Tag Archives: #blog

Summer, break every part of me.

Let me start with a very honest caveat to this article. I Kelly Krystina love my children with every fiber in my body. Yet, that does not mean I always like them. Truth.

As Philip Larkin rightly said :-

“They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.”

So clearly there is no hope that I will actually create a better, kinder version of myself. I may as well stop beating myself up, when my kid farts at the dinner table and laughs and I crack up in hysterics internally under my stern facade and, ” please do not be so rude, young man”.

I was not born to be a mother, it is not my forte or natural talent. Yes, I work damn hard at being the best version of a mother I can be, but no I am not the “chosen” one, it was never on my list of career paths. Fashion Buyer, yes, Travel Writer, yes, Architect, yes, Mother – um nope. My forte of dreams are international travel, coffee drinking, running and people watching. For example, right now I would particularly like to spend 3 days in the snow tipped mountains of Colorado, trail running every day, interspersed with fine wine drinking in exclusive vineyards and floating in natural pools totally alone.

As a family we bob alone on the sea that is school, work and after school activities and then out of no where along comes summer break. Fist pump, yes, no schedules, no early mornings, no packing lunches… WHOOP, here we come fun adventures and vacations to strange places. I dream of idling on the beach watching my beautiful boys build elaborate sandcastles and splashing in the sea.

UM NO F ING way, are you delusional? BOOM, lets start with ocean water drownings, sand rammed into eyes and rugby tackling into the surf is what I contend with, snacks dropped in to the water, (clearly all my fault as I am now their resident snack bitch). Heart broken tears when they do not get the (insert beach toy description or brightly coloured confectionery snack here). Therefore, summer has me like – shit I have birthed three, mini, ungrateful ass holes. At least one of them is my mini me GULP. Summer is grinding me down to the point, where I don’t want to parent the crying, the fights (I am really a referee and not a parent) the eternal eye rolling, continue with the constant food prep, the tidying, the keeping them entertained, safe, off electronics. I do, just want to close my eyes for a few seconds, hopefully no one will die and wish for a small moment that they may disappear for an hour or two and I can lie down with a book or take a pee and not have to break mid stream, pull up my knickers and bolt towards the blood curdling scream emitting from a child being pummeled by his sibling or the fact he cannot find (insert random toy here). I mean WTF – you mean that broken plastic toy you have not touched for months.

I don’t want to deal with their ass holeness, when I need to work on my inner ass hole and man she looms large some days, Yes I have walked silently behind my wonderful  small child flicking the double V sign and no it is not for peace, maybe peace out, as he berates me, with his smart talking mouth of how unfair I am and life is, that he cannot have a play date this second with his friend I have never met, let alone the parents. I just do not have the capacity to deal with a double dosage of the ass… At that point it is all about survival until 7.30pm and I can put them to bed. Or myself 🙂

Older people say let them get bored oh and I do, but unless my three boys are given a constructive physical activity, they will just run wild around the house like Genghis Khan heading into battle or they wrestle over every item of furniture they can find, imagine the noise and destruction, please imagine that. Mind Blown BOOM. Each day is a re enactment of “Lord of the Flies” and each day I wonder so who will be Piggie today?Occasionally, they play quietly, but they are boys they need to move and letting them run out and play in the streets on the afternoon of a 95F Florida summers day, well that lasts all of 5 minutes and they can only be in the pool for so long before someone attempts a back flip in the shallow end. NOT COOL – I scream in horror as I pour myself a large drink and turn on another kid friendly movie. PEACE.

Yes I agree Summer, is fun and truly it is, but oh its distressingly hard, to the point where I cannot decide if I love or dislike those hot summer days of supposed freedom and carefree fun?

I’ll let you know once these 10 weeks are up, probably from a padded cell in the local mental asylum. 🙂

Mental fright makes me write!

I have not written for a very long time. The weird but not so weird thing is, that my articulation peaks when my writing comes from a deep dark place of fear and angst. Maybe, that is why I am attracted and yearn for that place at times, where I am caught up in a whirlwind of mental anguish, when I am desperately crawling my way out, fingernails dirty and ripped from that pitch black hole of anxious panic. As in those times when I am raw, are the moments when I feel most alive, I can grab my humanity and inspect it, all up close and personal. At those times, my insides are worn on my outside and I am truly alive in its purest form. My soul is receptive to every stimulus it encounters, absorbing, processing, feeling. I am me at my most vulnerable and raw.

This last year, I have been happy, so so happy, but in a way I feel has dulled my creativity and expression. Yes, I have been saved by running, yes you can call me dramatic, but the highs of my running and the adrenaline coursing through my veins at the end of a long run or race or ultra marathon, has replaced the high of my anxiety. I have made new friends and I am finally beginning to find a greater number of people who think and feel and strive for what my heart desires. Yet, my ability to create and express has disappeared, It is like my happiness is a shield to my internal, to the darkest depths and to the core of what makes me Kelly, yes, sometimes I miss her. I crave her view on life.

I yearn for the pain on occasion, it is like I need to check my brain still feels and can create moments of a higher awareness, in tune with the energy waves around me, from others in pain, I want them to know I understand, I accept and I want to give them the energy that bubbles under my skin. Often clarity came to me in the moment of a panic attack, it was like the brain crushing fear, brought a moment of purest focus, where the world became 4D / HD and every detail and noise was so clear and bright it hurt. I can still create that when I run, those last 6 miles or a marathon or endurance run and my brain stills, the world gets silent but so sharp and it is just the energy of my muscles pushing faster and faster, my steady rhythmic breath – in and out and nothing hurts, everything is working together in harmony and I feel like this will never end and I don’t want it to and then exertion and pain slam down, muscles screaming, tiredness crashes on to me like a wave and I push through, chanting “I have fucking got this, one foot in front of the other, I have fucking got this, breathe and settle, breathe and settle” and once again the world is clear and my body moves on, it is almost like my feet are floating and I feel nothing but everything, simultaneously. I can not describe how that is the most wonderful feeling in the world.

I write to feel, I write to create my world, I write to share and I write for others. I write so you know it is OK to share, it is OK to be, as life likes to call it “mentally ill” and it is this what makes you the most wonderfully alive human being, open to life, working in harmony with nature and surviving.

It is for you I write and expose my deepest emotions, my crazy thoughts (PS I love crazy) and it is to you I share my humanity.

KJ.

Dreaming of a Sunday ?!?

AHHH my day today.. Sundays, a day of rest and relaxation. Supping coffee in a comfy chair with the sun dappling across the morning papers. Birds chirping in the trees as you do your Sunday meditation and yoga in complete silence. Maybe some lazy Sunday copulating with your significant other and a delicious,home cooked meal with a delightful glass of wine…

UM NO FUCKING WAY …. My day… I was woken up at 6am by a naked toddler, playing with his penis, demanding breakfast and shouting “I am HUNGRRRYYYYY”. coffee, was heated from the day before whilst I shovel my breakfast down to the 7 am whine, ” What do you mean no TV, man that sucks, and I’m so bored, this house is soooo boring”. My reply ” well best you go and find something to do”. While I put on 3 million loads of washing and clean the kitchen, make lunches for tomorrow and clear up the 6.30 am painting session you all decided to indulge in.

Then I have to put on my Sergeant Major hat, to conduct peace talks at least 20 times between a 9 and 6 year old as they repeatedly re enact “The Lord of The Flies”, ” other wise I may be watching “Armageddon” or “Fight Club”

Later I cringe under the back handed “you suck’ comments at our Sunday basketball, because I did not bring the right water bottle and I use all my strength and yoga will power to swallow down the wrath of mama building up inside. Instead I weep the whole way home in the car and march them to bed. As they apologise profusely and are heart broken that they have broken my heart by their inappropriate behaviour and rudeness to myself and our hostess….

Now I sit here with the much needed “that glass of wine” Ahhh at least something rang true to the ideology of the perfect Sunday.

The cracks of aging….

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but what if the beholder is YOU? And you really hate the way you look?

Its common knowledge I had body issues. As a child I was deemed an ugly duckling, but that was probably because I had an emaciated body and a skull for a head as my mind and body was ravaged, then abused by Mrs Anorexia. Well I got over that, but I have always been very critical about the way I look. Yes I am shallow, as shallow as a puddle. you would never drown in my puddle.

When I was younger I always knew I was not ugly, but I was never comfortable in my own skin to truly love myself. So in classic style I used to seek approval about the way I looked. I did not care it could be male or female I just needed the reassurance that you thought I was pretty. I always needed new clothes, a different hairstyle, a new cool lipstick to chase the you are fucking ugly demons away, to shut that part of me down, that personality trait is a very ugly part of me.

I wish that I did not care. I wish so hard for that. But in a land where most of my friends are having Botox, lip fillers, boob jobs, its so very tempting to join in. To join the my forehead does not move crowd. Part of me would like to grow old disgracefully and not go down that route.

I have entered the 2nd year of my forties and shit its all going south, the crows feet are deeper (I would almost say a crow would be very jealous of these feet), yes I can affectionately call them laughter lines, but believe me, superficial Kelly really wishes she had not laughed quite so much. The deep crevices beginning to channel their way down the sides of my mouth, could almost be called a continental divide, fuck why did I have to smoke for 10 years of my life (because I loved smoking that’s why).

I drink coffee, I drank alcohol to excess in my twenties, occasionally in my thirties and the yearly reminder of why not to do this in my forties. I dabbled in narcotics and naughty white powders, danced in dark club’s until dawn and have still not had a full night sleep since having Rugrats All of which have eroded and broken my three layers of epidermis. Regretfully awesome, to have had so much damn fun that something had to give. Hey but I consume blueberries, spinach and avocados, they should fix the damage, right? Right?

Technology does not help my withering confidence and increasing hatred of looking in a mirror. As HD photography highlights every tiny crack in my face, I find myself refusing to smile, turning my head to show my better side, to always wear sunglasses to hide those eyes, oh those deep set eyes of mine, how I despise you. But I keep taking selfies (oh dreaded selfie) over and over again, take, delete, take, delete, hoping that it is not true that somehow a pretty picture will come out and I am 20 again. Now every picture is just revealing what I do not want to see or know. Aging is a process I cannot stop and have to embrace so hard that it becomes something I love and not battle against (or at least suffocate) How? Answers on a postcard please. Or a Whats app. Whatever works.

My bathroom cupboard is bursting forth like a vomiting “Rosemary’s baby” of anti wrinkle creams, hoping that each will reverse the inevitable or at least putty fill the current cracks. Sadly, mending my face is not mending the way I think and feel, or the huge break in my mind to get a grip of. I really need to get a grip. I am bloody old for Christ sake, I need to not actually give a shit. Old people never give a shit about anything.

My husband gets better with age, I just get worse. How does that even work?

Trawling through Instagram, I cannot believe these 40 plus year old celebs look so amazing, young and so so so beautiful. I want to be a stronger, better person, to figure out how to erase the ugly glasses at which I judge the physicality of my being. I may just have to stop wearing my glasses, I look better blurry. 🙂

My kids call me old, yes I am old, being old makes me sad, what makes me angry is that I cannot rise above the aging process and not give a flying fuck. The key has to be to live like a puritan, never use a mirror and to never go out in the sun. But is the aspiration of a sagging youth worth not having fun or experiencing anything ever again. No it is not. I am at a stalemate and I need to win.

Clearly I just need to drink more water, as this seems to be the answer for everything 🙂

Or grow a very long fringe.

Or ALWAYS have my hair tied back for a DIY face lift.

Or just bathe in Kale.

Or if you know a good plastic surgeon or have discounts on Botox, please give me a call.

8 miles

Today I ran 8 miles, this was the first long run of my current training plan. Boy did it suck. On paper it should have been a pretty easy run, due to the amount I currently run each week and my body is used to that distance.

Pull on my sneakers, fill up my bottles with water and Nuun electrolytes, earphones in and podcast on. Ready …

6.25 am, the sun is beginning to turn the sky pink , as it peeks above the horizon I step outside and SLAM the humidity hits me it’s like wading through a wet shower curtain that’s wrapped itself around my body and dragging me back. I start to run.

Legs are heavy and I’m sweating like a pig, water is running down my face and oh look that’s only mile 1 completed. Shit, I’m not sure I can do this, Ana Faris is jabbering in my ear, like a chipmunk on speed and I instantly hate her wanton cheerfulness scratching my ear drums. I turn her off. That’s mile 2 completed. 6 to go…..

BOLLOCKS I’m bloody dying here.

I grind it out as it grinds me down. Legs are like “twizzlers” my face a tomato and my body is soooo wet I look like I have been swimming in the ocean as salt collects under my arms..

Mile 8 – COLLAPSE, drag body through front door and am eye to toe with my naked 3 year olds feet.. “mummy why are you on the floor,” ” because mummy is fucking dying!?”

I’m not sure I enjoyed that 95F (real feel) run. No shit Sherlock .

“This week I will mostly be wearing very sweaty running gear.”

I was not going to write about the fact that I had decided to run a marathon. However, so many thoughts and ideas and perceptions were whizzing through my kid addled brain,  I needed to put them down and clear the buzz, to achieve optimal brain functionality. This is my daily purpose, to ensure I do not explode into a puff of whiz popping smoke. BOOM

I started running in October 2017, after not pulling on sneakers for such an enterprise in a good 20 years. Since then I have become stronger plus well and truly addicted to the steady beat of my feet pounding the tarmac, my breath pulling in and pushing out every three steps and the exhilaration / adrenaline coursing through my body at the end, It gives me complete and utter space to be alone like truly alone, just me and my body, drumming to my own beat, at my own pace. Intermingled with the nature around and the thrum of other humans, but never having to interact with them regardless to what is happening. I have listened to many hours of podcasts and learnt so much… “Did you know that in deep water a tsunami is moving at a pace of up to 300 miles per hour, but only has a 3m wave above the water (nuts huh?)”

Since October, I have managed to run two half marathons and a 25K trail run, with times I was pleased with as a newbie. So my love for running has well and truly been baptized and sealed within my heart. Therefore, last month, I decided I wanted to try to run a marathon (26.2 miles) hopefully in around 4 hrs (that’s my mental goal).

The trick is, I need to train, like really train, through a Florida summer and if you live here you know how brutal this will be. So now I have the added consideration of re hydration, nutrition, cross training and then trying to fit this all in with corralling three boys under 10 years of age to camp, school and activities, plus a little adventuring on top. Thank f@ck I am a morning person and by that, I can get up at 5.30 am to run a good 6 miles before the little beasties are up caterwauling for food, the blazing sun reaches its zenith and my husband leaves for work.

First stop – buy a book on marathon training, TICK, next stop  – START RUNNING a lot, but with a clear plan. I have given myself 4 months to train and I have chosen my marathon. I needed a small marathon (no Boston just yet :)) , with less people and not so much hype, minimal travel to get there, so I would not have to leave the kids and I could keep my anxiety levels to the actual event at a minimum.

Running is all very personal to each individual and I will be doing this marathon just for little ol me (how very selfish of you, people may say) I will not have a cause, just a point to prove to myself that I can physically and mentally do it. To seasoned marathon runners, this will be no biggie, but this is pretty big for me as I have never stuck to anything in my life, I usually get bored after about a month and I move on to the next challenge, leaving the last one hopelessly unfulfilled. Another reason to write this down, to make sure I stick with it. Its all about personal achievement and that is it, a very simple goal, achievable, needs minimal equipment and you can run absolutely anywhere.

Each week I have a training plan :-

Week one (this week) WC 18th June 2018

Sunday – Run 4 miles / Monday – rest / Tuesday – intervals = 4.5 miles / Wednesday – Swim (cross train) / Thursday  – 6 miles (2 easy 2 mid 2 easy) / Friday –  Spin (cross train) / Saturday  – long run 8 miles (easy pace)

So far so good – in the words of Nike “Just Do It” – well I will try at least, avoiding injury as best I can.

“This week I will mostly be wearing sweaty running gear” (Fast Show)

TO BE CONTINUED…………………..

Anxie – tea and biscuits.

I wanted to share this – this picture is of me going through serious anxiety and repeated panic attacks. I look calm and together. Inside I am unraveling and panicking continuously. I think I am going to die… literally! and my mind is broken and fuzzy. The only thing that makes me keep some form of sanity are the kids. Today I have googled continuously the symptoms of a heart attack and any form of light that suggests I am ok? I know rationally it’s my anxiety and I need to breathe and focus and meditate and slow down. But when you are in a pit of overwhelming fear and confusion, it’s very hard to climb out. I can feel it lifting as I take those steps. But it will be a good week before I’m back to “normal”. I wanted to share this picture to show you, anxiety like any mental illness cannot be seen from the exterior. This is essentially a picture of me crumbled and destroyed and barely keeping my shit together… and you would never know. I don’t need sympathy but just an understanding that I am one of many and kindness is key to anyone struggling. #anxiety #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness

Flu, have an opinion?

With the current flu pandemic effecting most states, the topic of vaccinations and children, once again raises its head.

Whether you do or do not, get a trained medical professional to stick a needle into your kids arm or thigh and administer a clear (potentially life saving) liquid into your child’s tiny little body, that is your right to do so.  I have many friends who do not vaccinate and I have many friends who do.

It’s such a personal choice and we may not agree on each others choices, but its ours, we have to remember that. I vaccinate, my personal belief that, way over the idea of metals being placed in my kids bodies and the potential side effects, I would rather that, than them, getting flu or polio or some other eradicated, previously life threatening disease. You can tell me I am dumb or pour out some spiel from some study, by some person. But I will never not vaccinate, like I could never convince someone to vaccinate who has chosen not to. The fallacy or reality (as remember it has not ever been really proven) that they can cause autism is a chance I will (repeatedly) take if it saves my kids life and the life of a sick child or a child too young to be vaccinated. My eldest, which is common knowledge, has high functioning Autism. Was it his shots at birth that caused this, who the hell knows? Is it genetic, or the way he was born, we will never know? But, I feel he has a far better chance to best the odds if he ever gets sick, which currently he has not. He is brilliant and healthy.

The thing is I will vaccinate and take the supposed risks, as I believe there are far worse threats to my kids life, food dyes in food (banned in Europe) as its proven they cause hyperactivity and cancer. I will never ever let my kids drink a Gatorade, Froot loops, MnM’s – again my choice, my belief, my opinion, good or bad. My kids will always wear a bike helmet when they cycle, I avoid hard candy (coloring’s and choking threats) and the list continues.

We all do what is best for our children and we may never agree, but we must respect, I will always love a person for their hearts and kindness. You may believe in God, I believe in science. You may like Trump, I do not. You believe in the right to own a gun, I never will. I love you and and I may never agree with you, but I value your ideas and thoughts. As long as you are not a racist, chauvinist, a bigot or narcissist, I will always sit and wait for your side, your thought out idea and the argument for or against. I hope people can always do this and not be blinkered to shut down and push out friends for having opposing beliefs. It makes us unique. Listening, not accusing or shouting creates community and understanding, respect and kindness. I will always like/love a friend if they just have the ability to listen and not bombard, accuse or demean a thought or another person.

We all do our best by our children and our fear and love for them is what drives us to keep them happy, loved, well and safe. For me that is one thing and that includes a shot to the arm every year from Flu, to you that is not, to me that is science at its best, to you that is a money making machine. We will always beg to differ.

Beauty

Truly is in the eye of the beholder. We surely do not behold the beauty in ourselves, externally or internally. Women suck at liking themselves.

This evening I sat with 3 girlfriends, all unique, all beautiful in completely different ways and none of them could see it. Gorgeous smiles , kind hearts, rocking bodies, complete sexy packages and not one of them could see it and accept their awesomeness. What creates this self doubt and internal blindness. Society? Men? Religion? Other women? Who said beauty had to look a certain way? What makes that way beautiful ? I want to know? I want to see this perfection! Where is it? Who has it? All of us do? But none of us believe it see .,

It breaks my heart. That so much delight, is not beheld or loved by the person who owns it.

Why? and when will we find it? Secretly in our rooms when no one is watching? After taking 300 selfies to get the perfect shot, we’ve all done it?

Or never?

Or maybe?

But we need to see ourselves for what we are, The great, gross, beauty, banality of our being, accept, appreciate, not always love, but realize it is what makes us unique, one of a kind and no one else has this. It’s special and crazily wonderful.

For Cat ❤️

Aging

Age is but a number? Sure! 

But I’m struggling with my age. It does not help that someone asked me if I was K3s grandma (WTF – I almost punched him) and K1 said “mummy even though you are old, you don’t look old.” I’m not sure if I should kick him or hug him tight.

40 is not old people. It is not even Middle Aged just yet.