My son my sun my son
I love you
Not because you say I'm beautiful
but because of who you are
Who are you?
You are my sun
I will continue to fight for you
Fight for a secure home for you
Fight for a secure education for you
Fight these things so many take for granted.
I will always fight for you
I've got to fight for me now
I have to fight for me
I have to fight for me to fight for you
Without me you'd be so sad
I can't let you be sad
my beautiful, intelligent, funny
gigglesome, cheeky, kind, AWESOME
child
Thank you for blessing me
Hug you at 3.30
Thank God
BIIIIIIIIIG HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUG
Showing posts with label Access. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Access. Show all posts
Friday, 10 February 2012
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Back to School
The boy was excited!
HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH, hallelujah, hallelujah, HALLE-E-LUJAH!!
First time ever, it seems!
"See my friends mummy!"
Oh he's never said that before; scared my little mite, of the taunting.
BUT but! I positioned myself with the Mothers Who Don't Like Me at the winter fair and so the kids could see
THEN, the Ham and High kindly offered a bridge, in the form of panto tickets to The Enormous Turnip where I invited all my son's closest friends and all the mothers, bar one - c'mon, I'm not that forgiving. "I have a ticket for your child," wrote I and of course he couldn't come but at least she let me know.
The Foca has traded weekends with me so our son can go to A's birthday (so lucky I got Christmas and New Year waking to my Sun..three weekends in a row....lucky!)
All his buddies are attending.
My son my sun, I wish you the best in 2012. I wish you renewed confidence within yourself, self belief and self worth, lots of laughs and humour, and yes, you are back to school, so the best of your more than capable abilities in all you endeavour.
I love you, I have always loved you, I will always love you, now and forever
Amen
HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH, hallelujah, hallelujah, HALLE-E-LUJAH!!
First time ever, it seems!
"See my friends mummy!"
Oh he's never said that before; scared my little mite, of the taunting.
BUT but! I positioned myself with the Mothers Who Don't Like Me at the winter fair and so the kids could see
THEN, the Ham and High kindly offered a bridge, in the form of panto tickets to The Enormous Turnip where I invited all my son's closest friends and all the mothers, bar one - c'mon, I'm not that forgiving. "I have a ticket for your child," wrote I and of course he couldn't come but at least she let me know.
The Foca has traded weekends with me so our son can go to A's birthday (so lucky I got Christmas and New Year waking to my Sun..three weekends in a row....lucky!)
All his buddies are attending.
My son my sun, I wish you the best in 2012. I wish you renewed confidence within yourself, self belief and self worth, lots of laughs and humour, and yes, you are back to school, so the best of your more than capable abilities in all you endeavour.
I love you, I have always loved you, I will always love you, now and forever
Amen
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Wrong days
Nitwit that I am, I read the letter from the housing support worker wrong. Next week he's coming.
Next week doesn't suit - I have to take my boy swimming.
I didn't think I had to take my boy swimming yesterday, his dad takes him the weekends they don't see each other, but guess what? He didn't turn up.
Again.
You don't know it's 'again', you don't know the texts I have sent him in the past asking him to let me know if he's not going to make it. You don't know that the last time he didn't show I said 'that's it, Monday's are over' and a big row ensued so I said one more chance.
Yesterday I sent a text and said that unless a cab was outside my door, he wasn't taking our boy swimming on Mondays again. I would confirm in an email. I sent the text at 5, the email half an hour later.
At 10.15 I yawn thinking I shall take myself to bed with the book I'm reading (Red Queen by Philippa Gregory) when my phone goes, and goes again, and tells me I have too many messages and to delete. It's the Foca. I start to read but there's so much of it, I delete it and more comes and more I have to delete so I text him and say"I've no space 4 your texts so I delete them" then more comes about me ignoring or deleting and my phone again tells me to delete (because it's got low memory and I've got pictures on it) so I make some space and text:
" I've told you again and again my phone can't take long messages but again and again you send them. Just leave me alone. It's late."
The fucking gall of what he sends next:
"If I could leave you alone I would - we have a son - and you choose to act in a manner to drive us apart - then choose to delete or ignore my response due to the time of day - forgive me if I set my priorities differently and put my son above my need for sleep or ability to scroll through messages on a phone"
Er..who's messages?
Fuck..you missed the summer. The night he bombarded me with texts about how it was his weekend with our son (who'd seen him the weekend before) and how I was "a liar who doesn't co-operate". I forwarded that text back to him at the end of that 'text row'.
Then he didn't bring our son back from Ireland on the Monday as promised. When did he let me know my son wasn't coming back? 9.30 at night. Said he'd just got home. I texted 'That's no excuse' (for not letting me know) I emailed him because my phone couldn't take it and shit flew back. I wanted to ignore it but took umbrage at the word "bully" - that I am a bully - and told the foca that our son had told me that his dad had called him a bully and didn't want me to tell the foca that I knew because he was scared he'd get into trouble. "Are you going to tell your mother [I called you a bully]?" his dad apparently said to which my son had replied "No"
"Sticks and stones can break my bones
Your words will just bounce back at you"
The final line of my email.
Silence, until last night. I'd share his patronising message with you - I have it, he sent it to my email. That's flash phones for you.
How many characters in a text? 140? Like a tweet?
His text to me (you know how when they are too big they cut half way through a word or cut on the first letter of the next word..) Anyway, his text was (fuck, this is going to take me ages)
672 characters but I've only counted 3 out of the 8 paragraphs that copied in as email.
I have not, will not respond. He accuses me of ranting (not in this one, the reply to my text asking why he couldn't tell me sooner my son was coming home) yet rants himself.
I've ranted to you. I am sorry but going to bed last night without him dominating my thoughts and my anger and fury at him, well, thank goodness that the Red Queen is a good yarn.
I was a victim when I was with him. I told you that. I told you that funny (ha ha ha) day the council came round to see if it was true that the landlord was evicting his son and I cried and the foca said 'you're such a victim' and I said 'if I'm a victim, you're a bully' 'victim' 'bully' back and forth for endless minutes.
A few years ago I decided I wouldn't be a victim anymore and bizarrely that's when he started accusing me of bullying.
Do you think his wife was sitting next to him when he was sending me his 2000 odd word text?
In truth I don't care, I just want to end this post now. I've enough of him, really, lots.
Oh, our son wasn't disappointed his dad didn't show. Indeed, he was so scared about what his dad would do or say about him telling me about the bullying accusations that he cried and begged me to take him swimming myself. I said no, the support worker was coming (doh) and it would be good for him to see his dad, talk to him about what happened.
The foca sends me untruths about myself. He's not listened to me since the day our son was born. I've stopped listening to him now. He can talk all he likes, text, email. If it gets too much I'll go to one of the women's centres and get some advice.
What you should do if you're going through similar or of course, worse.
Legal Aid's been cut for families.
Sound Off For Justice(.org)
Next week doesn't suit - I have to take my boy swimming.
I didn't think I had to take my boy swimming yesterday, his dad takes him the weekends they don't see each other, but guess what? He didn't turn up.
Again.
You don't know it's 'again', you don't know the texts I have sent him in the past asking him to let me know if he's not going to make it. You don't know that the last time he didn't show I said 'that's it, Monday's are over' and a big row ensued so I said one more chance.
Yesterday I sent a text and said that unless a cab was outside my door, he wasn't taking our boy swimming on Mondays again. I would confirm in an email. I sent the text at 5, the email half an hour later.
At 10.15 I yawn thinking I shall take myself to bed with the book I'm reading (Red Queen by Philippa Gregory) when my phone goes, and goes again, and tells me I have too many messages and to delete. It's the Foca. I start to read but there's so much of it, I delete it and more comes and more I have to delete so I text him and say"I've no space 4 your texts so I delete them" then more comes about me ignoring or deleting and my phone again tells me to delete (because it's got low memory and I've got pictures on it) so I make some space and text:
" I've told you again and again my phone can't take long messages but again and again you send them. Just leave me alone. It's late."
The fucking gall of what he sends next:
"If I could leave you alone I would - we have a son - and you choose to act in a manner to drive us apart - then choose to delete or ignore my response due to the time of day - forgive me if I set my priorities differently and put my son above my need for sleep or ability to scroll through messages on a phone"
Er..who's messages?
Fuck..you missed the summer. The night he bombarded me with texts about how it was his weekend with our son (who'd seen him the weekend before) and how I was "a liar who doesn't co-operate". I forwarded that text back to him at the end of that 'text row'.
Then he didn't bring our son back from Ireland on the Monday as promised. When did he let me know my son wasn't coming back? 9.30 at night. Said he'd just got home. I texted 'That's no excuse' (for not letting me know) I emailed him because my phone couldn't take it and shit flew back. I wanted to ignore it but took umbrage at the word "bully" - that I am a bully - and told the foca that our son had told me that his dad had called him a bully and didn't want me to tell the foca that I knew because he was scared he'd get into trouble. "Are you going to tell your mother [I called you a bully]?" his dad apparently said to which my son had replied "No"
"Sticks and stones can break my bones
Your words will just bounce back at you"
The final line of my email.
Silence, until last night. I'd share his patronising message with you - I have it, he sent it to my email. That's flash phones for you.
How many characters in a text? 140? Like a tweet?
His text to me (you know how when they are too big they cut half way through a word or cut on the first letter of the next word..) Anyway, his text was (fuck, this is going to take me ages)
672 characters but I've only counted 3 out of the 8 paragraphs that copied in as email.
I have not, will not respond. He accuses me of ranting (not in this one, the reply to my text asking why he couldn't tell me sooner my son was coming home) yet rants himself.
I've ranted to you. I am sorry but going to bed last night without him dominating my thoughts and my anger and fury at him, well, thank goodness that the Red Queen is a good yarn.
I was a victim when I was with him. I told you that. I told you that funny (ha ha ha) day the council came round to see if it was true that the landlord was evicting his son and I cried and the foca said 'you're such a victim' and I said 'if I'm a victim, you're a bully' 'victim' 'bully' back and forth for endless minutes.
A few years ago I decided I wouldn't be a victim anymore and bizarrely that's when he started accusing me of bullying.
Do you think his wife was sitting next to him when he was sending me his 2000 odd word text?
In truth I don't care, I just want to end this post now. I've enough of him, really, lots.
Oh, our son wasn't disappointed his dad didn't show. Indeed, he was so scared about what his dad would do or say about him telling me about the bullying accusations that he cried and begged me to take him swimming myself. I said no, the support worker was coming (doh) and it would be good for him to see his dad, talk to him about what happened.
The foca sends me untruths about myself. He's not listened to me since the day our son was born. I've stopped listening to him now. He can talk all he likes, text, email. If it gets too much I'll go to one of the women's centres and get some advice.
What you should do if you're going through similar or of course, worse.
Legal Aid's been cut for families.
Sound Off For Justice(.org)
Friday, 26 August 2011
When in existential trouble...BUILD
Yesterday afternoon, after my pub shift would have finished had I been at work, an Argos delivery man carried the box containing my 'desk and chair' up my stairs.
He smelt nice, which was nice.
Some parts of the desk required two people to assemble it but there was no second person I could call, so I did it myself. Took a while. lifted the structure onto the top desk bit back to front so had to lift it out again, but hey! I did it!!
So today. where I've stepped outside and had to step back in again because my chest keeps tightening and I think I'm going to have a panic attack, I have instead marvelled at my two new bits of furniture which given an illusion of ordered space in my living room.
Oh to have bespoke furniture for in truth, were I rich, I would not have a desk like this with a keyboard shelf attached by runners, because I have a laptop. It is kind of bespoke though; I've left my mark on it.. it's not a smooth finish!
So yes, with a door slamming shut on my pub job (she wasn't there both times I went to apologise so I'm guessing...) I'm hoping the renovations to my front room, with its pine storage and a 'beech effect' desk, will precipitate a lovely job, that I can do staring out on to the tops of these trees before me (I do so need the sky to be close)
So yes folks, I'm drowning.. letter from the electric company saying charges are going up by 11% in a few weeks..I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one to feel out of my depth
So, I'm taking some time out. Tidy up, read.. I bought myself Shantaram with some tokens I was given for writing a review piece for someone (£10!) but I may read something more spiritual instead because I hate feeling like this. Thinking you're at the bottom but knowing there is no bottom, you just keep falling.
My country is in existential trouble. It should take a leaf from my blog and BUILD. Build what's affordable. Build affordable homes for people. 80% of £350 a week is not "affordable" just like fix term contracts are not "secure".
I sign out and wish you a very happy Bank Holiday. Hopefully next time I write, my son will be home.
(oh and damn, was going to write about the Lily Shea Trio gig I went to - the guitarist is a friend and Lily's voice is smoky or else smooth like chocolate when sings her jazz and the classical music concert at St Martin's in the Field...I am actually alright, I just need to focus on something other than what I'm trying not to think about and really want to switch off my computer and breathe, and empty my mind of negative things. Thanks Stigs, ending on music!)
He smelt nice, which was nice.
Some parts of the desk required two people to assemble it but there was no second person I could call, so I did it myself. Took a while. lifted the structure onto the top desk bit back to front so had to lift it out again, but hey! I did it!!
So today. where I've stepped outside and had to step back in again because my chest keeps tightening and I think I'm going to have a panic attack, I have instead marvelled at my two new bits of furniture which given an illusion of ordered space in my living room.
Oh to have bespoke furniture for in truth, were I rich, I would not have a desk like this with a keyboard shelf attached by runners, because I have a laptop. It is kind of bespoke though; I've left my mark on it.. it's not a smooth finish!
So yes, with a door slamming shut on my pub job (she wasn't there both times I went to apologise so I'm guessing...) I'm hoping the renovations to my front room, with its pine storage and a 'beech effect' desk, will precipitate a lovely job, that I can do staring out on to the tops of these trees before me (I do so need the sky to be close)
So yes folks, I'm drowning.. letter from the electric company saying charges are going up by 11% in a few weeks..I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one to feel out of my depth
So, I'm taking some time out. Tidy up, read.. I bought myself Shantaram with some tokens I was given for writing a review piece for someone (£10!) but I may read something more spiritual instead because I hate feeling like this. Thinking you're at the bottom but knowing there is no bottom, you just keep falling.
My country is in existential trouble. It should take a leaf from my blog and BUILD. Build what's affordable. Build affordable homes for people. 80% of £350 a week is not "affordable" just like fix term contracts are not "secure".
I sign out and wish you a very happy Bank Holiday. Hopefully next time I write, my son will be home.
(oh and damn, was going to write about the Lily Shea Trio gig I went to - the guitarist is a friend and Lily's voice is smoky or else smooth like chocolate when sings her jazz and the classical music concert at St Martin's in the Field...I am actually alright, I just need to focus on something other than what I'm trying not to think about and really want to switch off my computer and breathe, and empty my mind of negative things. Thanks Stigs, ending on music!)
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
Big Bad Post Holiday Missing Boy Blues....
Monday - SLAM - I wanted to be dead.
What am I doing here?
It's difficult to describe falling into the abyss apart from it's all black so you can't even see what you're thinking.
Trying to locate what tipped me over the edge. I'd had a great time on Friday with a friend, then a gig and bbq on Saturday. A guy I was meant to be meeting on Sunday got in touch at 7pm but I couldn't be arsed by then. I met him Monday lunch time when pins started pricking the back of my eyeballs and I wanted to be at home.
I went, wanting to climb into bed, but my doorbell went and it was my mate Charlie. I wanted to tell him to piss off but I didn't have the energy so I made him a cup of tea and didn't say much. Until I started speaking
A pub landlady I know is first shortlisted to view a flat near my son's school. If that was me I wouldn't have to worry about my son's education ever again. That part of my life would be over, that part of his life would be settled. Then I shut up again, inconsolable.
Oh I'd looked at the bidding of the past few weeks, couldn't see the place she's viewing. She's been on the list 5 years, has way points than me, you can't ask me why..
My mate Charlie invited me to chill around his, just like my friend at lunchtime and I said no.
Went to bed at 11 and slept 12 hours.
Down Down Down...
DO SOMETHING
I went and bought a flat pack 2 x 3 storage cabinet from Argos with tokens that I have. Reduced from £75 to £25. Clear the clutter.
Ended up texting Charlie in an SOS for help. He invited me around again and I said no. I went to see Bridesmaids at the cinema instead and laughed til I cried and then cried for real.
Feeling fragile today, but I don't want to be dead.
HANG IN THERE.
ONE MOMENT AT A TIME.
My boy will be back before I know it and I have our holiday on camera.
I've a DIY desk and chair being delivered tomorrow courtesy of the remainder of my tokens. Soon I can write looking out of the window.
None of us should want to be dead.
What am I doing here?
It's difficult to describe falling into the abyss apart from it's all black so you can't even see what you're thinking.
Trying to locate what tipped me over the edge. I'd had a great time on Friday with a friend, then a gig and bbq on Saturday. A guy I was meant to be meeting on Sunday got in touch at 7pm but I couldn't be arsed by then. I met him Monday lunch time when pins started pricking the back of my eyeballs and I wanted to be at home.
I went, wanting to climb into bed, but my doorbell went and it was my mate Charlie. I wanted to tell him to piss off but I didn't have the energy so I made him a cup of tea and didn't say much. Until I started speaking
A pub landlady I know is first shortlisted to view a flat near my son's school. If that was me I wouldn't have to worry about my son's education ever again. That part of my life would be over, that part of his life would be settled. Then I shut up again, inconsolable.
Oh I'd looked at the bidding of the past few weeks, couldn't see the place she's viewing. She's been on the list 5 years, has way points than me, you can't ask me why..
My mate Charlie invited me to chill around his, just like my friend at lunchtime and I said no.
Went to bed at 11 and slept 12 hours.
Down Down Down...
DO SOMETHING
I went and bought a flat pack 2 x 3 storage cabinet from Argos with tokens that I have. Reduced from £75 to £25. Clear the clutter.
Ended up texting Charlie in an SOS for help. He invited me around again and I said no. I went to see Bridesmaids at the cinema instead and laughed til I cried and then cried for real.
Feeling fragile today, but I don't want to be dead.
HANG IN THERE.
ONE MOMENT AT A TIME.
My boy will be back before I know it and I have our holiday on camera.
I've a DIY desk and chair being delivered tomorrow courtesy of the remainder of my tokens. Soon I can write looking out of the window.
None of us should want to be dead.
Monday, 6 June 2011
The joy of seeing my son!
My beautiful boy finally arrived home from his Spanish holiday at 3pm yesterday afternoon. For the first time ever I spontaneously began to cry which set him off so we hugged hugged hugged and tried to laugh it off!
Maybe it was the anticipation; I'd been looking forward to seeing him since before he even went away! Then for him to be late... I was emotionally knackered....
A curious thing though.
At the very beginning when he went there was a void within me that ached because love and my child resides there and my son was gone, only for a week, but nonetheless gone.
So in order to fill the void, I thought I'd imagine that I had a full time job and a husband.
So I closed my eyes and imagined my full time job that I loved and imagined coming home to a man who I loved and you know what, I missed my son so intensely, that I could not fantasise about that again!
What does that tell ya?!
So from then on whenever that longing came for my child, my child's laugh, my child's hugs, my child's conversations, I just imagined him. I just closed my eyes and pictured his face and the ache would pass.
It rained all afternoon. I'd planned to take him to the Green Fair at Regents Park but we just stayed at home and being home with him, was just the perfect place to be!
Lucky are we who have children, don't you agree?!
Maybe it was the anticipation; I'd been looking forward to seeing him since before he even went away! Then for him to be late... I was emotionally knackered....
A curious thing though.
At the very beginning when he went there was a void within me that ached because love and my child resides there and my son was gone, only for a week, but nonetheless gone.
So in order to fill the void, I thought I'd imagine that I had a full time job and a husband.
So I closed my eyes and imagined my full time job that I loved and imagined coming home to a man who I loved and you know what, I missed my son so intensely, that I could not fantasise about that again!
What does that tell ya?!
So from then on whenever that longing came for my child, my child's laugh, my child's hugs, my child's conversations, I just imagined him. I just closed my eyes and pictured his face and the ache would pass.
It rained all afternoon. I'd planned to take him to the Green Fair at Regents Park but we just stayed at home and being home with him, was just the perfect place to be!
Lucky are we who have children, don't you agree?!
Sunday, 5 June 2011
Silent Sundays
All over the blogosphere, there are mums who post photos every week under a meme (meme?) entitled Silent Sunday.
Many of these pictures are really beautiful and allow you to reflect peacefully, smile perhaps. To date I haven't joined in with this. I have a camera but lost the bits.
Still, I come to pierce the Silent Sunday with my Silent Scream
My son isn't home.
I sent a text last night saying I expect him back by 12 so as I wait I still cannot shrug the anger.
He was due back yesterday. It was agreed that my son would come back yesterday. The Foca was the one who booked his holiday tickets, the Foca was the one who agreed yesterday.
I have spent a week looking forward to yesterday.
I won't go into the details, but suffice to say we had a text row, when he finally answered my text enquiring about time of arrival four hours after I sent it, to say he might be a little late and perhaps he'd take our son back to Brighton.
"What would you prefer?" he asked.
That he comes home, I said.
Might not be possible, he replies.
Why ask then?
At 8pm last night he sent a text saying 'the three boys are exhausted - I can't make [our son] travel anymore'
RRRRRRAAAAAAGH
I was with my friend Mary who said 'text back and say 'great, thanks'. It's what he wants, to get a reaction from you. It's not about your son it's about him. Text and say 'great'.
I couldn't of course, but took her advice and wrote 'I expect him back by 12'. I then swallowed some bile as I texted the word 'please' remember to return his passport and steeled myself when I wrote 'Thanks'
Long time followers will know he's like this.
Long time followers know that on silent days in a silent flat which shouldn't be silent there should be a child's laughter ringing in it, I have to let off steam
How's that for a picture....
A whistling RrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrragH
Many of these pictures are really beautiful and allow you to reflect peacefully, smile perhaps. To date I haven't joined in with this. I have a camera but lost the bits.
Still, I come to pierce the Silent Sunday with my Silent Scream
My son isn't home.
I sent a text last night saying I expect him back by 12 so as I wait I still cannot shrug the anger.
He was due back yesterday. It was agreed that my son would come back yesterday. The Foca was the one who booked his holiday tickets, the Foca was the one who agreed yesterday.
I have spent a week looking forward to yesterday.
I won't go into the details, but suffice to say we had a text row, when he finally answered my text enquiring about time of arrival four hours after I sent it, to say he might be a little late and perhaps he'd take our son back to Brighton.
"What would you prefer?" he asked.
That he comes home, I said.
Might not be possible, he replies.
Why ask then?
At 8pm last night he sent a text saying 'the three boys are exhausted - I can't make [our son] travel anymore'
RRRRRRAAAAAAGH
I was with my friend Mary who said 'text back and say 'great, thanks'. It's what he wants, to get a reaction from you. It's not about your son it's about him. Text and say 'great'.
I couldn't of course, but took her advice and wrote 'I expect him back by 12'. I then swallowed some bile as I texted the word 'please' remember to return his passport and steeled myself when I wrote 'Thanks'
Long time followers will know he's like this.
Long time followers know that on silent days in a silent flat which shouldn't be silent there should be a child's laughter ringing in it, I have to let off steam
How's that for a picture....
A whistling RrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrragH
Saturday, 28 May 2011
The Revolution will be live
RIP Gil Scott-Heron, the "Godfather of Hip-Hop" who died yesterday aged 62.
I'm going to take a break from blogging. I haven't figured out what I'm going to say to Dobbie and I need to get it all straight in my head.
I was going to stop being Stigmum's conduit forever today.
I was going to stop blogging. That was my plan. In my head.
Quite fitting, if I can't go out on a happy ending, I go out on a protest!
This was never the song I was going to end it on though, so I guess I've got to come back!
Happy Bank Holiday all and happy half term to the kiddies, especially mine, who's in Barcelona right now as the city plays football against Manchester United at Wembley, London.
I love you my son my sun and remember, I said I was in your heart so not far if you need me, and you are in mine, a comfort when I miss you x
Friday, 27 May 2011
Blogging identity crisis
First and foremost I should like to thank the Dotterel for his post along the same theme as mine.
At times, these days, I can feel cast adrift as some of you already know. This morning as I've bobbed along the blogspot oceon, ahoy! Someone else going through an identity crisis!!!
Like me, he writes about random things. He's called out to his readers for help whilst going through his existential crisis, but I can't do that, I can't even call upon myself. Thank goodness then, there are other boats bobbing along the blogging blue.
You know, you know I was going to stop this blog. My crisis has come not because I started but because I started again.
How can I tell you I write what I don't want to write about? Obviously I do write what I want to write about otherwise I wouldn't write it would I? It's not like someone is paying me to write what I write. So what's my flipping problem???
Housing was/is Stigmum's identity. We campaign!! Yeah, we do!! But unlike other campaigning blogs, my campaign, crikey, dare I say it, bores me. Doesn't bore stiggers, bores me. Bores me to suicidal thinking. I know, I shouldn't admit that, precisely as I'm about to go and ask an MP to get me a statutory instrument (whatever that is). Yeah, I am asking for it, not Stiggers. Go figure my crisis....
This morning, what do I write about? Rape. Rape for goodness sake. Rape doesn't bore me in quite the same way housing does but I've written about it alot recently and it's starting to hurt.
Me and stigs wanted to change subject but to what and how..
Well, what.. we knew.. my son.. my son's gone away today..but how to write it... don't know because that has been hurting all week in truth and today simply aches.
That's the problem I guess isn't it. Me and Stigmum, Stigmum and Me. We're not the same people and we are precisely the same people. I think I want something different to what she wants but I don't, I want the same thing. Only I never knew how difficult it could be to write about the things that are so, gosh, grim to contemplate.
My son's not grim to contemplate. I envy some of the bloggers who write about their children, put pictures up of them. I don't know what bars me writing about mine to a similar extent.
Maybe, maybe my problem is, that I'm not where Stigmum was anymore. She was in a dark, dark place and for the purpose of the blog she wanted me to write it down. Now she's in a lighter place, she can see around her a bit better.
She still wants me to write it down but I want to break free.
It's this new house, it must be. It's not a prison like the old one was or perhaps, ha ha, it's a luxurious one..anyway, blogging's not been the same since we moved here. The songs that have been coming to mind reflect that. Had I lost battle and ended up in a hostel I shudder to think what I'd be writing about now. You'd get songs though, lots.
Throw me a song now Stiggers. She won't though. Maybe she can't anymore. Music is her therapy and I don't need it, or can't need it.
I don't know
I don't know!
I really don't know but I guess that is totally normal for someone going through an identity crisis. There's no crisis after all, if you know, is there?
I may play some Doris!
Thank God in my real life I know who I am!
Remind me who am I stiggers?
At times, these days, I can feel cast adrift as some of you already know. This morning as I've bobbed along the blogspot oceon, ahoy! Someone else going through an identity crisis!!!
Like me, he writes about random things. He's called out to his readers for help whilst going through his existential crisis, but I can't do that, I can't even call upon myself. Thank goodness then, there are other boats bobbing along the blogging blue.
You know, you know I was going to stop this blog. My crisis has come not because I started but because I started again.
How can I tell you I write what I don't want to write about? Obviously I do write what I want to write about otherwise I wouldn't write it would I? It's not like someone is paying me to write what I write. So what's my flipping problem???
Housing was/is Stigmum's identity. We campaign!! Yeah, we do!! But unlike other campaigning blogs, my campaign, crikey, dare I say it, bores me. Doesn't bore stiggers, bores me. Bores me to suicidal thinking. I know, I shouldn't admit that, precisely as I'm about to go and ask an MP to get me a statutory instrument (whatever that is). Yeah, I am asking for it, not Stiggers. Go figure my crisis....
This morning, what do I write about? Rape. Rape for goodness sake. Rape doesn't bore me in quite the same way housing does but I've written about it alot recently and it's starting to hurt.
Me and stigs wanted to change subject but to what and how..
Well, what.. we knew.. my son.. my son's gone away today..but how to write it... don't know because that has been hurting all week in truth and today simply aches.
That's the problem I guess isn't it. Me and Stigmum, Stigmum and Me. We're not the same people and we are precisely the same people. I think I want something different to what she wants but I don't, I want the same thing. Only I never knew how difficult it could be to write about the things that are so, gosh, grim to contemplate.
My son's not grim to contemplate. I envy some of the bloggers who write about their children, put pictures up of them. I don't know what bars me writing about mine to a similar extent.
Maybe, maybe my problem is, that I'm not where Stigmum was anymore. She was in a dark, dark place and for the purpose of the blog she wanted me to write it down. Now she's in a lighter place, she can see around her a bit better.
She still wants me to write it down but I want to break free.
It's this new house, it must be. It's not a prison like the old one was or perhaps, ha ha, it's a luxurious one..anyway, blogging's not been the same since we moved here. The songs that have been coming to mind reflect that. Had I lost battle and ended up in a hostel I shudder to think what I'd be writing about now. You'd get songs though, lots.
Throw me a song now Stiggers. She won't though. Maybe she can't anymore. Music is her therapy and I don't need it, or can't need it.
I don't know
I don't know!
I really don't know but I guess that is totally normal for someone going through an identity crisis. There's no crisis after all, if you know, is there?
I may play some Doris!
Thank God in my real life I know who I am!
Remind me who am I stiggers?
Friday, 29 April 2011
royal Anniversaries
Today, the 29th April 2011, is the third month anniversary of my stopping smoking!!
Oh the country is celebrating, got out the bunting, donning hats and flags at this tremendous event ha ha ha!
I watched it on the telly in my pyjamas, Annie watched it in bed, my neice watched it at home with her mum and my nephew headed down to the Mall with his school mates! Good place to be I reckon!
The marriage between Prince William and Kate Middleton, now Duke and Duchess of Cambridge was beautiful! The solemnity, the majesty, the hymns! Less of pomp and more of ceremony, I tell ya, my cup of tea tasted good!
Today is a Royal Anniversary for the country, for they did look pretty handsome those two!
Two kisses! Aw thanks!
The 29th of any month is a royal anniversary for me!
Wee hee! We hold what we love in our hearts, ey son?!
Oh the country is celebrating, got out the bunting, donning hats and flags at this tremendous event ha ha ha!
I watched it on the telly in my pyjamas, Annie watched it in bed, my neice watched it at home with her mum and my nephew headed down to the Mall with his school mates! Good place to be I reckon!
The marriage between Prince William and Kate Middleton, now Duke and Duchess of Cambridge was beautiful! The solemnity, the majesty, the hymns! Less of pomp and more of ceremony, I tell ya, my cup of tea tasted good!
Today is a Royal Anniversary for the country, for they did look pretty handsome those two!
Two kisses! Aw thanks!
The 29th of any month is a royal anniversary for me!
Wee hee! We hold what we love in our hearts, ey son?!
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Shouting at my son
I shouldn't have shouted
He twisted his ankle
"It's daddy's fault," he said
for tying his laces too tight
weeks ago
Oh why did I shout
I shouldn't have shouted
It is his dad's fault
Everything's his dad's fault
(Taken from Notebook 23rd April)
He twisted his ankle
"It's daddy's fault," he said
for tying his laces too tight
weeks ago
Oh why did I shout
I shouldn't have shouted
It is his dad's fault
Everything's his dad's fault
(Taken from Notebook 23rd April)
Royal Wedding
I should really mention it shouldn't I? The Royal Wedding? Big event like that. All told, I haven't been over excited about it. Infact, I haven't been excited about it at all. All political of course. Thanks to the Tory party, it's got that whiff of "we're all in it together" when erm, we're not.
Still, I do like William, do wish him and Kate all the best and all that, and was prepared to go to Hyde Park or Trafalgar Square or somewhere if my son was with me and he fancied the idea.
He's not going to be though.
Shortly before storming off the last time he dropped our son off four hours late, the Foca mentioned a street party in Brighton and this is where my son has chosen to go.
He leaves this afternoon.
"I don't want to upset you mummy," was all kept saying and I'd reply "you're not, it's great you'll have fun," with big fat tears in my eyes I was careful he shouldn't see. This morning he said: "Sorry if it upsets you mummy but I want to spend halloween with my dad," and I didn't breathe because I wanted to roar.
He's got cousins and brothers with his dad. So what if it makes me sad he doesn't choose to stay with me. Some mothers deny their children access to the fathers altogether and I get that, even if I don't condone it. Access, access, hate access, never liked it, just...
So, my boy hasn't picked to go see the "nothing to do with the Royal Wedding" gig with me. My buddy the Estimator is taking his son, there'll be kids there. Cousins are more fun though aren't they?
Oh well, best mind I don't get too wrecked.. The band's playing in the pub what's offered me a job see...They might retract the offer...
There's a competition for best dressed Wills or Kate.. Telling ya, you can't avoid it.. or maybe you can...
Enjoy the Bank Holiday, whatever your plans!
Still, I do like William, do wish him and Kate all the best and all that, and was prepared to go to Hyde Park or Trafalgar Square or somewhere if my son was with me and he fancied the idea.
He's not going to be though.
Shortly before storming off the last time he dropped our son off four hours late, the Foca mentioned a street party in Brighton and this is where my son has chosen to go.
He leaves this afternoon.
"I don't want to upset you mummy," was all kept saying and I'd reply "you're not, it's great you'll have fun," with big fat tears in my eyes I was careful he shouldn't see. This morning he said: "Sorry if it upsets you mummy but I want to spend halloween with my dad," and I didn't breathe because I wanted to roar.
He's got cousins and brothers with his dad. So what if it makes me sad he doesn't choose to stay with me. Some mothers deny their children access to the fathers altogether and I get that, even if I don't condone it. Access, access, hate access, never liked it, just...
So, my boy hasn't picked to go see the "nothing to do with the Royal Wedding" gig with me. My buddy the Estimator is taking his son, there'll be kids there. Cousins are more fun though aren't they?
Oh well, best mind I don't get too wrecked.. The band's playing in the pub what's offered me a job see...They might retract the offer...
There's a competition for best dressed Wills or Kate.. Telling ya, you can't avoid it.. or maybe you can...
Enjoy the Bank Holiday, whatever your plans!
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Hello Again Stiggers!
Highlight of the Easter Holidays was most definitely a free ticket to a Neil Diamond tribute band!!
Brother of Love! Brian Conley as a High Priest praising Hallelulia to Neil!
"Who's that, I recognise him?" said my niece pointing to one of three men.
"Darren Day, known for being a love rat.." Didn't want to say "shagging a pop star" to a beautiful "boys will defo be after you" thirteen year old.
Song after classic song, central aisle second row until after the interval when luck struck even bigger and there I was with my son in the front row!!
This song I've picked because for the beauty of the weather and the company of kids, it was not an easy Easter break down with my parents. I struggled to leave London behind and only managed the morning we were coming back; yesterday. I didn't miss Stiggers because I had my notebook, thank goodness, but I struggled to get out of bed in the mornings..I'm thinking I have to stop blogging but my goodness I'll miss it.
I need Stiggers when I'm in London, because London is so hard.
Solitary woMan heh heh
(Oh the Foca bought my son back four hours late by the way, didn't return my text for two hours. I had a beautiful time with my boy, who in turn had a beautiful time with his cousins - Brother Love's Travelling Salvation Show!)
Thanks Neil Diamond!!
Good to be back Stigs!!
Sunday, 17 April 2011
My son my sun, are you on the way home?
Why did the Foca have to say he'd bring our son back at 5 today?
Five not seven because he's going abroad for work.
The tension in my chest
It doesn't help
I loathe waiting.
I don't usually send a text until my son's an hour late
I must remain calm
Perhaps not read the book I'm currently reading:
Whatever you love
... can be taken away
by Louise Doughty (not free but £2.99 with The Times the other day)
Ooh my, I'm half way through. A divorced mother's daughter has been killed in a hit and run and the back bumph says she takes revenge into her own hands with devastating consequences, but I haven't got to that part yet.
Like Melody Browne, this book goes back and forth, but this time "Before" and "After"
It's disturbing, the death of a child is not something you want to imagine and reading it I still can't, don't want to but the book also works on another level - Laura's relationship with her daughter's father and the subsequent break up of their relationship (I'm back on a "before" chapter so will find out just how)
Her husband has set up home with another woman and they've had a baby. She sees this family play happy families with a boy, her son. This frankness, I feel a pain in that, I'm sure many a single mother would.
There is nothing particularly subtle about the prose but as a thriller it is: it's compelling. We do not get how another married mother in the book deals with her grief, only Laura's assumptions while wrapped in her own. Her perceptions of mother communities are on the nail. How many of us recognise ourselves or people we know?
The Sunday Telegraph describes the book as:
"Like Zoe Heller, Doughy is masterful at combining the texture of ordinary, smugly middle-class contemporary life with the hidden cliff edges of violence and hatred."
Annie, who was here earlier for a cup of tea laughed and said: "It sounds just like your afternoon in the park!"
I'm not sure I would recommend this book, or rather, I'm not sure who I would recommend it to. If you like prose that makes you recoil with its honesty, a story that is psychologically tense, then this one's for you.
Me, I'm going to send myself into a psychological headspin by reading it while waiting for my boy to come home. I'm hoping I'll be able to concentrate. I actually came to blogspot because I'd read the same paragraph about three times as I wondered if the doorbell would ring. Blogspot is better at taking my mind off things.
He will come home.
The Foca hasn't answered my text asking "Are you on your way?" but my son is on his way.
Note to you: Don't read this book if your child has gone away. Read it when your child is with you.
OK? Good! Have a happy evening!
Five not seven because he's going abroad for work.
The tension in my chest
It doesn't help
I loathe waiting.
I don't usually send a text until my son's an hour late
I must remain calm
Perhaps not read the book I'm currently reading:
Whatever you love
... can be taken away
by Louise Doughty (not free but £2.99 with The Times the other day)
Ooh my, I'm half way through. A divorced mother's daughter has been killed in a hit and run and the back bumph says she takes revenge into her own hands with devastating consequences, but I haven't got to that part yet.
Like Melody Browne, this book goes back and forth, but this time "Before" and "After"
It's disturbing, the death of a child is not something you want to imagine and reading it I still can't, don't want to but the book also works on another level - Laura's relationship with her daughter's father and the subsequent break up of their relationship (I'm back on a "before" chapter so will find out just how)
Her husband has set up home with another woman and they've had a baby. She sees this family play happy families with a boy, her son. This frankness, I feel a pain in that, I'm sure many a single mother would.
There is nothing particularly subtle about the prose but as a thriller it is: it's compelling. We do not get how another married mother in the book deals with her grief, only Laura's assumptions while wrapped in her own. Her perceptions of mother communities are on the nail. How many of us recognise ourselves or people we know?
The Sunday Telegraph describes the book as:
"Like Zoe Heller, Doughy is masterful at combining the texture of ordinary, smugly middle-class contemporary life with the hidden cliff edges of violence and hatred."
Annie, who was here earlier for a cup of tea laughed and said: "It sounds just like your afternoon in the park!"
I'm not sure I would recommend this book, or rather, I'm not sure who I would recommend it to. If you like prose that makes you recoil with its honesty, a story that is psychologically tense, then this one's for you.
Me, I'm going to send myself into a psychological headspin by reading it while waiting for my boy to come home. I'm hoping I'll be able to concentrate. I actually came to blogspot because I'd read the same paragraph about three times as I wondered if the doorbell would ring. Blogspot is better at taking my mind off things.
He will come home.
The Foca hasn't answered my text asking "Are you on your way?" but my son is on his way.
Note to you: Don't read this book if your child has gone away. Read it when your child is with you.
OK? Good! Have a happy evening!
Friday, 15 April 2011
The Truth about Melody Browne - Review
The Truth about Melody Browne - Lisa Jewell (Free with Cosmopolitan which I've erm, yet to read but will!)
I'll tell you what I love about a free book. It can take you completely by surprise! I spied that Cosmopolitan were giving away one of two books this month. This which I am erm, reviewing and another - Can You Keep A Secret? by Sophie Kinsella.
Why I chose Lisa Jewell's book? I couldn't say; I couldn't read the bumph on the back on either of them. Truth or Secret? Maybe the sleeve with it's pastel colours spoke of something light and silly, maybe the other, it's dark purple, dark like my dark blue blog template; don't want dark - it might be light though.... Who knows why we choose what we do sometimes.
What a joy to discover Melody Browne was a single mother! What rapture to discover this wasn't run of the mill chick-literature. Sure, she meets a guy at the beginning but that's not the story. Oh! I didn't have to feel hopeless about my own love life!
It's a story about identity and what makes up our identity. It's about our subconcious - things that are so deeply hidden we have no idea about them until one day, memory, memories start coming back, and in this tale it's the night she goes on a first date with new bloke and passes out at a hypnotist show he takes her to.
I believe that some memories come back to you when you are ready to deal with them (because that happened to me, has that happened to you?) so I easily identified with Melody Browne, Melody Browne...?
It's a great book, strong pace going back to the past, a return to the present, dealing with heavy, painful issues with a deft and light touch. Jewell made me laugh, Jewell made me cry (Chapter 46 mostly, and then on...)
It's perfect post dental work literature if you're feeling quite down.
It's a perfect holiday read if you want to, well, feel! Feel interested, happy, hopeful..!
I may go and get Sophie Kinsella's out from the library to read while my son's with his dad but then again I might start reading Whatever You Love by Louise Doughty. I may not review it because it wasn't free (mind you £2.99 with The Times today) but it's an emotionally raw one this one I think - "Laura's nine-year old daughter Betty is killed in a hit-and-run incident" says the bumph on the back.
The Truth about Stigmum is well, blimey, I don't know... Best I just go with her flow!
I'll tell you what I love about a free book. It can take you completely by surprise! I spied that Cosmopolitan were giving away one of two books this month. This which I am erm, reviewing and another - Can You Keep A Secret? by Sophie Kinsella.
Why I chose Lisa Jewell's book? I couldn't say; I couldn't read the bumph on the back on either of them. Truth or Secret? Maybe the sleeve with it's pastel colours spoke of something light and silly, maybe the other, it's dark purple, dark like my dark blue blog template; don't want dark - it might be light though.... Who knows why we choose what we do sometimes.
What a joy to discover Melody Browne was a single mother! What rapture to discover this wasn't run of the mill chick-literature. Sure, she meets a guy at the beginning but that's not the story. Oh! I didn't have to feel hopeless about my own love life!
It's a story about identity and what makes up our identity. It's about our subconcious - things that are so deeply hidden we have no idea about them until one day, memory, memories start coming back, and in this tale it's the night she goes on a first date with new bloke and passes out at a hypnotist show he takes her to.
I believe that some memories come back to you when you are ready to deal with them (because that happened to me, has that happened to you?) so I easily identified with Melody Browne, Melody Browne...?
It's a great book, strong pace going back to the past, a return to the present, dealing with heavy, painful issues with a deft and light touch. Jewell made me laugh, Jewell made me cry (Chapter 46 mostly, and then on...)
It's perfect post dental work literature if you're feeling quite down.
It's a perfect holiday read if you want to, well, feel! Feel interested, happy, hopeful..!
I may go and get Sophie Kinsella's out from the library to read while my son's with his dad but then again I might start reading Whatever You Love by Louise Doughty. I may not review it because it wasn't free (mind you £2.99 with The Times today) but it's an emotionally raw one this one I think - "Laura's nine-year old daughter Betty is killed in a hit-and-run incident" says the bumph on the back.
The Truth about Stigmum is well, blimey, I don't know... Best I just go with her flow!
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Clocks go forward, the sun still high
I was going to go to the Latin mass in Mayfair this morning, for as you know, I sometimes go to church. Instead I had a lie in! I woke up and my phone said "10.56" and the service starts at 11! I forwarded my phone last night so as not to miss it. Ah well!
The sky has been blue all day and I felt I should go to the Heath but I didn't want to go alone, for I did that a few times last week, which was nice, don't want to spoil that healing memory.
So I've stopped in with Stiggers, to tell you about my weekend.
It's late now, 17.15! The sun is still so high in the sky! Summer is on its way!
I'm going to go and post that sodding census then I'm going to drown my sorrow of that down my local pub.
Just one beer. My son's coming home.
I can't wait.
The sky has been blue all day and I felt I should go to the Heath but I didn't want to go alone, for I did that a few times last week, which was nice, don't want to spoil that healing memory.
So I've stopped in with Stiggers, to tell you about my weekend.
It's late now, 17.15! The sun is still so high in the sky! Summer is on its way!
I'm going to go and post that sodding census then I'm going to drown my sorrow of that down my local pub.
Just one beer. My son's coming home.
I can't wait.
Friday, 25 March 2011
Jealousy still strikes my heart
The Foca has just picked up our son for the weekend.
I agreed that he could take our boy to Spain for the May half term.
I've had a few days to think about it. My son told me two weeks ago his dad was planning a holiday (and I was oh when is he going to mention the idea to me??) then two nights ago, at 10 past midnight, I got a text telling me what days he wanted.
It upset me (not to mention the hour)
I want to take my son to Spain
I want to take my son abroad but but
AAAAAARGH
"I should ask you for money," I said to the Foca this afternoon
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"Access costs me."
"How?" he asks.
"How? Babysitting him every night costs me nothing but when he goes away, what, I should just stay in and not go out? It costs money to go out. You want to take him a whole week?"
He ignored me: "Are your bags packed son?" "Do you need to take your football boots son?"
"Well?" I hadn't agreed by that point. "Are you not going to say anything?"
Clearly not.
I can't deny my son a holiday, because I'm jealous. I can't!
Off he'll go with that other family of his
(see! Even how I write there's no happy acceptance!)
(I know, I know, acceptance is the key to the universe...)
Oh bloody hell. I'm going to go and have a beer. In a pub beer garden, the last of the sun on my face.
Then I'll come home I guess. Didn't make any plans with anyone tonight.
I'm in no mood for moaning anyway (except to you!!)and I've the march tomorrow to look forward to.
I thought I'd post my green eyed monster because time hasn't made it go away!
"It gets better" is not what I say to single mums.
Sorry!
I agreed that he could take our boy to Spain for the May half term.
I've had a few days to think about it. My son told me two weeks ago his dad was planning a holiday (and I was oh when is he going to mention the idea to me??) then two nights ago, at 10 past midnight, I got a text telling me what days he wanted.
It upset me (not to mention the hour)
I want to take my son to Spain
I want to take my son abroad but but
AAAAAARGH
"I should ask you for money," I said to the Foca this afternoon
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"Access costs me."
"How?" he asks.
"How? Babysitting him every night costs me nothing but when he goes away, what, I should just stay in and not go out? It costs money to go out. You want to take him a whole week?"
He ignored me: "Are your bags packed son?" "Do you need to take your football boots son?"
"Well?" I hadn't agreed by that point. "Are you not going to say anything?"
Clearly not.
I can't deny my son a holiday, because I'm jealous. I can't!
Off he'll go with that other family of his
(see! Even how I write there's no happy acceptance!)
(I know, I know, acceptance is the key to the universe...)
Oh bloody hell. I'm going to go and have a beer. In a pub beer garden, the last of the sun on my face.
Then I'll come home I guess. Didn't make any plans with anyone tonight.
I'm in no mood for moaning anyway (except to you!!)and I've the march tomorrow to look forward to.
I thought I'd post my green eyed monster because time hasn't made it go away!
"It gets better" is not what I say to single mums.
Sorry!
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Pouring one's heart out
I finally poured my heart out to a mum at school today
My son, my sun, my son my sun
Her son the same, similar
it turns out
I hope I didn't upset her
as I bitched
not my nature
to bitch
and rage
about people
parents
but it felt good
to talk
My son
My sun
My boy
My joy
Thank you mum who let me pour out my heart at school today
My son, my sun, my son my sun
Her son the same, similar
it turns out
I hope I didn't upset her
as I bitched
not my nature
to bitch
and rage
about people
parents
but it felt good
to talk
My son
My sun
My boy
My joy
Thank you mum who let me pour out my heart at school today
Friday, 11 March 2011
Hugs
It is customary every morning for my son to finish his breakfast then come up to me where we hug! Something we've been doing before time even started.
Hug!
Huuuuuuuuug!
HUG!
I needed a hug this morning, that hug, that post breakfast huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuug.
My son's away this weekend.
I started missing him last night.
Fat tears rolled as soon as my head hit the pillow.
My son my sun my son I love you
Feel it in the thought I send you
from my heart
through the depths
of my very soul
Huuuuuuuuuuuuuug!
(Jez Alborough)
Hug!
Huuuuuuuuug!
HUG!
I needed a hug this morning, that hug, that post breakfast huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuug.
My son's away this weekend.
I started missing him last night.
Fat tears rolled as soon as my head hit the pillow.
My son my sun my son I love you
Feel it in the thought I send you
from my heart
through the depths
of my very soul
Huuuuuuuuuuuuuug!
(Jez Alborough)
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