now live in a world where we expect things quicker. We want more from our services, whether we pay for them or not. It is expected that if someone wants something they shall have it and they will be going nowhere until they get it!

It can be quite draining, especially when you have to be nice to them to them all.

Despite all that I keep going back for more. I think that says more about me than the job to be fair. I like to be busy and I definitely work better under pressure, if I am left idle for too long I can become complacent and day-dream and then nothing will get done. If I am given the opportunity to chat then chat I will… and once I start there is no stopping me, I can go on for hours. As my buddies will testify.

At the weekend I decided to be idle. It was gorgeous weather and I really should have been gardening. I feel a bit like Moses at the moment trying to part the green grass to the washing line.

However, I didn’t do the grass and now I just feel lazy.

The worst of it is the grass isn’t going anywhere it is just going to keep growing until I get off my lazy butt and do something about it, still there is always next weekend!

I did though, catch up with my very lovely friend on Saturday morning for coffee and cake and another equally lovely friend for dinner and far too much alcohol Saturday evening. I should probably point out that Tom and Elsie were at their Grandparents this weekend and even though they are 11 and 14 (nearly) they still really enjoy spending time there and I am more than happy for the respite but you know what I was saying about idle hands…

… and these idle hands decided to join a dating site!

Yes really.

Now, joining a dating site while you are intoxicated might seem like a mighty fine idea at the time but when you get to the Sunday morning hangover and you realise you have parted with a grocery shops worth of money to be inundated with messages saying ‘Hi x’ and 472 “winks” from men of all shapes, sizes and variety, whose ages range from 27 (yes 27) to 73 (yes 73), it can be a little bit overwhelming, to say the least.

Flattered as I may be to be “winked” at by a 27-year-old whose body would no doubt look absolutely beautiful in between my sheets and although Peter (who at 73 is older than my own parents), looks very sweet and I’m sure is really lovely, I just can’t see myself dating either of them.

So here is where the problem begins. Do I have to be polite?

Am I expected to reply, even if it is just to say ‘Sorry I don’t think you are my type’ or am I expected to strike up conversations with anyone, in the hope that despite them being 27 or 67, they may turn out to be the one.

The one, now there’s a term. Who or what exactly, is the one? How do you find the one? Do you just wait and hope he bumps in to you in Sainsburys? Is he the one right now or is the one supposed to be forever? How do you know the difference?

There are plenty of single, separated and divorced people out there, did they think they had the one then the one went and met another one ? What the hell happens? How do you work this stuff out?

Personally, I don’t think I have met the one yet, I am trying not to give up hope after all I am still young…ish. I have good teeth, I know this because it is pointed out to me, a lot. I have good hair, when I can be bothered to tame it and I dress well, I think. I have a nice personality, so I am told. I am not perfect, well not quite. I have a flat bottom, something which has bothered me for a while but I can’t be bothered to do 50 squats a day so I’m learning to live with it. I have a hideously loud laugh and am not good when I’m premenstrual but what woman is.

I would like to date but I am terrified. I can’t even manage an online conversation without over analysing everything I say. The person on the other end of our virtual chat must think I have terrible wi-fi and as well as over analysing my own conversation I am over analysing theirs too, looking for a hidden meaning in the question, ‘so Jo how long have you been single?’ While trying to come across as intelligent, genuine, funny and flirty but not too flirty. Jesus, it’s exhausting.

Even more exhausting after you have just read five chapters of Great Expectations with your 11-year-old son as part of his English homework.

I’m not sure who was more disgruntled me or Tom. He doesn’t understand a bloody word of it, uncouth child that he is. To make matters worse a 100 word synopsis was required for this morning’s English lesson, I suspect as proof that they had actually read it. So after painstakingly forcing him to read and then trying to prize a bit more information out of him than the boy’s name, which is announced on the first page, I found myself almost writing the bloody thing for him.

I almost wanted to add a postscript to the teacher..  ‘Really, Dickens already! You couldn’t have done that one next year when he has had a moment to get used to the giant leap required from Diary of a wimpy kid in to the world of ClassicsNo. You had to do it now!’

 

 

 

TV Drama…

At the moment my daughter doesn’t have a TV in her room and this is causing me much pain.

We have recently redecorated her bedroom and despite doing most of it myself it looks really nice. Not a bad job if I do say so myself.  The pink, the fluffy and the glittery are gone, replaced by a very chic looking blue and grey.  It’s all very grown up. She has a new double bed, new furniture and a massive desk/dressing table where she can store her 14 tonnes of make up…. and it’s cost me most of my limbs!

What she doesn’t have yet is a TV, we disposed of the last one as it was a cumbersome old thing that had been passed down through the generations for years, well alright not an antique but almost.

So despite having to sell my soul to the devil, I have had to get a new one and quick, as I can not bear to watch anymore of her so-called ‘entertainment’. My ears and eyes are bleeding.  I am praying to the heavens (or anyone that will listen) that the TV arrives before the next series of TOWIE starts. We have 24 hours!

It was a bad start to the working day today as the computer system was playing up. There had been an update. I love an update. Every time without fail the system does an update something that worked before doesn’t work anymore.

Yesterday we were all able to log in and use out smart cards (these are credit card style identity cards that slot in to the keyboard to enable you to access different parts of the system depending on your security codes), the same way we do everyday.  Today after an update over night, to change features that do not really need changing, we can no longer log in using our smart cards.

I could explain the reasons why this is a total pain in the arse but it would take ages but suffice to say it just makes more work for everyone. Things just simply can not be done without being logged in on your smart card. For example you can’t register new patients or do prescriptions because the system will only give you basic access if you havent logged in with your smart card.

So it was a long morning and to make matters worse it was manic and we were short-staffed but to be fair this is not uncommon.

It’s only Tuesday and Tom has managed to get another detention, this time for shouting out when the lad sitting next to him stabbed a compass in his leg (please bear in mind that this is Tom’s version of events only), in my mind I am thinking.. yes, I think I would have shouted out if someone had stabbed my leg with a compass, so why would he be given a detention for that, surely the other lad should have been at the very least arrested for ABH… but I am also thinking that the more likely story is that they were both messing about and as usual it went too far.

Who bloody knows?

Obviously the school won’t phone me every time something fairly trivial happens or I would be on first name terms with his Advisor already.  I can see on the parent portal that he has been given a detention but it doesn’t really say much more than that.

Do I assume that if I haven’t heard from the school that they deem this incident unremarkable? When does something become remarkable? How many time a week do you need to get a detention before it is considered too many?

These are the questions that are giving me anxiety.  I am pretty sure I will soon become addicted to Peptac because all this anxiety is giving me heartburn.

After dinner… and the subsequent arguing over who is doing the washing and drying up. Er, you are… We have this every night, like there might be someone else available to do the clearing up? No, I’m afraid not. You would think that after months of Elsie washing and Tom drying every night they would have figured out that this could be the future…

It’s homework time… Yay!

So while Tom writes what he loved most about the fruit salad he didn’t make when he forgot his food tech last Friday and Elsie stutters her way through the things to do while your on holiday in Spanish, I’m contemplating an early night with a Linwood Barclay and it’s only 8 pm.

I’m not having wine on a Tuesday. Repeat after me, I’m not having wine on a Tuesday.

On the plus side I’ve just remembered it’s Doctor Foster tonight. The first series was brilliant, the second I am still being persuaded about but it is nice to know that there is someone out there that is more of a fruit loop than me, even if technically she is fictional.

Shall I have a small piece of chocolate?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beginners Luck…

So here we go then… At one point I thought I might be Forty Six by the time I got around to writing my first post.

Four hours writing, well back spacing actually, is bloody hard work. Who knew that the things you think are really humorous or heart warming just sound really quite droll on paper.

I thought I might like to write a book one day but that suddenly seems like a gargantuan task. Definitely not one for the bucket list, at least not if you plan on doing anything else.

So as I waffle through my first blog bear with me, my thoughts are not clear like I imagine they should be, they are chaotic and all over the bloody place not helped by my complete lack of concentration. I move from subject to subject at an alarming rate and have noticed that as I get older I am getting worse at keeping myself on track.

The last couple of weeks I have been struggling to think straight, both at home and at work and can only come to one conclusion. It’s my son’s fault.

Two weeks in to the Autumn term and my son’s first year at Secondary School has left me emotional, to say the least. He however,  has suddenly become Mr Independent.

In two weeks he has a whole new group of friends I don’t know and am not sure I like the sound of. A girlfriend (we will come back to that one)! He has had a fight. Several detentions, one for forgetting his food tech equipment, one for not doing his homework and one for being late to English. Has become best friends with the bathroom and the hairdryer and always wants to be somewhere I don’t want him to be.

We are only two weeks in.  How can so much happen in such a short space of time?

My daughter, who is in year 9 has yet to have a detention, still has the same friends she had in primary school plus a few extras who are all very nice and sweet, for now and granted, I know this could all change. Has never had a fight in her life but could probably win one. Never goes out except for pre-arranged sleepovers and although she is sometimes demanding (mostly of make up), sarcastic and moody, has barely given me a days worry… Yet!

She is not even interested in boys (we will come back to that too)!

As a single, working Mum I must admit that I was looking forward to leaving primary school behind. The constraints of having to drop off and pick up your child, bring your mum to school mornings, class assembly’s, school trips that needs car carrying mums in order that they can go ahead, sports days, school fundraisers… the list goes on and on and on… never-ending parent participation.

This is all very well and good if you don’t have to work for a living but I do. Unfortunately, due to a very bad choice of sperm donor, (and before everyone goes all PC on me I think I’m allowed to call him that, as he is certainly not a father) I have been self-sufficient since my son was only eighteen months old.

In this day and age it is expected that employers are supposed to be understanding of employees who have young children but really how many times a week can you realistically get away with coming in late or leaving early or having a whole afternoon off because Johnny has an award to collect for his castle made out of toilets rolls tubes.

The castle that actually you should be receiving the award for because it took you three days to hound everyone you know for empty toilet roll tubes and stick them all together, turn them in to stones and design a drawbridge, not Johnny, who sat watching CBBC the whole time and only joined in for the painting.

In all fairness it has to be said that if I need time off to attend something child related, with enough notice this is not usually a problem but the time still has to be made up or taken as annual leave… As if that is even an option!

Annual leave is for school holidays. it is not for having a day off  so you can do something for yourself.

Anyway I feel I have left the point somewhat, this comes as no surprise to me but you might be wondering where is this is all leading.

So back to said son. This transformation in to a child who thinks he is almost twice his actual age is horrifying to say the least.

Where has my baby gone? I want him back and I want him back now!

I can’t begin to describe my feelings this last couple of weeks as I’ve watched him breeze in to secondary school without so much as a whimper. Yes I know he had a fight, or a near fight, stopped very adeptly by the staff before the first punch was thrown, luckily. As my son is not a fighter, or perhaps I should say wasn’t a fighter.

He is not by any stretch of the imagination a big boy for his age. Despite eating his body weight in food on a daily basis, he is small and skinny and his sister can put him on the floor with the flick of her index finger.

I know that he would most likely have lost the fight had it got that far but the fact that he also knows that and was prepared to stand his ground and tough it out (unlike his days in primary school) makes me want to high five the air.

Obviously I do not condone bullying, fighting or anything similar but I do condone sticking up for yourself when the need arises. The transition in to secondary school is tough. I’ve been there, a long time ago I know but I can’t imagine it has changed that much except the punishments for getting caught are nowhere near as harsh as they once were.

My once (and hopefully still) lovely, well mannered, sensitive boy has gone in with his head up and shoulders back, ready for whatever comes his way and I couldn’t be prouder.

Having said that, I do hope the next few weeks are not quite so eventful and he will settle down. That he will get used to mixing and mingling, the rules and all the homework and being surrounded by so many girls

This child who has a new-found bravado for life without me. Who never leaves the house without telling me he loves me, has found his wings.  They are still growing and not yet strong enough for him to go too far but that’s ok because I am nowhere near ready to let him go.