A new month is upon us and.. oh my tis gonna be a full adventure packed one this year! June, it has to be said, definitely had quite a few more downs than ups and really took a nose-dive as it approached its ultimate whimper. The blog, as ever, suffered from a lack of updates but sometimes life is very rude in its attention grabbing; and these really weren’t things I could ignore.
So I start the new month off looking for some ‘new adventures’… let’s leave it at that for the moment, and contemplating a month of pain(s)…. of various unique flavours.
The little buggerage that is cancer is having the local quackery peek, poke and “hmmmm” at it first thing with a view to finally giving it its marching orders; scalpel and eye-watering equipment at the ready!
Before one can even clench one’s but-tocks at that thought I shall be throwing myself, and number one sprog, into the competitive art of funny poses and grunting in a japanese accent. I would call it Karate, but that really is doing the fair martial art a disservice… at least on my part.
What’s more worrying is that I shall be pitting my questionable skills against a large number of other practitioners, with some very VERY dark coloured belts, all in the name of becoming world champeeen!
Get that over and done with and I will age an extra year almost immediately… literally! Nope, not in some abstract sense of the word, I will actually have aged another year. That is if I haven’t already aged prematurely when number one sprog officially enters his teenagedom the week before.
There’s a bit more to tap out into this post, but I can’t seem to compose the correct combinations of letters and punctuation marks into something vaguely coherent.
Ah well, cometh the end of July and I’ll be pretty much offline for a few weeks; no on-line presence, no work, no karate, no updates, no cancerous lumps bumps ‘n other stuff? no idea… we’ll cross that bridge when we get there though.
Risk is something we manage every day on an almost unconscious level; Do you pull out from the junction now, or wait until that red car passes by? Sip upon the blessed caffeine bean straight away or blow on it to cool it down just a tad? Stand and block an attack or step forward and sideways to go on the offensive?
All made fairly quickly and without being verbalised as a series of competing options and therein lies the rub, the verbalisation. When the risks are said out loud it’s suddenly a decision that cannot be made unconsciously as it sits in front of you with a quizzical “so?” on its face.
“If you don’t do x, y could happen. However there’s a risk with doing x that may result in y”
It all looks a bit like a mathematical formula at this point, especially when percentages are thrown at you to “help”. Risk now moves from a personal set of choices to an impersonal set of numbers with some unpalatable consequences attached to them… or not… maybe.
So now I am left to face the calculation of “could” vs “may” and all that entails.
There’s a lot to be said for ignoring the whole issue and just throwing yourself into the elsewhere, delaying the inevitable and concentrating on those things that you can influence.. but the quizzical face is still there.
Julie McKinnon was the unrequited love of my teenage years. Long blonde hair, legs that seemed to stretch forever (and the fashion back in the 80′s was for tight jeans!), and killer looks. *Sigh*… give me a moment.
…just a little longer
OK, back again.
Unfortunately back then I was a bigger Muppet than I am now, hard to believe I know, and my body would do its very best to make me look as idiotic as possible whenever she approached;
Remove all fluids from mouth? Check!
Rush of blood to the facial area? Check!
Independently sprung limbs? Check!
Brain cells evacuated through ears? Check!
Sudden growth spurt on chin hair to enforce that ‘Shaggy from Scooby Doo’ look? Check!
Zits? Check, check and for good measure, check!
Yeah, as you can imagine I was HUGELY popular with the ladies when I was younger, especially with that little gamut of reactions – it was almost Adrian Mole‘ish! The end point being that I never did get the nerve to ask the delightful Julie out.
The point of all this? Only a salutary tale for a certain younger member of my readership that your first steps into, and out of, affairs of the heart can sometimes be strewn with cowpats from the devil’s own satanic herd.
Unfortunately it doesn’t always get easier when you grow up, but as the old adage goes “It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have tried and wonder what if”… or something like that.
I feel all old and wise now… well maybe not wise, but certainly old… and flatulent.. I think I’ve just described myself as Yoda?
I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox.
~ Woody Allen
This Monday just gone I was in a bad mood, and I hate being in a bad mood.
Being in a bad mood takes a lot of effort to maintain and really doesn’t do anything for ones complexion.
I especially hate being in a bad mood with the sprogs but sometimes, no matter how much of a “new age” parent you try to be, the little wallet drainers will dive head first into full martyrdom mode, throwing proverbial dummies out of the even more proverbial cot, and get right on my tit.
The thing is, I remember being almost exactly the same when I was Number 1 son’s age. The world was almost entirely against me and my parents were just the frontline of the battle-lines being drawn between me and the rest of the population of the Universe (yep, we’ve escalated from World to Universe).
To be fair my battles were minor scuffles when compared to the ding-dongs my Sister used to throw :¬)
To now find myself being that frontline soldier is somewhat startling. Despite the rapid hair loss, white streaks in my facial bum-fluff, and snaps crackles & pops sounds that my bones make – in my head I am still that gangly 6’1 blonde idiot I was in my teenage years.
In a moment of revelation I look at the moping 13yo in front of me;
6’1? near as dammit,
blonde? check,
idiot? oh yes!
Oh crap! I’m looking at Andy Mk II, the improved model. I wonder if my dad ever had the same thoughts running through his mind? …Probably not.
Not that this made the mood appreciatively better, although I now felt considerably older than I did a few seconds before that little epiphical revelation, cos now I feel I am just arguing with myself of 30-odd years ago!
*sigh* I feel the need to go and apologise to my parents…
Beer, pizza, mindless violence, hyper-active kids, cider, karate, mad dashes across Northamptonshire, troubleshooting wireless access points, kung-fu in a film with karate in the title, pill popping, weak-ass shower switching between nut-shrivellingly-cold and skin-searingly-hot, missing a birthday party, talking-about-love-n-life, kiddies roller disco party, tea, more tea, COFFEE, fighting, laughing, Iron Maiden, bruises, yoda, young love, old friends, full english breakfast, kids up till 3am, Jackie Chan overload, grading, teasing, expectations, throwing up, winding down, blogging, snoozing…
Blink, and *ping!* twelve years seem to have passed when you finally re-open your eyes. Or at least that’s what it feels like with number one son. The time has come in the Stewart & Moreno household to have some very earnest discussions, frettings, nashing of nails about the aforementioned clown-footed-floppy-haired-gangly offspring and his inevitable bid for new freedoms.
What freedoms do you allow a 12 year old to have? At the end of the day although he is he is very tall, has a girlfriend and some semblance of common sense (if you dig deep enough), he is still the little boy that I used to bottle feed and dry after his bath… Even if he is now pretty much at an eye-to-eye level with me!
The thing is I think I was younger than this when I walked the few miles between our house in Northampton, through Abington Park, to School. I also remember the first visible signs of fretting my parents had when they decided to let me have my wings, at what age I can’t remember, in Corby.
Of course, being young, I didn’t much worry about the fretting and I distinctly remember my watch “conveniently” stopping so the time I did eventually wander back home didn’t exactly match the time I was told to be in by.
My dad was very wise to that little trick!
So now it’s our turn to start that “fretting” to wonder what is acceptable freedoms to grant in this slightly less innocent age. I am mindful, however, of whether the fears I have are entirely justifiable?
I’ve recently been watching Charlie Brooker‘s excellent “How TV Ruined Your Life” which has given me some food for thought. So, whilst I ponder my sproglets current bid for freedom, feel free to pass on any wise words you may have on this subject, and bring much wisdom to the…. wisdomless, wise-ass-less, fick, wiseless (that’ll be me).
….hopefully number one son won’t be donning blue wode and mauling Scottish history in the meantime
I’ve had enough of being an adult for the moment, so I am sat down with The Complete Collection of Bill Watterson’s excellent Calvin & Hobbes comic strips. There are worse ways to develop an ethos on which to live your life, but no better way to just chill at the end of a long day.
I’ve been reading these for the past few days, and have even plagiarised some of their more memorable quotes, which seems to have been taken rather more literally than I had originally anticipated. Ah well, you can’t always help what others decide what you’re all about.
So I’ll continue to be the quiet one in the corner, to be the idiot on the internet, to make sure I always go “Oof” at the right time, to be the pain in the ass when your room begins to fester, to be the geek who’ll fix your PC, to smile at the pants, to step aside without complaint… but more importantly, and outside of your conception, the big kid I’ve always been on the inside.
As the Chris Antonak quote goes; “Aging is mandatory, maturity is optional.”
Somewhat reminded of that scene from Blazing Saddles where Lilly Von Shtup is singing “I’m Tired”, not so much in the sense of being a “Goddess of Desire”, etc, but just the sheer sense of not being able to get the energy up to do anything of much use.
These past few weeks have been a manic blur of competing priorities, unrealistic expectations of what one person can achieve in a relatively short space of time, and this week just gone is something that just doesn’t want repeating. Headless chicken mode is a thing of wonder and highly amusing… when it ain’t you that’s the nogginless avian!
Won’t go too much into detail, cos… well… I’m too tired to string the relevant words together properly, and in my case that level of in-eloquence isn’t pretty – suffice to say; kids, injuries and a little measure of work. ’nuff said.
All of which is a rather round-about way of apologising for a lack of posts on my narcissistic little corner of the Internet. I will try better, honest… just let me chug a few cans of Red Bull whilst chewing coffee beans and Zolpidem!
..Should make the next post an interesting one (at last)!
Well, I have hit that big milestone in my life which, depending on who you talk to, is either all down-hill from here-on-in or where my life begins. I am of course talking about reaching my 40th year of life.
To be honest, and to great disappointment in some and relief to others, I haven’t had any major wobbles or mid-life-crisery with this particular milestone.. or in fact am particularly bothered by it. For some reason I had a major wobble at 25, as my erstwhile friend in Scotland will avidly remember, and that’s it.
Apart from giving me an excuse to eat copious amounts of cream cakes and doughnuts, plus a damned good reason to demand gifts with menaces, I have entered my 40th year of life with a non-committal shrug of the shoulders and a “meh”.
That said, and despite all the gifts I received and which were gratefully received, I think the best presents I received were from my sprogs.. although I don’t think they intentionally went out and got these for my birthday.
My youngest managed to get a handful of 3A’s *and* a 4 in his SAT’s (which is in the ‘beyond expectation/exceptional’ range for his age) and my eldest got straight-5′s in his SAT’s (which again is in the ‘beyond expectations’ range).
A bit of a last huzzah from #1 son in his last year of Primary School, as he also received the School Governor’s award for excellence!
There’s nothing quite so soppy as a proud parent …apart from, possibly, an old soppy parent!
Sometimes I wish was 8 years old again… actually, *most* times I wish I was 8 years old again!
Although it does seem that nowadays kids are wrapped tightly in a blanket straight-jacket of Health & Safety rules that stops them from experiencing anything that even looks like being a little edgy; like putting up posters without goggles *gasp*!
So whenever the opportunity presents itself, we chuck our sprogs into whatever adventures come their way, like boating on the local reservoir. It’s especially at times like these that I remember my own yoof.
…and yes, this does mean that if the kids drop any food on the floor our first response is to pick it up, blow away any floor based additions and place it back on the plate for them to eat. If you raise kids in a sterile bubble, don’t be surprised at what happens when that bubble bursts.
Anyways, here’s our smallest enjoying his day out on the Reservoir.
Before one can even clench one’s but-tocks at that thought I shall be throwing myself, and number one sprog, into the competitive art of funny poses and grunting in a japanese accent. I would call it Karate, but that really is doing the fair martial art a disservice… at least on my part.
I feel all old and wise now… well maybe not wise, but certainly old… and flatulent.. I think I’ve just described myself as Yoda?
This Monday just gone I was in a bad mood, and I hate being in a bad mood.
Beer, pizza, mindless violence, hyper-active kids, cider, karate, mad dashes across Northamptonshire, troubleshooting wireless access points, kung-fu in a film with karate in the title, pill popping, weak-ass shower switching between nut-shrivellingly-cold and skin-searingly-hot, missing a birthday party, talking-about-love-n-life, kiddies roller disco party, tea, more tea, COFFEE, fighting, laughing, Iron Maiden, bruises, yoda, young love, old friends, full english breakfast, kids up till 3am, Jackie Chan overload, grading, teasing, expectations, throwing up, winding down, blogging, snoozing…
