Tag Archives: Writing

Mrs. Home “not” fooling anyone!

I would like to introduce you to Mrs. I have No Bloody Idea, a shit show of an educator, a human thrust in to the limelight to teach her children for the foreseeable future.

Her skills lie in baking, science, writing amusing self depreciation blogs, headstands and running long distances. She knows her multiplication facts and is pretty good at percentages. Her laundry skills are shite, but her cooking is pretty good.oh and she knows all the words to the opening scene in Macbeth and all of the Sound of Music.

Which is pretty apt in the current climate

“When shall we three meet again?

In thunder lightening or in rain?

When the hurly burleys done,

When the battles lost and won, that ere will be the set of sun…….. ”

From this very small base she now has to teach a 5 / 8 and 10 year old (who is already way smarter than she)

I would like to apologize to all my children’s teachers for the fuck ups I will make. But know they are loved, safe, brushing their teeth and can cook a mean banana bread 😂

Drowning in Motherhood 2020

I would like to caveat, that no I will not be ending my life anytime soon. Some days as a parent I just cannot keep up with the demands of being a mother of three small dragons (boys), of being a wife and then meticulously making sure I have time for me. This post was borne from a day when I felt like I just could not keep up.

Drowning in life! An oxymoronic phrase? Not just my life, but the life of my kids, my husband’s life and even the darn cat. Scrabbling to hit all the bases, these lives throw at me and always missing the mark. Treading water and slipping under, allowing the water to slowly seep in, fill my lungs and pull me deeper into the depths of a sweet, dark, silent oblivion.
A world of gentle nothingness. No laundry to be done, no “healthy” dinners to be made, no cleaning to get to, or beds to be changed, no first job or second job to create time for or not fail at, yet excel at and then off to mop and care for my sickened child. Pay bills, change the car oil, activities to sign for, pay for, get to. ALWAYS running late, never on time. With the last-minute shoe searches of three young boys, hanging like shackles on our ankles dragging us back, never on time.
Activities! The dictator of my day, ruling my life with its iron fist. Where each activity cannot comprehend that your kid may do another (god forbid your loyalties are split). Or you have more than 2 kids, each an individual and each wanting to do something uniquely theirs. We have homework, school trips, lunches to be made (uhum they must be healthy or be classed as the shit mum with the unhealthy kid). Snacks to remember, water bottles to be filled, sort clothes into piles that need to be scrubbed and bodies to be bathed. Because, boys seem to be perpetually dirty or covered in a bodily fluid of some sort.
Then there is ME. I must remember me! I want to run and run daily. Running is what keeps me calm and happy. But, sadly this is just another weight tied to my ankles dragging me further into the silt of not enough hours, dark dreams and no air to be found. With a sickly glow of light filtering through the watery murkiness of my fears, that ……
I am not enough.
I will never be enough.
I am failing.
I can never be the person that the life I have created needs me to be.
I am lying in the depths of failure and wishing I could breathe.

Signed – Motherhood 2020

To write – Poem

Weirdly or maybe not so much, poems pop in my head and I write them down. This appeared in the shower today and here it is…

TO WRITE – by KKJOY

When I write, I lose the fight of hiding from myself,

When I write I stand in sight and the façade melts away.

RAW, BARE, EXPOSED,

Watching, alone, my breathing slows.

No one is listening, as no one dares,

As to be real, is to feel, is to care.

Screaming silently to nothing……

But myself. Healing, revealing, everything.

Too harsh a light for some to see,

The reality that is me.

Beautiful, ugly, perfect, ravaged,

Sane, insane, serene, savage.

Yet, when I write, I lose my fight of hiding from myself.

Because, when I write, I stand in sight, façade destroyed to stand true.

Erica Szilagyi – Marathon Maven

My latest article on a local runner for a local run / triathlon training team.

“With the marathon you must struggle, you have to move to a painful place.” Erica Szilagyi 1.24.2020

Erica Szilagyi strides out to meet me, expressive hands waving, her voice warm and loud. She is such a petite little thing, but there is no hiding her open, all-encompassing presence, it pretty much socks you in the mouth and then hugs you better. I am quickly guided into her bright and airy conservatory, the evening Florida sun dancing on her fledging paintings, a new skill she is dabbling with. The serenity of the room is an interesting contrast to the woman who has just scooped me up at the front door and thrust a red tea in my hand.

OK let’s stop there! I think before I move on, I need to do a quick Erica statistical run down for you, so you can truly comprehend how epic one woman can be.

Erica in Numbers: –

Years running – 46

Total Marathons – Erica Szilagyi, teacher and mother of three grown women herself, has run 34 Marathons. Yes, people you heard correctly THIRTY-FOUR MARATHONS. WOWSERS!!

Boston Marathon – 12 of those marathons have been at the breathtaking, revered Boston Marathon – The world’s oldest annual marathon established in 1897, which makes it an astonishing 123 years old.

Fastest Marathon – 3 hours 13 minutes – fast.

Fastest 5K – 18 minutes 50 secs – even faster.

Therefore, it does not come as a surprise that at 59 ½ years old (her own words, by the way she does not look a day over 50) that Erica is an animated bundle of running knowledge, a force to be reckoned with, all cemented in a heart of gold. PSSST on another aside, she turns 60 the day before she runs the Gold Label Chicago Marathon, the perfect way to celebrate a new decade of life, don’t you think?

As you can imagine, I was excited to sit down to chat, pick her brain and dig down to the core of what makes Erica tick. Eager to discover the drive that has kept her running all these years, since that day when she first laced up at age 14 years old? To be honest, there is pretty much nothing Erica does not know about running and especially the marathon.

Originally, a native of Philadelphia Erica did most of her growing up in the urban landscape that is Detroit. But, at the fresh-faced age of 20, as the eighties hit; the age of computers, conservatism and end of the cold war, Erica chased the sun and headed south to land in Naples. Via a sojourn in Texas where she went to college and earned her degree in Biology and Nutrition. Her path led her to become a teacher of AP Environmental Sciences and then on to study a master’s degree in counseling. Which is where her skillset now lies, helping teens to become the best possible versions of themselves. What better role model, than Erica herself?

My question to her was, why running? Sure, we could discuss her recent race, the Jacksonville marathon, where she ran a 3 hours 38 minutes with change (impressive). We could chew the fat about her big races of years past. We could skip along her athletic journey. But what I truly want to comprehend is why Erica runs, what keeps her running as she grows older and as her body changes? How does one move through time, life and keep being able to bound through marathon after marathon, still relishing the journey, the struggle and achievement? Of course, with age we slow down. We may peak in our 20’s or 30’s, and then we must adjust our goals or reason to run. Or maybe the reason has always been a constant, never wavering, concrete?

Erica was not a college runner, but she always ran. It was a part of her day, her routine, her wellbeing. I mean, there was no cross-country girls’ team in her high school and with there being no set path to her education, she flitted to different colleges as her degree focus shifted, Erica never settled in a track team. Remember these were different times, Title IX was only introduced in 1972, which brought about equality in sports and increased athletic opportunities for females; hence let’s have a female cross – country track team!

Now comes the history lesson: –

The following is the original text as written and signed into law by President Richard Nixon in 1972:

No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.

— Cornell Law School’s Legal Information Institute (20 U.S. Code § 1681 – Sex)

Did you know It was not until 1967 that Kathrine Switzer became the first woman to officially run the Boston Marathon. She was subjected to disgruntled officials trying to shove her off the course, because at the time women were still deemed unable to compete at these distances.

Did you know that a female was not allowed to run an Olympic marathon until 1984? It was at the L.A games and the race was won by the phenomenal Joan Benoit in a time of 2:24.52

Yet, Erica kept on running. And at age 24 years, completely self-trained, she ran her first marathon. It was in 1984 at the NYC marathon, the same year Joan Benoit ran her first Olympic marathon. Serendipitous? I think so.

Taking another sip of delicious tea (I am British after all), I ask her what it is about that distance she holds so dear? She goes on to explain that the beauty of the marathon for her is, “We have everything in life all laid out, but in the marathon you must struggle, you have to move to a painful place and reemerge to finish. Every time you run one you learn something new.” Erica carries on expressing that running is not something she “needs” but, “it is a part of my life. I do not feel good unless I run. So, I run.” It is a parallel to breathing, eating and being. Without it, things stop ticking over and equilibrium is disrupted.

After Erica’s recent impressive time at Jacksonville, she will be running Boston again for 2020, this will be her thirteenth time, almost four months shy of her sixtieth birthday. How has her training changed? How has she coped with slowing down? Erica confesses, that yes, it is difficult mentally, not to be as speedy as she was in her twenties, but it is the process of the run that is the challenge and the drive, not necessarily her speed. As you can see, she is still kicking ass in her age group. She goes on to explain that strength training has become a greater focus as she has aged, because with age, we lose muscle mass. It is also about respecting her body, avoiding injury and letting her muscles and mind rest. She now does yoga to help with her strength and flexibility. All of this has meant she can still do “that thing” she loves.

If you know Erica, you know you cannot have talk about her running, without discussing Boston, her heart race. I ask her what it is about the Boston that she finds so beautiful and engaging that it keeps drawing her back? She explains that on top of it being the oldest marathon in the world, when Boston is run on Patriots day, the whole city stops, the whole city comes out to cheer, it is a holiday, a tradition and it is a tough course with those hills. Erica’s feet have pounded the course from Hopkinton to Copley Square in 1988, 1994, 1995, 1997, 2000, 2001 and then she decided to try her hand at triathlons for 10 years (as you do) and then continued her streak every year from 2012 – 2017, 2019 and now 2020. Need a blow for blow account of running Boston, Erica Szilagyi is your number one resource.

What I love about Erica is her openness, her resilience, her passion and that there is an innate gentleness simmering underneath. This makes her quick to care, nurture and to see the good. She strives to be better. There is so much more to her than what you see. For instance, she paces every year at the Naples Half Marathon, pushing others to achieve their own goals, a pursuit she finds enriching. I want to know more. We move into her five-year plan. What does she have left to achieve, when you have already achieved so much, and this is where you truly see the woman that is Erica Szilagyi?

5 year – run plan

Run the Comrades Marathon (55 miles) in South Africa, it is the world’s oldest and largest ultramarathon established in 1921. Women are currently excelling at these longer distances; I am excited to see her knock this out of the park.

To stay healthy and continue to run.

To continue to run Boston. (You know she will and continue to strive.)

5 year – life plan

To explore, express and celebrate her creativity with her painting and writing. Erica also would like to join the Peace Corps. I could not think of a more perfect person to travel the world and help others.

While interviewing Erica, I certainly did not have enough time, and I most definitely do not possess the adequate vocabulary to give her the written justice she deserves. How can one condense her journey so far, her commitment to her sport, her successes, her challenges in to one article? She is strong and has so much to give. Just like in her twenties, she is still growing, changing and evolving in life and her sport. For me though, I will remain an interested bystander, watching in fascination and delight as she pursues her goals. She will most certainly still crush the marathon. But to see her attempt a longer distance is something I cannot wait to witness, because for Erica Szilagyi even though her speed may be winding down, I believe her true potential is only just beginning to shine through. Erica may be turning 60 years old in 2020, but her running journey is far from finished and may even be just truly beginning.

MORE Erica Szilagyi stats

-Favorite sneakers – Training – Saucony Kinvara, Racing – Nike Vaporfly

-Fuel – Gu, Sports Beans.

-Trademark – A big smile and positive outlook

-Inspirational figures – Betty Lou Tucker from the Gulf Coast runners, still running in her eighties.

-Thing most people do not know about her – She loves to paint, journal and garden.

-Special power – Experience, talent and grit.

-Furthest run – 50K.

Perpetual Motion

I am always in motion. To be honest, I am happiest when I am using my body; gliding through a series of precise movements to get from A (somewhere) to B (nowhere). I revel in change, I thrive off new beginnings in far flung places. Rebuilding my life, my home, my circle of friends once again. I wake before dawn with a longing to fire the synapses and engage my muscles and run. Out the door and down the road, in to the enveloping security blanket of the morning black. Yes, people may think it strange, but if I stop a vice closes over my body and I am trapped, strangled by my own inactivity. My muscles grow tight, shortening fast, as if trying to crush and splinter the bones beneath. I am in the box of my childhood, where a moment in time obliterated my being. Squeezed every drop of life out of me and took away every choice I ever had, and I just had to wait. Wait in the void until I could breathe again, and I could run…..

Why does a child stop eating? A child who is desperately trying to regain some sense of order in her life. A child trying to hang on to any tangled thread of control in her 10 year old hands. That is what makes a child stop eating. A child who wants to become so physically small, that no one can see her. A child who wants to destroy her body, so she can climb back out of her withered chrysalid and be reborn as the butterfly. A butterfly who can rapidly move her wings, and fly away to regain her life, embrace the change and rebuild.

Instead the withered child was placed in a hospital. Thankfully, she was too young to be locked up in the local mental asylum next door, and thrown in a padded room. Instead she was placed in a hospital to be force fed and told not to engage one single muscle. And so I was placed on a months bed rest and that was when I truly died.

I could not run or escape the suffocating darkness that lay on me as I slept. I could not break free in to the sunlight and feel the breeze on my skin. I could not sprint from my fears or my emaciated body. Instead, I was left to wallow on a bed under a exposing strip light; watching my shrunken skin grow yellow and begin to decay. Because there was nothing else, I was left there, incarcerated, straining at the chains to fly away. My choice of movement was once again not my own.

So you wonder why I run, why I want to keep running, why I never want to stop running, because it is my choice, not yours. Why one day I will run 100 miles maybe I’ll run 200, maybe not, but I will run and I will run every day if I want to. Because, It is mine, it moves me away from the forced stillness, the pressure of my nightmares that hold me captive at night. Lost in a dark room, an invisible presence crushing me until all I can see are the veins in my eyelids as I squeeze them so tightly my head hurts. I will let my body move, I will fly out into the light and let the rain lash my face, the wind whip my skin, let the snow settle on my eyelashes and the sun scorch my shoulders. As I run, as I run far, as I run towards life, coping, sometimes winning but vowing to never let movement be taken from me again.

Crash landed and it’s not pretty?!?

Fuck fuck fuck! Today, out of nowhere, after 2 years, I had a full blown panic attack. In my car of all places…

I was alone thankfully, No small children were scarred, by my inability to keep my shit together. My heart was skipping beats and had been for 2 days. It feels like it is getting worse and that dear readers, was the catalyst to send me over the edge. Plummetting like a rag doll, back into that viscous, black abyss of brain crushing, hysterical, blinding panic.

I was sobbing, my face was numb, my heart raced the world was blurry and the white noise was screaming, I was hyperventilating and could not stop it, I just could not stop it, so I instead let it crash over me and hoped I would resurface soon.

Side note – Post meltdown recovery to be conducted as soon as functional, sane brain restarts …

I’m alive. I share, to show this is what myself and 1000s of others deal with and this is my way of making this rational, to remove the fear and look at it in black and white and walk away.

Darkest little secret….

WOW that sounds sinister?! Why do secrets languish in the shadows of guilt. Why is it wrong to admit the truth to something that is deemed against the norm? Am I scaring you yet? Pssttt, I am not a killer, sorry that would have been exciting gossip for the parents at the school gate? No, I do not have a favorite child, well to be honest that actually changes on a daily basis. Hey and before you mount your towering horse of parenting judgement, I love them equally, but for their differences and quirks. One cannot quantify love, it cannot be seen or held, only felt and how can one measure a feeling. Well I cannot. Good for you if you can.

Lets get it out there…

I Kelly Joy, GULP, sometimes wish I had a illness so great, that I am bed ridden for a few days. Enabling me to get off the whirlwind that is modern life. Hey and before we go all batshit crazy on this, I do not mean cancer or some other terrible heartache many humans have to navigate, just a nice dose of “friendly virus”. It can be uncomfortable and hurt, so it allows me to have a perfect excuse, just to not to get up. I can hide under those dark, deep covers of sanity. Away from the family chores, the cleaning, the responsibility of my children, my work, the bills, the scheduling, the driving. All the things I can never get to, that compound on my shoulders, weighing me down. My fight to push myself to a sub 3 HR marathon, balancing work, running and family, trying to cook a nutritious home cooked meal, bake cakes, organize birthday parties, vacations, getting to each of my children and giving them what they need at any given moment, to fight aging and look attractive against the sea of under 40 parents, the fear my husband may leave me for a younger model. Be put together and calm, follow social rules, think of others before myself, a good friend, a kind person, give back, organize Christmas, keep in touch with family abroad… ARRGGGHHHH I Just cannot keep my fucking head above the water line. I almost drown daily and thank god I am a pretty good swimmer, as I have always swam against the tide.

Can you believe, I curl up and cry and hide, SHOCKER? Sometimes I wish for a dose of friendly flu, so I can avoid and hide and sleep, I just want to sleep all bloody day and not empty the dishwasher for the 10 millionth time or listen to my kids kick the shit out of each other, not cook dinner, fold washing …. just sleeeep. Crazy huh?

Before you go all preachy and worried. No I am not depressed, never have been, I love life, I love adventures, I love my boys. My anxiety is gone, so have my panic attacks (thanks to my 40 miles a week of running), my anorexia is managed, I have great friends, an awesome husband, but life is messy and busy and cluttered and sometimes I want it all to stop for 24HRS. Like the Thanos SNAP and then we go back and start again, clean slate, tidy life, to go forth and mess it the fuck up again, as that is what life is, a long messy transition from birth to death. With so much love, living and being thrown in between.

Dirty little secret it may be? I am sure people will think I need help, or am nuts, or not coping, but who the fuck does not need help, is normal ( I hate that word) and is coping, no one I know on the inside. Why should it be a secret, why can we not share and care, love and help, laugh and cry together over this tectonic ride we are on, forever moving and changing.

I will always feel every moment, I will cry hard and laugh loudly, enjoy the good, balance along walls, cartwheel in the grass, sing to my favorite song, love with all my might and not apologize for my honesty. But I will be honest and not be perfect and a pain in the ass, a bee in your ear, revealing all I am and reflecting all you will not share and with that I am giving you permission to reveal, break down, join my party in life and that is my gift to you. I give you my dirty secret and honesty, so you can be you and release and know I am way crazier and needy than you will ever be. Don’t mind if I do.

You are so very welcome.

KKJ

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.