Word of the Week…

And this week’s #WotW is:

Work

As I was contemplating how my week had gone I realised that, despite only working part time (I head to the office four days a week – one of them is a half day) – I really only see my children for a couple of hours a night Monday through Thursday. For this reason I generally always reach Friday and my week cannot really be summed up by anything central to my role as a parent or to my time with the kids without looking back to the previous weekend. Then I realised that I spent all last Sunday morning at work doing overtime.

On Fridays I take the children to our local toddler group in the mornings (although JJ has pretty much grown out of this experience and is only interested in the biscuits) and then sometimes we go out for lunch with Daddy if he’s got the day off (he works shifts so this is relatively frequent) before EJ’s nap and then an afternoon of Softplay with our lovely NCT friends. By Saturday we are pretty much all completely zonked!

This week I had it confirmed that I will be reducing my hours a little come April giving me an extra day away from the office. This is great for me but doesn’t necessarily mean I will see more of the children as JJ will still be at pre-school and EJ with our childminder for part of the day. However I am hoping that the extra time I have to get organised will free me up to be much more ‘present’ with them when we are together and to have more energy at the weekends. Less work, more play – hurrah!

The Reading Residence

Time to blog…

time to write

I’m not sure if I’m on my on my own here but my mind seems to have been leaping from thought to thought like a demented leprechaun lately. This is not particularly useful when you are trying to compose a blog post. Maybe this is the nature of work/life when you work part time and have a one year old baby and a four year old (both boys so no real downtime there!). It feels like I’m either thinking one thought on one subject at work or completely bamboozled at home by a s**tstorm of demands, requests and random four-year-old type queries (“where do crocodiles sleep, mummy?”). If its not that then I’m trying to figure out why I’ve got that uncomfortable niggling in the back of my mind (eg, “oh! My car insurance was due to be updated today!”, “whoops – just found a cervical smear reminder from 6 months ago”, etc.).

Then there’s the post-bedtime lull during which I’m supposed to let the dust settle and make sense of it all. This is the time when I start reading other people’s blogs searching for reading matter which I can identify with, or examine the various linky blog hops and try to figure out how to crowbar part of my life into one of them. Only last night I finally got to grips with #PoCoLo (“Post, Comment, Love”) at vevivos.com only to post my own link five minutes after the darned thing closed down. I don’t think I’ll ever be organised enough to make that one (just the 48 hour window Vicky?? ;))

The trouble is I was trained as a writer – both academically and journalistically – and, whilst I would in no way ever be able to justify referring to myself as a perfectionist, I do find myself needing to have conceived a post with a beginning, middle and end, some merit as a comment on the news/nature of life/experience as a parent etc, before I put pen to paper (or the online equivalent). I also feel the need to at least attempt to say something that hasn’t been said a million times before (or at least put a slightly different spin on it). This has become nigh on impossible in recent times, hence the great swathes of time that seem to go by between one posting and the next. Maybe this is why I’m so rubbish on Twitter – I can’t summarise a rounded thought in 140-characters – kudos to those who can!

Currently I have several half-conceived ideas on the back burner including: a ponder on the nature of ‘normal’ or acceptable living arrangements in modern day society (ie – the 2.4 kid nuclear family unit/ lone singleton/ lone parent/ lone couple etc. All a bit lonely really!); a different ponder on the joys and woes of anonymity as a writer; and a celebration of the great benefits of ‘being a bit old’.