Sunday nights are a night for soup in our household. The recipe changes every week. It always starts with an onion, but can go anywhere from there, depending on what looks like it's about to go bad in the fridge.
This week's soup also included some trimmings from the vegetable patch - some perpetual spinach that needed tidying up, some parsley thinnings. It feels awfully smug and healthy when I can chuck things in the pot that I harvested from the garden mere moments before.
Despite the variability of the flavour, it's always a hit with the kids. Itsyboo in particular is known to be extremely enthusiastic.
There is definitely a child behind the bowl
We changed our routine a little bit today - in the past we've eaten our soup in shifts. 5:00 for kids tea, then grown-ups once the children were in bed. I decided, though, that we'd all start eating supper together on a Sunday, so we sat down at 6 en famille. Miss A, delighted by both the meal and the company, announced "I love eating soup. It makes me grow up big and strong!"
I spent this morning putting together Miss A's birthday present. For those of you keeping track, yes, Miss A's birthday is in November. But we moved the day before her birthday, and I judged from the picture on the box that it would take me at least two hours to put together.
I was out by 50%. After three hours, one primal howl of despair, a blistered finger, and a minor safety hazard, Miss A can use the table and chairs that were sent to her in November.
Pity my poor middle finger. Grabbing things is hard!
It wasn't a great week for exercise. I went to bootcamp on Monday and had a great time. The rest of the week was downhill from there, so I was determined to go for a run today.
By a combination of accident and design, I took a completely different route this week. I spaced out and ran past the turn I'd normally take, and ended up on the route that takes me round the back of Fidelity. This route is much flatter than last week's on both a macro (hills) and micro (churned up earth) scale. I thought it would be a lot better but I forgot about the stiles.
A stile in the style of the ones I went over today. Ha - do you see what I did there?
For about half a mile, you are crossing fields where there is a stile every tenth of a mile. On the way out, they were just a little annoying - breaking up my running flow since I had to stop and climb over. On the way back, they started to seem like a medieval torture device since I had to stop running, get my legs up AND over, then start running again. Cruel, man.
This week's distance was 1 1/2 miles, and I did it in 20:06, which is two whole seconds per mile faster than last week. And that's with all the stile stops, so I can reassure myself that I could, in fact, outrun molasses.
I may try this route again next week when I am going far enough to turn it into a circular one, thus avoiding the stiles on the way home. Longer term, though, it looks like I'm just going to have to get better at running across little bumps and furrows so that I can run through the fields.
I read somewhere that to write a "successful" blog, you had to decide what it was about and stick to it. Since I have covered mummy dilemmas, driving and now athletics in the last week or so, I think I'm doing well, don't you?
I mentioned in a previous blog post that I have been feeling an erosion of self since becoming a mother (like every parent ever in the history of time). Like many mums, for a few years, even my body has been a shared resource. But now I'm claiming it back.
In my early thirties, I discovered something strange and unexpected. I like long distance running. It's a incredibly portable hobby that clears the mind and makes you healthy. Rather the opposite of wine, which is another of my great loves.
When they sing "Light Up, Light Up," they are talking about my face which turns bright red from both wine and running
I started out with 10Ks and then ran the Austin Half Marathon in 2009. It was hard, hilly, and fantastic.
I've now set myself the goal of running Austin 2014. Since my fitness levels are *cough* not what they used to be, I've got a lot of work to do. I'm going to start with my former fabulous running club's beginner programme. This week, I ran 1 mile this morning and will run two "homework" runs of seven minutes each.
I sincerely hope that not all of my running blogs will contain the words "holy fucking hell," but that's how I've got to describe today's run. My brilliant idea to maximise the fitness impact of my training was to run across the fields behind our house. This reduces the impact on joints and forces more of your muscles to join in to stabilise you on an uneven surface. It is, however, harder, since the softer ground absorbs some of the force of your foot's impact.
I forgot to consider, when planning my route, that the particular field I wanted to run in is accessible only by a narrow path between two fields that, during the winter, is properly ankle-deep mud. That's not an issue now that it's summer, but imagine how this churned-up footbath dried. If you guessed that there is not an inch of flat running surface, then you get the extra special prize today. Happily, there was no one else around or I might have caused them to sprain something laughing as I ran / tiptoed across the wobbly path - which is nearly 1/4 mile long. And I had to run over it twice. Between that and the stiles, I managed the mile in 13:26. Not my best time ever, but I've got plenty of time for improvement, right? Right?!?
Keep tuned in for further updates this week, when I will attempt to do my homework runs at the same time as attending boot camp three times. Body, you are mine.
When I was a young thing back in the great state of Texas, I used to think of speed limits as a sort of minimum guidance. I don't think I was the only one who saw them that way - though I did get a speeding ticket or two, which I blame on my extreme youth (oh, the days...) The roads were generally wide and well-planned, and I never actually felt like I was taking my life into my hands.
Driving is different here. When I took my first spins around London, I was terrified at how slow I had to go. I was convinced that I was going to get shunted from behind by someone who was going the speed limit. But in London, you had to be ready for the car in front of you to do anything - turn without warning, stop suddenly, or throw themselves into reverse and speed towards you like a very confused demon out of hell (they possibly may have been parallel parking).
I got used to it, though, and adapted to the fact that, on any given journey, I was going to average roughly 5mph for the trip. It was fine. Fine.
And then we moved to the countryside. Full of lanes that are basically paved horse tracks. And I learned something important.
Did you know that, if the local authorities don't intend to rigorously enforce a speed limit, that they just don't set one? My favourite local attraction, the lovely Ightham Mote, can only be accessed by a windy road that is approximately 1 1/2 cars wide.
The road to Ightham Mote is not unlike the gorgeous Curly Wurly Tree
There are spots where you can pull over to let a car coming the other way pass, since there is no way that two cars can go past each other and both keep four wheels on the road. Can you guess what the speed limit is?
Sixty (that's 6-0) mile per hour. The idea of even attempting to match the speed limit there makes me think of that song by Cake about a race car driver who is possibly dead...
Perhaps it's age and a sense of my own mortality, but more likely it's the sheer insanity that has made me reconsider the relationship between speed limits and actual driving speed. I'll be the one toodling along at 1/3 of the posted limit. Feel free to honk and flash lights - I'll think of it as your celebration of my driving coming-of-age.
Today is one of those days when I shall be using my blog as a form of free therapy. Lucky readers! In short, I find myself facing a thorny dilemma at the moment.
When I attempted to resign from work at the end of my maternity leave in January, my manager very kindly declined and offered me an additional period to make up my mind. After various negotiations with HR, we agreed that August would be the end of an extra period of unpaid leave. Going into the extra leave, I scoffed to myself that there was no real point, as I was going to be a stay-at-home mummy in the countryside, raising children and vegetables and possibly chickens.
As time passes, however, my resolve wavers. I panicked about going back to work after my maternity leave with Miss A, but it was okay. I was happy getting out of the house, we had wonderful childcare for Miss A - a gem of a childminder who still keeps in touch for updates.
Fast forward to today and I'm weighing up all sorts of things trying to decide whether it's better to stay or go (at home or back to work for anyone who just got worried). Although it would be welcome, the extra money isn't really the primary motivating factor. Rather it's my own mental well being.
I find that I have lost quite a lot of my sense of self outside of being a mum. Staying at home means I, quite naturally, am focused on the children. But following our move to Kent, I find it harder to carve out things that are for me and not for the family.
Last year I read the lovely Playful Parenting by Lawrence J. Cohen. In it, there was a metaphor I loved for children's attachment. Dr Cohen presented it as a cup, filled by their primary carer's attention and love. Some children needed constant tiny top-ups, some could go for a while and then need a big top up, but the results of an empty cup resulted in difficult behaviour and unhappy children and parents. I am, of course, simplifying greatly here, but you get the idea.
Worth a read if this sort of thing floats your boat
So, if I think of my sense of self as a cup topped up by interacting with friends and doing things that are good for me, I'm getting pretty close to bone dry. I often feel like singing Good Feeling - pleading with that good feeling to stay just a little longer.
Even a million years after my youth, I still love the Violent Femmes
I noticed it less before the move - I had a strong network so I saw friends nearly every day. Even if it wasn't an arranged play date, I was pretty much guaranteed to see someone if we went down to Goose Green (I am pining for that playground...). I could nip in to Push Studios around the corner for a Pilates class on a Saturday morning. I had running buddies and there was a lovely, social running club that I fully intended to join again...
I think I forgot how long it took to set up my network and how lucky I was to have such a concentration of resources. I took a few knocks to confidence when the first couple of people I tried to chat with at the school gate were polite but cool - I have since met more lovely people but it becomes 1,000 times harder to try to form relationships and initiate play dates when you have a vague worry that you are imposing. Nonetheless, I try to keep reminding myself to be The Friendliest Mum at the Play GroupTM.
I have also made efforts to do things that make me feel physically good - I have joined a bootcamp workout class (second night tonight). I have made running club enquiries, but sadly they seem to be a lot more competitive than social. I fear that running 8 minute miles is some way off for me.
It seems, though, that going back to work would easily sort this out for me. I would be back amongst my colleagues and work friends, I would have the gym and all its classes in the same building. I could join the lunchtime running club... I feel like I can only go back to full on, full time work, though I am meeting my manager soon to discuss options for a return. It also seems like a live-in nanny is our only option (we'd need around 60 hours a week of childcare, I estimate) and, while we are lucky to have enough room to accommodate someone, I'm not sure how I feel about sharing my home.
While I feel that having me home is the best I can do for my children, it's the best I can do only if they get the best of me. If I'm sad and stressed and feeling bad about myself, I can't give them the attention and energy they deserve.
There are probably some ideas that I am missing now - working without going back full time, childcare options (I was convinced that we HAD to have a nanny when I went back with Miss A, but the childminder was the most awesome ever). I will continue to mull them over and do what I can to feel better while I prepare for my chats with work. I do, of course, welcome ideas and comments and suggestions.
One of the entertaining things about moving to a new house is seeing what comes up in the garden. I know that we have several fruit trees - apple, cherry, plum, and apricot - and I can't wait to see which is which. We also have all sorts of beautiful geraniums, nigella, nasturtium, and, of course, forget-me-nots popping up in every bed. It's a little thrill every time I see something new sprouting - though it does mean I've let the weeds grow much more than I have in gardens that I designed myself. And my restraint paid off, as I would likely have uprooted a large stand of aquilegia.
Living in the countryside, I also get excited about the flora and fauna surrounding us. I have had a recipe calling for wild garlic since time immemorial. Now I live near woodlands - I went foraging for wild garlic.
I found none. I toodled through all the local woods, with and without children, dogs, and spouse and found nada. Sadly, I filed away my recipe for another day.
I was weeding the flower bed today, when I noticed a distinctive garlicky smell coming from the bruised leaves of what I had assumed were more bluebells or lily of the valley. A closer look at the emerging flowers confirmed it. I have wild garlic in my back yard.
My own Allium ursinum
My first thought was "I can't believe I spent all that time looking for something that I had at home. Metaphor for life, right? My second was "now I know what's for dinner!"
