2009 August | Sleep is for the Weak

Logophilia

Posted by Josie on Aug 18, 2009 in Uncategorized | 20 comments

I have a confession to make to you.

I am having a love affair. A passionate, toe tingling, heart-wrenching love affair.

I have all the usual ‘being in love’ symptoms. That slightly ill feeling. Random transitory moods of weepiness alternated with extreme euphoria which I can’t quite verbalise. Obsessive thoughts and lying awake at night thinking about the source of my affection, what I want to say to them running round and round my head in an endless loop. An overwhelming, raging guilt at my neglect of my family, friends and the housework in favour of my new love. Paranoia (maybe they don’t love me back, maybe I’m not good enough!), and taking every single fleeting opportunity to sneak away and dirty myself in its embrace.

I should probably explain (and quick before my husband reading this at work falls off his chair).

It’s not another man. It’s this damn writing business.

I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s all I want to do. All. The. Time. God I’m a little sweaty just sitting here typing. I almost cried with relief when Kai decided he was tired and needed a nap. Just so I could sit and fire up the laptop with shaky hands and blissfully tap out some words.

Is there a Writers’ Anonymous group or something? Cause I think I need a referal.

*sigh*

But that’s the problem. That’s what’s making me weep into my keyboard and mope about like some pretentious, post-modern artiste with a floppy fringe and leggings and a wistful look. I’m NOT a writer. I don’t even pretend to be. I have no experience of it. In fact, this blog (and couple of others on various topics peppered about the bloggosphere) are the sole fruits of my writing efforts.

But, but, BUT! I think I want be… or at least… oh I don’t know.

I’ve seen you fellow bloggers. In you ‘About Me’s. You list yourselves as writers, or freelancers, or ex-copy writers, or editors or whatever. And I internally seethe. At your confidence, your skill, your experience. Or even worse – you DON’T put ‘writer’ in your intro but instead scream it with every glorious, perfectly constructed, flawless entry.

I bet you have perfect hair and shiny teeth too. And tidy houses. I just know it. Oh how I hate you.

Except I don’t of course. Because I secretly love you. Love your lives, love your talent and your creativity. It’s what brings me back to your blogs over and over, leaving hesitant, unsure comments, or not doing so and slinking off unobseved because all I can think of to say is “I wish I could write something so beautiful”.

How did you get where you are? Where does a mummy blogger with appalling spelling and not one creative writing course to her name even begin? What is it I even want? What does this annoying internal yearning mean?

I guess I just have to write. ‘Writer’ seems an accolade I am a very long way from deserving. But I guess everyone has to start somewhere and I think maybe here is ‘it’. And hopefully I’ll figure out what what the hell it is I’m looking for and what I want to write about along the way.

God this is all sounding very pretentious isn’ it? I’ll stop now…

I’ll get my (waterproof) coat…

Posted by Josie on Aug 16, 2009 in Moments, Parenting | 16 comments

It’s been a long day. It’s been a tiring day. More than anything, it’s been a slightly disquieting day.

Because now, sat here writing to you, I suddenly find myself a Baptised Christian.

Yes friends you read that right.

“But Josie!” I hear you cry! “Are you not famous for your public and extremely vocal rejection of organised religion, favouring instead a more free-thinking, spiritually diverse discourse?”. Well, yes! Yes I am, person with a very eloquent way of putting it!

Ok, an involuntary Baptised Christian.

For today I went to a Christening.

Now I don’t like Christenings. As a non-Christian there is nothing more likely to cause me spiritual and philosophical discomfort, and internal pew fidgeting than the Christening or Baptism of a baby. But, as my friends will keep insisting on producing gorgeous offspring, and as I love these friends and respect their choices, from time time I find myself attending one.

Needless to say, we didn’t have Kai Christened, opting instead to be the first of anyone we knew to write and conduct our own naming ceremony. Caused quite a few raised eyebrows amongst the elderly relatives but once they’d got over the misconception that it would involve some kind of elaborate goat sacrifice and women with bare breasts and names like “Ephinany Moon-Jewel” (it didn’t), it actually all went down rather well.

But other people? Well they like Christenings don’t they? It’s a big rite of passage for them and their child and a cause of much celebration and excitement and joy and silver plated trinket boxes. And that’s fair enough. So several times a year I force myself to swallow back my self-righteous opinions, put on something fancy, and… *deep breath*… go to church.

Today was one of those days.

So there we are. At church. Ant is resplendent in a badly pressed shirt and I am wearing make-up (an even rarer event than me attending church) and posh trousers with only a little amount of baby leakage on. And there are my lovely friends. H looking beautiful and radiant with an adorable new-mummy glow, and her precious new baby breaking all records for unbelievable cuteness and prettiness and making me rethink the whole “I’m not ready for another baby” with just a few heartbreaking smiles.

Kai has been miserable with a cold the last day or two and was not on best form, starting to whinge and squirm within a record ten seconds of the service beginning. So I quickly made a hasty retreat to the back of the church to the children’s play corner to observe the rest of the proceedings from afar whilst playing Thomas the Tank Engine Goes Large and Liturgical (very very quietly) .

And it’s all going ok! Kai’s only had one minor meltdown when a small child dared to look at him funny and I have done my usual trick of zoning out through the particularly irksome parts. Me and Kai did some half-hearted dancing and clapping to the hymn sung to the tune of the Flintstones just to show willing (Flintstones??! Yes really. Let no one say that church is not cool) and stood up to wave and smile at the important dunking moment.

And then it happened.

Young female vicar with a rather forced air of ‘hip and happening’ mumbled something about honouring all OUR Baptisms (a rather arrogant assumption if you ask me but there you go) and began prancing around the church waving a bunch of sticks spraying holy water all over the unwitting congregation (ironically if we’d done anything similar at Kai’s naming ceremony, no doubt all the ERs would have immediately condemned it as some kind of new age witchcraft tomfoolery!). Now I renounced my childhood Baptism when I decided that Christianity was no longer for me, (yep, I’m going straight to hell, but at least I won’t be going there a hypocrite!). So as hip vicar ambled her way towards me little did she know that she was approaching something of a clean sheet. Nope. No taint of Baptism here.

It took me a minute to figure out what was happening. First I saw my husband a few pews in front take an unsuspecting hit, and before I knew it, she was upon me. And upon Kai.

I saw Ant turn quickly round with a look of shock and apprehension on his face as he realised what was about to happen. He later told me in the car that he turned fully expecting to see a scene straight out of ‘The Bodyguard’ in which I, with a slow-motion NOOOOOOOOO! threw my unprotected body in front of Kai’s poor defenseless form to take the hit in his place, the holy water hissing as it hit my heathen skin. In reality, nothing quite so exciting happened, Kai (with more foresight than I) chose that moment to duck behind some soft play apparatus…

…but I wasn’t so lucky. No that’s right, I was blessed (and no, the water didn’t make a hissing sound as it hit me).

It was quite a shock I can tell you. Inadvertant baptism was certainly NOT on my lists of things to do that day.

But do you want to know what was worse?

Ant hurried over soon after looking pale and anxious (and a little damp) which I initially assumed was in anticipation of my inevitable (and probably vocal) rage over the whole affair.

But no.

Because as she feverishly sprayed the congregation, sitting, inoculously on top of the pew was a beautiful one-of-a kind hand-made piece of stationary I had crafted at the request of my friend for their after-Chistening Party. And now, held in Ant’s trembling hand was said piece of priceless creativity. Covered in water drops with the ink running in big blobs.

Unbelievable. Who knew church was such a dangerous place?

So what do you think I should sue them for first? The forced indoctrination into their religion? Or the ruined handy-crafts?

Either way, next time I’ll be sure to remember to wear my anti-baptism waterproof suit and keep my belongings in a zip-up plastic bag. Just in case it’s another Christening of the ‘spray-per-view’ variety.

hh08pg52-85330

P.S. Congratulations H & D – despite the unexpected inclement indoor weather it was a lovely occasion and you both looked such a picture of pride and contentment (and L is LOADS prettier than all the other babies). Sorry we had to leave early – absolutely nothing to do with the accidental baptism and everything to do with a very tired, grumpy baby needing an early night! Love you loads x

Kiss Kiss

Posted by Josie on Aug 15, 2009 in Uncategorized | 7 comments

I have been lucky enough to have been on the receiving end of some particularly spectacular kisses in my life.

The first of any real significance must have been when I was about 8 and I fell head of heels in love with a boy a whole dizzifying year older than me. Him and his younger brothers would come to our house after school till their mum finished work and the two of us in secret, with me wearing my bridesmaid dress to look more beautiful, would reenact the scenes of many a Disney movie with numerous chaste but passionate kisses. Sometimes for real. ON THE LIPS. I can still feel my skin blushing. We’d quickly get bored and rejoin the boys in favour of wrestling matches (which I would win) and ingenious and complicated games involving dressing up and making maps and me being in charge and generally finding excuses to sit on the middle brother and beat him to a pulp. But still. Significant.

Then there was rather a lot of kissing between the ages of 15 and 17 that shall remain mysterious and vague… you know who you are (male population of a small Staffordshire town).

Now we get to the good ones.

I have just turned 18 and am being kissed on a bridge under the stars. This was a earth-moving kiss, a life-changing kiss. Shortly afterwards the words “I love you” were uttered for the first time and truly meant and understood. And privately I vowed never to kiss another in my whole life.

Flash forward through gazillions of equally spectacular and earth-moving kisses, and an equal if not greater number of mundane “have a good day” kisses that still manage to make my knees go a little weak. All on the same lovely pair of lips. The lips that smiled and kissed me on our first night in our very first home. The lips that said “I do” on our wedding day and kissed me in front of all our family and friends as I quivered and tried not to cry, feeling like I was going to drop dead of sheer unequivocal joy right there and then.

Jo Kissing Ant First Dance 2

I have had unrivalled and privileged access to those lips, and them to mine, for nearly a decade.

Until now.

For now our precious boy, born of those same kisses, has now discovered kissing all for himself.

He puckers up his little lips and leans forward full of all the seriousness and intent of any leading man. Each tender kiss accompanied with a little “mwah” to really seal the deal. Repeatedly kissing daddy is now a new favourite pastime; Ant can barely leave the room for two minutes at a time without being wooed. I don’t get quite as many but seem to have been targeted for the more serious kissing practice in which the baby bear fights to hold my head still and plant repeated, dribbly, open-mouthed and earnest kisses on my surprised lips.

Needless to say Ant and I are enamoured with our little Casanova, taking every opportunity to sneak another one in at every available opportunity. I imagine the novelty will wear off sooner or later, especially if Bad Mommy Moment’s wonderful recent post is anything to go by, but for now, well, we’re loving every wet, perfect smacker.

Who knew one kiss under the stars would lead us here?