About ten years ago, young and cool and living a single London life, I shared a flat with my best mate. Oh who am I kidding, there's nothing cool about cheap wine and nightbuses, but we were young and we were single and we did have a flat in (a crap bit of) London. And we went out all the time. Parties and receptions and performances and dinners. It rarely stopped. And I remember I once said to my flatmate, this is great this being young and cool with a thriving social life, but you know, I also like watching nature documentaries and I don't ever do that anymore.
And she said, ah, but remember when you have settled down and have a family all you will do is sit down in front of the telly and watch nature documentaries. And I said yes, I suppose so.
But so far, turns out we were wrong. For starters, neither of us anticipated that our partners might not want to watch the same as us. But mainly we just never could have guessed that after an exhausting day, after bathtime and bedtime, after cooking dinner and exchanging hellos with the ones we love, after putting the washing on and opening the post and tidying away the day's toys, there just isn't the time to fit a single lion killing an antelope in before bed.
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Monday, 27 February 2012
Sunday, 29 January 2012
In which I actually read a book
It may not seem like a great achievement, what with me being an English graduate and all, but I have just finished reading a book. A novel in fact. A whole one, from beginning to end. It took about two weeks, on my twice a week commute and in little snatches before bed. It was the first novel I have read since having my baby over a year ago and yes, I am pleased with myself.
What is it that stopped me, an avid reader, from reading? Time, yes - I have had a glut of it but it’s not the right kind of time. Concentration, also yes – I have had a deficit of it. But it’s been more than that I think. Novels deal with big questions. Of life and death and roots and families and aspirations and declines and parallel worlds and alternate universes, of friendships and relationships and enemies, and of mysteries and revelations and truths and lies. I just wasn’t ready.
Then two weeks ago I felt the urge. I took a book from our shelves determined to read it. It was Andrea Levy’s Fruit of the Lemon. I knew I had enjoyed Small Island by the same author several years ago, that she was the right kind of author for my return to reading, combining big issues with accessible writing, kind of intellectual holiday reading. I didn’t know that it referred in part to Crouch End, the small part of north London I hang out in with the baby – so much for being an escape – but that aside I enjoyed it. It wasn’t a masterpiece but that was a relief – I wasn’t ready for a masterpiece, but as novels go, it was pretty solid. But the best thing about it? It’s given me the hunger. I’m not sure what to read yet but I’m ready (or should that be read-y). I’m looking at the shelves as I type and all I can think is ‘bring it on’. It’s so exciting.
Related post: Things to do on maternity leave when you're braindead
What is it that stopped me, an avid reader, from reading? Time, yes - I have had a glut of it but it’s not the right kind of time. Concentration, also yes – I have had a deficit of it. But it’s been more than that I think. Novels deal with big questions. Of life and death and roots and families and aspirations and declines and parallel worlds and alternate universes, of friendships and relationships and enemies, and of mysteries and revelations and truths and lies. I just wasn’t ready.
Then two weeks ago I felt the urge. I took a book from our shelves determined to read it. It was Andrea Levy’s Fruit of the Lemon. I knew I had enjoyed Small Island by the same author several years ago, that she was the right kind of author for my return to reading, combining big issues with accessible writing, kind of intellectual holiday reading. I didn’t know that it referred in part to Crouch End, the small part of north London I hang out in with the baby – so much for being an escape – but that aside I enjoyed it. It wasn’t a masterpiece but that was a relief – I wasn’t ready for a masterpiece, but as novels go, it was pretty solid. But the best thing about it? It’s given me the hunger. I’m not sure what to read yet but I’m ready (or should that be read-y). I’m looking at the shelves as I type and all I can think is ‘bring it on’. It’s so exciting.
Related post: Things to do on maternity leave when you're braindead
Thursday, 15 December 2011
The difference a year makes
Years are odd things. They're not completely random lumps of time, what with being based on lunar cycles and planets going round suns and the tides and all that, but why 365 days should feel so different to 364 or 366 is an odd one.
Yet as my daughter is on the cusp of turning one I feel rather emotional about the whole thing. It's no coincidence I'm sure that today, as we geared up to say goodbye to her time being nought but not nothing, I had a terrible day, full of tearful encounters, silly clumsiness and general wobbles.
I'm thrilled too of course, as well as emotional, that she's made it this far, that we've made it this far, and that she's grown so much, in every sense. I celebrate her life every day, constantly in a state of gratitude (and fear) for her existence, but to share this joy with others on her birthday is extra special.
When it came to writing her birthday card all of this, it turned out, could be expressed in one short phrase that has always seemed rather quaint before. But in three words it sums up all that I want for my daughter - many happy returns.
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
Why I can't see you anymore
I want to see you, really I do. I've always prided myself on having time for my friends. I don't think I lost any when I met my partner, I didn't intend to lose any when I had a baby.
But, as Americans say, let's do the math. If you work regular hours you only have weekends, evenings or your annual leave and bank holidays to see me. I'll assume your annual leave is taken up with holidays and your bank holidays are taken up with ill advised trips to the seaside and picnics in the rain.
If of course you are free in the day, meet me near a step-free station for coffee. But please not before 11am or after 3pm as rush hour with a baby is not fun. And remember we need somewhere with a highchair and changing facilities.
You are of course welcome to pop by our house after work but please bear in mind that from 5pm until 6pm there's some form of food fight known as dinner followed by some sort of water fight known as bath. Then from 6pm-8pm depending on yawns, eye rubs and general malaise (and that's just me) is bedtime which might take five minutes and might take an hour but do feel free to come and watch Eastenders downstairs while we do that upstairs. We could then start making you some food about 8pm-ish which means we could eat at 8.45pm-ish but would you mind awfully leaving by 10pm please as we're knackered.
Which leaves weekends. There are 52 weekends in a year so 104 weekend days. Of these each set of parents want to see us at least once a month (24 days) as do other aunts, uncles, cousins and relatives. Let's conservatively say we do that one day a month (12 days). Now we are left with 68 days.
Let's take off some of those for the occasional holiday or weekend away - two weeks of holiday and two additional weekends away shall we say. That leaves 60 days.
On some of those we have household chores we need to do as a family. We might need to make furniture or paint a wall or sort out the garden. Like everyone we are great procrastinators. We put it off as long as we can but we still need a day perhaps every six weeks or so. Let's say eight a year. That leaves 52.
We're getting older and many of our friends are married now, and not many are onto their second marriages yet. Despite that we still have perhaps three weddings a year with maybe one of those necessitating an overnight stay so that's another four days leaving 48.
Then there are the significant grown-up birthdays, the anniversaries, the Bar Mitzvahs and christenings. Take off another five days. Still that leaves 43 days we could see you.
And the peril of having a baby, you meet lots of other people who do too. Add another ten days for first birthday parties that you could miss of course but who will come to the party of your little one if you do that. And then there were 33.
Take two off for illness. 31. Then a whole weekend for Christmas shopping, that's 29. You then need a special treat day to make up for a day being dragged around shops of course leaving 28 whole lovely days for seeing friends. Then there's father's day, mother's day, our wedding anniversary, my birthday celebration and that of my other half. 23 left.
There's usually a tube strike weekend and a snowed in weekend, then the three times a year I must get my hair tamed with an afternoon at the hairdresser. Bugger, 16 days left.
16 whole glorious days when we might see you. When we might come to your BBQ, have a picnic with you, go for a walk or cook you lunch. Presumably if we're that kind of friend we'll want to see each other more than once a year. So that's not 16 friends or couples we get to see, it's four lots of friends four times.
Of course it doesn't work like that. We do more than one thing a day. We squeeze in breakfasts and brunches and lunches and teas and dinner and drinks and parties with the baby in a travel cot in the other room. We have the occasional babysitter. We see more than one friend at once at parties and meals. And occasionally we go out, not with friends, not with family, but the two of us, as a couple.
None of which is a complaint. What a lovely lively busy life, what a wonderful problem it is to have so many friends. But please understand when we try to make arrangements, it's not you it's us, but we just don't have time to see you, not this year.
But, as Americans say, let's do the math. If you work regular hours you only have weekends, evenings or your annual leave and bank holidays to see me. I'll assume your annual leave is taken up with holidays and your bank holidays are taken up with ill advised trips to the seaside and picnics in the rain.
If of course you are free in the day, meet me near a step-free station for coffee. But please not before 11am or after 3pm as rush hour with a baby is not fun. And remember we need somewhere with a highchair and changing facilities.
You are of course welcome to pop by our house after work but please bear in mind that from 5pm until 6pm there's some form of food fight known as dinner followed by some sort of water fight known as bath. Then from 6pm-8pm depending on yawns, eye rubs and general malaise (and that's just me) is bedtime which might take five minutes and might take an hour but do feel free to come and watch Eastenders downstairs while we do that upstairs. We could then start making you some food about 8pm-ish which means we could eat at 8.45pm-ish but would you mind awfully leaving by 10pm please as we're knackered.
Which leaves weekends. There are 52 weekends in a year so 104 weekend days. Of these each set of parents want to see us at least once a month (24 days) as do other aunts, uncles, cousins and relatives. Let's conservatively say we do that one day a month (12 days). Now we are left with 68 days.
Let's take off some of those for the occasional holiday or weekend away - two weeks of holiday and two additional weekends away shall we say. That leaves 60 days.
On some of those we have household chores we need to do as a family. We might need to make furniture or paint a wall or sort out the garden. Like everyone we are great procrastinators. We put it off as long as we can but we still need a day perhaps every six weeks or so. Let's say eight a year. That leaves 52.
We're getting older and many of our friends are married now, and not many are onto their second marriages yet. Despite that we still have perhaps three weddings a year with maybe one of those necessitating an overnight stay so that's another four days leaving 48.
Then there are the significant grown-up birthdays, the anniversaries, the Bar Mitzvahs and christenings. Take off another five days. Still that leaves 43 days we could see you.
And the peril of having a baby, you meet lots of other people who do too. Add another ten days for first birthday parties that you could miss of course but who will come to the party of your little one if you do that. And then there were 33.
Take two off for illness. 31. Then a whole weekend for Christmas shopping, that's 29. You then need a special treat day to make up for a day being dragged around shops of course leaving 28 whole lovely days for seeing friends. Then there's father's day, mother's day, our wedding anniversary, my birthday celebration and that of my other half. 23 left.
There's usually a tube strike weekend and a snowed in weekend, then the three times a year I must get my hair tamed with an afternoon at the hairdresser. Bugger, 16 days left.
16 whole glorious days when we might see you. When we might come to your BBQ, have a picnic with you, go for a walk or cook you lunch. Presumably if we're that kind of friend we'll want to see each other more than once a year. So that's not 16 friends or couples we get to see, it's four lots of friends four times.
Of course it doesn't work like that. We do more than one thing a day. We squeeze in breakfasts and brunches and lunches and teas and dinner and drinks and parties with the baby in a travel cot in the other room. We have the occasional babysitter. We see more than one friend at once at parties and meals. And occasionally we go out, not with friends, not with family, but the two of us, as a couple.
None of which is a complaint. What a lovely lively busy life, what a wonderful problem it is to have so many friends. But please understand when we try to make arrangements, it's not you it's us, but we just don't have time to see you, not this year.
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