MUMSFRET

As a mum of three, I think I qualify as an authority on the trials, tribulations and emotional highs and lows of motherhood.  Being a hyper sensitive nutter as well is the Masters Degree on top.  So tell me, is there such a thing as ‘tragiphobia’?  Am I the only mum who dreads tragedy knocking on my door?  I blame the media (even though I long to be a paid member of it).  Turn on the radio or TV, open the newspaper and there are the shocking and sad stories that slip quietly into my brain and pierce my heart because they are about the awful things that happen to peoples sons and daughters (not to mention husbands, but that’s another blog altogether).  Because I have little or no sensitivity barrier, this seemingly violent and dangerous world has given me such jitters regarding the safety of my adult babies, I skip sensibility and jump to worst case scenario at the least opportunity.  When they fail to text when staying out overnight or cycle somewhere (no helmet) or announce that they will be travelling to some distant country, my overcrowded mind conjures up a list of potential hazards in advance as if such thoughts could somehow prevent them occurring.   Don’t get me wrong, I have never been a clingy or interfering mother and there are no apron strings in sight.  I do actually look forward to the permanent occupants of my house only consisting of me and my man and the freedom of not having to cover up my bits and even use them more often!  Luckily I do have hidden under all my neuroses a sensible streak that gives me the strength to deal with fait a complis and tell myself that they must live their lives as they wish and that worry and panic changes absolutely nothing. But the worry demon will always sit on my shoulder and I am sure all mums have to live with that little green monster because it comes with the territory but  I value my time on this planet and as far as I know, living in fear of tragedy is nobody’s idea of fun.

An Empty Trophy

I’m just saying, is it possible that there is such a thing as women who make being a wife/mother/housekeeper into a ruthless career move? I’m not referring to ordinary stay at home mums of which most of the time I was one.  It’s just that I sense there are some for whom maintaining their position, (one which some men literally can’t function without- SAD), no matter what compromises are involved, is their sole ambition.  To hell with independence, to hell with real freedom, and often to hell with their husband’s fidelity as long as he doesn’t flaunt his behaviour, ie make it obvious.  As long as she has the house, the money, the holidays and the kudos attached to their husband’s career, (this whole description tends to apply only to wives of the rich, famous or at least successful) she is her version of happy. She cares not for the soulmate aspect, the confidante, the sexual match, things that to me are the things that make a marriage work.  They forsake all this so they can stand proud in the family photo as the perfect image (operative word), of official wife, dominatrix of all she, or rather the outside world surveys, no matter how hollow it all is inside.  Not my idea of happiness that’s for sure!

Techno tantrums

Although computer literate enough to use my laptop/tablet/smartphone rather than miss out by claiming that “I don’t understand all that stuff” like some old fogeys, I am constantly spitting out ‘trooper’ expletives and threatening to smash the item in question because something happens like the cursor inexplicably flitting away from what I am typing. Or the entire page decides to float up the screen and my email with it.  Wow I’m saying fuck just thinking about it. I think it has more to do with a)my laziness and not getting properly acquainted with exactly how the pc/tab/phone works in more detail and b) the fact that patience is not one of my many virtues. I have been ever thus – it’s not to do with age. Repeat.

Got to get real !

Being ultra sensitive and owning a vivid imagination, I fantasise way too much.  That’s great when it comes to sex, but it also means that I don’t have enough of a grip on reality sometimes.  Things that worry me, the worst case scenarios that pop into my head at the first sign of anything not going to plan (an offspring not coming home all night and not texting me/ a friend not keeping in touch) pretty much always turn out not to be as negative as I have painted it.  This is good, except I’ve wasted all that time knitting my brow.  But much worse I think are the things I imagine that are going to provide some wondrous buzz, or be the provider of the vital stimulation and fulfilment I ardently desire in life.  A project, a seemingly exciting opportunity I wasn’t expecting. I immediately attach a kind of rose tinted importance to what seem to be positive happenings and have to really claw my thoughts down to mother earth to sift through the happy mist and see that perhaps they are not as good as they seem.  I sometimes wish I was less childlike in this respect, but then I am creative and it comes with the territory.  Yes it does.

Ooh you are awful!

This is a ‘got to write it down moment’.  What is a ‘pervert’?  More to the point, why do people especially journalists use the term so much? Here’s my take. The Brits are so bloody prudish and hypocritical that every time they refer to ANYTHING sexual that isn’t under the duvet with the lights off, they are embarrassed, self conscious and terrified in case we think they are kinky. Here’s the thing, being uninhibited sexually doesn’t qualify as kinky.  It’s all good stuff unless it involves animals or children, in other words, you have to be into something VERY strange and/or  harmful, in order to qualify as a pervert and most of the stuff on the list of preferences don’t fit that description so GET OVER IT!!!

SOCDRAWER - the introduction

This is S.O.C.DRAWER  however twee or formulaic the title, tough shit -  it stands for stream of consciousness drawer, like your sock drawer except it contains some or all of the ceaseless babble that crowds my head.  If you don’t like/agree with it, don’t read it.  Simples.

Being longer in the tooth than some, I will observe the formality of introducing myself, oh who am I kidding, it’s an ego massage.  I am slightly educated, two A levels, but no degree.  I live in London, born here in fact.  I hate ageism and even though my body is now putting up a fight, I think the same as I did in past decades only now I have the confidence to speak up and where possible put it into action.  It is an absolute joy not to give a toss what people think, one of several positive aspects of not being young. Don’t get me wrong (please), the battle against being made to feel that age is a nasty withering disease and that being over 50 means I should just shut up and stay on the sofa, is one I sometimes feel I am losing. Fuck that though.  I write articles, I sing (used to get paid for it) recently joined a gospel choir, I dance for fitness (jazz and zumba) and mainly because it gives me huge pleasure and because I am musical, I’m not bad at it.  I watch all dance programmes and sit there grinning with joy and wonderment when I see talented dancers.  Jazz, hip hop,b-boy, locking,  contemporary, latin.  See I even know the terminology.

 I have a strong particular style that includes a few tattoos, some of you will immediately downgrade me for that, if so, a) I don’t give a shit, b) you are living in the past.  I am short (petite in polite circles) and am a mixture of earthy and head in the clouds.  The earthy side includes being the opposite of prudish.  I am sexual, but that’s none of your business.  I swear lots, but not instead of vocabulary – I love words and use them as an art form. I love to entertain and often bang on about how I wish I had achieved a career in same.  I am happily married to husband three who is one of the few good (at several things) men on this  planet.  He is my friend and wonderfully supportive. Like me he is not conventional or stereotypical.  I don’t do stereotyping.  You’ll notice that from what I write in this blog