Life and work

Yes I know, I have been very crap lately in providing tea break fodder. I've been very crap in most parts of my life actually, leading to a slight... ah... breakdown type situation which has caused me to reassert that I am not meant to be a machine working day and night and it's OK to also focus on my friends and family. Umm, yes, I know this is obvious... the sad thing it's not the first time I've gotten myself into this must-work beaver-like mentality, and every time I have regretted putting work above life.

Anyway, the good thing about the latest reassertion is that I said I can't possibly meet the deadline by tomorrow, and hey presto guess what? I got an extension!! It's still pretty tight but at least doable now. So, phew.

And now I am going to take my kids shopping to get some decorations for our Christmas tree. Because surely you didn't think my überwoman dreams would not include a big, brightly lit (yet still tasteful) tree???

Crazy for a bit longer

So there I was yesterday, thinking I was finally on top of this big project that's taken up most of my waking time (and a lot of what should be my sleeping time) for what seems like forever, thinking for the first time since it started that I had some spare days up my sleeve before the deadline, thinking I could maybe even take a break this weekend and you know, not work, just for something novel... and then today I was told the deadline has been moved five days forward, to Wednesday next week. Which sent me back to what has become my normal state: a mix of fatigue and barely contained panic.

Back to it then.

Still alive

My best friend from school, and Téo's fairy godmother, was visiting from the US last week.

A snowman was built:
Books were read:
Cuddles were had:
(By me too:)
And sadly today she flew back home.

Sorry to freak you out sweetheart while you are away

I was never clucky before Téo was conceived. I wanted a baby, but it was kind of an abstract wanting, not a physical need. Plus I didn't think newborns were that cute.

When Lukan's heart was just starting to beat, I went to the birthday party of a one year old. Watching a slide show of her life so far, I asked her mother if she felt clucky seeing her daugher as a newborn. Yes, she said. I don't feel anything at all, I replied. Newborns still did nothing for me, even with a very much wanted baby growing in my belly.

I've mentioned before our ambivalence towards a third child. We discussed it again last week and it's still unresolved, both of us going from wanting to not wanting and back again.

But since then, it seems like all my blog faves have announced a pregnancy. And I'm jealous. I want to post double lines here, the first shadowy images. Not to be the same as the other bloggers, but because I WANT A BABY. With each pregnancy that's been announced, my heart has ached a little more. For the first time, I am feeling a physical desire for a tiny little newborn of my own, for creating a brand new person.

I'm officially clucky.

Bad love

When I was living in Japan, and before C moved to my town, I fell in love. Even though I had known the guy for a while and hung out with him a bit - even woken up one morning platonically in his bed - the falling was swift and unexpected, catching me by surprise. He was just so cool. He did interesting things. He had interesting opinions. He had written travel articles, and a book. He was cute.

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When I was living in Japan, and before C moved to my town, someone fell in love with me. He was very uncool. He was very unattractive. We had nothing in common. Plus he was 40 years old and a virgin. I was in my 20s and, well, not. I wasn't interested in him at all, not even to be a friend.

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I was in a bad way. I was used to boys liking me more than I liked them, but this time it was the other way around. I wasn't the one in control. I was the one desperate to be liked. And I had no clue what he really thought of me. It was like the ground had been pulled from under me - I was flailing, suddenly unsure of everything. I suspected I was nowhere near cool enough for him, and this took away my sense of worth, my sense of me, my faith in what I believed. Depression, anxiety, and insecurity followed.

Falling in love was not at all pleasant.

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I made it clear to the 40 year old that it was never going to happen. He persisted - for months. He told me I was the one who could make him whole. When I kept refusing to go out with him, he quoted Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, saying he thought I was acting like a man and retreating into a cave. If I didn't answer an email straight away, he accused me of being grumpy. He analysed everything I did and said and threw it back at me. I directly told him that I wasn't interested and that he made me feel uncomfortable. He said I'll wait until you do feel comfortable. He had no pride, and no shame. I grew to intensely dislike him.

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One time during the two weeks we were maybe together, maybe not, I called the guy to ask if he wanted to go on a hike I was going on. He declined and - just like what happens in dumb Hollywood romantic "comedies" - I got off the phone clutching my head and moaning no no no at my stupidity for having asked him along when I knew it wasn't his thing. Now what will he think of me? Did I sound too eager? Too uncool?

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That night I got a postcard from the 40 year old, babble about how he was not a good enough friend for me. It came with two tickets to a concert I didn't want to go to.

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The irony was not lost on me.

Desire over reality

I've been working a lot lately. Big big project, not enough time, a suddenly frequently absent au pair, a keyboard that stopped working and needed replacing, interviewing new nannies (none of them wanted to live with us - oh how we will miss the kitchen being cleaned after dinner!), a husband away this week and half of next week... it's all been a bit crazy.

So I've been working whenever I get a chance, and long hours whenever the au pair is here or C's grandparents can babysit.

Which means the kids are not seeing much of me. We haven't even had mornings together this week as they've been sleeping in until 8, which is when I start work.

Every day Téo asks me over and over when will you be finished your work mummy? I tell him what time, and he asks it's in how long? And has no idea what an hour, or three hours, or ten hours means. I keep saying I'll buy a clock so he can see the hands and know what I mean by the time, but I haven't had a chance.

Yesterday morning he asked again what time I'll be finished. I said 6 o'clock, and he said But I don't know what 6 o'clock means. So I thought a bit, and then said it will be when it's starting to get dark. That seemed to satisfy him, and off he went.

At 10.30am he came back into the office to tell me something, then looked outside at the blue sunny sky, and without a trace of guile said Mummy look! It's starting to be dark!

Never say never

I thought it was dumb that the heroine of The Nanny Diaries was called Nanny. So did C. It was too contrived, too obvious.

Our new nanny is called Nani.