Dead (Wo)man Rising

Okay, so technically I haven't been dead - at least, not physically at any rate - but I have been in a sort of Limbo since New Year's Eve, so the title of today's blog does make sense. I've popped in on a handful of occasions in the past several weeks, but I have not done anything more than flick through a few of my earlier blogs in an attempt to remind myself that yes, I have always been mad, and yes, I do actually like to write (ramble).

Chemicals and hormones are funny things, aren't they? I'm told that most forms of depression can be, if not fixed, then helped, by medication that will help to restore imbalances and deficiencies in certain hormones and chemicals in the brain. Obviously this is true, or our doctors would not prescribe them. Speaking of which, when my doctor prescribed me my anti-depressants, she asked me if I had any suicidal tendencies. In the midst of my blurry and stressed out brain, I found this extremely funny, albeit in a dark and twisted way. I mean honestly, if I were having suicidal thoughts, and had decided that overdosing on happy pills was the way to go, would I admit to this? I mean, seriously?

Anywho, getting back to what I was saying, these tablets are supposed to help. Maybe I was expecting too much, too soon, but frankly I didn't see any change at all. Still, they allowed me to sleep for a few hours, which I suppose can only be a good thing.

I suppose the point I am making (or trying to make) is that there doesn't seem to be anything out there to help people who are depressed for entirely different reasons than the people who are termed as 'clinically depressed'. Most people with clinical depression generally won't be able to tell you why they feel like crap every day, they just do. Sure, there is usually a root to the problem, maybe an abused chilhood, or perhaps the death of a loved one. Maybe the depression is rooted in a severe lack of personal confidence. It doesn't really matter what the root is (and I am in no way trying to belittle any of these reasons), the end result is the same - clinical depression.

But for others, there is usually a current 'traumatic' situation involved. Some situations might be more upsetting than others, and some people deal with these situations in different ways. When I lost my daughter ten years ago I was extremely upset, depressed, and basically out of my tree for a long, long time. But I still functioned. I still ate and slept, I was able to care for my young son, and I was able to participate in general everyday life. My recent circumstances can in no way be compared to the loss of my daughter, yet, much to my astonishment I might add, I completely shut down. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat - heck, some days I couldn't speak. It's really odd how we each deal with life's inevitable blows. On the upside, I have managed to lose 20lbs in weight which, although not through the result of healthy dieting, is probably the highlight of the last seven weeks.

I am starting to feel better now, though I have to add that this has nothing to do with those happy pills. I'm sure anti-depressants are absolutely perfect for some people, and I'm equally sure that a lot of people are thankful for them, but they are not for me.

Incidentally, I noticed that I was given an award last week. Well, I noticed that CC had posted on my blog to tell me at any rate. I am easing my way slowly back into Blogland, and my next post - whenever that may be - will be addressing this (wonderful and surprising) bit of news, as well as doing my bit in keeping the award alive by passing it on.

Lastly, a quick hello to Marian, who posted recently and reminded me (far better than re-reading my earlier blog entries) that I AM  writer, and, more importantly, that I am a writer that needs to get back to writing. Thank you Marian. *hugs*

And that's it for today. I will be back soonish....

Prison Break

It's been almost a full week without blogs.... *sighs* I've had maybe half an hour a day on the computer for the last week, and these half hours have been in snippets of five or ten minutes at a time. Really not conductive towards blogging (or writing of any kind, for that matter). There's no blog today, either. Well, not technically at any rate.

While I was skimming through the Fan Fun forum over at HPANA, I noticed that I hadn't posted a short story in my compilation thread since August. Even more shaming, the August posting was in fact a mere transferring of a story that I had written previously, so it wasn't even a new story.  Feeling the Guilt Monster breathing down my neck, I quickly opened Wordpad and started typing. You have to bear in mind that I had no clue as what I would write about, but I typed for forty-five minutes or so and dutifully posted my ramblings in my compilation thread anyway. That's the kind of Come What May girl I am.  And, as I am also a Kill Two Birds With One Stone kind of girl (or a cheater, you decide), I figured I'd post my hastily written short story here too. I mean, it's rambling, and it was written with no idea how it would end, so it ties in really well with my other blogs, see?

UPDATE!! Sorry, but I had to take down the story, as the second half jumped out at me to be used in a much better way...

I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus

Excuse me? Is that right? I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus? What's up with that?  It's a song title (or maybe a book title, or possibly a movie title, but definitely a title of something), and as titles go, it's a little unnerving. I mean, if I picked it apart, it's actually downright disturbing.

For a start, this is obviously a title from a child's perspective, and a young child at that. Why? Well, once a child reaches nine or ten, Santa Claus is a nonentity. Santa becomes one of those mythical people that the adults in your life hold up as an example in order to induce good behaviour. By the time you are ten, Santa has joined the Easter Bunny, The Bogey Man, and the Tooth Fairy in the world of We Only Exist To Bribe Young Children Into Being Good And Going To Sleep At A Reasonable Hour.

Not only that, but unless you have a double-barrelled name, a horsy profile and a plummy voice, 'mommy' (or the more commonly used 'mummy') is never uttered past the age of ten. At age ten, most mothers are reduced to being called 'mum', 'mom', or even nothing at all, just a slovenly grunt.

So yes, this was a young child's perspective.  Now, to have a child under the age of ten, a mother who is under the age of forty is usually a given. There are exceptions to this rule, but more often than not we are looking at a parent who is between the ages of 25 and 35.

Santa (even though he's obviously not real) is around eighty, right? At least. I mean, okay, we don't actually know his real age, but given that he has a snowy white beard, rosy cheeks (too much mulled wine perhaps?) and more than his fair share of middle-aged spread, I think it's safe to assume that eighty is a reasonable guess on his age. (If we were to judge his age by the amount of years he has been spreading Christmas cheer, then I'm pretty sure he would be a couple of centuries old, but for the sake of trying to be a little bit sensible, I will stick with eighty, not least because a double-centenary aged feller getting it on with a 35 year old is more than a little icky).

My point is (yes! I DO have a point!), what the hell was an octogenarian doing kissing the mother of some poor innocent child? And why the hell was this child  happy enough to write a song/produce a movie/write a book about it? I mean, I know May and December romances can be sweet and everything, and I'm all for everyone having the freedom of choice, but Santa? Santa?

What about Mrs Claus? Round, jolly, Mrs Claus who looks after the elves, feeds the reindeer, and bakes endless mince pies (Santa's belly has to be filled with something)? Santa should totally be ashamed of himself! What on earth would happen if Mrs Claus found out, that's what I'd like to know. She's obviously a sensible sort, she has to be, doesn't she? Santa is obviously far too busy eating those pies and drinking buckets of mulled wine to be able to watch over the millions of children all over the world. And as for the actual presents, well.... show me a man who can wrap presents, and I'll show you the woman who really does it. I'm positive than men are equally up to the task of cutting paper, rolling it around a present, and sticking some sellotape on it. I'm not saying that they are inept at it at all. They just don't like it.  They will inevitably ask their wife/mother/sister/girlfriend/daughter to take over the wrapping duties nine times out of ten. Santa will be no different. *nods wisely*

So, being the sensible sort of woman that she is, Mrs Claus, when finding out about her husband's infidelity, will, and quite rightly I might add, divorce Santa faster than you can say Jingle Bells. It's a foregone conclusion, obviously.

That will never do!

So listen up Kid With The Mother Who Brazenly Snogs Santa - don't sing about it! Or write a book about it! Or make a movie about it! Leave well alone! Think of poor Mrs Claus, she doesn't deserve this! And your 'mommy' could certainly do better than an old lecher who eats all of the pies! Got it? Got it? Next time you see mommy smooching with an old man with a white beard**, pull them apart, damn it! Avoid a catastrophe! Save Christmas!!

** a) If white-bearded old man is Gandalf of Middle Earth, turn a blind eye. The poor man hasn't seen any action in centuries, and isn't married either. Give the poor man a break.

     b) If white-bearded man is Albus Dumbledore of Potterverse, then I wouldn't worry at all. He's definitely not married, plus I have it on good authority that he usually only kisses men with the initials G.G. If he's kissing your mom/mum, it's obviously a dare of some kind (unless her name is Georgie Glewbadoo, is your adoptive mother, and used to be a man, in which case your problems are only just beginning, and would actually be quite a good basis for a song/book/movie title now that I think about it).

And that's my advice this Christmas Eve. I'm going now. And don't forget, no kissing the old man in the red suit!!

I was only going to....

I think - and as I type this I am mentally crossing my fingers - I might actually be able to sit down long enough to type something. This is the fourth time today that I have attempted to update my blog. *rolls eyes* I've managed to get online a few times today, but each time was for about five minutes and I could do little more that 'like' a couple of friends' Facebook status messages. Okay, so I had a couple of games of Bejeweled too, but that was simply because there is a way to, ehm, tweak *coughs* the scores and I thought it might be funny to have a huge score, plus it only takes a couple of minutes. Anywho....

We have been snowed in here in the Kair of Diff. Well, mostly iced in if I am being truthful, but you know what I mean. Everyone has been panic buying milk, bread and vegetables, and there have been more than the usual amount of sirens blaring in the last couple of days owing to people slipping and sliding all over the place. Not good. Thankfully there hasn't been any major traffic accidents as far as I am aware, and I hope it stays that way.

Back to what I was saying before, this is the fourth time today that I have tried to blog. I had a 'spare' half an hour earlier (well, not exactly spare, but it was when hubby had popped out so it was a rare opportunity to nab the PC). Anywho, I thought I would blog, but I wanted to quickly check my emails and Facebook page in case anyone had left me a message (as you do). My step-daughter was online and I quickly grabbed the chance to ask her when she was calling for her Christmas presents. She has a phone, but I didn't have her new number (she changes her mobile about as often as I play Bejeweled. In other words, frequently).

Anyway (Lordy, I'm digressing today), I ended up chatting to her for a while (as you do) and we arranged for her to visit today. By the time we'd finished fixing times and lifts here and back home, hubby was home, so no blogging for me.

When she arrived she decided to pop down her nan's house as well as her bampy's house, so I thought - right! Time to blog! I decided to make a nice cup of tea to warm me up, and while I waited for the kettle to boil I started clearing up from the huge cooked breakfast that I had made earlier. I was only going to rinse the plates and stack them ready for washing up later on in the day, but once I started, I ended up cleaning the whole kitchen. By the time I poured my tea, hubby and step-daughter were back. Strike two.

I popped to the library to stock up on more books (these internet-free evenings are KILLING me), and grabbed the last quart of milk and two loaves of bread from the corner shop. Yay! I thought, no need to go out tomorrow! Of course, I almost broke my neck about five times walking up the hill back to my house (one step forward, three slips back), but I made it home safely, thank goodness. I made a well-earned cup of tea and grabbed a book to leaf through while the hubby played poker on Facebook.

Then hubby decided to go out, and I thought yes! This time I can DEFINITELY blog! Wahoo!!

*shifty*

I dutifully made the kids their tea at 5.45pm, only if you look at the time on this post (if you are in Britain, that is) you will notice that 5.45pm was well over two hours ago. I only went out the kitchen to prepare tea, but seeing as I had already cooked stuff earlier on, it was only a question of re-heating it and serving it up. I ended up changing bedding and putting the nth load of washing on, changing the chip pan oil (and all the cleaning that this job entails), bringing the hoard of Christmas goodies from my bedroom and finding homes for them in my already well-stocked kitchen cupboards, and just generally sorting things out.  I only went to get the kids their tea for crying out loud!! It wasn't as if I WANTED to do these things, I just became this robot that kept finding things to do. *scratches head in robot fashion*

Anywho, these are the perils of a procrastinator. Every day I have a 'I was only going to...' moment, and I swear they are never intentional, they just happen. What's makes it odd is that these moments are often linked to jobs that I absolutely HATE doing (*glares at chip pan*).

So that was my day, and I bet tomorrow will be just the same. I'm hoping to get online tomorrow evening, but if I don't, I'd like to wish everyone a fantastic Christmas, and I'd also like to say a great big THANK YOU to those of you have visited my crazy blog and been kind enough to read and comment on it.

Ellie-Belly's Birthday

Yes, I've already blogged today, but seeing as I am already ten blogs short this month, an extra ramble makes me feel a little better about neglecting my blogging duties.

You all probably know (I've mentioned it almost as much as my daughter lately *snort*) that my little girl was a birthday girl today. I look at her and I can't believe she is already eight years old. It truly is scary watching your kids grow up.

I've just finished clearing up after a pizza and movie extravaganza. *dies* Ellie only invited three friends (all girls), but with my house being as small as it is, and with the amount of screeching that was going on, it felt like I had at least twenty kids here.

My son, being wise, went to his friend's house. Unfortunately, this resulted in a police visit because he managed to get himself beaten up INSIDE his friend's house.  A couple of kids barged into the house when the sister opened the door and attacked both my son and his friend. Honestly, I just can't believe his luck (I will have to blog about my run-ins with the police over the last year sometime soon, now that I think about it). Thankfully, my son wasn't injured, which was a relief, obviously. He's pretty shaken up though.

Anyway, this is supposed to be a birthday blog, so....

As well as the son escaping the screeching girls, the hubby also managed to avoid a headache. First he took advantage of my son's empty bedroom and played poker for a while, then he went to the pub. *rolls eyes* Honestly, men just can't cope with kids' parties at all. Okay, I can't cope much better, but seeing as I was supervising, I couldn't exactly pop to the pub. Bah humbug.

Pizza was dutifully ordered and demolished in about ten minutes accordingly (though I craftily stashed a pizza in the kitchen so that me and the hubby can have a munch later on *winks*). Sweetie things were brought out and devoured in as little time as the pizza, and birthday cake was presented (along with my burned thumb *shifty*).

Among the presents were two pairs of ugg boots (ooooh, wicked, mum!), a recorder with a how-to-play CD and book to match (must remember to strangle auntie Julia when I next see her), sparkly bracelets, a posh handbag and purse, and the complete series of Charmed (which caused screeching of a window-breaking nature).

The girls watched the Hannah Montana movie on the big TV, and when I say watched, I actually mean they ran around my tiny living room, stomped along to the stomping song (don't know what it's called), used my sofas as trampolines, and frightened the cat to within an inch of her ninth life.

Thankfully I have a quiet house now. My boy is safely home and having a munch in his bedroom, and my girl is watching the first episode of Charmed. They will both be in bed shortly, and I plan on eating my share of pizza and putting my feet up. *sighs blissfully*

Oh, and did I mention that it snowed today too? Quite apart from everything else, I am truly thankful that I didn't break my neck walking up and down my street today. I live on a hill, you see, and a twisty one at that. We're due more snow overnight so I could well be housebound tomorrow. Still, at least it will be a quiet day, unlike the one I had today....


Happy birthday Ellie-Belly!!

Thank You

Dear Amber,

It's your sister's birthday today. Believe it or not, she's eight. I can't believe how fast the time has flown. You would have been approaching your tenth birthday if you were still here. We probably would have been discussing the plans for the party, what you would wear, and how you would style your hair, just as I have done with your sister. I'm pretty sure you would have had long blond hair too, and I bet it would have had that little kink to it, making it curl slightly at the ends.

Would your eyes have been blue like your brother, or brown like your sister? Either way, they would have been sparking with the Smith mischief, without a doubt. Sometimes I wonder what your personality would have been like, but I've always been convinced that you would have been as stubborn as me, just like your brother and sister are. You'd have inherited your father's sense of humour too.

I wanted to say thank you. I carried you for such a short time, and we never had the chance to get to know each other, but you're with me every day. I couldn't give you the promise of birthdays to look forward too,  I couldn't give you kisses and hugs every morning.  Your brother gave you your name in lieu of sibling rivalry, and I gave you my name too, so that we would always have something to share. It wasn't anywhere near what I wanted to give you, but it was all I had.

You gave me Ellie. Without you, I wouldn't have a daughter celebrating her birthday today. Without you, I wouldn't have a little girl who brings joy and exasperation in equal measures. Your tiny shot at life may have only lasted a few months, but those months paved the way to my family being complete.

So as I celebrate your sister's birthday today, always remember that I am thinking of you too, just as I think of you every day. Your footprints are displayed just as proudly as the pictures of your brother and sister, and your name is never far from my mind. Thank you for completing my family.

Love Mum xxx

In memory of my first daughter, Amber Marie Smith, who was born on September 26th 1999, and taken from us the very same day.

When I grow up, I want to be....

After a sticky weekend so far (daughter had nasty stomach bug, so when I say 'sticky', I mean it literally), it was nice to get up this morning to a child that was happy and smiley (and also hopping with excitement due to her birthday tomorrow, not to mention Christmas). My almost-but-not-quite eight year old was babbling ten to the dozen about this, that, and everything in between.

Now usually, Ellie and babbling equals plenty of nods and 'yes, dears' and not much else, but this morning we had a fairly serious discussion which, for once, didn't include hairstyles, heeled boots and lip gloss (in case you were unsure, the hairstyles, heeled boots and lip gloss are my daughter's favorite topics of conversation, not mine). Anywho, while we were talking about birthday and Christmas stuff in general, my girl suddenly came out with the following:


"When I grow up, I want to be either a teacher, a spy, or a fashion designer."

Now, that might make a few people go 'aw, bless' or some such thing, but I was actually quite impressed that she has apparently progressed from the 'when I grow up I want to be a princess or a pop star' ambitions. The likelihood of my daughter marrying into royalty is zero, and while she loves to sing, her enthusiasm is only surpassed by her lack of tone, so pop stardom is out too (though, having said that, most pop stars lip sync nowadays don't they, so maybe that should be listed as a possibility).

A teacher? Now, that can only be a good thing. She's intelligent, way ahead of her peers, loves telling people what to do, and enjoys marking her brother's homework, She could definitely become a teacher. A spy is maybe not so easily achievable, but still possible. She's definitely got the whole sneaky side of things covered at any rate. Okay, a spy may be a dubious dream, but it is definitely far more realistic than a princess.

Of course, the favoured choice of career is the fashion designer. I don't know whether it's a generation thing (which makes me feel really old, by the way), but when I was eight I had absolutely no idea what was fashionable and what wasn't (I probably still don't, actually). But Ellie is very firm when it comes to what she likes and doesn't like. Thankfully she has to wear school uniform, or heaven knows how much money I'd have to spend on clothes. Her outfits are perfectly colour-co-ordinated, and she point-blank refuses to wear certain things if they make her look 'silly'. Honestly, if she could have seen what I wore when I was her age, she would have disowned me.

My son, on the other hand, is both very vague on what he wants to do, but also specific. He definitely wants to work on films, but that could be anything from being an actor, a stunt man, or even a director. He's always been a film nut, and he zeroed in on all of the film and media courses that are available for him to study next year for his G.C.S.E.'s. I'm just thankful that his fabulous new school has the facilities to offer these kinds of courses, with the added bonus that several of them are assessed by coursework and practical exams.  I'm pretty sure he'll sail through most of the courses, especially because he'll get to make a short film in one of them, and study disaster movies in another. Honestly, these courses could not be more perfect for him, and I'm really pleased that he can study something that is both fun and catered to help him achieve his dream of working in the film business.

And me? When I was seriously picking my career options, I wanted to be a nursery teacher first, and work in the advertising world second. I've always loved making up slogans and just basically messing around with words, and little kids have always been a weakness with me too. Of course, I dropped out of school during the first term of the sixth form (year 12 as it is now), and have only ever worked as a sales assistant, but do you know what, I'm almost glad that I did drop out. Working with the public on and off for 15 years has meant that I have probably interacted with every type of person on the planet. It's these different personalities that help me when it comes to writing. I may not remember people's names, or even base a character on a particular person, but from observing lots of weird and wonderful people over the years, I have received an education that isn't provided in any school in the world. I'm not educated in the true sense of the word, but I'm world-wise, and when it comes to writing novels, that can only be a good thing.

So, what about you? When you were young and innocent, what did YOU want to be?