Natural Born Worrier

My name is Jen and I am a worrier.  There, I've said it.  There's nothing I won't worry about - the house, our finances, health, politics, global economics, the fact that some people are still racist and/or homophobic in this day and age...  Mostly, I worry about my family.  The children, specifically; that's my default mode and can fill many moments that would have otherwise been spent happily relaxing.  Do I read to them enough?  Should they really watch television at all?  Do they exercise adequately?  Should they be partaking in so many extra-curricular activities...or should they be signed up to more?

Endless, really, once you start thinking about it.

And, usually, there's no point to it.  It doesn't change anything.  We don't have more money simply because I have devoted hours of my life to fretting about the omnipresent minus symbol in front of our bank balance.  The children are still healthy, sparklingly intelligent, energetic little beauties whether I act upon my anxieties regarding them, or not.  And the country is still full of arseholes whose belief that they are better than others simply because they live in a slightly different way is, frankly, startling.

Recently, though, there has been another worry added to the list, and this one is edging towards the top of the pile - the place where it will be addressed.  What, exactly, are we feeding our children (and ourselves)?  And when should we start to make changes?

Hubby thinks now, and, though rather more dubious at first, am now inclined to agree.  I wouldn't be so bothered about my children eating horse meat if that's what I had intended to feed them.  Same goes for any other animal that may subsequently be discovered within an otherwise harmless-looking sausage or chicken nugget.  Now that I have doubts, I feel the need to act on them in some way.  There is no way I could be privy to the information that has come to light in recent weeks and not come to the conclusion that I should alter the diet of my children, slightly.

I'm not talking about forcing veganism upon them.  In the first instance, I'm thinking along the lines of simply increasing the number of vegetarian meals we eat each week.  Rather than my root vegetable curry or roasted veg lasagne once a week, maybe it would benefit us all to eat only vegetarian meals during the week and reduce the meat to a good quality roast at the weekend.

According to just about every piece of research available, it would certainly be far healthier than consuming a lot of animal product; it's also a hell of a lot more economical.  And there's no mistaking a carrot, of course, whereas with a burger or sausage.... well, you know the rest.

Dad

I've been lost for words on the blogging front recently, the space in my head filled with the return of my husband and the father of my children.  Their beloved Daddy.

I never knew my Dad.  I have no memory of him, none at all.  The closest thing I have is the memory of my mother talking about him, occasionally.  The above photo is one of three or four I own, taken during a one-off meeting in the summer of 1988.  I think I took them from an album of my mum's when I was 11 or 12.  At the time when I first ever really thought about his existence.  Unfortunately, by that point, the chances of us ever meeting again were zero.  He apparently died in 1996, when I was nine.  I have a vague recollection of my mother being told the news two years later, by my stepfather.  She cried for a while.

Anyway, a proper meeting was never to be and his parents were apparently uninterested in seeing me.  I visited his grave when I was 18, left a flower.  I didn't really know how to feel.  How can you miss someone you didn't know?  Even when you know you're a part of them, it is hard to feel much for them.  What did upset me was not the thought that I hadn't known him but the thought that I never would.  There was no future relationship to look forward to, there was just nothing.  I will never know if he thought of me during my life and if he did, what had kept him from getting in touch.  That is what is difficult now.  The not knowing.

The lack of knowledge about my own father has done one good thing, though.  It has helped me to find an excellent father for my children; the very best.  It is such an important relationship to me, I encourage it at all times.  During his recent absence, I have spoken to my children daily about their father and helped them to do the same.  They send him videos and photos, they draw for him and, above all, they miss him.  I look at them and know that they are adored by their Daddy, and it helps.  It helps to know that something that caused me pain will not be an issue for my children.  They will have the memories, millions of them, as well as the photos.  They will know that their Daddy thought of them every day of their lives and that they always have been and always will be the most important people in his life.

My children have an amazing father, and I cannot wait to have him home.

Jasmine - 2012 in pictures

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

September

August

October

December

November

Plans

I like to make plans.  And lists.  Always with the lists.  However, I often find myself agreeing with the above sentiment.  Life does seem to have a way of noticing your plans then raising the game.  I've had many plans; every time, life has surprised me with an interesting alternative.

I planned to finish my exams, go to Uni, train to be a teacher.

In reality, I dropped out, floundered for a bit, then met my future husband.

I planned to travel.

In reality, I became a mother.  I can't thank life enough for interrupting this plan.

I planned to complete my OU degree in social work.

In reality, I found myself looking to adopt a baby, which gave me huge, invaluable insight into the future I was working so hard to achieve.  I quickly realised it was not the job for me.

I planned to spend my earnings on driving lessons.

In reality, after a few short lessons, I found out I was expecting my son; a discovery which cost me both my job and my lessons.  I count my boy-shaped blessings every day on this one.

There are further examples, but I think I've made my point.

There are still many, many things I would like to do.  Study, travel, decorate, save, progress, attain, provide, write.  I no longer plan to do them, though.  I have no doubt that I WILL do them, but I find detailed plans too restrictive and, when they inevitably change, disappointing.

This year, my plan is larger, yet less specific.  I plan to build a safe, secure and HAPPY life for my children; whatever that entails, wherever it takes us.  As a family, we have big ideas for the future, but no concrete plans.  We have learnt to accept, nay expect, that life will throw us the biggest challenges when we're not looking for them.  And, this year, we're fully-armed and prepared for whatever happens to be just around the corner. 

Sick

Today, Sonny has been poorly.  He was hot, white and weak as a kitten (though not our kitten, who is as strong as an ox.  A very hyperactive ox).  After numerous vomiting episodes and two hours of painstakingly pouring teaspoons of water into him, he perked up.  So much so that he even tried a smile for the above photo.  Since then, he has asked for food and water, constantly; begged me for chocolate cake.  Currently, he is wandering around in his pyjamas, playing with his beloved trains.  A far cry from the child who couldn't find the energy to lift his head off the sofa 8 hours ago.

Fingers crossed he is over the worse and suffers no relapse.