Life with teenagers - at least they know how to make a cup of tea ...

As I sat in my kitchen attempting to write an essay on Children's Literature this morning I was interrupted regularly by the rumbumptious banging of my two sons playing the x box in the next room. That may not be a real word but it describes their behaviour well. Now at the ages of 12 and 13 they are tall, muscular and scarily strong. They also have developed an aversion to the shower ...

How did all this happen? It doesn't seem 5 minutes ago that I was writing my first blog post and they were two darling boys - all golden and soft with early bedtimes and a penchant  Noddy. People told me to make the most of the time when they were young, but, to be honest, I dismissed this advice as the first signs of senility.

Perhaps its because I was still in the cold grips of Post Natal Depression that I wanted their childhood to be over quickly? I was frustrated by them and their needs. I felt alone and inadequate. But now, with hindsight, I look back at those days with a fond nostalgia! Not that I'd want them back ... I am quite happy that my boys are capable of making me a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich. In my eyes I have achieved Nirvana in the parenting stakes!

But still ... it does amaze me to think that I actually gave birth to these two hulking 'near-adults'. Their hormones are buzzing and when they do actually venture into the bathroom, after lots of screaming and gesticulating from me, the place ends up smelling like a tarts boudoir. Less talcum powder and bubble bath - more Lynx body spray and hair gel.

So far, despite the fact that they tower over me, I am still in control. Well... when I say control I mean actually that we work well together. They know what side their bread is buttered on and they know the rules of the house. Al though they might attempt a minor rebellion sometimes, at the moment they are good boys, intelligent boys and boys of whom I am immensely proud.

Neither of them are making bad choices right now, although it scares me to write those smug words, after all its early days and they are still quite young. But I know that they have made choices of which I approve. The eldest, when faced with an invitation to go to the park after school and drink cider (OH MY GOD) said no and told me about it. He considered such behaviour stupid and chavvy. I can't tell you how relieved I was that he thought that way and wasn't swayed by peer pressure.

All you can do as a parent is try to equip your children with the tools to cope with the life they face. Of course they will face invitations to drink, possibly to try drugs, but I hope they will come through all that. Right now, when I think of what they could be doing I am soooooooo happy they are being rumbumptious on the x box in my lounge ...

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I live in an avalanche of 'stuff' and its driving me nuts.

I am frustrated. I am frustrated by my house and the amount of 'stuff' we have littered about it. I am frustrated that every surface I look at seems to be covered with 'stuff'. Books, ornaments,glasses,clothes,shoes,papers....stuff.

It distresses me. It makes my mind feel disturbed and messy. It makes me dread people coming to my house.Every time I clear up, it reappears. We are all guilty of its dumping. I cannot blame the children alone, or my husband. I am also a guilty party.

We come home and leave our shoes, coats, bags in the hallway. 'Stuff' is strewn up the staircase.'Stuff' is strewn along the landing. Piles to be taken to the charity shop. Piles to be put in the loft. I cannot bear it.Our house is too small and our possessions are too big. The combination along with four people who have too many outside interests results in... mess. Clutter.

When we moved here 12 years ago we had 12 years less 'stuff'. The house was neat, tidy and organised. For 12 years we have indulged in consumerism in a relentless and enthusiastic maelstrom.Our shameless capitalism has produced a house bulging at the seams with everything one would ever need to live comfortably in the modern world. And it is ghastly.

We are never here long enough to have a good attack of sorting. We are studying, sporting, visiting, buying more 'stuff' that we don't really need.It is a sickness and it is driving me nuts. No sooner do I sort out one room than another is buried in an avalanche of things.Enough is enough.One of these days I am going to wake up and find myself unable to get out of bed because I have been buried alive under a pile of pointless possessions.I will be one of those odd bag lady types who makes a trail through carrier bags filled with old tins of peaches.

I want to be an elegant lady who lives in a house of clear surfaces. The change starts now. This is it. Black bin bag, come with me.... its time to get minimalist before I drown.

A spooky tale of turtles and tears...

Have you ever had anything a little odd happen to you? Anything a little... spooky? I am not a fan of ghosty tv shows or visits to mediums. That kind of thing scares me a little. Well.... when I say a little, I mean a lot.But at the same time it fascinates me. Spooky things have happened to me..... 

I suppose that when I say spooky things have happened to me I should explain... I am not claiming here to be the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.If you are a solid, sensible minded person you will probably be able to explain away what I am going to tell you. I myself look back and find myself doubting my belief in what happened. But it did happen and at the time it touched me in a way that now seems a bit mad.

I was in Australia, on a boat on the Great Barrier Reef. My Man and I were two months into a back packing trip around the world. We had saved up, left our jobs in casinos and set off to travel for a year. From Cairns we booked a diving course and set off with about ten other people to live for five days on the boat.It was beautiful. Blue skies, crystal seas. We were incredibly happy and enjoying life.

And then, for no reason, on the fourth day I woke up and could not stop crying.There was no rhyme or reason to it. I was a mess. We were supposed to do our compass dive and I totally blew it. I panicked, cried and just could not dive. I was in danger of failing the whole course. One of the dive masters offered to take me for a recreational dive - no pressure, just pleasure. I decided to do it and eventually managed to get down and swim amongst the coral and the beautiful sealife.

As I was down there I started to feel calmer and calmer and all of a sudden the dive master pointed out into the distance. There, swimming towards us, was a turtle. It gracefully glided through the blueness and spent some time just floating around us - back and forth, instilling peace and tranquillity.None of us had seen a turtle before and the experience was so special. It didn't make me cry - it just filled me with a strength that came from nowhere, a calmness that filled my soul. It made me think of my grandad for some reason.

When I came up from the dive I was a different person. I did my compass dive and passed my PADI. That dive and that turtle turned me around.

I thought no more about it until we came back to shore a couple of days later. Waiting at our hostel was a message from home. My grandad had died.He died the day of the tears and the turtle.I had had no idea that he was ill. No idea that he would die.For me the explanation for my tears had arrived and I felt that my grandad's spirit had visited me when I needed him.

Can you wear lip gloss while digging your allotment?

I remember, about 20 years ago, a friend of ours announced that he was 'just off to tend the allotment...' Showing a decidedly shallow side of our nature both my Man and I howled with laughter... 'An allotment??!!' It conjured up images of old geezers in flat caps, with sheds and nicely polished garden forks.As, at the time, we were all working in casinos still and leading the life of fast living, champagne drinking singletons, it was hard for us to understand the appeal of... veg growing.

So it is quite ironic that this afternoon I am heading off to sign the paperwork on my own allotment. I am not going to be wearing tweed in future and, to be honest, the chances of me having highly polished tools is about as likely as my son tidying his bedroom.

In my head I have a vision of a nice neat plot of chocolate coloured soil, separated by lovely wicker fencelets. In a corner of the plot I imagine a shed painted duck egg blue, in which I will sit and drink tea.There will be no weeds on my allotment, obviously.I may occasionally take a cast iron skillet along and fry garlicky potatoes to eat there and then with freshly picked salad leaves...

In reality I can see myself cursing the day I signed up for the thing.I would imagine there will be huge amounts of weeds and any veg will be small and infested with ghastly bugs that you just don't get in Waitrose produce... I can see the boys groaning as I try to persuade them to come and spend an afternoon digging and weeding with me. If they moan too much I can see them ending up buried up there along with the veg.

Why am I getting an allotment? Well, I could tell you that I want to live off the land in an organic paradise. I could tell you that I want to bond with my family and share the delights of gardening with them.Unfortunately the only truth I can tell you is that it seemed like a good idea at the time...

Memories of my Father.

For some reason, last night, as I lay in the Summer warmth, unable to sleep, I began thinking of my Dad.He died ten years ago this September - four days after my youngest's first birthday. As I lay there in the darkness little memories slipped to the front of my mind....

The way his middle finger was crooked from breaking it sledging when he was a boy... the veins on the back of his hands... the softness of the hair on his forearms... the scar on his shoulder from having dislocated it so many times playing rugby. I remembered his final days and the tears began to fall...

I lay in the darkness silently dripping tears onto my pillow as I remembered his last night... how he suffered.... how brave he was throughout his illness, but especially those last hours.

I remembered him teaching me to dive when I was 12 ... spending hours by the poolside, patiently telling me I was doing well.

I remember my anger at his funeral where I shed not one tear.

I remember my sister and sister-in-law searching frantically through drawers as he lay dead, removing letters to his mistress that we did not want our mother to find. I remember that he never once told me that he loved me. And I remember someone telling me that when he saw Sophie's Choice he said that if he had to choose between any of his children he would rather go with all of them to die himself than lose one...

I remember when we spread his ashes I wanted to lie there in the leaves with him and never be parted. And I remember that I have never been back to that place in ten long years...maybe its time.

An Unbirthday gift from my brother - I will be the Allotment Queen!!

I arrived home from work today to find a parcel on the mat.I assumed it was for my hubbie as its his birthday next week... but no... it was for me!! How exciting!! I love pressies.I abandoned all thoughts of any other activity and immediately ripped it open. I am not one of your 'feeble, dainty, save the wrapping paper types'. I am a full blooded' rip the thing open as quick as you can and see what's inside' types instead.

And inside... joy unbounded... was a book.It was from my brother and his wife and is called 'Keeping an allotment' by Kevin Forbes.(Yes - I know... not this one, but I couldn't find my book anywhere for a picture...be patient!!)

I crumpled slowly onto the sofa as I started to read, dropping car keys and hand bag and any idea of lunch that I might have entertained...What a fab book! It is an 'unbirthday present' - so named because of a book we used to read when we were little, called 'The Unbirthday Present'. My brother and his wife had listened to me warbling on about an allotment I am going to see on Friday and had seen the book and thought ... 'perfect!'

And perfect it is. I know nothing about allotments or veg gardening, but this will help me through.At the moment its pages are creamy and pristine, but I imagine that in a few months time it will be dog eared, slightly muddy in a chic kind of a way, with remnants of allotment sandwich crumbs and tea stains from my new allotment flask...

How marvellous!! And how kind!! I am going to have to take that bloody allotment now...

Thank you letters - do you write them??

This morning I received a thank you card from my sister in law for her birthday present and a night out we arranged. I also received a thank you text from a friend, thanking me for my thank you letter having attended his 50th birthday party. At Christmas and birthdays I write thank you letters and I make my children do the same. To me, thank you is an important word ( or two if you're being pedantic here)

I am also aware of the thank you cards I do not receive.I have never received a thank you note from certain young relatives and probably never will.I don't suppose it really matters hugely in the great scheme of life ... but to me it does.

Saying thank you is something that my parents ingrained into me.Whether it was thank you for my tea, thank you for opening the door, thank you for my present. As a child I spent many a Boxing Day at the kitchen table, with my two brothers and sister,writing letters to aunts, uncles, grannies and grandads. At the time I hated it and I hated my mum for making us do it.I realise now, however, that it was a good idea.

The text I received this morning talked of good manners and kindness. Both my brother and I had written to thank our friend for our big night out and he had really appreciated our thoughts.He spoke of the way both his parents and ours had brought us up to say thank you and to appreciate the kindness of others.I felt quite emotional, because, before now, I had not really thought too much about it.Writing or calling to thank people for things was something I did/do as a matter of course.But he is right.

Saying thank you is more than just a courtesy. It is a sign of real appreciation of another person's thoughtfulness.It is a sign that you care enough to have sat down and written a letter, an e-mail. You have appreciated whatever they have done for you and want them to know that their thought has not been taken for granted.It forms a connection between people that strengthens friendships and deepens understanding and trust.

My children may hate me now for making them write thank you letters, but they will thank me when they are older - maybe by letter!

The great breastfeeding v formula debate.

I have noticed in the last little while that there is a lot of hoohaa about breast feeding going on... Now, it is an extremely long time since I had any babies that needed anything other than chilli and garlic bread to eat, but I was interested to read the various views.

Its the kind of subject that people get passionate about.People either want to breast feed... or want to try... or just don't want to.There are people who find breast feeding easy, difficult, relaxing, uncomfortable .... really as many descriptions as there are people... or I suppose I should say ... women.

I breast fed both my boys because I wanted to do that and felt relaxed and happy to do so. For me it was the natural choice. My sister-in-law fed her babies with formula, and again, for her it was the natural choice that suited her.My other sister-in-law is breast feeding her triplets, supplemented by expressed breast milk in bottles and, I would imagine as they get bigger, formula.

The thing that intrigues me with all this is the way that so many women feel they have to evangelise about their preferred method. I am not saying that all women do, but it seems to me that women who feel passionately about whichever method they use, seem compelled to get everyone else to do it their way... Why ??

Surely the bottom line that we all agree on is that we want to have healthy babies who are happy and loved?I know that there are statistics to persuade one on either side of the argument, but my point is... why argue? We all make choices as parents and it is our right to do so. You can disagree with the way other people choose to feed their babies, but I think its wrong to make other parents feel guilty or wrong about their choices. Surely we should all support each other as parents? Its hard enough being a mum or a dad without other parents making you feel like you're useless ? We all do our best. We all want to be great parents.Each method has its pros and cons and as adults its up to the individual to decide which way suits us best...

There... that's my view anyway... off to cook more chilli.

One day of illness and I have failed as a mother...

I have been ill today. I won't bore you with the gory details, but I did not make it into work and that was one of the best decisions of my life.As I lay in my pit of death I realised that I had nothing 'instant' for tea for the boys.I, personally, will probably never eat again, but they needed some form of nourishment.

This is one of the times when my ethos -  of only cooking from scratch, preferably from muddy, organic veg pulled, only minutes previously, from rural pastures - let me down. A hungry 10 and 12 year old are not interested in my ethics when they come home from school and want tea on the table, hot steaming and full of flavour.

I could hardly drag myself from my bed, but I did - staggering downstairs to stare vacantly at my freezer drawers.Mmmmmm.... a smoked Harrods chicken ( frozen, obviously ) one haddock fillet, several portions of cheese and a bag of peas.Hardly the inspiration for a quick and easy meal... And then I noticed the oven chips... nestling like a guilty pleasure at the back of the drawer, a reminder of a moment of weakness in Tesco's. I had usually scorned my husband's requests for oven chips.... if we were having chips I would make them, by hand, from potatoes grown in the garden fields of Devon... but this one time I had succumbed to their easy pleasure, and thank goodness I had.

So, chips. What else? What nourishing, nutritious delight could I find to go with them? I hesitate to type my answer... You will place me among the ranks of turkey twizzler scoffing chavs.... Tonight my children sat down to the sumptuous feast that is oven chips and instant noodles... together... as a meal....

I know. As I sit here feeling very much recovered from my earlier dreadfulness, I shudder at my failure as a mother.Will my children grow up to resent me? Will they be ... 'damaged'? Tomorrow its back on the straight and narrow ... free range meat and organic new potatoes with a drizzle of butter, served  with..... oh, hang on... England are playing tomorrow. Forget that... its burgers and chips all round.

Secret Housewife is auntie to triplets!!!! Yippeeeeee!!!!

I am so thrilled today!! I haven't mentioned this before on my blog, but today my brother's wife gave birth to triplets!!! Three healthy, bouncing boys - identical twins and their triplet brother!! My sister-in-law went in this morning and had them by caesarian section. They are 6 weeks early, but they are strong and healthy and screaming the hospital down!!

My brother and his wife will make such lovely parents - they are just wonderful people. These are their first babies and I think they are a little shell shocked to say the least!! We as a family have waited with baited breath through their pregnancy, hoping beyond hope that they would all be well and make it through to the end - and they have. Today is a good day and I can't wait to meet them!!Welcome to the world our little princes.

A plot all of our own...

Today has been a down to earth day...by that I really mean down to earth.I have put myself on the waiting list for an allotment.To those of you who don't know about these things, an allotment is a plot of ground rented by city folk so they can grow their own vegetables, fruit and so on.In these days of eco friendliness the allotment is becoming more and more popular and, ever the one to jump on a band wagon, I am up for a bit of green fingered, organic yumminess - even if it means I have to do a bit of manual labour.

I have clubbed together with my sister-in-law and together we hope to share our allotment ( if we are ever actually allotted one ) and spend happy hours digging, weeding and hopefully eating our wondrous produce.In the past we have both grown veg in our back gardens, but mine is the size of a postage stamp and hers has been turned into a football pitch.It will be far more fun working together.

The only problem is the waiting list.The allotment is now so popular that we may have to wait up to 4 years to get one.Still, in the meantime at least we can say we are trying to be earth friendly people and we will continue to grow tomatoes and potatoes in pots on the patio.If we are given a plot I will let you know!!

Glad today is over...

Do you ever have those days where every plan you had gets eaten up by children and husbands and other general people?A day where you thought you would be studying and reading and actually it turns out that you spend your time taxiing kids, chasing husbands who forgot their mobile phones, doing Tescos.... and then your kids turn round and tell you they hate you anyway?


Of course you have those days.... we all have those days.... well, nearly all of us.Days where "you" get chewed up and spat out like an old piece of gristle that nobody wants.Today was one of those days for me.Just a day that I am glad is over.My children are sleeping peacefully, unaware of the carnage they have wrought, unaware of the fact that I am, funnily enough, a human being who used to have a life...


It seems a long time ago now, but I remember when my bathroom was fragrant with candles... not adorned with school uniform and football kit, lying as they were dropped, waiting for me to come and pick them up...I remember when my kitchen stayed pristine between meals and the possibility of muffin wrappers on my coffee table had never entered my head.I remember a time when my house was clean and smelled nice and my hallway was a place you could actually walk through without risk of serious injury from shoes, bags, shin pads or coats.

There will come a time.... I imagine in about 20 years, when my life will again be quiet and organised, fragrant and relaxed.There will come a time when the scent of teenager does permeate my existence and where there is only the distant echo of childrens voices telling me that they hate me.

If I ever moan, in that dim distant future, about the quiet or the peace or the calm..... please shoot me.

Economy Gastronomy and the Secret Housewife...

I wonder if you have been watching the tv programme Economy Gastronomy? It is on BBC1 on Wednesdays and I absolutely love it!! I even went and bought the cook book and have been regaling my family with meals from it each day... whether they like them or not.

The idea behind the show is that you should plan your week's menus and start with one main meal, from which you cook " tumbledown meals". For example, this Sunday just gone I cooked a yummy roast chicken and then picked the carcass clean, using the leftover meat for pollo con arroz ( chicken and rice to those of you, like me, not fluent in Espagnol)for the next day. I also cooked up the remaining carcass to make chicken stock.

You end up knowing exactly what you are going to cook each day, removing the whole " standing in front of the fridge thinking oh God, what shall we have for tea tonight" thang.The food is easy to cook and absolutely, bloody delicious!!You also end up saving loads of money as you only buy what you need and avoid the whole impulse buy and chuck half of it away lottery. Yesterday I made Pasta Garganelli which consisted of pasta, broccoli, peas, olive oil and a dressing made from fresh herbs, mustard, garlic, lemon juice and zest.I now possess a window sill bursting with said fresh herbs.Being able to zing up a tasty dressing from my own freshly picked produce makes me feel like a proper chef!


Each Saturday I am making fresh bread, the excess of which I freeze for the rest of the week.I am feeling like an excellent mother and wife!! Although we did have both ends of the culinary scale tonight as son#1 took one look at my Pasta e Fagioli and declared he would make himself packet noodles.Husband and I sat eating fresh pasta with cannellini beans, tomatoes and parmesan, while the boy sat with a bowl full of chemicals...Still, you can't win them all and at least I am trying.Kids, eh.... they just don't appreciate how bloody marvelous I am...

A brave new world...

I am entering a new world. It is a land that I knew was on the horizon, and have been preparing for, but its a strange and bewildering place...


Let me explain... I have been a mum now for eleven and a half years. To be honest I am not particularly good at it and have struggled with post natal depression to start with and then just downright misery further on because being a parent is hard bloody work. But through all this time I have been very protective...


Some might say over protective. They would be right. I watched a family holiday video in horror and saw myself, not as the glamorous woman I though I was, but as a plump, worried mother, scurrying after my first born, ready to catch him if he fell, ready to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre if he choked, ready to ... well, ready to do anything to keep him from harm. Not a pretty sight. If I was someone else looking at me... well, I would have loathed me... an irritating woman indeed.


But now the time has come for my first born to fly. He starts secondary school in a week and a half.For the last year my plan has been to wean him off the comfortable family life. I have let him walk home from the local shops by himself, let him make cups of tea, cook noodles and stay up late. I have sent him on little errands, bought him a mobile phone and done all I could to make him independent. The last thing he needs when he goes to his new school is a mum waving tearfully from the gate.


But a stage has arrived that I had not anticipated coming so soon... friends. Friends calling for him on their bikes, asking him to come out. And when faced with this what can you do? You can't say "Oh, no... he's my baby and I don't want him to die on the road on his bike! I don't want him out with you... alone! " Because that would be hideously embarrassing for him. So I say "Oh, yes, sure! Take your phone and be back by 4pm Have a great time!"


Its odd, because it has come so quickly. One minute he was 3 and here and I had to do everything. The next minute, he's 11 and I have to trust that those 11 years have taught him something. I have to trust that he will be ok. I have to believe that he is intelligent and sensible and that he will be ok.


But I feel odd. I can't quite believe the time has come and its too late now to quickly train him up in the ways of the world. He has to learn for himself and he will make mistakes. But I suppose those mistakes will be the making of him and his character. From the minute he was born he has been preparing for this moment and keeping him wrapped in cotton wool won't do any good at all. He knows right from wrong. He knows the path I would like him to take. But that fact won't make him take it... He is his own person and the best thing I can do is let him go, let him learn and grow.


But I do feel strange. When he was born people told me that the time would fly by and to make the most of him being young. I didn't believe them - I longed for him to be grown up and thought it would never come. But here we are... A new country, new landscape, through which we are feeling our way. I am scared that he will get hurt in some way, but I know that I have done all I can to help him make the journey safely. The rest is up to him...