I have left myself a bit of catching up to do.
It feels like an age since I last blogged. I stress about not blogging but I try not to, I want to enjoy blogging and not for it to become a chore, I have enough chores in my life, thank you very much.
However, much has happened and I feel like I may rush through it all without properly detailing some things or I may miss some things entirely. This is the trouble I suppose when you just leave it too long in between. I may on the other hand ramble on for hours and end up not posting until midnight.
We will just have to play it by ear and see what happen. Lets just wing it.
I consider myself a fairly confident person.
Therefore, I try to teach my children to be confident particularly around older children, other peer groups and in adult situations too. Being confident is not to be confused with being arrogant. My children are in no way arrogant or rude, at least not while I am in earshot. They wouldn’t dare.
They have respect for others and have been taught to treat people how they in turn expect to be treated. This does not mean that are told they should like everyone or that they should swallow any rude or aggressive behaviours towards them without speaking out.
It is important to teach our children how to live in the real world, how to coexist with others, that not every situation will go their way. To have courage and humility to be strong but kind. To stick up for what you believe is right, to speak and to listen.
It is not always easy.
Sunday, as is normal now, we were up at unreasonable o’clock for another football tournament. This week Tom was once again helping out the under 13’s who were playing two teams in the tournament however, unlike last weekend when a few of the lads from his team were playing, this week were on our own. Eek!
Tom is only 12 and for all the swagger he generally displays at home and when he is among his ‘squad’ he still shows quite obvious signs of discomfort when he is out of his comfort zone. Seemingly always fine all the time he is with me, his security blanket but once he was away from me and with boys he didn’t really know, playing matches against some really good teams, you could see he was struggling to keep his head up.
The trouble is that I am out of my comfort zone too. I am like a fish out of water at football.
However, as an adult I can put on a face, I have had plenty of practice and have an outer confidence that belies the little voice inside me saying, she doesn’t know. The little girl inside me that just wants to go and find a nice quiet spot to sit in until it is all over.
I still have the single mum hang up. I know I should be used to it by now, it’s not like this is a new thing for me but honestly it feels like I wear a neon signs sometimes. However, I can’t hide because my son needs me. He needs me to support him and encourage him and be his shoulder when he feels defeated under pressure.
Today I heard parents and children alike not being particularly sporting or showing any consideration when talking about other teams and players. Two parents having a full-blown row with each other and their son in full view of everyone even going so far as calling each other names. Then during the handshakes at the end of some matches it was reported that a few of the teams were taunting the losers with ‘you’re shit’ as they were smiling and shaking hands.
I know that this is a predominantly male dominated sport and because of that it is highly competitive and that some are very passionate about it. I am extremely competitive myself, I do not play games to lose, I play to win. Who doesn’t? I am not in the ‘it’s the taking part that counts’ camp but I am in the ‘if you don’t have anything constructive to say mate, I suggest you shut the f*** up.’
There is a motto in all the programmes for these games and tournaments that reminds everyone that these are in fact children, that the coaches are volunteers and the referees are human, enjoy, support and encourage. Maybe an increase in font size wouldn’t go a miss before the next tournament pamphlet is printed.
The weekend saw glorious weather again but over all the weather over half term was decidedly hit and miss. The gloriously sunny days of blue skies and light breezes we were experiencing throughout May suddenly replaced by hot, sticky and stormy with torrential downpours for good measure. Jesus but we have had some rain.
I love a good storm but I do prefer them at night and preferably like them to have moved on before morning, leaving a beautiful clear blue sky behind them. These however, have been rumbling around for days and nights, enough already!
So far we have only managed one trip to the beach and at one point I didn’t think we were even going to get that. It was our first trip this year, despite having had all this lovely weather as both Tom and Elsie claim to be too old for the beach now.
Too old for the beach my arse. Who is ever too old for the beach?
Judging by their cranky behaviour while we were there, I would say not Tom and Elsie. They might think they are too cool for school, or whatever the expression is but they are just kids at heart, as well they should be.
Throwing themselves fully clothed in to the freeing cold sea, laughing and shouting at each other on the bumper cars, screaming with excitement at finally wining a Darth Vader figure from the 2 p machines (actual cost in 2 p’s probably around £13) and taking opportunity to eat as many sugar-coated things as humanly possible in the time we were there. No, they don’t like the seaside at all, those two.
Apart a from a painful walk barefoot on the pebbles there wasn’t anything not to like. We stayed late in to the evening and had fish and chips on the beach, fighting of the seagulls until the sun went down. Bliss
The next morning we awoke to rain like we had rarely seen before. Flash flooding and all sorts. What? Sink holes appearing in roads and swimming pools instead of back gardens!
Friday morning the sun re-appeared, perfect timing as usual. I decided to get out in the garden. The trouble with sun, then rain, then sun again is that the grass bloody loves it. Just as I was marvelling at how well I getting on the lawn mower came to a shuddering halt. I had been thinking to myself that it wasn’t sounding particularly healthy half way round but not being very mechanically minded I carried on regardless, until with just half the front lawn to go it finally gave up the ghost.
I wasn’t quite sure whether to have a full-blown tantrum, you know the who cares who’s watching kind, or whether I should just lay down on the grass and weep. Couldn’t it have just let me finish the last little bit. It is not just the fact that I didn’t get to finish the grass, it is more the fact that I can’t afford a new mower. Or at least I have many other priorities on the long list of things I could do with the money it will cost to replace the damn thing.
Admitting defeat I decided to meditate in the garden for an hour with a large vodka and tonic before getting cleaned up. I had a date later that would cheer me up. Famous last words.
It was actually a very nice date. The sun was out and so we met in the beer garden of a fairly local pub and very pleasant it was too. He was nice looking and has to be up there in top three of best looking guys so far but before you get carried away, I am still not sure.. well, what did you expect, really!
He is yet another who is quite hard to describe. I want to call him soft. Softly spoken, he had a soft manner about him, he was tall and fairly slim and despite his greying hair looked very young but he just seemed small. He wasn’t, which just makes it all the more weird.
In the past I have preferred slim men, I would not usually go for someone who is too tall, in an overbearing or overweight way, neither do I like the body-builder type. Slim but toned has always been my thing. So what was the problem?
Oh! You expected an answer?
We seemed to get on well, the chat was easy going. He was nice, normal even and seemed like a safe bet, he was keen to have a second date, I was hesitant. However, since then we have stayed in touch, albeit sporadically, we have mentioned the whole second date thing again but it is looking unlikely that will be able to meet until next weekend, due to our commitments. To my way of thinking if we can maintain some contact until then, which is over a week and obviously someone doesn’t come along and sweep me off my feet in the meantime (hahahaha), then I may as well.
Maybe a second date will help us both decide?
Monday saw us all back in the routine of school and work. I caught up with the buddies which is always the highlight of any Monday to be honest and tried to catch up with everything I had missed over the week. It always takes a good few cups of coffee to get back in to the work vibe and at times it seemed like a long, slow day.
In the evening I had a date. I know they are coming in thick and fast all of a sudden. It is me, I am pushing to meet now. I am done with idle chit-chat, you want to meet see if we like each other, or not? Either way I am not messing about for weeks on end with endless questions about hobbies or fending off your requests to see what I look like in my best set of matching underwear.
Meet me or find someone else to irritate.
So he met me, Tallboy that is. His height clearly hinted at in his nickname. He was exactly what I have just been describing as NOT my type. Tall, 6ft 2 ins to be precise and large, not overweight just big. Like the BFG but with a beard. I like beards I have decided.
We met at the same pub I went to on Friday, I think they are starting to recognise me now. It is also the same pub we sometimes frequent if we go for a drink after work. I will have my own tankard soon. On it will not be my name, just the words ‘serial dater’ or ‘sad and single’ something along those lines. I am going to have to start thinking of some other places to go soon.
Tallboy was nice. Yep another nice one. We seemed to have quite a lot in common, we laughed quite a bit and the conversation flowed easily. I felt too at ease with him, my language was slipping and I mentioned washing my fanny with a flannel. Is it a good sign to be this comfortable? I felt like I was out with a mate. I didn’t fancy him but I liked him.
He was not the snappiest dresser, he wore brown combat trousers, a white t-shirt and a brown zip up cardigan with trainers that looked more like slippers. There wasn’t a moment when I thought oh he looks nice, or he has lovely eyes or a lovely anything really, there was no moment, not for me anyway.
I forgot my purse, which I didn’t discover until I went to buy the next drink, I apologised profusely and he was very gracious about it. I have never forgotten my purse as do always like to at least offer to buy a drink or pay for dinner (on the rare occasion you actually meet anyone who wants to have dinner) even if they do decline.
Then to make matters worse I realised that we had run over time. Love island was about to start. I mean who in their right mind organises a date the same night the new series of Love island starts. I was horrified when I realised my error but it was too late to back out, besides I am well and truly in let’s get this done and dusted mode. I rather slurped than sipped my last drink in an effort to move things along a bit and then made a bolt for the door. Well a swift walk. I didn’t want to appear rude but I needed to get home.
Elsie and I were addicted to Love island last year and we have been looking forward to this for ages. I could not be late. I was late and missed the coupling up, luckily Elsie forgave me and talked me through the newly formed and extremely gorgeous couples.
When Tallboy walked me the two feet to my car he told me that he would like to see me again but that he would leave it up to me to let him know what I wanted to do. I said I would, thanked him for a lovely evening and sped off in a cloud of dust. 😉
I don’t think I will be seeing him again, he just wasn’t for me.
That is not to say he wasn’t nice because he was. Jesus, nice really is becoming my favourite word. Nice seems to be everywhere. I always say there is nothing wrong with nice but if that really is the case then why don’t I want it?
Maybe I am not ready, maybe I am still too protective of myself and my little fish.