Stress Relief Baking

Today was a long day, with so much piano playing my fingers literally ache, particularly the end joints of my little fingers.  I played one hideous piano that really needs to be put out of it's misery and one beautiful piano that I would be happy to play all day every day (and that is saying something!)

But post adrenaline highs require copious amounts of food, so I had to go home via the supermarket for more twiglets and peanut butter.  Although I am still not eating chocolate I did have to look.  It is Easter after all and while I don't like the idea of celebrating the torture of an individual for his beliefs, the fact that his girlfriend was so grief stricken she thought she saw him after his death and grave robbery, I do like chocolate.  Chocolate takes on a life of it's own at Easter.  There are Creme Eggs, Caramel eggs, sheep, bunnies and chicks and now there are miniature versions of these things.  Easter cupcakes were always made in our house with Cadbury's Mini Eggs but when I discovered miniature Creme Eggs and miniature Malteser Bunnies I just had to buy some and do some stress relief baking.

I made mocha cupcakes with a mocha icing and placed my chocolate purchases on the top followed by a sprinkle of edible glitter.

The only problem is that we are all trying to eat less cake, I'm not eating chocolate so I'll have to take them into work tomorrow, which wouldn't be a problem if I hadn't only made thirteen.  There will be a bun-fight.

Move over Kevin, there's a new teenager in town.

I have turned into a teenager.  A parody of every comedy teenager there has ever been, on the history of the planet, ever, so there!

First there was the existential angst.  Then there was the refusal to clear up my stuff, "Why should I? I'll need it tomorrow.  If it bothers you that much you  do it!"

 Then today I had a full blown diva-strop.  With my Dad's voice ringing in my ears, "A bad workman blames their tools,"  I stomped around thinking, "I don't care.  I am a bad pianist I need the stuff to actually work.  I can make a pigs ear out of a sows purse, so if you give me a pigs ear you might just get half a trotter!"  I fumed and flounced and finally left the building muttering, "I'm going home. I don't need this!"  I didn't go home I tried to pull myself together and grow up a bit (not very successfully).

Afterwards, I went to the library and walked up and down the High Street looking for something to buy to make myself feel better, which would have been more effective with someone else's money  but I was determined to buy something that said, "You're worth it," and I don't mean shampoo.  Chocolate is still off limits because of my stupid voice, which is just stupid, stupid, stupid.  All the clothes shops had Summer stuff in, shoe shops were full of sandals and everything was designed for the 50 year old middle class woman. Then I met my daughter for a coffee, one shop was full, the other didn't have what I wanted on the menu so I said we would try a new one.  My indecision was beginning to annoy.  We sat down and ordered and after a while they came back to say the Lemon Drizzle Cake was off.  I huffed and puffed and chose again.  When the order arrived my peppermint tea was served in a bone china teapot, with cup and saucer and MILK!  Honestly, who has milk with peppermint tea? After a while I said, "I don't think I like it here."  My daughter shushed me, "Mum, you're being embarrassing " but I continued, "Actually, I'm too young for this whole stupid town.  I don't want to drink out of stupid china teacups, I don't want to wear dash tracksuits and comfortable sandals, I don't want large-print or audio books from the library.  There's nothing to do.  This place is so BORING.  I can't wait till I'm old enough to leave home!"

To anyone who had to deal with Julia the Teenager today I apologise - it's probably a phase.

Existential Angst

It's not the first time I have suffered from existential angst, that feeling where you can't see the point of anything. This time it has been triggered by terrible weather (Yes, I am that shallow and that's probably part of the problem), being stuck to the sofa, reading too much and having reached an age where nothing new seems to happen.

The first time was a classic.  I was about 15and my life was an endless round of uninspiring lessons, exams and pointlessness.  I wasn't a very sociable 15 year old, I didn't have a boyfriend and spent a lot of time looking out of my bedroom window at rain, listening to the charts, the Hairy Eyeball Show on the local radio station and writing to Terry Wogan about traffic cones and magpies. Margret`Thatcher was the prime minister, we were in global recession and constantly told in every assembly that there were no such things as good jobs for us and that we would have to retire before we were 50 (hahahaha). We were living with the spectre of a nuclear war, leaflets called Protect and Survive were delivered through letterboxes, advising us to hide under tables and stock up on tinned food.  A house I walked past on the way to school had begun to build a proper nuclear bunker.  I read too much. PE lessons, lunch and break were spent in the library, where I would work my way through the newspapers, the beano, New Scientist and Good Housekeeping magazine (the beginnings of an ecclectic taste). After a few years of this Raymond Briggs brought out his wonderful cartoon book and I was devouring all the dystopian fiction I could find. I didn't go on any CND marches because I believed the propoganda that your name would be on record for ever after and I already thought there was no hope of getting a job.

There was another serious episode before I had children when I was working in a bank but I think working in a bank will do that to a person.

This morning I woke early and sat in bed reading twitter and online newspapers and when I couldn't take it any more I started reading The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.  This was a mistake, to read a book about a bunch of teenagers with terminal cancer didn't lift me.  As I read, I realised that the world is in crisis again and it struck me that life really is about ever decreasing circles.  

I read about the History curriculum and Michael Gove's insistance that every academic who disagreed with him on the subject was a 'Marxist living on Planet Red'.  Then I started to get the old eighties paranoia again as I realised I would be on the 'people to round up and shoot come the revolution list' because I had googled Marxist parties in the UK. My reason for this search was that I believe Mr Gove to be deluded.  If all these top academics were Marxists then I would have surely heard of a Marxist party in the UK and I hadn't.  In fact I can't find one on the internet.  There is a Communist party of Britain, who fielded a total of 6 candidates in the 2005 election and has approximately 900 members, although their ideology is largely Stalinist.  Personally, I think History isn't a linear subject, it's a spiral (ever decreasing circles).  The reason existential angst doesn't happen until teenage years is because before then it is impossible to reaslise that you've heard it all before.  Children must relate all history to themselves, without this ego-centric view it won't make any sense to them.  It's only when you reach an age where you've seen it all several times before that you can truly appreciate history for what it is. Michael Gove also claims that people are against his History curriculum because 'learning the facts about a war might, God forbid, make them grow up to vote conservative.'  No wonder he wants to change it, if he thinks it would have that much influence.  Most people I know are against the History curriculum because they think children will find it boring and no one learns anything when they're bored. I didn't like History at school, the corn laws, colouring in a map of the world with lots of pink to show the empire and the poem for the Kings and Queens just didn't really interest me.  When I grew up I found History novels (more importantly Her-story novels) and museums that told me about the people and how we could learn from what has happened before, maybe but only if we are very clever and most of us appear not to be. 

Willie, Willie, Harry, Stee,
Harry, Dick, John, Harry Three,
One-To-Three Neds, Richard Two,
Harrys Four-Five-Six... then who?
Edwards Four-Five, Dick the bad
Harrys (twain), Ned Six (the lad),
Mary, Bessie, James the Ken
Then Charlie, Charlie, James again...
Will & Mary, Anne of gloria,
Georges ( 4! ), Will Four, Victoria,
Edward Seven next, and then
Came George the Fifth in 1910...
Ned the Eighth soon abdicated,
So George Six was coronated,
Then Number Two Elizabeth...
And that's all, folks (until her death...)!!

 I'm just grateful that he doesn't think that the music curriculum can change voting behaviour.  

I also read the sad story of Lucy Meadows.  Her life destroyed.  Speculation that it was caused by the press who were determined to get a story, a photo, a quote.  They followed her, went through her bins, tried to pay family friends and enemies for a negative view and apparently refused to publish anything nice.  This doesn't surprise me.  Her life is a story that interests people and unfortunately people don't really want to read nice.  Nice is boring.  I have just finished reading The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and it struck me that even the unremarkable could suddenly find themselves the subject of a story the press are interested in.  Post-Leveson nothing seems to have changed for ordinary people who suddenly find themselves at the centre of something that is totally out of their control.  I do not want Press regulation and I do not think Richard Littlejohn (who wrote a negative piece about her in the Mail) should be sacked.  It would be nice if they followed the code of conduct they already had but it seems to me that most of the distress is caused by so many people trying to 'get the story'. And there are more of those people around.  I was reading about bloggers who do not have to follow a code of conduct or abide by any laws.  These bloggers are not like me.  They are not silly women who write down their life and opinions, who wouldn't dream of contacting anyone for a story, but are people who masquerade as journalists.  People follow them and their views change people's opinions.  I was listening to Guido Fawkes on the radio who said that no one could prosecute him anyway because his site wasn't even registered in the UK.

In the acknowledgements of John Green's book he says that his book isn't about real people and that we should be happy to appreciate made up stories. He is right, His-story, Her-story, My-story, Your-story, they are all important.  So I have a plan that I hope all my friends and family will help me with if the press ever get interested in my boring life.  I want everyone I know to sell stories about me.  I want them to make things up, to make me more interesting than I am.  The more money they are offered the wilder and nastier the story should be.  I wouldn't deny any of it.  Photo-shopped pictures should be sold for exorbitant amounts and then we could all have a laugh.  People should ring me up and have bizarre conversations and leave odd items in my bin for me.  Then I could ignore all of it and get on with my life.

I hope the weather improves soon, so that this existential angst can lift and I can go back to blogging about cupcakes, knitting and planting potatoes.

Stuck to the Sofa

That's all I have to say.

It's cold, it's dark, it's wet and even the dog doesn't want to go for a walk and I am stuck to the sofa.
I've watched 2 films. Played silly games on the computer and looked out of the window at the grey sky, wondering if there will be any chance of growing anything this year.

Good Friday is the day when you should plant your potatoes but it's still snowing and the allotment isn't even fully dug.  Even if it wasn't snowing I still wouldn't be digging it because I'm stuck to the sofa.  Even though I need a wee and really must do some piano practice (so that Les doesn't arrive at the Church next week) I can't move.  I'm stuck.

The Long Suffering Husband has tried to help.  He's put his i-pod on full blast.  Even Basshunter and Nirvana at full blast can't untstick me from this sitting position.  The kids (the biggest arrived back from Uni yesterday, with a surprisingly small amount of washing) are not even making me move when I think I hear them arguing upstairs.  I'm just stuck.

I would read my book but it's upstairs and I'm here on the seatee, my rear firmly wedged into the dent that has been carefully cultivated over the years of sitting on it.  I would do the knitting that I can see on the other side of the room but it is there and I am here.

I'm sitting here, superglued in position wondering what would make me get up and I think, "Is it too early to go to bed?" Or maybe this article would do it:  Fat woman dies stuck to the sofa - The Sun

Enthusiastic Gardeners Bite Dirt Frequently

It has been a week of mnemonics.  Those silly rhymes you were taught to help you remember things.  My head is full of them, so full that I sometimes wonder if I had just learnt the things I was trying to remember, rather than all these rhymes then I might have more room in my head and wouldn't have to keep looking for my keys in the fridge.

I have lots in my head for spelling things. There is one about elephants that I can't quite remember to help me spell because. I can work it out because I know how to spell because but was it the rhyme that helped me learn the spelling or the spelling that helped me learn the rhyme.  I do find that Rhythm Helps Your Two Hips Move helps me to spell rhythm - especially when writing it on the whiteboard.  I don't know if proper teachers have the same problem but I find I can spell perfectly well until I have to write something on a white board in front of children.

This week I sang the 9 little planets song with EYFS.  It all goes along nicely, "one little, two little, three little planets, four little, five little, six little planets, seven little, eight little, nine little planets, orbiting around the sun. Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars.  Next comes......" Oh dear, what does come next?  I scuttle back to a mnemonic.  My Very Enthusiastic Mother Just Set Up Nine Planets but while I'm doing that some very clever small child informs me that there aren't 9 planets any more because Pluto doesn't count any more because it's a dwarf planet.  I think that that it a bit politically incorrect, surely dwarves are planets too!

Then I was teaching year 3 and 4 how to read music.  Musicians have always used a mnemonic to remember the names of the lines of the treble clef.  I told the children that when I was learning I was told Every Good Boy Deserves Fruit but the boys in my orchestra changed it to football because they said that fruit wasn't really a treat.  My daughter was taught, 'Every Green Bus Drives Fast' and my particular favourite was ' Every Green Boagy Deserves Flicking.' Obviously, this is the one they will remember and go and tell their parents it's all my fault when they flick a particularly juicy green piece of snot across the dinner table.  They were so thrilled at the idea of naming the lines of the stave they decided to make some up for themselves.

Here are a few:

Evil Goats Bump Dirty Farmers

Every Gross Boy Does Farts

Every Good Boy Decides Forhimself

While I was at the allotment this morning I tried to remind myself that singing and digging do not go well together. "Keep your mouth shut when digging," I spat through a mouthful of mud, instantly coming up with a new mnemonic for remembering the notes on the lines of the treble clef.  "Enthusiastic Gardeners Bite Dirt Frequently!"

I love my job

At this time I would normally have snoozed my way through the end of a murder mystery and a couple of news programmes and would be fast asleep until at least 4am but I just wanted to tell everyone how much I love my job.  I may be an extra large bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut, giving up Sundays; evenings; days off but it's worth it.

Tonight was the final of the music competition at the local senior school.  My school band turned out in force, looking smart, shiny and tiny.  I was so proud that I could burst.  I'm pleased to say that I think the right people won the big prizes.  I was especially proud to see a prize for musical co-operation given for the first time this year in my daughter's name.

I also get to work with the funniest, nuttiest kids around.  A child told me in their lesson this evening that their great nan had died and that she is going to donate her organs to her.  I was a bit confused until she told me that it was because she's the only musical one in the family.  I know it's not right to laugh when someone tells you a close relative has died but all musicians love a good organ joke.

Please remind me of this when I'm feeling stressed and irritable tomorrow morning.  I haven't eaten, haven't done all the paperwork I needed to do, will still be awake at 4am and am the mother to a teenage boy and a wife to a Long Suffering Husband, who thinks he is coming down with man-flu.

Mother's Day

Something you never see on Father's Day is men updating their Facebook status, "I feel so spoilt, so lucky for the bag of peanuts and box of nails the children bought me and the cup of tea in bed."  Maybe that's because they don't get those things and that Mother's Day is more celebrated than Father's Day but I suspect that Daddies don't have to be demure, they are allowed to demand a cup of tea in bed and a bag of peanuts from their children once a year.

Don't get me wrong I love my children and am grateful for their gifts, my daughter sent me the best Mother's Day Card I've ever seen, my son bought flowers, chocolate and a book token and I appreciate the effort the Long Suffering Husband went to when they were small to make sure that I felt special for one day. However, it does feel as though there is a double standard at play here.

This Mother's Day I am watching Made in Dagenham with my son.  I told him that it is every feminist's duty to make their sons watch this film, so they understand some history.  His shocked reply, "Are you a feminist?" was swiftly followed by, "Not one of those nutty ones though?"  I told him that I was one of those nutty ones, so he asked the definition of a feminist and when I told him that it was someone who wanted equality for men and women he said, "Well then I'm a feminist too!"  I am so proud of him.  The women of Ford Motor Company in 1968 were astoundingly brave and started something that all women should be grateful for but that is only the beginning of the story.  Without them there would have been no Equal Pay Act of 1970 but they didn't win equal pay for themselves.  Their work was still allowed to be classed as unskilled and therefore their renumeration be lower than for other semi-skilled workers.  If a man had joined the machinists then he couldn't be paid more but that was a slim victory and it took until 1984 and another strike until they were graded fairly and given working conditions that the men would consider working in.

Barbara Castle and the Dagenham Ford women workers

Yesterday morning a news programme was discussing a new book called Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg, who is an executive at Facebook.  The vitriol for this woman from other women was terrifying.  What had she done wrong?  Her book is due to be published in the States tomorrow and I was really surprised at the hatred of her when I read about some of her ideas.  She wants to push the glass ceiling, she wants women to be allowed to run companies, she wants equality.  She says, "I believe the world would be a better place if half the companies and half the countries were run by women and half the homes were run by men."  When she worked for Google she demanded priority parking for pregnant women (and got it!)  The women on the news programme were saying things like, "It's alright for her, with all her money and privilege."  Although, I will not be able to get a copy of the book for some time I did manage to find some really good reviews on the internet.  This link was particularly useful if you want to read more for yourself.

http://blogs.wsj.com/atwork/2013/03/08/lean-in-read-on-21-perspectives-on-sheryl-sandbergs-book/

It does worry me that women are damned, whatever choices they make.  If they choose not to have children they are hard, unfeeling, unnatural.  If they have children and no career they are wasting their education, intelligence, life.  If they try to do both, they are either neglecting their children or their work.  And it's often women who are making these judgements. One of the articles in the above link talks about a study where students were given a real life case study of a woman called Heidi, who became a successful venture capitalist by using her "outgoing personality and vast personal and professional network."  Half of the students were given the case study with Heidi's name changed to Howard.  They all agreed that Heidi and Howard were equally capable but they really didn't like Heidi.  A woman who is successful is unlikable.  Isn't that sad?

When I was listening to the BBC news programme I was struck by the description of how Sheryl Sandberg wasn't a workaholic of how she left work at 5.30 to spend time with her children.  Of course, she started working again as soon as they were in bed.  She also didn't get into the office until 8am.  Then they said that she could only do that because she was relying on everyone else.  Her personal assistant gets into the office at 4am.   

Am I the only person who thinks that nobody should be working that much?  No one should get to work at 4am.  If people need to work those kind of hours then the company needs to employ more people to do the job.  I wonder if this rise in work hours may be the fault of women trying to push their way to the top.  Sheryl Sandberg encourages women not to take their foot off the brake before they have children.  She tells them to push to get as high as they can before they have a family.  I felt guilty as I read this.  I didn't take all the opportunities that were available to climb the career ladder partly because I knew I wanted to have children.  Mind you, I also hated the jobs I had and wasn't interested in the career paths being offered.  The woman in LSH's office (and yes I believe she might be the only one) works longer hours than any of the male engineers.  I wonder if she feels as though she still has to be better or work harder than any of the men to make progress in her career and she might be right.

It is true that women are still penalised for having children.  They might have  very successful careers but taking time off to have children changes everything. I know women who have been made redundant when they became pregnant and although some won tribunals for unfair dismissal it certainly changed their career path.  Others were not brave enough to fight and some gained a reputation as a trouble maker.  I know other women who choose to return to work part-time or at a job with a lower salary and less pressure while their children are small, who find that when their children are old enough and they apply for jobs at their old level of responsibility  they are passed over for younger, cheaper or less female people.  It is always impossible to argue that they have been unfairly treated but, well we all know they have, don't we?  

What I like about Sheryl Sandberg is that she recognises that there are different women.  She suggests that women should become authentic at work.  They should cry at work if they need to and they should say what they think.  I agree with her.  Not every woman wants to run a country or a company.  

This could be a radical idea but maybe we should stop celebrating Mother's or Father's Day and make every day parent's day.  Maybe it's time to recognise that looking after your own children is a worthwhile and rewarding thing to do, that it should be taken into account by employers when interviewing women who would like to work again, post-childbirth.   Then maybe, there would be a better balance in the workplace.  Men would also feel they could take time to look after their children.  Wouldn't it be nice if there really was equality?