Midlife crisis

My midlife crisis isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be.

Surely, by now, I should be knee deep in an affair? I should own a Porsche, a red one, and should probably be clubbing till the wee small hours or something? At the very least I should have dyed my hair a bonkers colour but alas, none of the above apply. 

Worse still is the fact that I don’t want any of the aforementioned midlife crisis paraphernalia. 

I wouldn’t mind hitting a club… biscuit, an orange one, with a nice cup of tea.

I do love to dance but the wee small hours bit is a tad off putting so I shall have to settle for the kitchen with Alexa on full volume. I didn’t want an Alexa, couldn’t see the point of asking her the weather when I have windows, but I soon discovered that I can ask her to play music and I would be lost without the music. She’s in the kitchen now playing something country music sounding, no idea what, I just ask her to play some music and off she goes. It’s like a musical lucky dip. 

Anyway.

I think that, since hitting 50, I have been struggling with the teenage angst I didn’t get as a teenager. I seem to be panicking about my future. For the first time I feel as though I need to make a decision and decision making is not my friend. 

When I left school I walked into a job at the bakery where I already worked on Saturday mornings. Immediately I was earning money doing a job I loved so there I stayed, I didn’t bother thinking ahead as I was happy. I loved my colleagues and the customers. 

There were some older characters from the village many of whom I remained friends with until they departed. Waggy who’d give me ice cream money when I went on holiday. Waggy who I visited when he went into a home and who “knew the voice” but couldn’t place me. The lady, who’s name I forget but who’s face I can still see, that would come in and point to the fresh cream doughnuts and ask me to save her two when they came in. Iris with whom I exchanged Christmas presents and who never forgot my birthday.

Then there were the workmen who’d come in for their cups of tea and ask me not to make them. The same workmen would send valentines cards, I still have some of them knocking about in my savings box. One, Russell, would come in and holler at the top of his voice “Tina, I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on” regardless of who I was serving at the time. Russell had never seen me without my clothes on.

At the bakery I was offered jobs, asked out on dates and even got engaged to one of the bakers. Life was grand so I settled, willingly, into it.

So why now? Why am I now having a small but perfectly formed crisis?

I love my job, probably because I’m rarely there. I love The Husband and my kids are the best the world has ever had the pleasure to meet. Yup, they’re better than yours and yours and yours are feral so yes, mine top yours too. Mine are odder than most but still, they’re polite and quite often clean* I have a home that could do with a dust but is plenty big enough for us and the dog, we get to eat every day, we can switch a light on when it’s dark and turn a tap for drinkable water so all is just as it should be.

But.

This is it, my last chance to do something of note. Perhaps write a book or paint a masterpiece? Should I retrain or just train as I never trained in the first place? I could go to college and get an ology but in what? 

It’s a lot, expecting someone who’s only 50 to have decided what it is they want to do with their life but here I am busy trying to decide and the waiting is driving me slowly mad. 

Oh, I could just go mad, that would solve many a quandry. When I’m asked what’s for dinner I could just shout “mud and shells fly to the moon whilst the peacocks melt” or something, that’d shut ‘em up. I could bow to bus drivers like the old lady over the road, that’s a thing of note, a legacy of sorts. Perhaps madness is the way forward? It’s got to be better than pondering, hasn’t it?

Oh I don’t know…

Hold up…

Gotta go, Alexa is playing my song…

*I reserve the right to take this back when my kids become drug lords and/or parking attendants 

My funny has gone

I’m funny, I know I’m funny because people tell me I’m funny. Funny ha ha or funny odd? Nobody has made it clear so I’m going with ha ha. I like being funny, I like being able to cheer folks up when they’re blue, I consider it my duty to do all I can in the cheering up department. The thing is, it’s been rather difficult of late.

You see, I’ve lost my Dad. Not as in misplaced no, more in the forever kind of lost. Dad had been poorly for a very long time but, due to either his life long phobia of all things Dr related or his misguided desire to save us all the worry, he left it too late to get help.

I’d been worried for years, angry too. What the hell was going to happen to him? How long would he suffer? What were we going to do without him? Why wouldn’t he go to the Drs for us? This was a man who’s every waking thought was for us, Mum, my brother and me, yet he wouldn’t get help, not even for us. Underneath ‘selfless’ in the dictionary you’ll find my Dad but, once he got sick, his actions appeared utterly selfish and so shockingly out of character.

We asked, occasionally begged, him to go. On one occasion he even went so far as to promise he’d go. We were on a family holiday in Wales, the last we would all go on, when The Husband had a wee word with him. Dad had shut him up by agreeing to go to the Drs when got home. He didn’t. That was August 2016.

Two years later I get a phone call from Mum, Dad had taken himself to the Drs as he was struggling to breathe. I dropped everything, in this case walking the dog, and I went to the Drs. To the lay person this would seem overkill but I knew that if he’d gone, willingly, he was dying or thought he was. My brother was close behind me, he also understood the seriousness of the situation.

Dad was booked in for a breathing test, you know the blow into a machine test, for the folowing week. The following week? We couldn’t believe it, this was a man on his last legs who could barely breathe and he’d been sent away. We all headed home but I nipped back into the surgery to tell the receptionist just how poorly he was, in case Dad had played it down, he was good at that, he’d been doing it for years. I was told the message would be passed on. I’m sure it was but it mattered not, at this point he was too far down the poorly road and we knew that.

Drs appointments followed, there were a couple of home visits because he couldn’t walk from the car to the surgery. At one appointment I’d had to find him a wheelchair and then answer the Drs questions because he didn’t have the breath to do so himself. It was at this appointment that the Dr questioned the swelling in his legs, two other Drs had been asked but we were told it was the steroids. This Dr took one look and said it was his heart and referred him to the hospital for a chest x-ray and a heart exam.

Dad saw the heart specialist chap for his results.

“Oh dear dear dear dear dear, his heart has gone and his lungs have gone” said the heart specialist chap.

Dad wasn’t allowed home that day. They jiggled with pills, did some tests and on the ninth day Dad walked, all by his onesie, out of the hospital and promtly headed back to work. On the ninth day Dad should have retired but he couldn’t as that’s what Dad did, he worked, he always worked come rain or shine, in sickness and in health and in more sickness.

Dad struggled on for another year, he should have been at home not at bloody work! The man wouldn’t be told and we all had to just carry on as if he wasn’t slowly getting sicker and sicker. It was the massive elephant in the room, we all knew it was there but couldn’t talk about it. Dad’s days got progressively shorter, he’d do half a day at work and be in bed by 9pm then that became an hour at work and be in bed by 6pm. We’d heard that he wasn’t doing anything at work, just looking out of the window. What was he thinking about? We’ll never know.

Thursday 21st November 2019 he left work in the morning, by the following Wednesday he was in A&E and he died on the Friday. We were there, my Mum, my brother and I but only just. We’d missed the call from the hospital telling us Dad wanted to see us because we were already on our way. We’d gone later because we knew his brother was visiting so we had arrived, due to a misjudged journey at rush hour, at the time when visitors aren’t allowed in, between 5.30 and 6.15pm. We’d actually gone into the hospital restaurant for something to eat. There was no panic as the day before they’d been talking about Dad coming home. My brother had sent a message to say he was in the car park moments before I received the text from The Husband telling me the hospital had left a message earlier.

Mum pushed her dinner away. I didn’t, it took me a few seconds to twig. I sent Mum up and said I’d wait for my brother, he took forever to come, turns out he’d had a nap in the car park while he waited for visiting to begin. Not surprising considering that none of us had slept since the trip to A&E.

We arrived on the ward at 6.15pm to find the curtains pulled around Dad’s bed. The penny finally dropped and when we pushed the curtains back Mum told us “he’s dying”

We don’t know if he knew we were there, he’d given Mum’s hand a squeeze but couldn’t talk. Dad died just after 9pm, he took my funny with him.

Shit

Oh how times change. The Youngest, my sweet little peculiar angel recently turned eight. Now, I wasn’t expecting change, I thought life would continue on as usual with her just being her, but I was in for a surprise.

A little background is needed here, for perspective purposes.

The Youngest is a joy, always happy, always kind, always helpful, always loud, mostly terrifying and more than a little querky but a pleasure to be around. To be fair she still is except, someone flicked a switch on her 8th birthday and I can’t find it to click it back to its default setting. Do children have factory settings?

This is what happened, brace yourself.

A few months ago we, the children and I, were sat in a hospital just minding our own business for hours and hours on end, as one does when one has a previously booked appointment, when boredom got the better of The Eldest.

“What is yellort backwards?” he asked his sister.

She pondered for a bit…

“Trolley!”

She liked this game very much.

“What’s tixe backwards?” she asked her brother.

This went on, with much merriment, for a good 15 minutes. Until.

“What’s tish backwards?” asked the blooming tween.

The Youngest pondered upon it.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, thrilled that she’d worked it out.

Then the penny dropped and she was mortified, we had tears, her brother was dreadfully apologetic for making her say a swear but it was no good, she was beside herself at the horror of it all.

Fast forward to a recent trip, post 8th birthday, when we’d stopped at a services for a comfort break.

“I need a wee too” she said.

“Actually I need a shit” she added.

Oh how she laughed.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit”

She had a crumpet for breakfast

The Youngest has been having a few problems at school, she’s at a funny age, another one, and is rather emotional all of a sudden. Stuff that used to pass her by now does not. I decided to have a little chat with her, to impart some of my wisdom. I was sure that my 48 years on earth gave me the edge on her 7. l know things and wanted to share.

“Boom, can we have a little chat?”

We’d just woken up in her bed which is 6ft up in the air, she was practically my prisoner.

“Sure”

“When l was a little girl l had a friend that could be a bit mean at times. I would let her away with it because her childhood was a bit rubbish”

“What’s a childhood?”

“That’s the part of your life before you become an adult. You’re having your childhood right now”

“Oh. Ok”

“Anyhoo. As we got older my friend got the hang of the fact that l would let her get away with treating me badly and so she continued to treat me badly. One of the things she used to do was use me to drive her places. I’d get an invite to go out with her but I worked out she didn’t want me, she just wanted a lift. One day l got a call from her, she’d missed a bus and hinted at a lift. What do you think I did?”

“You didn’t lift her”

“No. I said that I was sorry to hear it but there would be another along shortly. My friend stopped asking me for lifts after that”

“Are you still friends with them?”

“Yes, if l see her we still talk, we’ve known each other a long time but I stopped hearing from her once she realised I was no longer her taxi. What I’m getting at is that, as you grow up, you’ll learn which of your friends are real and truly care about you and which ones don’t. Don’t worry about those that are mean to you now, you’ll work them out and you’ll find some good ones as you go along”

“Mum . . .”

“Yes”

“You look like a tree out of a rain forest”

“Good chat Boom, what do you fancy for breakfast?”

The end is nigh, possibly . . . .

Chatting in the car The Eldest was pondering upon his impending move to upper school.

“I can’t believe that I’ve only one school left before l leave forever” he pondered out loud “This last year has gone really quick!”

“Funny you should say that Squidge. I realised, this morning, that I’m 48!”

It had come over me whilst brushing my teeth as most horrible thoughts do when you pause to do something dull yet necessary like brush your teeth or go for a wee.

“And?” asked The Eldest.

“Well, that means I’m half way through”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I don’t but twice my age is 96 so I’m thinking there’s a chance I’m over half way”

“Mum, someone could come round this roundabout and hit us, you could have 20 seconds” he said matter of factly.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

The Eldest was born wise, I believe this to be the root of his anxiety, he knew too much too soon. Blunt is something else that he is.

Fast forward a few days.

The Eldest and l were in the car again when the 20 second conversation popped into my head.

“I keep chuckling at your words of wisdom Squidge”

“Which ones?” he asked.

A valid question as there have been many.

“About the possible 20 seconds of life that l have left”

“Oh. Yeah. See, you think you’re half way through but you could be at the end”

Well. I suppose I asked for that.

Take me to your leader

We, the Boom and I, were to produce a bar chart as part of her homework, the subject matter was the favourite chocolate bars of her friends and family. Easy. I popped a wee message on Facebook and the results came in thick and fast which, rather ironically, is the opposite of how the bar chart was coming along.

Three attempts over as many days and I couldn’t have given a bugger that the Twix only got one vote. I had lost the will to give a rat’s arse about any of it.

I had tried to explain the purpose of a bar chart but she learns like me, we need to see stuff, you can explain it till you’re blue in the face and we will both listen intently then ask you to YouTube it thank you very much.

So, day three, whilst The Boom was at school, l began the final bar chart, all she had to do was label it and colour it in and I’d already done one of my own for reference. Basically she just needed to copy mine, she didn’t because she knew exactly what she was doing and what do I know anyway?

We sit. The Boom begins to colour, we have a giggle and life doesn’t seem so bad after all. I decide that she’s doing great and can be left for a few moments whilst l nip to the wheelie bin to dive in head first. Ha, only kidding, l just put the rubbish out, at no point did I truly consider climbing in. Honest.

Thirty or so seconds later I return to find her in the kitchen clutching a pair of scissors.

“What are you up to?”

“Just trimming it” she replied all nonchalant.

“It doesn’t need trimming, it will fit in your . . . hold on, have you cut the end off because you can’t be bothered to finish it?”

“Yes”

I’d got nothing. What could I say? My words failed me, l simply stood in awe at her genius.

World, let me introduce you to your leader.

Nevermore permit any individual to apprise thyself to the contrary.

“We shouldn’t use Owl words, we should use Yr2 words” she stated matter of factly.

“What are Owl words?”

Owl is the reception class, aged 4-5, so words used there are perhaps a tad basic? As one would expect for that age group. Yr2 class are 6-7 so are told to use more. I get that, words are grand for describing stuff, so I’m told.

That said I have a few issues with this.

Firstly, what if a Yr2 child was to repeat this to an Owl? This could make an Owl feel dreadful, the thought that the shiny new words they’re learning are a bit wrong.

“I can’t say happy, l must say extremely excited, happy is wrong”

“Whats wrong with happy?”

“I don’t know?”

“No Boom, there are no wrong words. All words are splendid”

Secondly, wrong words? What the fuck are wrong words?

When you see a cat but say “look at that lovely dog” perhaps? But the word isn’t wrong, you are, no wrong words there then.

When you ask “what the fuck are wrong words?” perhaps? Nope. All of those are fabulous too.

Now, I get it, honestly I do. Children should learn lots and lots of lovely words, words for describing things, places and people, words to help them express themselves and tell their stories. I too should continue to learn lots more lovely words, we can’t know too many. But. I’ll not have it said that words are wrong, except the word wrong which is wrong.

All words are fine by me and you should nevermore permit any individual to apprise thyself to the contrary.

Something wrong up there.

Some of the best, most informative, conversations I’ve ever had have been with my daughter. Not only is she full to bursting with facts, all of which I can guarantee you’ve not heard before, she is also very excited about everything and everyone which makes chatting with her a heck of a boost for your happy cells. The only thing that makes me happier is watching someone she’s just met, someone who doesn’t know, try a conversation with The Boom, it can be a bumpy ride for some.

I say can but I mean could. These conversations, thanks or not to her speech therapist, are fewer and farther between nowadays. Many strangers can understand her now which is probably a good thing albeit a bit dull.

Anyhoo. This brings me to a recent conversation about birthday presents.

“Boom, what would you like for your birthday?”

“I don’t know?”

Great.

“Oh, I have one!”

Thank goodness for that.

“I would like a rainbow light up cat”

“Right. Have you seen one of these rainbow light up cats anywhere Boom?”

” . . . . . . . Oh, no I haven’t. They’re not out yet are they? It won’t be here for my birthday will it?”

“No, probably not, sorry”

“I know what you can make in London”

“Oh, What’s that?”

London? Who was asking about London?

“Candles. Candles and buttons”

“Wow! I like candles and buttons” say I trying really really hard to join the conversation.

“Me too” she said and rolled off her bed onto the floor with a bump.

With that she was gone.

London? Candles? Buttons?

Later that day I was wandering about a field with the dog when it hit me. The children had a Tudor day at school, she’d gone in dressed as Boom Boleyn, they’d been to a Tudor doctor and made lavender filled pouches to cover the pong of Tudor England but, more importantly, they’d made candles and buttons.

The Boom hadn’t got an auditory processing disorder or whatever else it was the school had been pondering on. No, the Boom was bored of my conversation about birthday presents so had moved on to something far more interesting, her mind had wandered onto pastures new. The Boom is me but smaller.

In reception the children take in pictures of their family and their house and pets etc. to help them settle in and to give teacher something to nosey at. The Boom had been asked questions about the photos and had answered with utterly random replies not even slightly pertaining to said photo. Teacher had taken me to one side, concerned at the workings of my tiny child’s mind. At the time I knew, I knew that when they showed her a photo Boom didn’t see the person in it, she saw the place at which it had been taken, she saw the memory of what we’d been up to on the day it had been taken, her mind had wandered to the more interesting.

Why on Earth would she talk about her mum in a photo when earlier that day we’d been to the beach and eaten chips in a wind blown tent? Why would she chat about her house when, just before that picture had been taken she’d been trapped in a sand pit? Why, for the love of biscuits, would she talk about the things you could plainly see when she has better things to talk about? Why, when asked, would she talk about school when she’d once eaten a blue cake? Why would she chat to my friend Mer when she could ask Mer if she was in fact her own daughter? It was clear to all of us there that Mer was not her daughter but her daughter is more interesting than the Mer herself. Looking back on it this was a fair question which was given a fair answer.

“No, I’m not Alexa, she’s at home watching a bit of tele in her PJs” replied my dearest friend without so much as a titter.

It’s taken almost 7 years but I get it. The Boom is not hard of hearing, she’s hasn’t got “something wrong up there” as her teacher once wrongly predicted whilst tapping at her head for full effect. No, she just has better things to think about.

The Boom has been ignoring us all for years, she’s been busy dancing to the beat of her own drum. My greatest wish is that she continues to do so for many more years to come.

Vegans must die.

Tis tricky feeding a family of four at the best of times, one has allergies, one is always on a diet and failing miserably (me) and another doesn’t eat veg. So imagine my joy when the one who avoids veg decides he’s going vegan. Yay!

Squidge has been vegan for a week now and is doing rather well. As inconvenient as it is for me his resolve is both impressive and rather irritating. If only I could stick to a diet like he does, I’d be tiny right now, I am in awe of the 11yr old.

That said, it is time to do the food shopping and I just can’t.

“I’m calling a family meeting” said I.

“Oh no” whined the kids.

I ignored the groaning and continued on.

“I want a comprehensive list of what you would like for tea this week. Squidge, you need to tell me what you can eat now you’re vegan”

He’s more than welcome to vegan himself right up but he can do the research, my brain hurts at the thought of feeding nothing but veg to a non veg eater. I’m not sure how many Indian Vegan burgers a person can eat before they never want to see one again. I’ll buy it, I’ll happily cook it but he must do the ground work.

“Carbonara” announced The Boom.

She’s easily pleased that one.

The vegan fell silent.

I sat scratching Boom’s back, she requested that I do it forever which was fine as we had forever to wait for the vegan to come up with something other than Oreos and prawn cocktail crisps.

We waited.

We scratched.

We waited some more.

“We could rip his head off?”

The 6yr old is a genius. Problem solved.

Once more please.

Can I be a kid again please?

I want my mummy and daddy to look after me.

I want my mummy and daddy to take me to the seaside and buy me ice cream.

I want my grandparents, my uncle David, my uncle Harry and my dad back.

I want to go climb the third tree with my mates.

I want to make random phone calls from the telephone box on the green at the bottom of my road.

I want to fill steak pies with sweet corn and whizz them in the microwave then follow that up with a chocolate lovely.

I want to be surprised christmas morning when You Know Who has been.

I want a backie on my mates bike.

I want to throw corn bombs.

Can I then be an adult again please?

I want to go on one of those new years eve pub crawls that don’t exist any more, the ones where you could go in all the pubs not just the one you’ve got a ticket for.

I want to kiss everybody at midnight. Every. Body.

I want to go clubbing till the wee small hours.

I want to drink. Oh how I want to drink. Lots of boozy yum yums with little to no aftereffects.

I want to pass my driving test.

I want to get my first wage packet.

I want to go drunk sledging in Levi.

I want to buy our first house again and get really rather too excited about buying a fridge.

Then can I end up right here again, right here and right now please?

Thanks xx