Olympians

If sitting on the sofa for hours on end – sometimes until ridiculous o’clock in the morning – were an Olympic sport, then The Hero would definitely be in contention for a Gold Medal.

Since the Games have begun he’s spent inordinate amounts of time watching the tv; he’s taken over the remote control and guards it with a fervour that would surely be appreciated by many athletes as they covet the illusive Olympic medals. He switches between channels as the sports rotate and seems to now have an in-depth knowledge of the presenters’ rota on most of the stations.

He listens carefully to what all the pundits say, sometimes nodding sagely in agreement and other times poo-pooing their comments and interpretations, and growing increasingly irritated when I point out that last week he hadn’t even heard of the keirin or the omnium (track cycle racing events) and yet today he’s arguing with the pundits (through the tv) about the finer points of the sport – a sport which they have all spent years competing in and he has only just discovered!

He gets quite animated when any sports he really enjoys come on screen, or if there happens to be an Irish competitor in an event (we’re all fairly patriotic though, aren’t we) he tends to jump around a lot and shout inanities at the poor athletes as they slog their way around a stadium, in a boxing ring or up and down a pool.

The Olympics is a great occasion to reassess what “being (insert nationality here)” means to you. In our house it has meant a number of things; it’s meant I get to have much fewer, and less scintillating, conversations with my husband and I definitely get to watch less tv myself. But, it also brings out a pride in who we are, where we’re from, a sense that we’re all in this together – we shout and roar on the competitors from Ireland, without giving a damn what sport they’re competing in or the fact that we’ve no clue of the rules. But for that brief moment in time that sportsman, or sportswoman, has a nation at their back driving them forwards, they have the hopes and aspirations of a people willing them towards the finish line, and it’s magical.

The Olympics may be many things, and they do have their detractors like everything else. But in our home, when the tv goes on and The Hero takes his position for starters’ gun, we are united, and it’s worth it!

Down Time

In less than 12 hours I’ll be leaving my home, my husband and my kids and taking off with my friend for a girls’ night away. We will be gone for 24hrs, 26hrs at the very outside, yet I’ve done more preparation for this short trip than I did for our last family vacation, which saw us all away for the week, plus packing the dog off to the grandmother to be cosseted and also organising, collecting and bringing my parents with us!

How is this possible? How is it that when mam wants to get away from the lunacy for a short break that everything needs to be done, now, yesterday, immediately, it’s an emergency??? And to top it all off, I haven’t even begun packing for myself (luckily I’m not going to need much!)

Before I get a chance to go away I have to meticulously plan the work schedule – because we run our company from our home office, and I’m in charge of distributing jobs to all our sub-contractors, I’ve got to make sure that everything is planned well in advance; that everyone knows their schedule and the fact that I’m away and to please only call me in case of emergency, otherwise call The Hero who is manning the office alone in my absence; but I’ve also got to make sure that all my own work is done well in advance for tomorrow and the following day, because though we aim to be home before lunch, anything can happen and we need to be prepared for all contingencies (did I mention that I’m a Girl Guide leader ?)

So, after I’ve spent quite a few hours letting our subs and my regular clients know that I’ll be away for the day, and I’ve got all my own work up to date, and I’ve filled in the diary and gone through everything with The Hero, twice, to make sure he’s au fait with all our jobs for the next 24-48hrs, and it feels like all I have to do is pack and then I’m off, no, that’s merely the first part of my preparation done.

Next, I thought I’d just pack my bag and get ready to go – nope! Apparently this is the time that everyone needs my undivided attention, and all appear shocked at the prospect of being motherless or wifeless for 24hrs – though rest assured they all know about it, in fact we all spoke about it earlier in the day while we were out running errands and I made a detour to fill my tank so that it’s one less thing to worry about in the morning.

But now, there are clothes that have mysteriously gone missing and are a necessity for a play date in the morning; there are questions that need to be answered about what food they should eat; pick-up and delivery times for the girls’ schedules need to be reassessed, and there are chores that haven’t been completed because…well, for any reason that they can come up with, and the list goes on!

Sometimes it feels like they’re trying to keep me from leaving the house, from getting away from them all for a break, but thankfully I know that’s not true. I know that The Hero understands that I need some time away from work and from the family, some time with my friend to just laugh, chill out and relax. The girls understand that mam wants to spend some alone time with her friend, just like they get to do with their friends (they also understand that the guilt I’ll feel for leaving them all alone for 24hrs will require me to bring them home some gifts too, which helps soothe their soul) And I understand that I’m very lucky to have such a caring family who allow me this time to myself to relax and recharge.

Arts and Crafts

I’ve always wanted to be the type of person who could excel at all sorts of arts and crafts. I’ve dreamed of being the sort of mother who could sew on a button, or make a new dress, or knit or crochet up a storm in the evening as I sat in my comfy chair alone with my thoughts and my skills, foregoing tv for yet another evening. I wanted to be a proper Suzie Homemaker.

I’ve always dreamed of being that sort of person, but unfortunately I’m about as far from it as you can get! I was so dedicated to becoming this person, this newer better version of myself, that I went to crochet classes, which didn’t really work, the teacher was a wonderfully skilled young lady but didn’t have the capacity to translate that skill into a coherent form of verbal communication, so she ended up spending much of her time being frustrated and just showing us her own work, which was amazing.

Next, I decided to join a women’s group, reasoning that the ladies would have all the skills I wanted to acquire and perhaps by some form of osmosis, of merely sitting in their company, that I would gain all their wisdom. Surprisingly, that didn’t work either. But, I have made some lovely new friends ranging in age from my own age group to someone I aspire to be like when I grow up, a very dear friend of almost 80 years old.

Then I went hardcore, I decided that the best thing to do was for me to spend lots of my hard earned cash on “supplies” and that way I’d have to use them because The Hero would be flabbergasted at how much I’d actually spent (though obviously I’d only give him the rounded down figure that I know he could handle, very rounded down) and so I’d have to be proficient in at least one or two of my newfound hobbies to placate him and rub his nose in the fact that I’m not a quitter, and how he was so wrong about me…moving swiftly onwards!

Sadly what has happened, though somewhat predictably, is that I’ve just spent an exorbitant amount of money on yarns and needles, on beads and jewellery making equipment, on card stock and embellishments for paper crafting and scrap-booking, and they’re all sitting somewhere in our newly decorated “hobby room” gathering dust, while I sit about 10 feet away on my recliner watching tv and studiously ignoring them all.

But, every cloud has a silver lining and it turns out that both my girls really enjoy card-making! We had a particularly rainy summer day here last week, and after exhausting everything I could think of to stop them from arguing I suggested we all sit down and do some crafting together. And it worked. Not only did they spend the entire day happily in each other’s company, but they’ve continued on over the next few days, experimenting with different crafts and methods. So though their mother may not end up being the next big thing in the crafting world, I’m just delighted that The Teenager and The Terror have found something to enjoy together. Long may it continue!

It comes to us all.

Death is a funny thing. Not in the humorously funny-type way, but in the way that it’s this strange and awful thing that comes to us all, in many different ways and times.

We’ll all face our own mortality at some stage, that’s a given. However, having to help another person through it can be just as tough, but it can also be an incredibly humbling experience.

We’re currently in the process of watching a very close friend of The Hero go through this. As he noted to us the other day, he was a death virgin – amazingly he’d come through life not having lost anyone very close to him. His grandparents had all passed before he was born and his parents and aunts and uncles were all still healthy and getting on with their lives.

And so, at almost 50 years of age he’s had to endure his first familial passing, and unfortunately for him, it was his dad. He’s a big, strong man, not one that’s prone to emotion, and very definitely not the touchy-feely kind. But the man who stood at my front door the other night was a very different creature, and when I looked into his eyes I didn’t see our friend as we know him, I saw the little boy who had just lost his dad and had no clue what to do or how to act, or react. He was broken.

On one hand he was very aware that he had to be the rock, the supportive son that his mother needed at this time, as she’d just lost the single most important person in her life, the one she’d spent the most time with and loved the longest. For his own children, he had to be the strong and supportive dad, who always knew what to say and do in every situation and who would navigate them through this difficult time, with his usual quick, dry wit.

But here he was, after seeing his mother home for a restless, lonely night, and after putting his children to bed with encouraging words like “granddad wouldn’t want you to be upset”, he came to his friends for solace himself.

He came to speak about his dad as he hadn’t been able to with his family. He came to unburden himself to someone without that close emotional connection, yet who he knew would care enough to shoulder it for him. He came to try figure out his feelings about speaking at the funeral – on one hand he knew his father would like him to do it and he himself would like to do it, but on the other hand he didn’t know if he’d be able to make it through without breaking down, and he didn’t want to do that either.

He came for a few brief moments to get away from the awful realness of what he was going through. He came because we weren’t intimately aware of the goings on with his wider family circle and for just a little while he wanted to break free of his new reality, the world which he knew he’d have to return to soon, the new world without his dad. And for just a short while longer, he wanted to leave that new fatherless world outside.

He came because he knew that The Hero would sit and listen; would offer words of advice or opinion only when asked; would have a drink and a silent toast to his friend’s hero and most importantly, that he would just be there. He came because The Hero is not only my hero, but when his friends need him, they know that he’ll be their hero too. So on that sad evening that our friend said goodbye to his own personal hero; when death came, as we know it will to us all; he knew the one place he wanted to come. And that’s just one of the reasons that I love The Hero, his amazing capacity to love and care for everyone in their time of need.

The Hero

I refer to my husband as The Hero (but never to his face, don’t want him to get a big head!) and sometimes it is in jest, or satirically because he’s pissed me off, but more often than not – no that’s not true, always – he is a hero, my hero.

From the first moment I met him in college I liked him. He had a kind look about him, and he was just that, kind. As I got to know him and we became friends we found that we had a very similar sense of humour and we spent hours, and still do, laughing at and with each other. We became best friends; I was there for him when he faced rejection from a classmate, and he was there for me when I had to find the courage to dump a boyfriend (note selective instances) and then we got together, still in college, and we’ve stayed together ever since.

There have been times when one or other of us has bumped into old classmates and they’ve asked about our life and when we’ve told them that we’re still together, they all seem genuinely surprised – not sure that’s entirely a compliment to either of us! And some of our friends and family think it’s really weird that we spend almost 24hrs a day, every day, in each other’s company. And I guess to some people that is strange, but the fact that we both live and work together means that technically we get very little time away from each other, so “we” need to work.

The best thing about The Hero? I know without a doubt that he loves me and our daughters with all of his being and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, or give, for any of us. But my favourite thing about him? How much we laugh together. Every day we laugh, and I don’t mean just a smile or a titter, I mean great big belly laughs. After more than 20 years, two kids, several continents and jobs, we still like each other enough to joke and laugh together, and I love him for it. And when we’re apart, even for one night, we truly miss each other. He has a very quiet, unassuming way about him, which is just as well given that he lives in a house full of women! He’s very slow to anger, but when he does get angry it’s spectacular! And he’s very quick to forgive, a trait of which I am infinitely jealous and completely incapable of emulating – I can hold a grudge like nobody else!

We seek each other out. We live and we love and we laugh, together. And sometimes I look at him and I think if my daughters can find a man like their father, they’ll be doing well. And I know that for a fact, because I found a man just as caring and loving as my dad, and I never thought that would happen.

So if you have one of these rare gems, be thankful for him every day (though not so as to let it go to his head 😉 and appreciate all the times you get to share together. If you are one of these near mythical creatures, thank your parents for teaching you how to treat people, teach your own kids the same and live as their example. But don’t forget that no matter how great he is, or you are, that you always have to work hard to keep the relationship alive and healthy. So be the hero in your relationship, and make your partner laugh every day, it’s truly worth it 🙂

Embarrassing Bodies!

I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the tv show Embarrassing Bodies? I’ve personally never watched it, for two reasons. Firstly, I’m not a big fan of gross things and I’ve got a very weak stomach; and secondly, if it’s that embarrassing to you I don’t quite understand why you’d want to go on national television and discuss and display said embarrassing bits to everyone!

But, today I have an embarrassing body of my own and if it wasn’t so bloody painful it would be hilarious. The problem started this morning when I woke up to find my period had arrived. Now, for some women that’s not a big deal and they just go about their business without missing a step, and then there’s the rest of us, those for whom when Mother Nature comes calling, she rains down all kinds of hell on our ass. Or, as The Hero likes to put it, basically our month consists of Countdown to Armageddon and then five or so days of battle-stations, and so the cycle continues.

But today was extra special for me, because somehow I managed to pull a muscle in my back while on the toilet! (Insert your own joke here, I’d go with something like “you’re shitting me?”)

The Teenager has gotten her period and thankfully she’s one of “those” females that isn’t at all affected by her “monthly visit” (don’t you just hate all the euphemisms for it?) But, unfortunately she’s also addicted to YouTube, which is where she found someone who helpfully explains that even though when you start you may not get any type of pain, beware because it could strike any month and it will be horrendous. Charming girl, and if I could get my hands on her I’d throttle her! So now, The Teenager watches me like a hawk to see exactly how bad it can get, all the while worrying that it’s going to happen to her – seriously, there’s no stopping the paranoia and crazy-train that is teenage years.

So today to the amusement of The Hero and The Terror, and to the horror of The Teenager, I’ve spent the day walking around with the gait of Quasimodo and a slightly crazed smile plastered in place because I can’t let her see how much pain I really am in. Knowing that I’m not getting any sympathy here, I thought I’d call up my bestie (I’m so down with the kids that I know some of the lingo ;p) and tell her how poorly I’m feeling and she’d make me feel better with the usual platitudes us women constantly feed each other. Nope, I called, she answered, I told her what happened and she almost crashed her car with laughter!

So here I sit, writing this, slightly lopsided and chewing pain killers interspersed with chocolate all the while smelling like a footballers’ locker room with all the pain relief spray and cream I’ve applied to my back and I think that really, to the people who love us, we’re always embarrassing in one way or another, but only sometimes is it our bodies!

A Mother’s Guilt

As a mother it’s your job to be guilty, all the time, for something you either did or didn’t do, that’s just the way it is; sometimes we’re even guilty for feeling something, we just can’t win! But today, for once, I had a plan that just might get around that perpetual state of grace.

Today was going to be a big day; the airshow was coming to town and it was a big deal in our house; The Hero and The Teenager were both equally excited – and it’s a rare thing that has them both on script. But, just in case we’d be lulled into a false sense of “happy family-hood” The Terror made her feelings known, repeatedly, and suffice to say she wasn’t nearly as excited as the others about going.

She was given the opportunity of staying at her grandparents’ house but she wasn’t biting, because she’d figured out that there would be no dinner cooked in this house tonight, which could mean only one thing, the Holy Grail of take-out food, and she wasn’t going to miss that!

So off we went, The Hero and The Teenager had charged up batteries for the ‘good’ camera and they’d organised their deck chairs, some jackets in case of chills or rain, some sun cream in case of good weather – the feckin’ list went on and on, and so I just zoned out. When we got to Valhalla, I decided the time was right to get out of Dodge; I told The Hero that I’d take this opportunity to go spend some time with his mother (good wife points!) and off I trotted.

Got to the in-laws’ house, let myself in, got comfy on the sofa, put on a movie and had a snooze. It was bliss! You see, they were out of town, but The Hero had forgotten this gem of information. So today, just for a little while, I managed to attain that all too elusive state of guilt-free relaxation, and it was worth it 🙂