car batteries and shoes.

If there was a soundtrack for this post it would be Destiny child’s Independent Women.  In fact I even tried to attach it but I couldn’t work it out.  Instead I’m listening to it as I write.  If you have it in itunes play it…….now.

As I dance like an old granny trying to be cool cut some shapes in my chair I’m feeling like an independent woman.  Well kind of.

I don’t know if I’m the only wife that is  qite happy for The Husband to look after various reponsibilities and leave him to it, is that normal? I’m really not sure.  There are some things people just don’t compare notes with each other so as far as I know every other woman knows all the details of every domestic task.  One of these tasks is breakdown service.  The Husband knows all the details, renews it and changes it when appropriate.  He also puts the bins out.  And he’s quite partial to dusting.  Just don’t tell him I told you that.

So The Husband went away on monday for a leadership conference in Harrogate.  Three days and two nights.  Since My back got hurt I’ve not had sole responsibility for the home and the girls so I was relieved that my pain has improved these past two weeks and I’m back behind the wheel.  Although I havn’t done nearly as much as I normally would have, and I’ve had loads of help from the in-laws, I’m so pleased I’ve managed to keep the girls alive and keep myself sane.

But on Tuesday when the car battery died I didn’t have a clue what to do.  My mum-in-law came to pick me and Roo up but I knew I needed to do something about the battery at some point.  Although I needed to call The Husband to check on our policy number, I managed to find our cover paperwork and arrange to have someone come jump start the car.  It started fine but if it hadn’t I was all ready to get up to Fleetwood to have a new battery fitted.

I know that this seems ridiculous to some but for seven months I’ve not had any independence at all.  I’ve been very much dependent on my family and the grace of the church leadership team (to allow me do a load of my planning work from my bed!).  It has become ‘normal’ to need people to do for me what I’d ordinarily do myself.  For men that would emasculate them, so what does it do for women?  This whole ordeal has stripped away a lot of confidence in what I ‘do’.  It’s humiliating as a mum not being able to empty your own dish washer or pick your children up from school because the walk from the car is too far.  I think its in our DNA to want to be needed and be useful.  So when I sorted out the car it brought back a little of the lost confidence. It was just so good to do something normal.  The breakdown guy said I’d need to take the car out for a run so I grabbed my purse and a list that I’d stuck on the fridge) and drove into Cleveleys, something I’ve wanted to do by myself for a long time.  Being a mum everything always seems to be rushed so it was a luxury taking my time.  I had to walk past New Look, and I couldn’t resist not having a quick look in there.

Then I saw them.  It was as if time stood still and nothing else existed in the world but them and I…

Is it possible to be in love with a pair of shoes? I didn’t buy them but I know that one day we will meet again and they will find their home at the bottom of my wardrobe.

Yes, yesterday was definitely a day of progress.  I had felt a little bit useful sorting out the car, I had a mosey around Cleveleys, and I went to pick Ruby up from school.  I felt normal again.  Or as normal as I could possibly get.


musings of time warps, crafts and DNA.

It has been said that people often look like their dogs. Possibly the most common conversation held when meeting a baby is who they take after. Famous singers often come from ‘musical’ families. There’s gotta be something in it. Hold that thought.

There’s this wierd thing with my mum (aka ‘me mam’). she could pop to the local shop for a loaf of bread and come back two hours later. She doesn’t go anywhere else. It’s just a fact that time speeds up whenever she goes anywhere. I’m not exaggerating. When she goes anywhere which would normally take a couple of hours, my dad know he won’t see her ’till nightfall.

The scary thing is, when you’re with her you get caught in this weird time warp. I’ve been out with her countless times when we come back way later than we were due home. So with hands on expereince, I truly don’t know how she takes so long to do things. Granted, there are the loo stops, but that can only account for a fraction of the time that lapses while she’s out. I guess it’s just in her DNA.

And here we have the tedious link. Whether I’ve slowly grown into it without my knowing or the genetics have suddenly kicked in, but it appears my mother has passed on her weird time warp trait to me.

This condition is definitely more accute when any kind of shopping is involved. The more choice, the more intense the symptoms. Of late I have become confused fascinated by the variety of butter in the fridge section. I spend an unecessary amount of time working out if it’s cheaper buying two smaller packs of pasta or one medium one. I find myself wandering aimlessly with my trolley, list or no list.

Fortunately for all those shoppers that I so often block their way through the shopping isles, I’ve hardly been out over that past nine or so weeks. This sciatica appears to be even more stubborn than me. And it flippin floppin hurts. But there has to be a reason why it’s all happening, and God-willing I’ll be back to wandering around shopping isles and annoying other shoppers in no time.