The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

Crunchy leaves on the ground and the central heating on first thing in the morning, it’s safe to say that autumn is well underway.

Social media is awash with proclamations of love for the season and I honestly can’t get enough. Almost every outfit post is a woolly jumper, and the air is spiced with the scent of pumpkin lattes.

This season has blown out the sticky cobwebs of summer, and I couldn’t be more ready.

Making use of my garden was nice, but trying to wear work clothes or amuse a toddler in 28 degree heat is so not my bag. For me, the best thing about summer is the first dusky sunset. The first time you need to put a light on in the evening, or the first time you need to take a jacket. There’s something about that freshness in the air, that lets you know autumn’s on its way.

Usually the season also carries a jingle of anticipation for the festive period but that’s not got quite the same appeal this year. After a summer of health and work setbacks, the real blow was dealt in June when my nan passed away. Her house has been the centre of our family my whole life. I haven’t even begun to process the idea of Christmas with an empty space at the table.

HOWEVER. The point of this post isn’t to dwell on the rough hand the last few months have dealt. Quite the opposite.

Autumn might forecast long nights and frost tinted chill, but it’s also a final flurry of activity before the world around us sheds its natural colour. There’s so much to see and do, and reasons to be grateful. So, as if a blog post about autumn wasn’t Basic BloggerTM enough, here are some of mine.

Winds of Change

This summer felt like it didn’t have an ounce of breath to spare. The heat bore down heavily, and I was relieved when the first breeze floated through the air. The cooler temperatures have always heralded big change for me: moving out for the first time, starting uni, new jobs, relationship milestones.

They’ve happened at other times of year as well, but there was something really special about moving into our old flat in autumn. The first walk I went by myself, around the park and unknown lanes of the south side, couldn’t have painted a more welcoming picture. I don’t know that this year will hold the same promise; but I like to think that, if it’s not the start of change, it’s making way for more to blow in.

Colour, Colour Everywhere

Autumn is the only time of year I really do clothes shopping. My whole wardrobe is mustard, burgundy, black, brown and goth shades of all your summer favourites. Tartan and leopard print and stripes and big, chunky cardigans reign supreme. It’s the time of year to let your inner grunge kid run riot: think messy (windswept) hair and eyes smeared in orange, red and brown (like this I Heart Revolution Chocolate Orange palette, my current obsession).

Maybe it’s another part of change, putting the ‘summer wardrobe’ (lol) away and embracing long sleeves and scarves again. Plus, being a bi-annual-at-most shopper means I never really feel guilty for spending money in one go. It’s to do me the rest of the year, after all.

We Are (All) The Weirdos

Ever since I was wee, I’ve loved everything about Hallowe’en. I was well into my teens before I stopped going guising (it helped that there were kids in our street whose parents would rather palm them off to us, while we were only too happy to take a cut of the sugar haul).

I haven’t been out-out for Hallowe’en in years but we’ve always found something to do. Dressing up is positively encouraged and it’s all more than just a little bit gothic.

Not only that, but homeware is also embracing its dark side. Everywhere from specialist shops to high street chains to supermarkets are selling decorations and accessories. Safe to say I’m loving it. So far we’ve only got autumn leaf bunting, jack o’ lantern lights and a pumpkin spiced candle, but the season is still young!

Cooking Up A Storm

In summer I never know what to feed myself- certainly not when we’ve had a melter like this year. Barbecue is pretty much lost on me. Other than ice cream and cereal my diet was mostly the same pasta I make any other time of the year but put in the fridge first. Autumn, though? Now yer cookin’ wi gas. Give me aaaall the root vegetables. It’s soup season.

Seriously, I probably make (and eat) enough soup in autumn/winter to make up my total veg count for the year. Working long hours means I’m guilty of either having nothing or making something easy (i.e. whatever I can defrost in twenty minutes). I’m almost looking forward to making an effort this year; especially getting more into vegan cookery.

The Great Outdoors

I’m probably romanticising how many sunny, dry autumn days we actually get in Scotland. The reality is probably more wet ‘n windswept. On those rare days, that perfect balance of bright and chill, I love nothing more than being outdoors with my family. We have a few things to look forward to this year- and who knows, we might even get pumpkin picking- but sometimes the unplanned days are the best.

Lucas loves running about without us chasing him (too closely), and I love his ruddy-cheeked excitement at picking up leaves and playing with mud. And also because it means he tires himself out in time for a nap, amiright parents.

Coorying In

Denmark have their hygge and the Swedish live lagom, but when the nichts are dreich, we Scots love a coorie in. Never let it be said that dark, northern countries don’t know how to do ‘cosy’ well. There’s a lot to be said for lighting some of your fancy autumn candles, bundling up on the blankets and ticking things off your reading or viewing lists.

Handily Ally’s compiled a ’31 days of horror’ list for the month- with two films a day, for good measure- so we’re not short on ideas. We’ve also been getting crafty, baking gingerbread and giving the house a right good scour.

I could go on but as you can see, I’ve kinda got a lot to be getting on with. I always love reading about other people’s autumn plans, so I’m sure I’ll have more to add, too. Stay spooky, folks.

 

Third Quarter Review

It’s been six months since I last posted anything on here. Half a year. I wouldn’t have believed it myself, had I not realised the date.

That’s not to say that it’s been lying dormant. I’ve written three-ish posts in that time. I just haven’t actually posted any of them. Last time I blogged, I wrote about how I’d been feeling uninspired and needed to give myself a creative shake. In that time I’ve done precisely nothing to improve on that and I don’t even know why.

The bones of this post have been around for a while. It started off as a mid-year review, to see how far I’d come since the new calendar. Around that time I was preparing for my mid-year review in work. I thought it’d be fun to do the same IRL.

Turns out it wasn’t as fun as I hoped. I compiled a list of promises and goals I’d made at new year, and how I’d either achieved them or not. It worked, in a sense that I got a full post out of it. It just felt… bleh. Like eating Weetabix with the dregs of a carton of milk. Not enough to scrap it completely but not enough for it to be truly great. So I clicked ‘save draft’ and that was that.

The longer this went on, the more I felt embarrassed about not posting anything. I still used blogger hashtags on Instagram, sure. But it felt hollow. I couldn’t talk about blogging stuff because I wasn’t blogging. The more I left it, the harder it got to sit and write. Repeat ad nauseam.

I was mostly embarrassed because my last post had ended on such a determined note. I wanted to steal my time back from self-doubt, to stop comparing myself to others and look for my own positives. Honestly, I had great intentions, I really did.

Great intentions can’t quite prepare you for curveballs though.

This year, this last six months especially, has thrown them in abundance.

I don’t know that I’m ready for discussing the throes of my personal life on the internet (I know that’s basically the purpose of a blog, but I don’t know that I’ve dealt with it all myself, so ssshh). It’s been a difficult few months and at this point in time, there’s not a great deal of change of the horizon. So I put things off and blamed them on other circumstances.

It was this post from the amazing Sian that got me thinking. It’s a lot more succinct and beautifully put than I could hope, so you should probably read that if you’re still combing for the point in this post. I guess I was overthinking a lack of direction on my blog to distract me from a lack of direction elsewhere.

Maybe I was blogging or applying for jobs or planning new hobbies with the wrong intentions, regardless of whether they were good.

Maybe I was holding myself back because I didn’t want to admit that I’m no further forward than I was last time you heard from me.

Maybe I didn’t need to have all the answers or know where things where going.

Maybe all I needed was to deflect the curveballs and toss one of my own.

To get started, I just had to write something down.

So here it is.

In With The New

How long after the 1st of January do you keep saying ‘happy new year’?

I always thought you said it to anyone whom you were meeting for the first time since the bells. That was fine when I was younger and more sociable but let’s face it- these days, between working full time and having an increasingly mobile toddler means I’m more or less a social hermit. There are people, despite my best intentions, that I probably won’t see until the first tulips make their tentative appearance.

So, if I do somehow wish you a happy new year in March, it’s because I don’t really do very much.

When I do it usually involves damage control. He’s at THAT age.

Whether your plans involved being asleep before midnight or you saw twelve noon the following day, I hope it was what you wanted to get out of it. The year started off on a sour note for me as, two days beforehand, I found out I was due back at work a week earlier than I thought. My initial annual leave of three weeks got extended until new year and I could’ve sworn I applied for the first week off.

Nope. On the 2nd of January I was right back in the habit. The only upside was that despite a 9am start, I took my car to no interruption. The trains didn’t start early enough, I couldn’t fathom the bus timetable but the normally nose to tail roads were empty. Thanks, everyone, for staying at home with your families, friends and loved ones, and keeping the first commute of the year relatively stress free.

So, not quite the ownership I’d hoped to grab in 2018. I knew that after six weeks off it was going to be hard. I almost found it harder than returning after maternity leave. During my annual leave my son turned one and suddenly started to come on in leaps and bounds. It was a lot more work than the first time off with him, but I felt like we both got so much more out of it.

In the space of three weeks, we had four Christmas parties. We visited museums and soft plays and libraries, sat in cafes and parks, saw lights being switched on, went for long walks with no other aim than being outside. We wandered until we got lost and had to find our way back.

The Hidden Lane, Finnieston.

We celebrated my first birthday as a mum, Lucas’s first birthday earthside, the first Christmas where he was really aware of what was happening. He had his first Christmas dinner and met Santa for the first time. It felt like every day he was learning or doing something new.

I felt like I knew more this time, and was able to plan our time better. Sure, it was tough. He’s not so keen on getting changed or taking medicine or being stopped from jamming his chubby little fingers under the door. There were days where it rained so hard we didn’t leave the house, and the two of us grew bored and cranky. At first it seemed like a vast expanse of days stretching endlessly before us.

Then Christmas came, and it felt like I was being hurtled back to the real world.

The return to work loomed over the last of my leave, casting a cloud through which it was impossible to see there and then. I felt so anxious the night before, and the whole drive in. It was busy, it was stressful and… then it was done.

Ashton Lane Christmas switch-on

The next week came and went similarly. I got into a rhythm again. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It still felt like I was wishing my days away. Somewhere along the way, though, I just… forgot to be so bothered by it.

I guess I was just ready to face the new year head on for a change. When I think back to a ‘successful’ year, it’s easy to focus on what happened, instead of how. We look back on good times, yearn for them and gloss over the stress and work and deadlines and dead space that surrounded them. Sometimes luck and opportunity can land at our feet but it’s rare. Not only that but it’s rarely a sweeter success than that which we’ve earned. Or so I’ve found, anyway.

On that note, I started making some changes. I put the work woe aside and celebrated the bells with my family. I started getting my head down and on with things at work. I signed up for an evening course in web design and web authoring. I’ve put away £3 for every coffee I haven’t bought and read double my book readin’ target for the month. I signed up to Veganuary and I’ve been cooking more, eating more and eating better.

Obviously this was before jumping on the vegan wagon.

I’ve written a list of goals (not resolutions) for the year to finally vent my creative frustration. I have a beautiful new diary and Ally bought me a calendar- an actual, honest to god one which goes on the wall. Usually I’d fill them with the plans I wanted to make, but I’m prioritising the ones I need to make by writing them nicely.

I’m not saying that Doing Things and Making Changes are a one stop solution for all of our woes. I’m not exactly grabbing life by the balls, currently sitting alone under a blanket on a Friday night, blogging and catching up on Mad Men (I’m on the second episode).

That’s cool, though. It’s not about razing your life to the ground and building a flat pack new build from its ashes (do that if you want, but it’s not my point). Do what you have to in order to forge your own path.

Stirling Arcade before the Christmas lights switch on.

At the same time, don’t forget touchstones or little things that make you happy. I’m a big fan of the idea of change but sometimes the execution can get swamped by self doubt, second guessing and just plain daily life. Plans and goals are exciting, but sometimes being blown off course is where the real experiences are. Fill your reserves to dip back into when external pressures become overwhelming. Things can wait.

That was quite the ramble, wasn’t it? I’m not even sure what direction that was trying to take but here we are. We’re almost a month down in this brave new world of 2018. It’s a curious mix of excitement for the year ahead and enjoyment of the space we’re inhabiting right now.

Do what you will with it, as I will, do what you love and don’t be a dick.

Happy new year.

A Letter To My Son

It seems strange, writing a letter to a baby. Especially a very little one, who has only a rudimentary understanding of technology, or even words. He knows identifiers like “mama” and “dada”. He’s just about realised that when you press a switch, the big light goes on and off. That’s about it.

I never understood people who wish their children a happy birthday on social media. However any other way- writing about him- would’ve felt weirdly impersonal. I’m not a spectator on our lives so I can’t write that way.

Who knows. Maybe he can read it when he’s older. Maybe this medium will no longer exist. Maybe I’ll print it out and save a copy for birthdays to come. In any case, baby’s first birthday is a milestone like no other and it felt like a good time to lay down some thoughts on our twelve months together.

It’s a bit of a brain dump. Writing down my thoughts always has been, I’m not the best at articulating them. It’s better that he finds this out sooner, then, eh?

My baby boy,

You met me at a very strange time in my life.

Six months out of uni, while working in a bar to get by, I found out about you. The news was not completely unexpected- I’d had my suspicions for a while- but seeing it on a little plastic stick rocked us to our core.

I guess you could call it a quarter life crisis. That seems so far away for you. The pieces of our puzzle hadn’t yet clicked into place and your impending existence was very scary indeed. How could we be parents when we hadn’t yet explored life as the two of us? How could we be responsible for bringing another person into this world? It seemed deeply selfish.

Over the coming weeks we told no one about you, keeping a huge secret within our little unit. We knew that whatever happened, whenever the news got out, our lives would forever change. There would be no going back. Slowly but surely we told our family, friends, colleagues and neighbours. With baited breath we announced the news on social media (as was the tradition). I wrote about my feelings, unsure whether my anxieties about motherhood meant that I was ready for you. All the while you grew and grew and we prepared ourselves to meet you.

As with everything else, even your birth was a surprise. I was supposed to be finishing up work to go on maternity leave. I thought I had ten days before your scheduled arrival. But, like your mother, you don’t work to a schedule. After taking myself to bed on my penultimate day of work, I woke up a few hours later knowing that you were on your way.

We did everything by the book, phoning the hospital, triple checking our bags, pouring a hot bath and waiting. Even then, it didn’t seem real. The car ride, the hospital, the labour room where you came into the world. It was all a blur until one giant push brought you tumbling into our lives. And boy, did you turn them upside down.

Our first year together has been a learning curve for us all. We had a difficult first few weeks. It often felt like we were falling behind before we’d even started. Every time I feel like we’ve got a handle on parenting, another new milestone comes along and again, we’re playing catch up. But then, isn’t that what parenting is? Does anyone really have a handle on it?

I don’t know why I’m asking you. All you know so far is what we’ve tried to create for you. There are times when we don’t understand each other, you and I. But we try. We’re all learning. We’re learning how to create a world for you, how to make this world a better place for you. You’re learning everything and it’s us who have to teach you. We’ve made our mistakes. We’ll probably make more. I hope you’ll forgive us for them. We’re just doing what we think is best. It might not always be right, but we’re trying. You seem happy enough anyway.

Looking at you now, it’s hard to believe you were ever an unknown. From the unruly tufts of blonde curls to the curve of your nose and little dimples of your fingers, to your happy chuckle and inquisitive little voice, everything about you is very real. It didn’t sink in ’til a few days after you were born, mind you. The first time you cried and I wasn’t there (I’d gone for a shower after sitting in my jammies ’til dinner time), that’s when it hit me. Of all the babies on the ward, I knew that was your cry and that you needed me.

You’ll need me less and less as time goes on. You already do so much for yourself. You’re already so independent and strong willed. That’s not something I’ll ever criticise- you get it from me, after all. It does get bloody frustrating though.

You are your own little person, with your own quirks and traits. You’ll grow up to like your own things (as much as we’ll try and guide you with films and music). I won’t tell you what to believe. I will try and teach you the importance of believing in something, in anything that stirs your imagination. Anything that makes the world a better place for you and those around you. Anything that puts some kindness back into the world.

I can’t promise you that everything will be always be smooth sailing. I can’t promise that we won’t have our bad days, or that life will always be kind. What I can promise is that you will want for nothing- certainly not emotionally. You will always have a family, you will always have a home, you will always have a sanctuary. Wherever you go, however far away you are from us, I will always be right behind you. However or whoever you grow up to be, I will always be proud of you. As I was when you were born, rolled over for the first time, said your first word, clapped your hands. As I will be when you take your first steps and forge your own path.

You have the whole world in front of you, my son, and all of it is yours. Everything is ahead of you. There’s no telling what the future holds for our little family, but it’s a much brighter one with you in it. I am so excited for what you have to see.

Happy birthday, son. All my love forever,

Mummy x

Part Time Mum

Shuffling towards the edge of the platform, artificially awake thanks to trite alarms and instant coffee, I estimated that I had roughly ten hours before I’d be getting off at the other side. Until then I’d paid £7 for the privilege of being squashed into standing in an aisle, far closer to any stranger as I like to get. I rooted in my bag to make sure I had my awful, unflattering ID pass and readied myself for the day ahead.

Yup, as of September our little bubble of maternity leave burst and I had to go back to work. In our flat I could walk into town and back, avoiding the cattle trains and turnstiles. Towards the end of my pregnancy I took the train and hated it. I travelled six minutes into town and back, for two weeks, and that was enough for me. Now I’m a fully fledged commuter… and it sucks. No one looks especially happy to be there. People shove and huff and we all get off at the other end, trudging towards our daily destiny.

There’s no sugar coating it. Going back to work after maternity leave is hard. You spend your first few weeks of parenthood in a daze, forge a new normal for yourselves around every new milestone and wrap your days around making a world for a whole new person. Just when you think you’re getting the hang of the parenting thing, the real world comes calling. Before you know it you’re duty bound by alarms, bills and childcare- if you’re fortunate enough to have it.

I don’t doubt it’d be hard even if I loved my job. Of course it is- and I certainly don’t. Before I finished work I always had the finishing line in sight, I had something to look forward to even on the hardest days. Now it’s like… this is it. There’s no end goal. It’s just day in, day out. For me, though, it’s got to be done. My job search has stalled as I get used to the new daily routine. I spend all day at work, commute home, spend some time with my son and maybe have time for dinner. Even blogging has fallen by the wayside. Going back part time isn’t an option that I can afford. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I’ve ended up going back full time. So what does that make me as a mum?

It’s hard when you’re reluctant about going back. What makes it worse are the sly comments about how you can’t really have it all, the exhalation of SAHM’hood as being a woman’s highest calling, the swathes of Facebook friends with ‘full time mum’ as their occupation. I’m not saying that being a stay at home mum is easy, or even always a choice. Childcare costs can often mean that it’s simply not financially viable to work. When your life revolves around rearing a family it’s hard to ever be yourself. Even in my nine months of it, it was bloody difficult, often stressful and sometimes completely overwhelming. Still, though. The particular choice of ‘title’ can hurt. What, then, does that make me? If I work full time, and say at home mums are ‘full time mums’… am I, then, a part time mum?

The guilt is real when I think about how much I’m missing. The things I didn’t do on maternity leave. The WhatsApp group of mum friends that I don’t have. My son is ten months old, hurtling towards a year, getting more vocal and mobile every day. I know there will be milestones that I’ll miss, and it kills me. But it’s what I have to do for now.

It doesn’t make it any easier when my social media feeds are clogged up with colourful, playful, seemingly non-threatening infographics. You know the type. The ones that play on your guilt, that you could be doing more for your family selling shit from home.

Looking for people to join me on my journey!!!”

Are you a working mum wanting more time at home???!!”

Don’t let other people raise your children for you!!!!111!!111″

Of course when you’re hustling for a place on a crowded platform, anything else seems like a better option. When you have to drop a poorly baby off so you can go to work, the gnawing self-reproach at having to do so can swallow your focus. Going back to work is hard enough. Plying working mums with images of the life they’re not leading- while playing on feelings of maternal inadequacy- isn’t fair.

The truth is, no one has it really sussed. Not that I can see anyway. There are pros and cons of being a working mum and stay at home mum. I long for the endless stretch of days just me and my son, finding fun new things for us to do or having lazy days when it was raining. But I missed adult conversation, having some sort of purpose outside the home and having my own money.

Practically, it’d be selfish of me to stay off work. Ally earns decent money but it’s not enough to support three people. It’s not fair- for us- to let all the finances fall on one person. On a selfish level, I like being able to pick up stuff without worrying too much. I’ve always had my own money. I’d like to keep it that way. Lucas is growing at such a rate of noughts that he needs new clothes all the time. And I can get ’em. Cool.

Some parents are limited in their working choices because they also have to fit in studying around a family.

Some parents just can’t wait to go back to work.

Does that mean they love their children any less? Does it hell.

Just because your child spends more time with someone else doesn’t make you less of a mum. If I leave my son with his grandparents for nine hours a day I’m still his mummy. I’m the one who gets him up in the morning, puts him to bed, takes him to all his appointments. It’s me who takes the hit of his teething grumbles, or drives him to the hospital when he’s got a virus. It’s me that he shouts on and flashes a huge, toothy grin at when I eventually trudge home.

There’s no perfect way of parenting. We’re all just doing the best that we can, with the knowledge and resources that we have. Just like everything fuckin’ else in life, whatever path you’re forging is yours, your family’s, whatever. It doesn’t have to work for other people, if it works for you.