There are days, quite a lot of them actually, when I don’t feel like the adult in this Momma Bear / Baby Bear scenario. Little Miss sidled up to me one afternoon this week and wrapped her dainty arms around my legs and hugged me hard. The little mite, in her four tiny years and few short feet, has grown up so much in the past year but so desperately needs her Momma’s hugs. And I hope she always will. In that instant, as her arms squeezed me tight, I thought, dammit I needed that. I needed that hug. And I also thought, dammit I’m the Mom.
Since Storm Emma, I’ve been leaving the electric blanket on. We don’t necesarily need it now that the temperatures have started to creep up but, oh my, how luxurious is it to wriggle into a toasty warm bed after a 5.30am start and a looooonggg day of being maid, cook, cleaner, educator and servant to two (or more as the case may be) innocent, never screaming, never needy, impossibly helpful kids? (There’s sarcasm in there, hope it’s obvious!) I love my bedroom and while it’s not a typical oasis of calm or all that big, it’s purple with a king size bed and blackout blinds. Our bedroom, which admittedly lately I’ve been calling my bedroom since Papa Bear is routinely called into Little Missus’ room after midnight, has always been a reflection of comfort and somewhere to gently ease away worries. And this goes for Little Miss and Little Beans room too.
Last week saw International Women’s Day and today is Momma Bears Day. Celebrating women and mother’s has become quite an important thing for me in my life, more so since becoming a Mom, as I’m sure is the case in every woman’s life. I’m proud to be a woman and proud of being a Mum. So, let’s talk about those women who have brought strong female characters to our screens.
Lately I’ve found myself talking about relationships a lot. And it’s not because Papa Bear and I have hit a personal milestone. It’s more to do with the fact that being a family of bears takes its toll on even the most stable of relationships. It’s hard. We know that. We’re up against quite a lot when kids come along. Intimacy, conversation, time for each other stalls. And Hollywood doesn’t help. The Hollywood Ideal lures us into a false sense of security, almost as though it’s not necessary to work on our relationships daily. But we do, oh we really, really do.
It somehow feels justified and appropriate to use a boot in what felt like ten thousand feet of snow as the image for this post. Just like #Snowmageddon, this post feels endless with the potential to fall and get stuck in it. Or at least that’s what I thought when I saw the very lovely Ross from The Stented Papa had nominated me for the most god awful, ridiculously long and painfully torturous blogger tag 100 Questions, 100 Answers. Thanks Ross! But since my brain power has melted somewhat with the snow after four odd days of being snowed in, it’s a good way to get my blogger mojo back. So here we go, endless questions and real answers. There may be something in here about me that you don’t know yet!
I sound incredibly pretentious and righteous with the title of this post. But the fact of the matter is, myself and Papa Bear are together 17 years last week. We must be doing something right. I was a teeny, tiny 17 years old when I met him, meaning I now literally know him half my life. I’ve thought of this day quite a lot over the last almost two decades. Knowing, and loving him (get a room!) for half of my life feels like such a huge achievement. He has been by my side for so long and I can’t imagine life without him. We were young when we met, young when we married and we’re still young. And we’re still together. Against the odds. Because everyone figured there would be odds. That we were too young. That we wouldn’t last. Well, we did. And we are. And I put it down to three things.
A polite, intelligent and sobering letter to my Fricking Flamingo to please exit stage left immediately.
I remember when I was on maternity leave with Little Miss, I felt very out of the loop with colleagues and friends. I was taking the standard 26 weeks maternity leave, which in itself is an incredibly short time. I would be back to work in, what now feels like, an instant. But for those five or six months with little contact from colleagues, I felt very isolated from work and it was odd heading in on that first day back. There was a sense of unnerving questions despite being excited to get back into the fold. Was I missed? Have things changed much? Can I still cope with the workload? Now that I’m not going back at all, feeling out of the loop is an understatement. I feel kind of blurred, like a nomad, forced to find my own way and a new center. And being dependent on myself to provide that centre is even more daunting.
I’m broke. Ok not broke but this freelancer lark may just break my mind if I struggle to be able to afford to meet my friends for a coffee every now and again. Worst part of freelancing? Wondering if and when the money will come in. Only one month in and I already miss being a trigger happy credit card swiper. It was so easy. Thoughtless. Effortless. Until the bill came in. But now? I can’t wait to see a triple figure bill. Will I even make triple figures in a month? Who knows. Thinking twice, and figuring out how much surplus cash I have for coffee splurges, if any, has been a big change for me. But oh I’m learning tricks! I have to really. The biggest, is how to avoid the supermarket.
Two words – Spring Clean. This will be a good way to find out if Papa Bear actually reads my ramblings here. Usually if I ask him, “oh did you catch my blog today?” I hear a mumbling of “Em Yeah, what was it about again?” To which I discover he did actually open the link, hooray, but only skimmed through the text picking up key elements so he could nod yes and be compliant in the good husband stakes. He was my second subscriber (Hi to my first *waves to Grandma Bear*) and a guinea pig to see what the email looked like when I hit publish. FYI – self promo moment – if you want those emails you can subscribe to the blog but who needs more repetitive strain from hitting the trash icon! If you want to read me, you’ll find me. Anyway, I’ve digressed a little… I did say Spring Clean didn’t I! Surely I’ve suitably pissed off Papa Bear now but let’s see if he reads more!