The 2021 Diary of a 40 something housewife

12th April

I feel strangely reluctant about writing this particular blog entry. I have already written it and deleted it twice. I find it hard to write about negative feelings, it almost feels that committing them to words in black and white gives them a longevity I would rather they didn’t have. Talking about things is supposed to help make them better but I am not sure that is always the case, for me I find it stirs things up, things that would do better if left to settle. Or perhaps that’s where I go wrong? A stubborn reluctance to share how I feel for fear of making myself look bad.

Grandad has gone, he left us Wednesday at high noon. I feel heartbroken and relieved all at the same time, I hated to think of him lying unconscious, drugged. I am glad his suffering has ended for his own sake. I envy people that believe in heaven, I wish I did, I wish I believed that we will see our loved ones again. That is all I can say at the moment as already my eyes are stinging with tears.

Yesterday we went to our local theme park for a family day out, or more precisely a family hour. I felt a bit dubious about from the start due to it usually being such a busy place. Our days out for the past year have been woodland walks, coastal path hikes and quiet beach visits, it felt strange and unnatural to be around so many people in such a different environment. It didn’t take long before I started to feel uncomfortable. The website said that masks were to be worn on the rides by anyone over 11 but people weren’t doing it and no one was bothering to ask them to, that was the 2nd trigger I think. I tried to reassure myself that as we were outside it was ok but I just couldn’t hold down my anxiety. In the end I started shaking and my eyes quietly leaked tears under my sunglasses, not crying as such, just a steady plop, plop of hot, fat tears, it was weird. We left. I felt so bad for the kids and really guilty for ruining the day.

After that disaster we went down the road to Porthleven, bought hot pasties and went to the beach which, thanks to a sudden downpour before we arrived was almost empty. Sitting by the sea taking deep lungfuls of salty air was wonderful, the sense of space and freedom was bliss, I wanted to curl up on my blanket with the sea breeze on my face and go to sleep until all the bad feelings had drained away into the sand. Mark played catch with the kids, I didn’t join in but sat watching them while I ruminated on my failings at the theme park. If only I wasn’t such a crazy person, clearly no one else there was stressing out like I was, every one else there seemed to be enjoying themselves. How do I stop myself from feeling like this now that things are opening up again? I really hope these feelings fade as things become ‘normal’ again.

What the hell is ‘normal’ now anyway?

The 2021 Diary of a 40 something housewife

6th April,

They say ‘every cloud has a silver lining’ and it turns out that is true. After months of trying and failing to sew myself a pair of trousers that fit me reasonably well, I finally have a pair. Not, I hasten to add, because I have had some incredible sewing breakthrough, but because sitting on my backside home-schooling the kids for those few of months while eating pancakes and crisps has increased my girth sufficiently to fill the pair I made that were previously too big. I have grown into them shall we say. Luckily I didn’t throw them away as they are now one of only 3 pairs of trousers I currently own that don’t cut off the blood supply to my legs, feet and other important places. Sadly they aren’t really suitable for wearing in public due to something going hideously wrong with a home dye kit and leaving them a rather shocking bright green colour with some rusty looking brown patches, it’s not a great look, even for someone with as little fashion sense as me. I still wear them around the house though as I can breathe, sit and bend down in them without fear of doing myself a mischief, I am all about comfort these days. Mark says they make me look like Kermit the frog.

With a view to fitting back into all my other pairs of trousers and jeans I am now back to walking everyday, eating healthily and intermittent fasting on the 18/6 method which is so hard in house full of unsupervised Easter eggs – the kids are too trusting. I have to do something drastic, otherwise my only option is to buy a whole new set of slightly bigger clothes, which admittedly would be very tempting if all the money wasn’t going on doing the house up. (I now have a brand new wardrobe in which to hang all my clothes that don’t fit me anymore) I know it’s an age thing, shaking up the old hormones once again for a final hurrah. Bloody hormones, bloody peri menopause. Part of me wants to just accept the 40 something age I am, say sod it, upsize all my clothes and embrace the chocolate but I can’t, eating chocolate worries me as I am terrified of rotting my teeth and ending up back at the dentist crying and dribbling like a big baby while I have another filling. Which brings me back to the only option I have left – Exercise, abstinence and avocados. Luckily the arrival of spring means that not only will the exercise do me good physically the beauty of the season is incredibly good for my mental health, I can definitely feel the benefits already.

I am pleased to report I have done better with my meditation lately, I managed to do it every morning for 7 days until yesterday when I overslept, I only realised I had forgotten when I was getting into bed last night and then it was too late (I can’t meditate when I am tired as I drop off and fall over) That’s the result of staying up until stupid O Clock drinking Prosecco the night before while watching re runs of Midsummer Murders and Agatha Christie. The intermittent fasting was conveniently forgotten too in favour of tucking into a fair few bags of some rather nice balsamic flavoured pea snacks sometime around midnight. It seems I am not quite ready to resist temptation even for the sake of my skinny jeans. Must try harder.

**********

My Grandad is now heavily sedated and filled with painkillers to keep him comfortable. He is unresponsive, Alzheimer’s has taken him, he won’t recover, he can’t. This is the final stage for him and he is in a world far away from us. My Grandad has gone but not gone. It breaks my heart and I can do nothing to help him.

The 2021 Diary of a 40 something housewife

30th March,

On Saturday I felt like a little adventure and I really needed some outside time so I delved into my little book of walks in Cornwall and off we went. Studies say that a walk in nature can reduce your stress levels and calm your nerves, I am sure it can if you are walking with like minded people or alone. However, if you are walking with my kids I think it can have the opposite effect. It didn’t take long for the moaning to start even though I explained at length that walking was an excellent form of exercise, being in nature was brilliant for mental health and it was wonderful to walk somewhere different for a change. It went in one ear and out the other, at one point Eleanor sat down in the middle of the path and suggested we phone a taxi to take us back to the van. I started to get rather irritated by the constant barrage of complaints (they will happily run around for hours when it suits them) so I calmly explained that we were doing the walk regardless of how much they moaned and argued about it, they could either do the walk and make the best of it or they could moan and whinge continually and get banned from their ipads. They chose to get banned from their ipads and carried on moaning for hours *sigh. In the end it didn’t matter, we got lost. 5 hours 51 minutes and 18.2k later we arrived back at the van in the dark and it was too late for ipads anyway. Needless to say none of us fancied a walk on Sunday.

Awoke with a horrible start yesterday morning as my alarm went off, my alarm is on my watch which started vibrating vigorously against my forehead as I was sleeping on it. It was a pretty unpleasant sensation especially as my arm was numb and I couldn’t move it. However it was preferable to the weird dream I was having in which Boris Johnson had me in a headlock and was shouting at me because I walked in on him going to the toilet. If dreams really do have meanings what the hell is that one all about? *Shudders. What a way to start the week! It has improved though, just like the weather and I am feeling better this week. Mostly.

Thoroughly enjoyed my mornings exercise on the walk to school this morning, it was so warm and still the air was full of springtime smells, floral, earthy, spicy and someone, somewhere was cooking pasties, the delicious aroma made my mouth water and my tummy rumble, I love a good cornish pasty. There where birds singing everywhere and I spotted a few collecting nesting material so I watched them, I now know the location of a Bluetit nest and a White throated dipper nest, the school run is becoming quite a nature spotting safari. I even heard a Cuckoo in the park, very excited I turned around and around trying to spot it but it was always behind me, I yanked my backpack off in panic to get my phone out and record it as proof, only to discover that rather disappointingly it was in fact my new phone alarm reminding me to put the washing out, the Cuckoo alarm tone is very realistic. Still, even without hearing a real Cuckoo it was a lovely uplifting walk.

I am reluctant to start writing about my Grandad as I don’t want to start crying again but my feelings can’t be suppressed, they pop up all over the place. I feel guilty after having such a fabulous walk, I feel extremely sad that Grandad is slipping away and can’t be outside to enjoy the spring blossoming and the feeling of grief for what is being lost is overwhelming when it comes. The time that I have spent enjoying the morning is time that he is suffering and getting weaker, time that I am not there with him and time that can never be recalled. I feel like I shouldn’t be feeling uplifted, I shouldn’t be smiling and enjoying my life when his is ending. I already miss him so much. I know he would hate for me to feel like that but I can’t help it, these emotions come crashing down on me like a huge dark wave. I hate Alzheimer’s.

Found on Pinterest, says it all.

I think it’s time for a cup of tea.

The 2021 diary of a 40 something housewife

23rd March,

This morning I felt some small happiness as I stood in our bedroom window, forehead on the cold glass and watched as the sun rose over the city. It was a beautiful sight and I feel very lucky to have such a wonderful view from our house. Yesterday was a tough day, yesterday I was allowed to visit my Grandad in Bristol. It felt very strange to leave the area, I was constantly expecting the police to stop me and demand to know where I was going. My Grandad is 91 and has Alzheimers, he has been ill with a chest infection and is now receiving end of life care, hence my being allowed to visit. I felt like my heart was breaking, seeing him bed bound and looking so frail. I struggled so hard not to cry in front of him, I didn’t want to make him sad and I knew if I started I wouldn’t stop. He told me he had had a wonderful life and not to be sad, I told him I would miss him so much. I can barely see the keyboard through my tears just writing this.

I haven’t been sleeping very well again which I guess is understandable. I woke up at 3am this morning and Fanny leapt at the opportunity for a chat (Fanny being the name of my annoying inner voice) This mornings topic was Rhubarb and where in the garden to plant it, or more precisely, listing all the places not to plant it which pretty much ruled out the entire bloody garen. I have been obsessing over this for weeks since my last gardening stint ended with the revelation that I hate gardening (see post dated 2nd March) I now have a load of rhubarb plants sitting in buckets that need planting today and nowhere ready to put them. The Rhubarb I planted last year died, so clearly that’s not a good spot, everywhere else involves heavy digging and removal of lawn. Well, sort of lawn, really it’s an uneven area covered in weeds with a few odd blades of grass that all the neighbourhood cats like to crap on. It’s going to be hard graft, but the bit I dread the most is the retching and heaving involved in removing the cat turds. Really what our garden needs a massive overhaul or preferably emptying into a skip and starting again with a team of gardeners instead of me.

After spending so long in the car yesterday I was quite looking forward to stretching my legs on the walk to school this morning. We have a lovely route alongside a river, beside a park and victorian gardens, past the cathedral and over another river. The round trip is 5.2k and takes me just over an hour, I usually enjoy it. This morning not so much, Agatha and Elizabeth kept up a constant stream of complaints for pretty much the entire walk there. Elizabeth complained because she had waited until the moment we were leaving the house to announce her school shoes were suddenly too tight, the shoes she wore instead were rubbish, she didn’t like them, she couldn’t run in them, why couldn’t she have worn a different pair? I am not sure exactly why she didn’t chose a different pair to wear but it was my fault apparently. Agatha complained because she hated her bag, she hated her lunchbox, she hated school, she hated her socks that kept falling down – the socks I told her not to wear because they would fall down. She also hated walking, carrots and me. Eleanor just lagged so far behind that when I wasn’t addressing the barrage of discontent I was shouting at her to walk faster or we would be late. By the time I waved them off I was ready to explode. So much for walking being relaxing.

Perhaps taking a pick axe to the garden will relieve some pent up frustrations and give me some head space, Rhubarb here I come.

The 2020 Diary of a 40 something housewife

12th May

Dear Diary

It was a rather traumatic start to the day today, Elizabeth’s Hover fly died. She was so incredibly upset, sobbing her heart out and going over all the things they had done together and how she would miss spending all her time with Buzzy. Even Eleanor tried to be nice to her which was very strange and unnatural. I have to admit that Elizabeth’s palpable grief even affected me and I shed more than a few tears at the loss of Buzzy the Hover fly. Mark laughed at me and was, I believe, a bit surprised to find his 40 something year old wife crying over an insect. I have promised Elizabeth that if she researches which flowers Hover flies like best, we will plant a memorial garden in his/her honour.

Rather annoyingly, crying gives me a headache and makes my eyes feel hot and tired for the rest of the day regardless of how many times I splash them with cold water. I wish I could stop myself from crying when I feel it coming but my eyes will not be dissuaded from leaking once they have a mind to go for it, it’s quite frustrating and inconvenient sometimes, especially if your husband is around to laugh at you and tell everyone. Anyway regardless of all the crying I have persevered with my gratitude practice and counted my blessings whenever the thought occurred to me, which probably isn’t often enough yet but so long as I keep trying I am sure it will become a habit. I am all about creating new and beneficial habits….shame they aren’t as easy to pick up as the bad ones!