Ok, so I haven't posted on here since May. Well, it's been a bit hectic. Thank goodness for three days' leave over half term to try to catch up!
Though still working for the BBC, I've now got a year-long contract with BBC Children in Need. Hurray! No more night shifts, no more keyboard face, no more 12-hour days and stressful phone calls to friends about childcare. Well, the 12-hour days will be back with a vengeance in just three weeks' time, when the appeal show itself is around the corner - save the date: Friday November 18th. But, mostly, for the first time in three years, things are actually manageable again in this household!
My Other Half has taken over the majority of the school runs, parents' evenings and soccer dad drop-offs. In fact, I can smell his efforts now. Even though I'm on leave for a few days, he's dug out the saucepans and is crafting a carbonara, bless him. Meanwhile, when I AM working, I tend to stumble home around 8-ish demanding my dinner and a beer! Well, not quite, but it's tempting!
I absolutely love my new job - except for the bureauctic bits of treacle we inevitably have to wade through - and the whole family seems happier. The children have been a lot more affectionate when they haven't seen me around so much. But that's a good thing, right?
And didn't 'Raising Boys' guru Steve Biddulph say boys needed their dad around more after the age of seven? Right. So I refuse to feel guilty about this. There's a tad more dust around but I'm trying not to notice and it's never been a high priority of mine to live in a house as neat as a new pin anyway. So, onwards and upwards, with more time to blog soon, I hope.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
FIVE YEARS’ TIME
I wrote this piece for my old blog and for a magazine I edited at the time, under the theme of Five Years' Time. It's beyond that five years now - so how many boxes have I ticked?!
SUNDAY, MARCH 19,
2006
As a child, I thought that by the
age I am now, I might be just-about married and would be spending my days
filing a newspaper column from an untidy spare room - chained to a computer and
chain-smoking.
Although some of that rings true, I never expected that I would already have nearly ten years of marriage behind me by this age and that I would be spending my days looking after two young sons as a freelance journalist living in Portugal. How did I get here, and where will I be in five years' time?
It sounds a long way off now, but the first thing I have realised is that it isn't. Because only five years ago, I was living in a cottage with a six-month old puppy and an even younger baby, on a steep hillside above a beautiful creek in south east Cornwall.
While on maternity leave, I realised that although I had known my job back-to-front, I was very much a learner when it came to motherhood!
Learning experience number one: Not good to get puppy when pregnant!
My dog-loving husband thought a furry four-legged creature would complete our growing family and give me some company while I wasn't working - especially as he was often away. We bought him from a woman who lived just up the hill from us. As she was also expecting, Alison and I became firm friends. I suspect that she and my husband deliberately didn’t tell me how lively and attention-seeking a Springer spaniel would be! Meanwhile, my hormone-addled brain envisaged an utterly obedient dog trotting beside my well-oiled, pristine pushchair which contained a similarly obedient child, thus enabling me to get some exercise to reduce my post-baby bulges! The reality entailed mud; a very disobedient, disappearing-into-every-bush puppy; howling winds and rain; more mud and heaving my protesting body and similarly squeaking pushchair up the aforementioned steep hill. (This was just before the era of designer buggies made by Land Rover and co., you understand!)
Seeking respite halfway up this
hill on the return journey, I popped in to see Alison. We had tea, her ever-present, home-made biscuits and anguished chats about how little our sons seemed to
sleep. None of this helped to reduce our waistlines and nor would she have her
puppy back! But I hugely valued the friendships I made with her and other new
mums. They were my equivalent of the village elder, imparting their wisdom on child-rearing. As we get older or move home, there seem to be fewer opportunities to
make close ties with people because we have already experienced many of the
life events that can bond us. I'm hoping that in five years' time, I will have made more close bonds with other mums - and dads! And maybe I’ll have a more obedient dog too.
Learning experience number two: Multi-tasking doesn’t matter.
If you are used to accomplishing several things in one day at the office, you feel like you have not achieved very much when you are at home and all you have done all day is feed and change a baby – and, given time, yourself. In fact, you have kept a whole other human being alive for twenty-four hours – despite its smells and its inexplicable screams – which is no mean feat! Nevertheless, you try to do lots of things at once so that you have a sense of achievement. So, even when I was feeding the baby I made sure I was eating a snack at the same time (another waistline-inflating tactic), or tying myself in knots trying to read the paper too, so I wouldn’t be ‘wasting time’. With hindsight, I wish I had been lazier! But as soon after the birth as I felt able and while my mum was still around to help, I was out at the shops or in the park, road-testing shopping trolleys, car seats and all the other baby paraphernalia I had acquired. I was excited and also thought that if I wore out the dog and gave the baby lots of fresh air, I could then have a restful day. Instead, I wore myself out; the puppy grew bigger and stronger each day and my son habitually slept in his papoose during dog-walks in the daytime and not much at night! If only I had conserved my energy for what lay ahead. Namely, his brother!
Learning experience number three: Oops!
Just as I thought I knew what I was doing with number one son, the telltale nausea of pregnancy set in! Another thing that didn’t quite go to plan! We had wanted a second child but thought a good age-gap would be about four years. Besides the obvious lesson in contraception, now I had to waddle around with a bump, a toddler and a dog. So going back to work and letting someone else do most of that seemed the lesser of two evils! After I fell at home while my son was in his highchair, I realised I was very isolated. No one would have noticed if I hadn't left the house for a few days if I’d hit my head, say, instead of injuring my leg. Alison was busy and we met irregularly. So, we decided to move to a the military 'patch' while we looked for our dream home at some point. Second Son was unintentionally born at our new military house in a bit of a hurry – but that’s another story!
Now
After six months off, I went back to work part-time and things got back
to normal. Life was a blur of nursery drop-offs, walks round the park, slow cooker meals, leaving notes for the dog-walker or childminder - and ocasionally getting them the wrong way round! Before long, both boys could
walk, talk, sleep quite well and, delight of delights, were nappy-free! I
even had the energy to resume a social life, of sorts. Then along came the
opportunity to move to Portugal….. To stay or to go?
I had moved around a lot as a
child, because of my father’s job, so the plan was for me and the children to
stay put. Wasn’t it? But then that seemed boring. Giving up my job, home,
network of friends and moving yet further away from my family was a huge
wrench and a big risk on many counts. But the thought of the climate, learning a new language, mixing with dozens of different nationalities and working as a freelance was very appealing. Part of
me still wanted to cling on to good old Blighty and my old identity. But here I am now in a kind of Gap Year (or two!) enjoying this idyllic setting, the virtually constant blue skies, the social life and some “pre-occupations” – a term I use to describe the things I am having a go at in order to prepare myself for the ‘real world’ back home. I have also decided to use the move as an opportunity to realise my ambition of working on national news in
London. So I was interviewed by ITN and am now on their list of freelancers, getting week-long stints of work every month or so on their news planning desk. It is unusual but hugely satisfying to be able to do home things and career things
without the pressures of both combined – even though it means flying in from
Lisbon, worrying about leaving the children behind with scribbled instructions to my husband magnetised to the fridge and scrounging
accommodation from whichever London friend will have me!
So, looking ahead to 2010/2011,
the plan is for me to leave Portugal with a
fluent accent; that still unattained trim physique and an address book full of multi-national
new friends. The idea is that I will work in
London and that we will somehow be able to afford to buy our own home – a home
that we will lovingly decorate because we will be staying in it for the next
ten years. But don’t hold me to that! If the
past is anything to go by, I will have been as idealistic as ever but will be
perfectly content whether I get halfway there or head off on some other
tangent!
As published in 'A Janela' - March 2006.
POST SCRIPT:
Fluent accent? Not quite!
Trim physique? Fitter than ever, thanks to www.britmilfit.com but there's still work to do!
Multi-national friends? Tick! Don't you just love Facebook?!
London job? Well, half a job. Half a tick.
Our own home? Tick!
Lovingly decorated? A work in progress...!
POST SCRIPT:
Fluent accent? Not quite!
Trim physique? Fitter than ever, thanks to www.britmilfit.com but there's still work to do!
Multi-national friends? Tick! Don't you just love Facebook?!
London job? Well, half a job. Half a tick.
Our own home? Tick!
Lovingly decorated? A work in progress...!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
REMEMBER WHEN….?
Certain things really stick in my mind easily but, I think because of information overload, someone can tell me their name or I'll just have read something and minutes later, it's gone. I used to know all my family's phone numbers but now they're on speed dial so I have no need to recall them. I write lists and set my iPhone to remind of things - like the fact that I need to be in my son's class in an hour to help with reading.
So why aren't memory techniques taught in schools? Less and less is learnt by rote these days but children still need to know the names of Henry VIII's six wives in the right order and their six times tables.
Joshua Foer's Moonwalking with Einstein was a freebie I picked up at work after his publishers sent it in in the hope we'd interview him about it in exchange for a free plug. In it, journalist Josh becomes fascinated by mnemonists who spend days cossetted in ear muffs with blinkers on trying to memorise sequences of packs of cards or lists of binary digits and other numbers. They then face it off to win competitions held in darkened halls, like a secret society. They've developed varying techniques, some simple, some complex, to enable them to retrieve information they've only briefly glanced at from their brains.
The one that I think should be taught in schools is where you've got to memorise a shopping list or to-do list of, say, 12 items. The idea is that you visualise a journey that you know really well like walking round your childhood home or to your local shops. In your mind's eye, you place the objects you have to remember at certain points on that journey. The more vivid the colours and whackier the scenario, the more likely you'll remember them. And because you're placing those objects on a route that you will always be able to recall, you remember them in the right order too.
For example, Josh's friend Ed dreams up a bizarre list of things he needs to remember and gets Josh to try to memorise it: Pickled garlic, cottage cheese, peat-smoked salmon, six bottles of white wine, three socks, hula hoops x 3 (spare??), a snorkel, dry ice machine, email Sophia, skin-toned cat suit, find Paul Newman film "Somebody Up There Likes Me", elk sausages, director's chair and megaphone, barometer.
I've just rattled that list off easily because I was able to do it too. I've memorised placing those objects around the house I lived in when I was seven or eight. The whacky scenarios I've invented are assisted by the fact that the objects are so unusual. So I've got a large jar of pickled garlic being picked up by a Frenchman at the entrance to the driveway. Then Brad Pitt is in a bath of cottage cheese! Opening my front door, I turn right and my brother-in-law, Pete, is laying out slices of salmon on top of the piano where it's being peat-smoked. There are six bottles of white wine on the sofa under the window having a dance, bizarrely. And the brightly coloured odd socks are on top of the lampshade as I walk out of the dining room towards the kitchen. That's where there's someone snorkelling in the sink. I look out of the window and it's all foggy in the garden because of a dry ice machine. I walk outside and Sophia Loren is sat at a computer checking her email. Walking through the French doors into the lounge, Cat Woman is on the TV in a flesh-coloured all-in-one. But Paul Newman is lying on the sofa holding a remote control and he changes channel, then looks up at the ceiling and smiles. On the way to the door, there's a set of antlers on the wall (something we'd never have had at home, but there you go) with a string of sausages dangling off it. Finally, my dad is sat in a director's chair at the foot of the stairs belowing into a megaphone. Above his head is a barometer.
Odd, bizarre, whacky but incredibly effective.
Try it!
So why aren't memory techniques taught in schools? Less and less is learnt by rote these days but children still need to know the names of Henry VIII's six wives in the right order and their six times tables.
Joshua Foer's Moonwalking with Einstein was a freebie I picked up at work after his publishers sent it in in the hope we'd interview him about it in exchange for a free plug. In it, journalist Josh becomes fascinated by mnemonists who spend days cossetted in ear muffs with blinkers on trying to memorise sequences of packs of cards or lists of binary digits and other numbers. They then face it off to win competitions held in darkened halls, like a secret society. They've developed varying techniques, some simple, some complex, to enable them to retrieve information they've only briefly glanced at from their brains.
The one that I think should be taught in schools is where you've got to memorise a shopping list or to-do list of, say, 12 items. The idea is that you visualise a journey that you know really well like walking round your childhood home or to your local shops. In your mind's eye, you place the objects you have to remember at certain points on that journey. The more vivid the colours and whackier the scenario, the more likely you'll remember them. And because you're placing those objects on a route that you will always be able to recall, you remember them in the right order too.
For example, Josh's friend Ed dreams up a bizarre list of things he needs to remember and gets Josh to try to memorise it: Pickled garlic, cottage cheese, peat-smoked salmon, six bottles of white wine, three socks, hula hoops x 3 (spare??), a snorkel, dry ice machine, email Sophia, skin-toned cat suit, find Paul Newman film "Somebody Up There Likes Me", elk sausages, director's chair and megaphone, barometer.
I've just rattled that list off easily because I was able to do it too. I've memorised placing those objects around the house I lived in when I was seven or eight. The whacky scenarios I've invented are assisted by the fact that the objects are so unusual. So I've got a large jar of pickled garlic being picked up by a Frenchman at the entrance to the driveway. Then Brad Pitt is in a bath of cottage cheese! Opening my front door, I turn right and my brother-in-law, Pete, is laying out slices of salmon on top of the piano where it's being peat-smoked. There are six bottles of white wine on the sofa under the window having a dance, bizarrely. And the brightly coloured odd socks are on top of the lampshade as I walk out of the dining room towards the kitchen. That's where there's someone snorkelling in the sink. I look out of the window and it's all foggy in the garden because of a dry ice machine. I walk outside and Sophia Loren is sat at a computer checking her email. Walking through the French doors into the lounge, Cat Woman is on the TV in a flesh-coloured all-in-one. But Paul Newman is lying on the sofa holding a remote control and he changes channel, then looks up at the ceiling and smiles. On the way to the door, there's a set of antlers on the wall (something we'd never have had at home, but there you go) with a string of sausages dangling off it. Finally, my dad is sat in a director's chair at the foot of the stairs belowing into a megaphone. Above his head is a barometer.
Odd, bizarre, whacky but incredibly effective.
Try it!
Monday, May 16, 2011
LONG TIME NO BLOG
Simply too busy.
Having to type this in shorthand too.
Hugely envious of all those people who manage to blog daily.
Most of them are at #blogcamp today.
Wish I was too but would have been fraudulent if I'd attended.
Have lots of ideas but they're still in list form.
To be converted into 'proper' posts when life resumes a more stately pace next week.
Unless it doesn't.......
Having to type this in shorthand too.
Hugely envious of all those people who manage to blog daily.
Most of them are at #blogcamp today.
Wish I was too but would have been fraudulent if I'd attended.
Have lots of ideas but they're still in list form.
To be converted into 'proper' posts when life resumes a more stately pace next week.
Unless it doesn't.......
Thursday, March 24, 2011
BROKE BUT HAPPY
It's funny how life sometimes turns on a pin. Well, not always funny. Sometimes it's downright nerve-wracking! This month has been one long drawn out one of those times. Roll on a more relaxed April - hopefully!
You see, having pontificated for months on what to do with my career and volunteered here, pitched a few article ideas as a freelance there (only to be repeatedly told there isn't the budget for commissioning) it's something of a jolt to be faced with the singular need to earn enough money to keep a roof over our heads.
This isn't just because we are part of the 'squeezed middle' and there's a recession on, but because lately I’ve only been half-employed and my husband's just given in his notice after a lifetime of secure employment. He'll be 'between jobs' for the first time since he was 16.
He did so after taking the brave decision that it was the best option because life's too short to be miserable, no matter how much the financial reward. The fact that he went from military employment to civvy street adds to the confusion. At first, we both thought that this was the usual blip that many ex-forces personnel go through. They miss the camaraderie and banter that undoubtedly goes with any uniformed job. They miss the team work rather than the ever-man-for-himself attitude that prevails in many modern multi-nationals. So, I tried to console him and give him some coping strategies, reminding him (unhelpfully) that we'd ended up living in one of the most expensive counties in Britain so he couldn't afford to be picky. He likes to get everything done NOW and can't bear an overflowing inbox or in-tray so I lectured him on prioritising, delegating and urged him to explain to his bosses, because he had the right to do so, why he found the job so incomprehensible.
My husband's a proud, determined man who's always up with the lark and keen to do well, but one day he rang me for a third time, at the end of his tether, saying he couldn't go on and felt like such a failure. This couldn't have come at a worse time as we'd just agreed to spend the only large chunk of money we've ever had, thanks to his gratuity, on house improvements. And I'd just missed out on a full-time job that, this time, I'd bothered to get interview feedback on. So there's not much of a stash left to tide us over while he looks for something else - along with all the other redundant and non-recession proof individuals recently affected by circumstances.
But we've both decided that his happiness and health are far more important than his wage packet. We'll work something out even if it means shopping at Lidl and Oxfam. So, tomorrow is his last day in the job from hell and he's been a different man since he gave in his notice. Colleagues have told him they wish they had his courage to acknowledge the difficulties of the place and walk away. He only did so after lining up a job to go to - it turns out there are plenty of opportunties out there - but it's not well paid. And this was only after being rejected by organisations who thought he was overqualified, despite the fact that he said he'd rather work his way up from a lower level.
So he resigned himself (literally) to being a househusband and the pressure was on me to get a decent job. This piece in the Daily Mail made me laugh earlier this month because he spent the summer doing precisely that and complained that he only got an hour to himself all day once he'd done the school run, organised something for dinner, then gone shopping for its ingredients, pretended to clean and tidy, made the next day's packed lunches, figured out who needed to be picked up from what after school club and made himself a coffee. You can imagine my reaction when he said that. He'd been under the illusion that the latter was all I did all day, I think! Now he knows what's what and, I have to say (reluctantly), he fills my shoes quite adequately - now he's done my training course! But the reverse cannot be said for me. There's no way I could earn the salary he was on after three career breaks - one for each baby and another because his job took us abroad. So, what to do?
While he applied for other jobs, I've had my own set of applications and interviews. One of them was my dream job and I was so looking forward to being liberated by the knowledge that the boys' dad would be their childminder this time and that I wouldn't have to face the stress of searching for a professional one.
Grateful that I'd even got through to the interview stage, I waited anxiously for the email address from HR to pop into my inbox. When it did, I almost had to reach for the valium. After psyching myself up to finally open the message, while peeking through my fingers, it was only to discover that they've decided to postpone making a decision until the following week and to thank me for my patience. False alarm....... Then the ACTUAL email came, only to tell me I hadn't been successful.
Never mind, I managed to persuade myself. Plan B (or is that C or D?) was already swinging into action. I invested in a soggy, cold, Welsh weekend of a course being put through my paces to train as a fitness instructor. I'm now taking the sort of classes that I've been attending for the past two years. It's a fabulous contrast to the stagnant, keyboard-bound day job and, nerves aside, I'm really starting to enjoy it. It doesn't pay enough for me not to rejoice at some of the announcements made by Mr Osborne in yesterday's budget but at least it's helping people get a different sort of squeezed middle - and it's great fun.
You see, having pontificated for months on what to do with my career and volunteered here, pitched a few article ideas as a freelance there (only to be repeatedly told there isn't the budget for commissioning) it's something of a jolt to be faced with the singular need to earn enough money to keep a roof over our heads.
This isn't just because we are part of the 'squeezed middle' and there's a recession on, but because lately I’ve only been half-employed and my husband's just given in his notice after a lifetime of secure employment. He'll be 'between jobs' for the first time since he was 16.
He did so after taking the brave decision that it was the best option because life's too short to be miserable, no matter how much the financial reward. The fact that he went from military employment to civvy street adds to the confusion. At first, we both thought that this was the usual blip that many ex-forces personnel go through. They miss the camaraderie and banter that undoubtedly goes with any uniformed job. They miss the team work rather than the ever-man-for-himself attitude that prevails in many modern multi-nationals. So, I tried to console him and give him some coping strategies, reminding him (unhelpfully) that we'd ended up living in one of the most expensive counties in Britain so he couldn't afford to be picky. He likes to get everything done NOW and can't bear an overflowing inbox or in-tray so I lectured him on prioritising, delegating and urged him to explain to his bosses, because he had the right to do so, why he found the job so incomprehensible.
But then it became clear that there was more to it than that. Here was a capable, clever, energetic, organised individual who has commanded the supply department on a warship being reduced to a wreck because the targets he was supposed to be meeting were simply impossible to achieve. I'm not just saying this because I've got to 'stand by my man'. Here's why: the particular multi-national he worked for had a 'matrix management' style (I've only just discovered what that is) and he assumed this was the forward-thinking, progressive way ahead that had been drawn up because traditional hierarchical structures don't work. Wrong! It means John in Stores, who you line manage, is as likely to work in the same building as you as he is for Burt in Boston or Bracknell. So how you are supposed to improve efficiency in Stores when John says, but I don't work for you?
Add to that the sort of corporate language that the Plain English Campaign deplore and the kind of endless strategy meetings that The Office would create 3 hours of comedy out of and the end result is that not much actually gets done. His predecessor left the company following a breakdown - I'm wondering, now, how much that was work related.
Add to that the sort of corporate language that the Plain English Campaign deplore and the kind of endless strategy meetings that The Office would create 3 hours of comedy out of and the end result is that not much actually gets done. His predecessor left the company following a breakdown - I'm wondering, now, how much that was work related.
But we've both decided that his happiness and health are far more important than his wage packet. We'll work something out even if it means shopping at Lidl and Oxfam. So, tomorrow is his last day in the job from hell and he's been a different man since he gave in his notice. Colleagues have told him they wish they had his courage to acknowledge the difficulties of the place and walk away. He only did so after lining up a job to go to - it turns out there are plenty of opportunties out there - but it's not well paid. And this was only after being rejected by organisations who thought he was overqualified, despite the fact that he said he'd rather work his way up from a lower level.
So he resigned himself (literally) to being a househusband and the pressure was on me to get a decent job. This piece in the Daily Mail made me laugh earlier this month because he spent the summer doing precisely that and complained that he only got an hour to himself all day once he'd done the school run, organised something for dinner, then gone shopping for its ingredients, pretended to clean and tidy, made the next day's packed lunches, figured out who needed to be picked up from what after school club and made himself a coffee. You can imagine my reaction when he said that. He'd been under the illusion that the latter was all I did all day, I think! Now he knows what's what and, I have to say (reluctantly), he fills my shoes quite adequately - now he's done my training course! But the reverse cannot be said for me. There's no way I could earn the salary he was on after three career breaks - one for each baby and another because his job took us abroad. So, what to do?
While he applied for other jobs, I've had my own set of applications and interviews. One of them was my dream job and I was so looking forward to being liberated by the knowledge that the boys' dad would be their childminder this time and that I wouldn't have to face the stress of searching for a professional one.
Grateful that I'd even got through to the interview stage, I waited anxiously for the email address from HR to pop into my inbox. When it did, I almost had to reach for the valium. After psyching myself up to finally open the message, while peeking through my fingers, it was only to discover that they've decided to postpone making a decision until the following week and to thank me for my patience. False alarm....... Then the ACTUAL email came, only to tell me I hadn't been successful.
Never mind, I managed to persuade myself. Plan B (or is that C or D?) was already swinging into action. I invested in a soggy, cold, Welsh weekend of a course being put through my paces to train as a fitness instructor. I'm now taking the sort of classes that I've been attending for the past two years. It's a fabulous contrast to the stagnant, keyboard-bound day job and, nerves aside, I'm really starting to enjoy it. It doesn't pay enough for me not to rejoice at some of the announcements made by Mr Osborne in yesterday's budget but at least it's helping people get a different sort of squeezed middle - and it's great fun.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
SURREY LIFE MAGAZINE'S WEBSITE
I've just started blogging about our experience as Guide Dog volunteers for our local county magazine as well.
Read on if you're interested in all things four-legged and furry!
THE TALE THAT WAGS THE BLOG
Read on if you're interested in all things four-legged and furry!
THE TALE THAT WAGS THE BLOG
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
THE TOP SEVEN RULES FOR LIFE
The Times columnist Alice Thomson recently wrote admiringly about a high-powered GP she had interviewed whose husband ran a big conglomerate. They had four highly successful children and a wonderful marriage. How did they do it?
“I’ve had the same curtains for 40 years, I’ve never had a pedicure, I allowed myself to enjoy my job, we occasionally ate tinned macaroni cheese and I let my children be who they wanted to be,” she said. “Just stop worrying.”
It got me thinking. As parents, do we worry too much about whether we're doing the right thing by our children? They've never had it so good in terms of nutrition, opportunities and information at their screen-addicted fingertips.
When it comes to the crunch, our role is simply to teach them to become independent, isn't it? Sad though it is (sometimes!), our job is to teach them not to need us anymore. So what do you wish you'd been taught earlier? What 10 commandments do you think our children really ought to adhere to, instead of learning Mandarin and playing for Chelsea, which - let's face it - are just not an option for most of us? If you were to get knocked over by the proverbial bus tomorrow, what advice would you have wanted to leave behind for them in a letter? Here are my top nine (subject to change as I think of more!):
YOUR MIND - Use it or lose it. Read, write, draw, do puzzles, play games, experiment, try new activities, and most importantly LISTEN. You have one mouth and two ears for a reason! You are so lucky to have a free education. Grown ups pay for it in their taxes, but you don't have to pay for your school books and bring them with you. Nor do you have to walk for miles to find the nearest teacher. Appreciate school. Adults look back at their school years, when so much was done for them and so many different options lay ahead of them, and think of them as the happiest times of their lives.
BE DIFFERENT AND APPRECIATE DIFFERENCE - Learn from other adults and children too. We're all different. That's what makes life interesting. People like Mark Ormrod have been able to achieve incredible feats despite what life has thrown at them. Remember them when you're feeling lazy or uninspired. Aim to get the qualifications for a career that you're going to really enjoy, not just a job that pays well or sounds good. This is one of the biggest decisions you'll ever make. The other is who you'll share your life with and that should be based on the mind too. Whose advice will you rely on in years to come? Who will you be able to rely on and who won't you mind being there for when they are ill, unhappy or struggling with something?
BE YOU - You're special. Unique. But so is everyone else and we've all got just as much right to be here and to be treated with respect and courtesy. So treat other people as you would like to be treated. If you're polite to people, they are usually polite back. If you are helpful, they'll remember and often return the favour. See the film Pay it Forward. But don't be a doormat either. Stand up for yourself and, using your voice and your reason, explain to someone who has upset you or hurt your feelings why you feel wronged. Ask for an apology and then move on. We all make mistakes. That's another way we learn. Pay It Forward
YOUR SOULMATE - Friends and family are so important because experiences are much more fun if there's someone to share it with. Your brother or sister will always be there for you, no matter how annoying you find them, and s/he's the only other person in the world who knows what it's like to be you. So take care of him. Take your time in working out who else you can really trust and who you want to spend time with. Choose people that make you feel comfortable - not those that drag you down or bully you into doing things you're not happy with. Be generous with your time when you’re with those people you love, rather than assuming they’ll always be there. Like, for instance, looking up from your Smart Phone every now and then when they're communicating with you 😉 Be thoughtful and remember dates that are special to them. Be patient and take the time to listen to them and try to explain how you are feeling, if ever you are worried about something, because they are on your team and want you to succeed. They are there to help you figure things out when you've got a difficult decision to make. Think about how they are feeling too.
YOUR SKIN - This is your body's largest organ. It's important to take care of it because it's what people see first and first impressions are important in both relationships and job interviews. Apart from the need for basic hygiene, because being smelly can be quite off-putting, you need to wash your face daily. Splash your face with water and gently rub it with a flannel to get rid of dead skin cells. You don't need to buy expensive chemical products to keep your face free of spots and bumps. That just gets rid of your skin's natural oils. Steer clear for as long as you can. But DO wash and DO wear sunscreen in the spring and summer. Put it on your ears, the back of your neck, your nose - have fun with it. Sunburn is very painful, causes skin cancer and it damages your skin, giving you wrinkles and freckles before you're old enough to have earned them. There's a great Baz Luhrman song about this here. He has other good advice too!
YOUR TEETH - This is the third thing that people first notice about you (after your eyes and skin, hopefully!) Clean your teeth twice a day using your electric toothbrush - WITHOUT FAIL. No matter how tired you are. And lay off the sweet stuff! Nothing tastes so good that it's worth the pain, expense and ugliness of having your teeth drilled and filled. Eat apples and cheese to cleanse your teeth at the end of a meal and drink only water between meals. This takes some self-discipline but it's a very small price to pay. If you do have painful teeth, get them checked as soon as possible. It's much easier for the dentist to deal with a small problem than for you to have delayed treatment until a lengthy, painful and costly repair is needed.
YOUR SIZE AND SHAPE - Everybody's different. Your appearance is partly inherited from your dad and I and partly determined by what you do with your body and what you put inside it. Take care of it. There is temptation everywhere. Resist it. It just earns confectionary companies (un)healthy profits. Be sensible. But have the occasional treat mixed in with healthy portions of what helps your body to grow and repair itself. Find a sport or activity that you enjoy and do it often. When you first try alcohol, drink slowly. It dehydrates your body, like tea and coffee does, so drink lots of water as well. Alcohol is a poison. You only need a small amount to feel nice and relaxed. Any more than that and you can feel very, very poorly and have no control over what you're doing and no memory of it. You don't want to be that guy or girl who throws up all over someone else's shoes or insults their friends. Be careful. And look after the guy or girl who does get themselves in a mess.
YOUR THINGS - People might judge you by how you look, what you wear and what sort of mobile phone you have or car you drive. That doesn't really matter. Although not having enough money is a worry, it's not important to be rich. What's important is what you do and how you act. So spend your money on things that you really need and will use a lot. Choose good quality, well-made products that you won't have to keep replacing because the world hasn't got room for lots of chucked-out things that don't biodegrade. (Get a dictionary...!) Look after the possessions you do own. Keep them tidied away so that you know where to find them and take out those things that have sentimental value every now and then, just to remember the good times 😍 Having too much clutter around can make you feel mentally cluttered. Have a one-in, one-out policy. If you buy something new, donate something else.
Lastly, of course, HAVE FUN! Sometimes you need to manufacture that fun and quash the voice inside your head that always points out the negative by pressing an imaginary, big, fat mute button! That takes practice and not even us old dinosaurs are very good at it, but we try.
“I’ve had the same curtains for 40 years, I’ve never had a pedicure, I allowed myself to enjoy my job, we occasionally ate tinned macaroni cheese and I let my children be who they wanted to be,” she said. “Just stop worrying.”
It got me thinking. As parents, do we worry too much about whether we're doing the right thing by our children? They've never had it so good in terms of nutrition, opportunities and information at their screen-addicted fingertips.
When it comes to the crunch, our role is simply to teach them to become independent, isn't it? Sad though it is (sometimes!), our job is to teach them not to need us anymore. So what do you wish you'd been taught earlier? What 10 commandments do you think our children really ought to adhere to, instead of learning Mandarin and playing for Chelsea, which - let's face it - are just not an option for most of us? If you were to get knocked over by the proverbial bus tomorrow, what advice would you have wanted to leave behind for them in a letter? Here are my top nine (subject to change as I think of more!):
YOUR MIND - Use it or lose it. Read, write, draw, do puzzles, play games, experiment, try new activities, and most importantly LISTEN. You have one mouth and two ears for a reason! You are so lucky to have a free education. Grown ups pay for it in their taxes, but you don't have to pay for your school books and bring them with you. Nor do you have to walk for miles to find the nearest teacher. Appreciate school. Adults look back at their school years, when so much was done for them and so many different options lay ahead of them, and think of them as the happiest times of their lives.
BE DIFFERENT AND APPRECIATE DIFFERENCE - Learn from other adults and children too. We're all different. That's what makes life interesting. People like Mark Ormrod have been able to achieve incredible feats despite what life has thrown at them. Remember them when you're feeling lazy or uninspired. Aim to get the qualifications for a career that you're going to really enjoy, not just a job that pays well or sounds good. This is one of the biggest decisions you'll ever make. The other is who you'll share your life with and that should be based on the mind too. Whose advice will you rely on in years to come? Who will you be able to rely on and who won't you mind being there for when they are ill, unhappy or struggling with something?
BE YOU - You're special. Unique. But so is everyone else and we've all got just as much right to be here and to be treated with respect and courtesy. So treat other people as you would like to be treated. If you're polite to people, they are usually polite back. If you are helpful, they'll remember and often return the favour. See the film Pay it Forward. But don't be a doormat either. Stand up for yourself and, using your voice and your reason, explain to someone who has upset you or hurt your feelings why you feel wronged. Ask for an apology and then move on. We all make mistakes. That's another way we learn. Pay It Forward
YOUR SOULMATE - Friends and family are so important because experiences are much more fun if there's someone to share it with. Your brother or sister will always be there for you, no matter how annoying you find them, and s/he's the only other person in the world who knows what it's like to be you. So take care of him. Take your time in working out who else you can really trust and who you want to spend time with. Choose people that make you feel comfortable - not those that drag you down or bully you into doing things you're not happy with. Be generous with your time when you’re with those people you love, rather than assuming they’ll always be there. Like, for instance, looking up from your Smart Phone every now and then when they're communicating with you 😉 Be thoughtful and remember dates that are special to them. Be patient and take the time to listen to them and try to explain how you are feeling, if ever you are worried about something, because they are on your team and want you to succeed. They are there to help you figure things out when you've got a difficult decision to make. Think about how they are feeling too.
YOUR SKIN - This is your body's largest organ. It's important to take care of it because it's what people see first and first impressions are important in both relationships and job interviews. Apart from the need for basic hygiene, because being smelly can be quite off-putting, you need to wash your face daily. Splash your face with water and gently rub it with a flannel to get rid of dead skin cells. You don't need to buy expensive chemical products to keep your face free of spots and bumps. That just gets rid of your skin's natural oils. Steer clear for as long as you can. But DO wash and DO wear sunscreen in the spring and summer. Put it on your ears, the back of your neck, your nose - have fun with it. Sunburn is very painful, causes skin cancer and it damages your skin, giving you wrinkles and freckles before you're old enough to have earned them. There's a great Baz Luhrman song about this here. He has other good advice too!
YOUR TEETH - This is the third thing that people first notice about you (after your eyes and skin, hopefully!) Clean your teeth twice a day using your electric toothbrush - WITHOUT FAIL. No matter how tired you are. And lay off the sweet stuff! Nothing tastes so good that it's worth the pain, expense and ugliness of having your teeth drilled and filled. Eat apples and cheese to cleanse your teeth at the end of a meal and drink only water between meals. This takes some self-discipline but it's a very small price to pay. If you do have painful teeth, get them checked as soon as possible. It's much easier for the dentist to deal with a small problem than for you to have delayed treatment until a lengthy, painful and costly repair is needed.
YOUR SIZE AND SHAPE - Everybody's different. Your appearance is partly inherited from your dad and I and partly determined by what you do with your body and what you put inside it. Take care of it. There is temptation everywhere. Resist it. It just earns confectionary companies (un)healthy profits. Be sensible. But have the occasional treat mixed in with healthy portions of what helps your body to grow and repair itself. Find a sport or activity that you enjoy and do it often. When you first try alcohol, drink slowly. It dehydrates your body, like tea and coffee does, so drink lots of water as well. Alcohol is a poison. You only need a small amount to feel nice and relaxed. Any more than that and you can feel very, very poorly and have no control over what you're doing and no memory of it. You don't want to be that guy or girl who throws up all over someone else's shoes or insults their friends. Be careful. And look after the guy or girl who does get themselves in a mess.
YOUR THINGS - People might judge you by how you look, what you wear and what sort of mobile phone you have or car you drive. That doesn't really matter. Although not having enough money is a worry, it's not important to be rich. What's important is what you do and how you act. So spend your money on things that you really need and will use a lot. Choose good quality, well-made products that you won't have to keep replacing because the world hasn't got room for lots of chucked-out things that don't biodegrade. (Get a dictionary...!) Look after the possessions you do own. Keep them tidied away so that you know where to find them and take out those things that have sentimental value every now and then, just to remember the good times 😍 Having too much clutter around can make you feel mentally cluttered. Have a one-in, one-out policy. If you buy something new, donate something else.
Lastly, of course, HAVE FUN! Sometimes you need to manufacture that fun and quash the voice inside your head that always points out the negative by pressing an imaginary, big, fat mute button! That takes practice and not even us old dinosaurs are very good at it, but we try.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
LOST
My poor, neglected, web-child! About time I wrote again.
Here's something that I scribbled for a writer's group I'm in on the theme of 'lost', to fill my recent cyber gap:
Once, in a crowded city shopping centre, I reached up to hold my mum's hand and tell her something - but she wasn't there!
Instead, an unfamiliar, bemused face stared back at me. It can't have been a kind face either - but that may have been just because I didn't know it.
I wanted to see my mum's clear blue eyes, creamy cheekbones, lipsticked smile and neatly powdered nose. I felt utterly lost and panic-stricken.
I searched round, frightened, with all sorts of 'what ifs' going through my head as I wandered amongst grown up legs. I was bewildered.
More than anything, I wanted her hand to hold mine again. She had this way of clutching our palms together but stroking the side of my hand with her little finger. I found it comforting and would later mimic it with my own children. One of whom got lost in a shopping centre for the longest 2 minutes of my life!
So I knew exactly how he felt and how my own mum must have felt that day with me. Fortunately, in both cases, we were reunited within a short space of time. But it always feels like hours when someone goes missing.
Here's something that I scribbled for a writer's group I'm in on the theme of 'lost', to fill my recent cyber gap:
Once, in a crowded city shopping centre, I reached up to hold my mum's hand and tell her something - but she wasn't there!
Instead, an unfamiliar, bemused face stared back at me. It can't have been a kind face either - but that may have been just because I didn't know it.
I wanted to see my mum's clear blue eyes, creamy cheekbones, lipsticked smile and neatly powdered nose. I felt utterly lost and panic-stricken.
I searched round, frightened, with all sorts of 'what ifs' going through my head as I wandered amongst grown up legs. I was bewildered.
More than anything, I wanted her hand to hold mine again. She had this way of clutching our palms together but stroking the side of my hand with her little finger. I found it comforting and would later mimic it with my own children. One of whom got lost in a shopping centre for the longest 2 minutes of my life!
So I knew exactly how he felt and how my own mum must have felt that day with me. Fortunately, in both cases, we were reunited within a short space of time. But it always feels like hours when someone goes missing.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Change of direction
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| About to take a giant leap into the unknown |
For a while now, I've been thinking about what to do next. I love the freelance TV news work I do and I'm just about starting to get some freelance magazine commissions too. But that won't be enough to keep the wolf from the door in a year's time when the freelance shifts come to an end.
I've applied for all sorts of positions advertised in the Media Guardian or on Gorkhana to no avail and come to the conclusion that my CV simply doesn't stand out. To add to that, now that the children are at school, the jigsaw puzzle of childcare is all the more intricate. Plus, I want to be there for them while they're not too embarassed to have me around and ferry them to/support them at their various sporting/social activities.
The final clincher came when a friend confided that she had always wanted to be a writer and asked me if I would be her mentor. I was shocked to be asked! But, actually, she's right in that to an outsider, although I'm no India Knight/Zoe Williams/(insert name here of countless other women whose writings I admire) I am 10 years ahead of her in the game in which we both have ambition. The difference is that she's a qualified midwife so would have a level of expertise to hone her writing skills around. But when they say write about what you know and I look down my CV, I see that I'm no expert in anything (except procrastination - tomorrow I'll find a better pun than that to fit this space.)
Then I realised that the amateur obsession with nutrition and fitness, that I've indulged since my teens, might be put to better use. Admittedly, my obsession was pretty irritating to others at one point - just ask my sisters. They remember a phase where every time they raised something to their mouths I'd tell them how many calories were in it. What a bore! But I grew out of that quickly and painfully, vowing never to be the hectoring, evangelical type as it just makes people do precisely the opposite.
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| Me on the home strait. Don't let those thighs be an advert for my future employment! |
The trouble is that those negative voices that all of us have start up. What if I'm no good at it? How hard will it be for the poacher to become game-keeper? I mean, I will have to instruct and admonish the very people with whom I have hitherto been the person they have gossipped! Plus, I'm a petite female, not the normal six foot beefcake they're used to jumping to it for! l'll have to raise my voice a few decibels (I've been practising on the children!) keep a sense of humour, be organised and ON TIME; be reliable and motiviational; out in all weathers. But I CAN do it and I want to do it so that I can write about it, research some theories, help people feel good about themselves and earn a few pennies. I can't wait!
I've had a few sleepless nights worrying about it though. Actually, worry is too strong a word for it. The sleepless nights have been caused by me visualising myself doing the job, thinking up lesson plans and alternative exercises for people to do. I think I CAN encourage people who hate the idea of exercise that the benefits of it will pay off. I think I CAN create sessions so that the more able can go off and do something that requires endurance while the beginners concentrate on skill and technique and then build up their stamina. I think I've got the support of the instructor I've confided in, who will probably be my future boss! And I know I've got the penchant for wordsmithery that might benefit the organisation in the long run. (Geddit - long run?!! ) Oh dear, I'm going to have to work on that humour aren't I? But I'm prepared to and I can't wait to get started.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Spanner in the Works
I used to blog here under the name Calamity Jo and regale my non-existent readers with tales of derring do as I tried to get to work on time while keeping offspring, mind and spirit in one piece. But I abandoned that persona in the hope that readers (now I have 12!) or potential employers might think of me as capable rather than calamitous. However, she ocasionally comes back to haunt me. (I've listed two books here of a similar ilk, in case anyone's interested, and to prove that it's not just me!)
Take yesterday, for example. I had the usual Tuesday objectives - school run, fitness class, make dinner in advance, write something - with just two added complications. A football match and a dog handling lesson. But it was running out of petrol that truly stumped me. Here's how events unfolded:
Take yesterday, for example. I had the usual Tuesday objectives - school run, fitness class, make dinner in advance, write something - with just two added complications. A football match and a dog handling lesson. But it was running out of petrol that truly stumped me. Here's how events unfolded:
- Number one son had a school football match straight after pick up. Woo hoo! He'd been picked for the team and was beyond chuffed! It meant binning our usual weekly swimming lessons, but I was prepared to sacrifice that in favour of standing on a sodden sideline cheering and trying to wrestle my iPhone off his bored sibling, because I'm that sort of mum. Self-sacrificing.
- You see, swimming lessons for the boys normally mean me-time for me. Having painstakingly taught them how to use the lockers, showers and ACTUAL SHOWER GEL, nowadays I only occasionally dip my toe in the water with them. More often, I elbow other customers out of the way to get to my favourite table in the coffee emporium above the roped off lanes, where I can glance between front-crawling child and the one who is with me while the other has his lesson, my Twitter page in one hand and whatever I might be reading or writing that week in the other.
- But I banished thoughts of that pleasure from my mind while I packed the car with chocolate biscuits, water bottles, jackets, boots and the usual just-in-case necessities that make my handbag so overweight. Then we eventually made our way to a tiny school off a confusing one-way system that I managed to find despite the best efforts of an alleged roadmap website that always seems to send people half a mile in the wrong direction. And despite the fuel gauge on my car barely registering... the plot thickens.
- Anyway, the school won their match and, although my own child didn't score, he contributed some competent "assists" (I'm learning the language here Mr Gray, ok) and ran his socks off. The boys wolfed down the aforementioned treats that I'd had the foresight to pack and I went in search of petrol before approaching our second complication. So far so good. But that's when I realised.... I had come out without my purse.
- We were off to our first Guide Dogs Boarder Volunteer lesson and it didn't finish until 8:30pm. The plan was to whizz in to the sort of hideous fast-food drive thru that the boys love to get them some dinner and reward them, in advance, for their good behaviour. Not the most ethical parenting decision I know but the children weren't supposed to come with me to this first hands-on session. The organisation had kindly said they could come and I promised that they'd sit quietly and do their homework. But without money, there was no anticipatory bribe, and without that how were they going to last, angelically, until 8 when the first thing they saw as we walked through the Guide Dogs headquarters was a large tin of chocolates?
- Wait, rewind! I'm still at the petrol station, owing £30, with just two pound coins in my pocket and half the contents of my house bar the one essential thing I required. My purse! I could picture it lying idle in my birthday present of a handbag, draped on the bannister at home. The boys helped me turn the interior of our vehicle upside down in the vain hope that it might teleport itself our way but no dice. Muttering something melodramatic about going to prison, I wandered into the shop to prostrate myself at the mercy of the forecourt owner.
- Fortunately, he was the manager, I think, and, luckily again, he didn't have to phone head office or get out the handcuffs immediately. I could hardly offer to wash up so I told him straight up that I was in a bit of pickle as I'd inadvertently come out without any means to pay, other than a cheque book. He almost laughed at this antiquated device and, while a queue formed embarassingly behind me, I gave him the boys' iPod Touch, my mobile number, a cheque and proof of my home address in exchange for a guarantee that I'd be back within two hours to pay my bill.
- The boys were gutted but I explained that it was a small price to pay for keeping me out of Porridge. I didn't tell them that he had wanted my phone but I had explained that I needed that to get online directions to my next appointment (fat chance!) and to ring him with if the need arose. I got his number and, instead, phoned my Saintly husband, who would have refuelled the car at the earliest opportunity, straight after school drop off, of course.
- Our Hero left work early, got off the train one stop early and took his lycra clad legs to the venue of my indebtedness to pay it off, then got back on the train and ran home. (He's training for the marathon - don't feel too sorry for him, unless you want to raise funds for St Dunstan's and sponsor him, in which case - he's a good egg, please go ahead.)
- Meanwhile, me and the boys learnt all about dog handling, of which more later. Save to say that they didn't get to bed until late because we had to eat whatever I'd left festering in the slow cooker while we'd been out to try to dilute the seven Quality Street they'd managed to scoff while my back was turned. Cue grumpy morning today - for all of us. And so the cycle spirals. Anyone got some virtual Valium or a recipe for exorcising Calamity Jo in favour of Capable Caroline?
Thursday, January 20, 2011
PISTE OFF
Now I've just blogged here about our first ever skiing jaunt. But I had no idea that by taking my children out of school for three extra days after the Christmas holidays, I would soon want to reverse the two words of the title of that post.
I want my children to be well educated and they love their village primary. Of course the school has to tow the party line and stick to Government strategy to drive down truancy. And it can't have one rule for one person and another for others, so it has procedures in place whereby you apply for permission for absence from the head teacher. Of course there have to be rules and repurcussions for persistent abusers who take their children out of school for weeks on end.
To start fining or prosecuting well-meaning parents who want to do the best by their families while their children still have fewer constraints at primary age seems a little harsh. But that's how I ended up on the Naughty Step.
I'm all for educational holidays like these and admire people like this and this so surely we can ask for a little leeway. And where does the money go if someone is fined? Back to the school itself? No, into some council coffer never to be seen again.
I want my children to be well educated and they love their village primary. Of course the school has to tow the party line and stick to Government strategy to drive down truancy. And it can't have one rule for one person and another for others, so it has procedures in place whereby you apply for permission for absence from the head teacher. Of course there have to be rules and repurcussions for persistent abusers who take their children out of school for weeks on end.
To start fining or prosecuting well-meaning parents who want to do the best by their families while their children still have fewer constraints at primary age seems a little harsh. But that's how I ended up on the Naughty Step.
I'm all for educational holidays like these and admire people like this and this so surely we can ask for a little leeway. And where does the money go if someone is fined? Back to the school itself? No, into some council coffer never to be seen again.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
OFF PISTE
So, we survived our newbies skiing holiday without any broken bones or equipment and can even boast that we vaguely mastered the skill. The children may have lapped my husband and I on the blue piste course we set ourselves, but that's because we learnt the proper parallel turns. Honest! While they zoomed down and deployed the occasional snowplough to come to a teetering halt near a heart-stopping edge, we took our time and did it properly (in between furtive glances and whispers to each other that it looked a bit steep!)
Here's where we stayed and here are my top tips to anyone else considering taking up the sport with young children at the tender age of ... my own several decades.
1) COST: I always thought that skiing was what posh people did, having overheard the odd "We're off to Val d'Isere skiing... oh yes, a yacht in Porta Banus for the summer" in my youth. It is indeed, an expensive pursuit. There's the accommodation, the flight, buying or hiring the gear, the lessons and the not-to-be-missed apres ski. But there are ways to cut the cost.
First, we flew on a budget airline at hideous o'clock in the morning. That was tolerable, and for the kids, added to the excitement.
Second, we opted for skiing classes in the afternoon, which were not only cheaper but as most of the other learner skiers wanted to be on the slopes in the morning so they could enjoy a lazy lunch and then a snooze, conatined fewer people. Therefore, we learnt quicker. In theory! Other ski schools in the area included BASS, ESF and Ski Morzine.
Finally, we begged and borrowed as much kit as possible and asked for ski-related items for the kids Christmas presents. I shopped with the expert skier friend who had organised the trip and cajoled us into joining them and took her advice and guidance on indulging in really good ski jackets with all the pockets, snow skirts, warmth and water-proofness required, but I bought them in the sales online or from TKMaxx. Then, we were given or lent goggles, gloves, socks and thermal layers.
2) KIT: Those layers are vitally important. As someone more adept at dealing with warmer climes, for the first two days of skiing I returned chalet-bound barely able to feel the tips of my fingers and toes. The next day, I added another layer. And the next day, I added another and also went to a ski hire shop and bought some proper ski socks. A hideous orange and grey nylon-type combo, they have padding on the ankles and shins and are made of some miracuous fabric that kept my chillblained toes warm at all times. Fluffy tube socks are no good. Nor are woolly ones. This is one area where you need to splash out 20 Euros or more - even if you buy just the one pair and rinse and repeat for the rest of the week, as I did! Later in the week, as my skiing got better, I was spending less time standing around and more time moving, so I actually got warm and had to take off a layer. But because all my tops were then and thermal, it was easy just to bung it in a rucksack and carry it. You might want to invest in mitten liners as well as waterproof gloves or mittens and it's handy if they've got elastic round them to keep them on your wrists so they don't get lost or fall off when you're adjusting your goggles mid chair-lift!
3) BOOTS: Once you've got the right socks, you must get your ski boots fitted properly and clicked into place on the right settings on your ski bindings. The boots have to fit very tightly so that you can be properly balanced on your skis without your foot sliding or ankle turning. It's vital that this is done properly to avoid too much discomfort. They're awkward to walk in at the best of times and DON'T FORGET not to tuck your long johns or anything else inside your boots other than socks as this can lead to nasty blisters.
4) PREPARATION: A reasonable level of fitness is a great help for novice skiers. My sons regularly play football and run about like lunatics so that's a tick. My husband's doing the London marathon so, although injury was a worry, he was fine. And I'm a British Military Fitness addict so, although I used different muscles, at least I had the necessary stamina for climbing endess steps wearing moon boots and carrying skis, poles and other daily paraphernalia. Aside from this, we had had one dry ski slope lesson here. There's also a massive snow sports centre in Milton Keynes and others in Scotland. Just to know how to do up your boots, clip on your skis and snowplough (or pizza and chips, as the kids were taught) saves you part of a lesson once you're out in the cold reality.
5) SENSE AND SENSIBILITY: Having graduated from novice to 'debutante' to someone able to navigate down a blue piste, fall over and get up again without anyone noticing, I count my lucky stars. As well as our initial lesson near home, our friend took us up in the cable car on day one of our holiday and showed us where to put the skis on the outside of the cable car; how to zap your ski pass in the turnstile and where the 'baby' slope was. Our ski-lesson class mate was not so lucky. Her 'friends' took her down the mountain via the blue pistes on day one. Already suffering from vertigo, she was terrified and ended up taking off her skis and walking part of the way down. She completely lost her nerve on day two of the classes and gave up, preferring to stick to the magic carpet or travelator and practice on her own. Don't do this. Don't push yourself too quickly or show off and, if in doubt, fall over. On the other hand, do try to stay confident and practice what you've been taught in your lesson. And, you WILL fall over, even our instructor did once, so don't worry about it and DON'T keep your lip balm in your trouser pocket or you end up with a corker of a bruise when you land on it!!
6) LUXURY: We scrimped and saved to pay for our trip, which included breakfast, a four-course dinner each night as well as cleaning service, airport transfers, minibus lifts into town and a luxurious outdoor hot tub in which to soak away those aches and pains. It was glorious to have that too look forward to and completely made the holiday. I only wish we'd been able to bring our resident chef and chalet maid home with us... but, back to reality!
There's some other useful advice on this link .
Here's where we stayed and here are my top tips to anyone else considering taking up the sport with young children at the tender age of ... my own several decades.
1) COST: I always thought that skiing was what posh people did, having overheard the odd "We're off to Val d'Isere skiing... oh yes, a yacht in Porta Banus for the summer" in my youth. It is indeed, an expensive pursuit. There's the accommodation, the flight, buying or hiring the gear, the lessons and the not-to-be-missed apres ski. But there are ways to cut the cost.
First, we flew on a budget airline at hideous o'clock in the morning. That was tolerable, and for the kids, added to the excitement.
Second, we opted for skiing classes in the afternoon, which were not only cheaper but as most of the other learner skiers wanted to be on the slopes in the morning so they could enjoy a lazy lunch and then a snooze, conatined fewer people. Therefore, we learnt quicker. In theory! Other ski schools in the area included BASS, ESF and Ski Morzine.
Finally, we begged and borrowed as much kit as possible and asked for ski-related items for the kids Christmas presents. I shopped with the expert skier friend who had organised the trip and cajoled us into joining them and took her advice and guidance on indulging in really good ski jackets with all the pockets, snow skirts, warmth and water-proofness required, but I bought them in the sales online or from TKMaxx. Then, we were given or lent goggles, gloves, socks and thermal layers.
2) KIT: Those layers are vitally important. As someone more adept at dealing with warmer climes, for the first two days of skiing I returned chalet-bound barely able to feel the tips of my fingers and toes. The next day, I added another layer. And the next day, I added another and also went to a ski hire shop and bought some proper ski socks. A hideous orange and grey nylon-type combo, they have padding on the ankles and shins and are made of some miracuous fabric that kept my chillblained toes warm at all times. Fluffy tube socks are no good. Nor are woolly ones. This is one area where you need to splash out 20 Euros or more - even if you buy just the one pair and rinse and repeat for the rest of the week, as I did! Later in the week, as my skiing got better, I was spending less time standing around and more time moving, so I actually got warm and had to take off a layer. But because all my tops were then and thermal, it was easy just to bung it in a rucksack and carry it. You might want to invest in mitten liners as well as waterproof gloves or mittens and it's handy if they've got elastic round them to keep them on your wrists so they don't get lost or fall off when you're adjusting your goggles mid chair-lift!
3) BOOTS: Once you've got the right socks, you must get your ski boots fitted properly and clicked into place on the right settings on your ski bindings. The boots have to fit very tightly so that you can be properly balanced on your skis without your foot sliding or ankle turning. It's vital that this is done properly to avoid too much discomfort. They're awkward to walk in at the best of times and DON'T FORGET not to tuck your long johns or anything else inside your boots other than socks as this can lead to nasty blisters.
4) PREPARATION: A reasonable level of fitness is a great help for novice skiers. My sons regularly play football and run about like lunatics so that's a tick. My husband's doing the London marathon so, although injury was a worry, he was fine. And I'm a British Military Fitness addict so, although I used different muscles, at least I had the necessary stamina for climbing endess steps wearing moon boots and carrying skis, poles and other daily paraphernalia. Aside from this, we had had one dry ski slope lesson here. There's also a massive snow sports centre in Milton Keynes and others in Scotland. Just to know how to do up your boots, clip on your skis and snowplough (or pizza and chips, as the kids were taught) saves you part of a lesson once you're out in the cold reality.
5) SENSE AND SENSIBILITY: Having graduated from novice to 'debutante' to someone able to navigate down a blue piste, fall over and get up again without anyone noticing, I count my lucky stars. As well as our initial lesson near home, our friend took us up in the cable car on day one of our holiday and showed us where to put the skis on the outside of the cable car; how to zap your ski pass in the turnstile and where the 'baby' slope was. Our ski-lesson class mate was not so lucky. Her 'friends' took her down the mountain via the blue pistes on day one. Already suffering from vertigo, she was terrified and ended up taking off her skis and walking part of the way down. She completely lost her nerve on day two of the classes and gave up, preferring to stick to the magic carpet or travelator and practice on her own. Don't do this. Don't push yourself too quickly or show off and, if in doubt, fall over. On the other hand, do try to stay confident and practice what you've been taught in your lesson. And, you WILL fall over, even our instructor did once, so don't worry about it and DON'T keep your lip balm in your trouser pocket or you end up with a corker of a bruise when you land on it!!
6) LUXURY: We scrimped and saved to pay for our trip, which included breakfast, a four-course dinner each night as well as cleaning service, airport transfers, minibus lifts into town and a luxurious outdoor hot tub in which to soak away those aches and pains. It was glorious to have that too look forward to and completely made the holiday. I only wish we'd been able to bring our resident chef and chalet maid home with us... but, back to reality!
There's some other useful advice on this link .
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