Posted in Friendship, mental health, parenting, Social

Knock knock…

I hate the postman. Rationally, I know it is not his fault. Irrationally he is responsible for a lot of shit going down in my house and I hate him.

I also fear him. Whenever I hear the post box a-knocking I gets all kinds of bad chills. I can’t remember the last time he brought me something good. 

Anyone who has been reading my blog and listening to me whinge will know that we are currently undergoing some financial maintainance. And by that I mean we are financially fucked. I expect my internet, gas and electric to be cut off any moment and as I have already mentioned we are waiting for the people to come and embarrassingly collect our car in front of all of our neighbours. It probably shouldn’t but somehow the idea of it being witnessed makes it feel 9’800’000 times worse.

So anyway, I digress from my point. 

Saturday morning I was binge cleaning (the kind of cleaning that you do when you haven’t even had the time to sneeze alone during the week and need a huge catch up when you realise that you are living in filth (little disclaimer, I have OCD and so my idea of living in filth may not be the same as others)) and shouting at all those who didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm as me/got in my way, when the doorbell rang.

I don’t know how to explain the feeling of the doorbell ringing when you are in such dire straits. I was instantly paralysed whilst holding the Hoover in the kitchen. I called upstairs to hubby as I couldn’t physically open the door myself.

So it turned out to be the normal postman with a parcel. Mr X walks into the kitchen and says “have you ordered anything?”to which we both laugh because we can’t even afford necessities let alone frivolities! 

So I’m stood there in the kitchen, still holding the Hoover nozel, staring at this parcel. Genuinely trying to work out whether a bailiff has managed to “Flat Stanley” himself into a parcel and will unfold and attack as soon as I open the envelope. It takes a good 10 seconds for me to realise that this is probably not possible. Even so, I open the parcel with extreme caution, like a bomb handler, debt collectors have been known to use shady tactics, what if the envelope contained some kind of anthrax like substance which would knock us all out and allow them entry?

The parcel, once opened, did not contain anthrax, or anything yucky.

In fact, it was a beautiful card and present, from a lady who I have become very close to, and yet never had the pleasure to meet in real life. She is a blogger, and one of the only reasons why I continue to blog, as it keeps me in contact with a select few incredible people who have made a huge difference in my life.

She had been reading my posts, and wanted to make me smile. That’s all. Someone, who I have never met, was thinking of me and wanted to put a smile on my face.

I can’t even begin to describe how that made me feel. I don’t have many people in my life, maybe partly because of who I am and maybe partly because I am very selective with who I spend my precious time with, but that wonderful lady, who has her own life and blog and family and full time job took the time to think of me.

Knocked me for six with happiness, that’s what it did. And it humbled me too. Depression can make you incredibly selfish, and self absorbed. Some people can’t handle having a friend like that. It’s too hard and one sided. 

But this lady can see past my faults, and made me truly happy.

You know who you are you gorgeous thing, and I hope you know that what you did was possibly one of the nicest things that anyone has ever done for me. 

I truly do “virtually” love you.

Mrs X xoxo

P.s. Check back tomorrow for an update on my weight loss and sleep patterns!! I use exclaimation marks to hide the fact that the news isn’t good. Little spoiler – I’m pretty shit…

Posted in mental health, parenting

My “Ah Hah” moment (copyright the Right Honourable Oprah!)

Two posts in two days?? What the heck is going on?

Don’t get used to it!

I just had to jot down what happened this morning, as it is quite monumental for my simple little life.

So, this morning our client arrived 2 hours early for her 11am appointment, and brought another human as moral support.

Now, my fucked up little brain can just about get itself used to having one strange person in its near vacinity, but two??

And so, I had a decision to make. I am absolutely an indoor person, a home bird. I generally hate venturing out unless it is absolutely necessary, and even then I only tend to do what I need to and no more. No frivolous excursions for me, what happens if the beds unmake themselves or the washing becomes dirty again while I’m out?

But this morning, two options presented themselves to me, either I stay in and talk to a human who may want me to speak words other than “Do you want some toast” or “Does your nappy need changing?” (Seriously, asking grown ups that doesn’t go down well…!) or I go out.

So I went out.

I took the tiniest tiny to the park.

I left my phone at home. Half way there is realised this, and suddenly realised that I didn’t even know the time.

But then I realised something else, even more profound. 

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that I was out of the house without my phone, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know what time it was. It was all ok.

So we get to the park, it’s empty (thank god – no crappy small talk required!) and the sun is shining beautifully.

And I am pushing tiny on the swings when I suddenly think to myself, I can’t remember the last time I felt so free.

We get so bogged down in our own shit, wallowing in everything that its not so good that we forget what really is good.

As I watched my tiny grinning at the smallest of things, each of them bringing her endless delight I realised how lucky I actually am. I am a mummy, no matter how bad my ocd gets, or my depression hits or my anxiety flares up, or how many debt collectors try to contact me, I am still a mummy. To the most incredible tinies is all the world. 

And they love me, and I am a fricking good mum. They are my world, they are what is most important.

My “Ah Hah” moment, 20 years too late but better than never.

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in mental health, parenting, Sleep patterns, Weight loss

It’s decision time…

Excuse my absence.

Over the last two weeks my life has literally spun out of control.

All decisions we made last year, and this year, have come back to bite us on the arse. We have lost our car, we have bailiffs looming and no fully maintainable income to speak off. We can live day to day quite happily, and then something will happen. The post will come or the phone will ring and it is inevitably bad news. 

The only way I can think to perfectly describe it is using a “Walking Dead” analogy. We have very very little, but it is enough,many yet there is always someone there wanting some of it for themselves. We are Rick and Michome, the debt collectors are the Saviours. It somehow makes it seem better to think of it in those terms, like we are not alone or it is in some way a fiction rather than a reality.

The facts here are very simple though. I have no ability to pay what I don’t have. It has taken me a whole lot of stress, tears, nausea and downright death wishes to realise that I don’t have any control over this situation right now. We are working super hard to make things better, we are putting our all into everything we do. But right now, it is not enough. 

And so right now, I have to relinquish control.

And for me, that is rediculously hard to do. If I don’t have control, I freak out. But that is the only option I have.

And so I have made a decision. I am going to take control over the things that I can make a difference to. It is not ignoring the situation, it is knowing that giving it my every waking thought is not healthy.

The first thing is my mornings. 

I have never, ever been a morning person. And I want to change that. I know that there are a lot of aspects to becoming a morning person, the first and probably most important is actually going to bed at a decent time. This has been something that has escaped me for many years. Once the kids go to bed, which now that they are older is becoming increasingly later, I want a bit of time to myself. I want to watch the programmes that I can’t watch when they are up, I want to spend a bit of time with my husband (so that we can both blankly stare at the same screen, obvs) and just be I want to be able to veg out without hearing “muuuuuuuum” as soon as my butt hits the sofa. 

So last night, for the first night in a very long time, I went to bed before 11. Not much before, but still before. And I set my alarm for 6.30am. 6am is my ultimate goal, but I figure for now I should start slow and build up! I googled sleep patterns and sleep cycles and got told very specifically by Mr Google that 10.45 should be my bedtime for a 6.30 wake up call.

So at 6.30 my alarm went off, and I felt surprisingly awake! Unfortunately I couldn’t move yet, my brain was much more awake than my body but I guess that comes with practice and longevity. So day 1 down and I feel like a winner! Having said that, I will wait until my usual down period to see if it has any effect on that. Come 2pm I am normally  struggling to keep my eyes open. 

I’ll keep you posted! 😋😋

And the second thing that I want to take control over, is my diet. I don’t eat badly but I do snack. Of the 3 stone I lost two years ago, I have put 1 back on. It’s not a lot, I know, but it does have the affect of making me feel a bit meh. 

I can’t go back on the diet I was on, and I don’t need to, so I am just going to actively be more careful about what I eat. That’s the plan anyway. So far this morning I have made buttermilk and paprika chicken to go with pasta tonight, and banana and chocolate flapjack. (It has banana in it, that means it’s healthy, right?)

During the making of said flapjack, I may have accidentally licked the syrup spoon.

And the day started off so well with a fruit smoothie!

But that’s the thing. I love sweet things. The key here, I think, is to adopt the age old adage of “everything in moderation”. Instead of half the flapjack, just have a piece! 

I gonna give it a go (wish me luck) and we’ll see how things pan out.

So rather than boring/depressing you all with my day to day shit life, I am going to keep you all (all 13 of you, love y’all!!) updated with how I get on.  Whether it has any impact on my ever failing mental health(!), my waistline and my energy levels!!

Thanks, as always, for allowing me this time to rant/blab/vent.

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in mental health

The madness is descending…

There is a reason why I decided to write this blog anonymously.

I wanted to be able to write what I wanted without fear of judgement or reprisals, I wanted to have a space that was mine to be as I needed to be.

Never has that been more necessary than now.

You see, Mrs X, I, am a sufferer. I try my darnedest not to be, but life throws shit your way and it sticks, and you just have to deal with it the best you can.

I suffer from depression, anxiety, crippling social anxiety and PCOS.

All of them are connected, all of them make the other worse. No one really gets it. No one really gives a shit, so it is down to me to deal with it the best I can.

It is really, really, really hard. Every single day is a struggle and it is absolutely exhausting. I could sleep, all the time. It is an all consuming sleep, so deep and yet never refreshing. The anxiety that I suffer from causes a physical pain, it is a dull ache in the top of my stomach that gets stronger as I get more anxious. Sometimes my social anxiety causes complete paralysis. I physically cannot move, and the worst thing is that I don’t know what is causing me to be stuck. It is not a case of not wanting to miss anything, or being afraid people may talk about me when I am gone from the room, it is just what it is. And it is pretty scary. People probably assume that I am lazy. Others have to make drinks or snacks or grab something for me from another room. I am not lazy at all. I am incredibly motivated. In fact I believe that I am a “high functioning depressive”, either that or my OCD won’t let me stop. But that is the way that it looks to outsiders, which, guess what? Causes even more anxiety to occur. 

So, for the most part, I can continue living my life in my own secret depressive/anxious prison without it causing too much fuss. And then something super shit happens and I feel the bastards creeping up on me with a vengeance.

This week my Grandmother passed away. She was 91 and had lived an awesome life. But it hit me like a tonne of bricks. My Mum passed over 10 years ago. I blocked it as any good psycho does, until it crippled me and I had to face the fact that I was going insane. Seeing my Grandmother, a strong independent woman, lying in bed resembling a concentration camp victim struggling for every breath brought all those feelings back. 

But that’s not the worst part. On my last visit to the home, when I saw my Grandmother lying like that, with overly depressing music playing on the radio station outside, an awful thought crossed my mind. Through the tears that no one saw me shed because she was not conscious and I was there alone.

I wondered what it must feel like to be so close to being free.

Free from worries and pain and people and life.

And that is how I know that the madness is descending once again. 

I don’t want to not be here, I want to live. But I want to live a life that is free. Everyone has stress, and worries and debts and pain, but right now mine seems to be amplified to the point of virtual insanity. I am living my days in a fog, there are no emotions, just motions. I am functioning.

I am “High Functioning”.

It fucking sucks.

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in Marriage, parenting, Social

The weekend according to Mrs X

Once a week a magical thing happens. 

It becomes Friday, and you know what that means? It means it’s the friggin’ weekend people!!!

And if you, like me, would totally love to rock your weekends, then have a read through the details of my last weekend. Use it as a guide, if you like, on how to be a completely epic housewife and parent on those two sought after days.

Let’s start with Friday night. 

Firstly, you must agree to watch a movie with your daughter in your own bed. This is of course not fatal at all, and will not make you want to fall straight to sleep. Make sure you stay conscious enough to respond to her comments, so as not to cause any upset. Make sure you don’t eat all the marshmallows, again, this may cause upset…

Ok, daughter in bed. Time to watch a TV show with the boy child, whatever you do, do not turn off the front room lights to allow better viewing. You will, without a doubt, fall into a Friday night coma, from which you may not be revived until Monday.

Boy in bed, suddenly remember he has football training in the morning. He must leave the house by 9am. Make a mental note to go to bed early and set an alarm.

Then, of course, decide that 10.45pm is the absolute best time to give your business website a revamp.

Crawl in to bed at 2am, baby will definitely wake in about 30 minutes. Don’t forget you must get up in the morning.

8.56am Saturday morning – Shit!! I am a seriously crappy and horrible parent.

Boy goes to football, housework gets done. Enter lethargy mode. Forget breakfast.

Remember at about 1 that you need to feed the family, and that you haven’t eaten yet so you need to eat shitloads. 

Eat too much. Decide to do the weekly shop tomorrow instead.

Saturday night. Get a text from my sister saying she is going to visit our grandmother in the morning. Would I like to go with her? Yeah, ok. She will be there at 9am. 

Ok, don’t forget to set an alarm.

9.05am Sunday morning, there’s a knock at the door – SHIT!!

I’m up, I look like a river corpse but I’m up. Sister makes tea, I get ready.  It is at this moment that a I remember that I have only one pair of jeans, and they need washing. However living life without jeans is not something I feel I can face today, and so I retrieve them (without being spotted) from the wash basket. Put on a big jumper because it looks cold outside, and as this will be the first time I will have left the house all week I can only go by visual aids.

Get to the nursing home and discover they have the heating on full blast.

Get a banging headache and decide that your illusive and procrastinating period is absolutely on its way as you feel like a half dead garden bouncer – check!

Spend the afternoon at the supermarket (fucking hell on earth, why do I subject myself to it every weekend??), then playing with the kids in a semi zombie state. 

Sunday night, have a bath and decide that you will most definitely have an earlier night tonight. Sit down and watch Dexter, and then another one. Oh go on then, just another one.

Oh look, it’s Monday again! Whoop-de-fucking-do…

Lather, rinse and repeat next week…

I am rocking this life shit!!

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in parenting, Social

When is it my turn?

I have this huge pet hate.

I absolutely hate it when people moan about something and do jack shit about it. 

“Oh, I hate my job!” 

“Did you sign a lifetime contract? Did you allow your soul to be swallowed up by your workplace never to return? No? Then quit!” Life is far far too short for you to be spending any time doing something that you hate, that doesn’t make you happy or fulfilled. Yes of course, money is a huge issue, and a huge factor in decision making. But surely happiness should trump it? (Can I still use the term “Trump it” without this becoming a political post??).

Anyhow, I digress. This is my pet hate. Moaners who do nothing to fix there own lives.

But that brings me on to my, very personal, point. I have spent years trying to make the absolute best of my life, our lives. 

For the last 15 years, my entire adult life, I have worked my arse off. In numerous jobs, with differing roles, no matter what the position I have tried my best. I can be proud of myself for that.

But why the hell does it have to be so, so hard? 15 years into adult life, and I am still struggling to hold my head above the water. 

We have made choices, and sacrifices, and tried our absolute best but every single day seems to be the same grinding struggle. It’s like my own personal Groundhog Day, where everything ticks along just fine, but nothing ever changes.

Please, please don’t get me wrong. I am so happy with my lot. I have my health, my husband, my babies and a roof over our heads. I know that is a lot more than some can say. I know deep down that we have achieved a lot in our life together and overcome even more. 

But I am just starting to wonder when it will be our turn? When that moment will arrive that all of our hard work and efforts and struggles will pay off, when we will start to see some return for all of our output.

God, don’t I sound like the biggest, most ungrateful shit in all the world??

But that’s the thing, this is why I started this blog, because I can say that here and not feel judged or vilified for feeling that, at the ripe old age of 33, it’s time that there was more. I don’t want to be a millionaire, I won’t even ask to be “comfortable”, I would simply be happy with being able to pay my bills, buy our food and still have enough to take the kids to the cinema or swimming. To be able to live a life, not just get through each week.

I am tired. Of the struggle and the constant battles. I want something to click, to take hold and take off. I keep hearing the saying “You get out of life what you put in”. Well, if that’s the case then I think it is well overdue for some good fortune to come our way!

We will keep working, and plod along, because you never know when that one thing, that one decision or choice, will be the right one.

And in the meantime I will keep on smiling, because I am lucky. I am rich in all but money. And that fucking sucks!

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in Baking, Mr X, parenting

Butter withdrawals…

I have ever thought of myself as much of a cook, or a baker.

I mean, I cook everyday but nothing spectacular, just your run of the mill toad in the hole, sausage and mash etc.

But then after Christmas I started housewifing properly again. And a decision was made that we would no longer buy snacks for the kids – I would make them instead. Nothing like a little bit of pressure to get the baking juices going!

And so, over the last few weeks I have turned my hand to quite a few different creations, each one (so far) has gone down pretty well with the tinies. 

And then this week, something went terribly wrong with the weekly shop, I miscalculated the need for butter and sugar, forgot the boy needed ingredients for food tech and also completely forgot to pick up normal sugar for Mr X’s coffee resulting in the need to fill the sugar pot with my remaining caster sugar. All in all, a complete disaster of a shop. 

So by Wednesday I had completely run out of sugar and butter. And somewhere deep down in side there must have been a secret baker trying to come out because I felt completely lost!! After my housework was done, and the tiniest tiny was having her nap, I sat in the front room with a cup of tea, rocking (slight exaggeration). All I could think of was cooking, I was having withdrawals!!

And so apparently, and without intention or me noticing, it would appear that I have become addicted to making food, as well as eating it. 

Epic (although I’m not sure the scales are going to agree…!)

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in parenting

So you’re judging me now?

I’m not going to lie to you, I am not very good at stuff.

This isn’t like “woe is me, feel sorry for me” bullshit, this is me being completely honest, with myself as well. 

I have tried my hand at a few things over the years, knitting, crafty stuff, clothes making, working in various different environments etc, etc and every single thing I put my mind to I was simply mediocre at. Not completely rubbish at most, but just not very good. I have never had a “thing”. 

Until I had kids. Kids are my “thing”. I truly adore being a mum and I happen to think I am pretty good at it. So when someone inadvertently calls that into question, it makes me kinda (hopping) mad.

We had people over today, people who we are in the early stages of friendship with. The kind of early stages where you still watch what you say and bite your lip when they piss you off, hence why she left my house completely unscathed…

My tiniest tiny was not herself today, in fact for the last 2 weeks she has been out of sorts but today she was on particularly bad form. I don’t know exactly what it is, whether it is the readjustment after the holidays, or her back teeth or she just has a cold coming, either way she can be somewhat demanding when she feels unwell. As her mum I take it on the chin, I still refuse to pander to her screaming and demands, because then I am setting myself up for a future fail, but I will be more sympathetic to her cries and tend to take an easier approach to avoid a complete meltdown.

As our guests were about to leave, the following comments were made:-

“Seems like someone needs preschool to help them learn to share”

“She wouldn’t last 5 minutes with that attitude in my house, I just wouldn’t put up with it”

“Oh yes, she would have been put in bed a long time ago”…

Ummmmmm, wow. Just wow.

There are no words. 

They left. I went on to tidy up the kitchen and make a coffee, put the oven on etc. Then came back to the office where Mr X was working.

“Wouldn’t last 5 minutes with that attitude???????” To which Mr X responded “I was waiting for that”.

“How dare they insinuate that my child is some sort of roughian yob with an attitutude problem??? How dare they insinuate that I am handling it wrong??? They have one child under one, they don’t know how hard it can be to try to parent three kids, especially when one of them is poorly???”

How dare they judge me?

Because that’s what it is. Whether it be intentional or not, they passed judgement upon me and my child. And without all the bravado and hard it masks that I like to wear, I can honestly say that it fucking hurt. It broke my heart. Being a mum is the one thing that I am happy to say that I am good at. I know I’ve made mistakes, I know I will continue to make them, I think that’s a good thing. It’s good for your children to see you make mistakes and fail sometimes, it teaches them how to learn from them and try differently next time.

I wonder, when her little one is older, whether her attitude may have been changed.

I wonder whether we will still be friends so I will get to see. I wonder whether she even realises that her flippant comment has caused me to call so much in to question.

I am an open person, I will happily discuss work, politics, TV and films. But my children and my parenting skills are not up for discussion. 

I refuse to accept judgement from those who are not yet qualified to pass it on. 

I am a good mum.

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in Friendship, Marriage, parenting, Social, social life

Helpful ideas are always welcomed….

My husband, who I love dearly, comes up with the best suggestions.

An example of one of his little nuggets of genius is the following sentence:-

“I think it would be a great idea to make the kids lunch boxes at the weekend too”…

The above sentence could only ever be uttered by someone who doesn’t have to make lunch boxes every other flipping night of the week.

He is clearly not aware that the only thing that I have to look forward to on a Friday and Saturday night, is a night off from the dreaded lunch box making!!

Making lunches has been the bane of my life for the last 9 years, and thanks to the arrival of the new tiny it doesn’t look set to end any time soon! The fact that the actual act itself only takes about 3 minutes is neither here nor there, it is simply the most mundane job that I have to do! 

I would rather iron…

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in Marriage, Mr X, parenting

Mr and Mrs X

The above picture is quite clearly a picture of myself and Mr X, we tend to dress like this and lean against walls around the home, slight pout for effect, just in case unexpected visitors knock the door. We are always prepared.

This month, Mr X and I will celebrate our 13th wedding anniversary, go us! So married for 13 years and together for another 4 before that, happily married bliss, butterflies in the stomach, goosebumps when we touch – the whole shabanging shit.

Apart from today, today he pissed me off. Big time.

Mr X is going through some stuff, and I get it, I probably honestly have more understanding of it than most, sadly. And normally I am so so sympathetic, always on hand if needed, I want to help. But there are limits.

Today we were having a discussion about a client mix up, or potential mix up, which needs to be sorted. I suggested that he call one of the clients to speak directly rather than emails back and forth, you know, the direct approach. He asked me if I would call, and I said no. Like I say, I am happy to help, but I don’t even call my sister let alone a random client, I absolutely hate phone calls. As far as I am concerned text messages are the best invention ever. Ever. You can say what you want without the possibility of awkward silences, the need to talk about crap to fill the void. I. Hate. It. And so I said no. And he accused me of having “slopey shoulders”.

I mean, what the hell does that even mean??…

We made a decision before Christmas that I would take a step back from our business. There is not currently enough work for the two of us and I sincerely missed being “mum”. And so for the last 3 weeks, I have been full steam ahead with my chores, my children, even as far as starting to “homeschool” the baby (as I am convinced that she is a frickin’ (evil) genius). I have done everything I set out to do. At no point have I passed off any of my responsibilities to anyone else (unless you count the chore chart, but that is a teaching process!).

And so to be told I was in some way shirking by responsibilities really really pissed me off. And rightly so, I think.

And so, I told him so. In no uncertain terms I informed him of all I do, and all I still have to do, and how that is my responsibility and the “admin shit” is his. I am not an on-call secretary for all the crap he just doesn’t want to do. 

He took it on the chin, like a man – ok so actually more like a scalded puppy. So then I felt guilty.

But that’s the thing. 13 years married, 17 years together. We know each other inside and out. We are soul mates, he is my rock, my raisin d’etre (sic!!) and quite simply the love of my life. So I can tell him that he has royally fucked me off and he can take it, and vice versa.

Happy marriage isn’t about never a cross word, or bottling up your emotions. It’s about communication, understanding that by saying you are pissed off you are not saying anything more than that.

13 years married and still truly, madly, deeply in love. We’re doing something right!!

Mrs X xoxo