I feel it’s ok to mention the ‘c’ word now….Christmas! This time next month it will be over or even this day four weeks, the turkey will almost certainly be looking more like sandwich meat rather than a hot dinner. Which reminds me, I must make stuffing balls this year again as they make a tasty addition to leftovers.

Not that I am wishing it away, don’t get me wrong. I am just pacing myself. November brought a week of swine flu hand a week of bad weather and this has been a great distraction. We actually avoided both of these threats in our house but none the less they were a concern and also were a great talking point. And lest I get too confident, I will ‘touch wood’ just to protect us all from either of these two disasters.

 But for me, what was good about the distraction was that November passed with very little consideration for Christmas and December starts with a greater appreciation for Christmas! This year, I am feeling thankful that we are all healthy and that we have a safe roof over our heads. So, let’s hope I hold onto that thought for the next four weeks and let it help me focus on what’s important. And don’t forget the stuffing balls!

 I’m with you Distracted Mum (28 Oct) re acceptances to invitations as if they’re not a commitment of any sort.  Just plain rude.  You set up a soiree and think you have enough to make it fun, but not so many that you’ve over-invited and not so few that it would be hard work and lo and behold a couple of days before the event someone/people say “oh are you going ahead with that?  I didn’t realise, I can’t come now”   Uggghhhhh. 

 I wondered was it just ME being paranoid.  That perhaps my events aren’t so great, my company not sizzling, ideas lame  . . . “do you think they’ll find us boring” I ask Dear and he looks at me in that quizzical way of his.  I might say that these ideas are all contrary to feedback after I do organise an occasion. 

In my mature wisdom, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not ME it’s THEM.  They are the ones with the immature issues.  They should think themselves lucky to be included in my plans.

Cleaners or Saviours?  Which is the more appropriate term for those wonderful people who come into your house and help you out from time to time with the domestic side of things? 

I returned to part-time work a year ago and enjoy being back out there.  Being me.  Being in a strictly adult environment again.  Using my mind in ways that it hasn’t been used for a long time.  Having pocket money. 

The downside is that I have slowly watched our home crumple into almost-shambles.  Floors weren’t quite as clean, dust everywhere, the new bathroom tiles getting streaky. 

Yes, I am just a teensy bit anal about things being clean and hopefully some sort of tidy. But it had gotten out of control. 

With the job came less time around the house.  The running of cherubs around, the cooking, the washing, the stuff that has to be done or else you can’t really function properly, the social life – all were taken care of – more or less. 

Also, I couldn’t do things I ‘wanted’ to do, you know the less onerous tasks around the house that are a bit of a pleasure to do, because I ‘had’ to do the basic, boring stuff. 

Then I decided that it wasn’t worth me working and then spending the time I had off trying to do everything!  I’m not ashamed to say I’m no modern-day Superwoman.  I don’t want it all – it’s too much to have and cope with.  And you get so tired!

So, I scouted around for someone to help with the domestic chores – yes, a cleaner.  I wanted someone who came with verbal references.  I wanted someone who was reliable and trustworthy.  I wanted someone with my standards.  Impossible you ask?  Well, no. 

I have ended up with not one, but two gorgeous women (sisters) who are friendly, have similar views about cleanliness, I know at least three other people who use them and they’re not monstrously priced.  I was so excited to have them come.  

When we met they kept asking me if I wanted anything else done – it was hard to keep the giggle down.  All I wanted was the basic floors, bathrooms, dusting in obvious spots and then if they had time, the other stuff I didn’t want to do!  Heaven. 

Now, once a fortnight I walk into my home on a Friday afternoon and it smells fresh.  The floors are shining and so are the bathroom tiles.  All horizontal surfaces are gleaming.  Ohhhhh what bliss. 

And the best part?  I have been much more proactive doing those little jobs that got pushed to the back of the pile because there was more important stuff to do.  I feel so much more organised in a much bigger way.  It’s a new kind of freedom – not an indulgence. 

A wise counselor once said to me that the mother is the centre of the universe.  If she’s happy then the universe is happy.  Our little universe in our home is verrry happy at the moment.

Definitely Saviours in my view.

There’s no excuse for speeding. There really isn’t. There is nowhere that you need to be, nothing you need to do, no one that you need to see so urgently that it’s worth risking potentially taking someone’s life for it.

I have a tremendous ability to put myself in a zone where I concentrate entirely on the moment, on getting where I need to be, doing what I need to do, getting to whoever I need to get to without thinking beyond that immediacy. I was a speeder. A very out of control, very determined, very much in denial speeder. I’m not anymore.

I have a friend to thank for saving me from myself. My friend will not let me speed, persists in craning to see the speedometer if there’s any chance that I might be close to exceeding the speed limit and has become my conscience. I have to admit that this constant supervision of my driving really irritated me. But it only irritated me because I knew I was in the wrong. And, as I think I’ve alluded to here before, I hate being proven wrong.

I was on my way home from a football match a few weeks ago. I may or may not have been exceeding the speed limit. I honestly don’t know. My conscience was not in the car with me. And on a very straight, very long stretch of road a cat ran out in front of the car. I couldn’t stop. I pulled in a little bit further on, far enough so that I couldn’t actually see the carnage on the road. I was inconsolable with grief. I love cats. I have two myself. I knew there was no way that the cat could have survived. There was a chilling sense of finality to that bump under my right front wheel. As I looked back in my rear view mirror, I saw a car stop and a gentleman got out and crossed to the centre of the road and knelt down. He went back over to his car and then returned and I really don’t know what he did. Maybe the cat was still alive, maybe he brought it to a vet and it lived. Maybe he was a vet and he took it out of its misery. I hope so.

In any case, that brings me to a blog I wrote a few weeks ago about my absolute favourite book of all time “The Little Prince” by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to read it. It doesn’t really matter. It’s a very beautiful and very poignant microcosm of human relationships. It pares away the bullshit and takes you to the very heart of the subject. It’s childlike in its simplicity. In the way that children tell you things as they are, before they are subjected to all of life’s influences, so too The Little Prince lays it bear before you.

My favourite piece since I was first introduced to it some 20 years ago is the piece on friendship called The Fox.

It was then that the fox appeared. “Good morning” said the fox. “Good morning” the little prince responded politely although when he turned around he saw nothing. “I am right here” the voice said, “under the apple tree.” “Who are you?” asked the little prince, and added, “You are very pretty to look at.” “I am a fox”, the fox said. “Come and play with me,” proposed the little prince, “I am so unhappy.” “I cannot play with you,” the fox said, “I am not tamed.” “Ah please excuse me,”said the little prince. But after some thought, he added: “what does that mean—’tame’?” You do not live here,” said the fox, “what is it you are looking for?” “I am looking for men,” said the little prince. “What does that mean—tame?” “Men,”said the fox, “they have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?” “No,” said the little prince. “I am looking for friends. What does that mean—tame?” “It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. “It means to establish ties.” “To establish ties?” “Just that,” said the fox. “to me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world. . .” “I am beginning to understand,” said the little prince. “There is a flower. . .I think she has tamed me. . .” “It is possible,” said the fox. “On earth one sees all sorts of things.” “Oh but this is not on the earth!” said the little prince. The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious. “On another planet?” “Yes” “Are there hunters on that planet?” “No” “Ah that’s interesting! Are there chickens?” “No” “Nothing is perfect,” sighed the fox. But he came back to his idea. “My life is very monotonous,” he said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat. . .” The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time. “Please—tame me!” he said. “I want to, very much,” the little prince replied. “But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand.” “One only understands the things that one tames,” said the fox. ” Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me. . .” “What must I do, to tame you? asked the little prince. “You must be very patient,” replied the fox. First you will sit down at a little distance from me -like that-in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day…” The next day the little prince came back. “It would have been better to come back at the same hour,” said the fox. “If for example, you came at four o’clock in the afternoon, then at three o’clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o’clock, I shall be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is ready to greet you. . . One must observe the proper rites. . .” “What is a rite?” asked the little prince. “Those also are actions too often neglected,” said the fox. “They are what make one day different from other days, one hour different from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all.” So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near— “Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.” “It is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you. . .” “Yes that is so”, said the fox. “But now you are going to cry!” said the little prince. “Yes that is so” said the fox. “Then it has done you no good at all!” “It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.” And then he added: “go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret.” The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. “You are not at all like my rose,” he said. “As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made a friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”

Two nights ago, I made the same journey home from our final football match of the season. It was a great night. We won. We won’t be relegated. I drove carefully. The approach to the road where I had driven over the cat is a 60kmph zone. I was driving at 50kmph. I know I was because I had been watching. I turned the corner onto that fateful road and advanced down it. Although the speed limit increased, I continued driving slowly. At almost the exact spot where I had been unable to stop weeks previously a most beautiful, large fox stepped off the pavement onto the road. He was completely at ease, unhurried, almost challenging me as he turned to look at the approaching car. I was able to stop easily and watched him saunter nonchalantly across to the far side and mount the pavement.

I do believe I’ve been tamed.

Another old friend that is not on my radar these days is alcohol, would you believe? I gave up drink for a while last year while I was on dietary reform and guess what? I have just not really gone back to it.

At the time it was conscious decision but in hindsight it may be more like a conscious choice. If I did not drink, I felt that I could have a dessert so I am not sure if that approach was in the spirit of the program or not!

Anyway, my personal relationship with alcohol was never very committed. I certainly enjoyed drinking and definitely experienced all those rites of passage associated with same, but that does seem like a long time ago. I can even remember getting drunk on a fiver,  and I was not an underage drinker! Then, when I was working, there was nothing more exciting than a free bar but I can remember always drinking steadily and not being interested in the cocktail list or the last minute banking of bumper drinks just before closing. Saying that, I do remember Mr. Mack working through a full cocktail list with pride on one occasion enjoying the perks of my job obviously!

Thankfully, we both matured and have moved onto finer things and maybe our drinking has become more of a science than an art form. ‘Well darling, this has a good appearance, full bodied, with long legs, its complexity, character and potential is second to none!’ Now there’s a mouthful.

Either way regardless of the quality, unless there was some lively company to go with the long legs, I usually find myself nodding off on the sofa. I believe that it must be an age thing, because I was not always like that but it has ruled out drinking at home with Mr Mack in recent years. Or maybe I am being kind suggesting it was the wine? Mr Mack would say that Friday night tv viewing had something to do with it also!

But where am I with it allnow? Strangely I find myself driving to some parties and not too bothered whether I drink or not. That is not to say there aren’t exceptions to that, there are but none of it feels too critical anymore.

Maybe it’s a case of a night out is not all about drinking particularily when I can have a dessert!!

What’s so entertaining about this American tv show is how the whole Walker family function in unison, albeit, together pulling the same direction and together pulling in opposite directions. They are fixers and keep busy meddling in each others affairs. No sooner has one family member imparted some personal news to another, then the receiver of the juicy gossip has another family member on the phone and tells them, another overhears the conversation and goes directly to the source to sort out the dilemma and why hadn’t they told them in the first place. Are you keeping up?

Then to top that, each family dinner ends in familial chaos when everyone speaks their mind usually resenting the intrusion; going on to vent their emotions and then the next day they pick up the pieces with lots of heart felt drama…. It’s very entertaining.

But what about our own families? What about real life? Is it a cultural thing? Do you get involved when someone is in trouble or do you feel the compulsion to be involved, intimately and constantly? Or would you prefer to keep your distance and let them sort it out themselves?

Life teaches us to be independent, self sufficient and adult, yet all the time having to fit into some group or the other. Our place and approach to our family of origin usually determines how we negotiate every group thereafter, family, friends and work. How do you fit into yours?

I got an invitation today that I did not want and I came away wondering what was going on for me? In reply, I felt as if I was ducking and diving and on reflection, I was decidedly uncomfortable with how I had responded. Reflection is great but not good in the moment, if you know what I mean!

Lest you get the wrong impression of me, heaven forbide, the invitation was to do something that we used to do when we were closer friends and it was exciting. Nothing sinister at all!

Things have changed for me and  this event is not on my radar at the moment. Maybe I am too busy or maybe it’s the event? Who knows, but what I do know is that it is not grabbing my attention at the moment. Maybe I need a change?

Anyway, my way of dealing with the situation was to give an honest answer in the moment but deep down I know that I was hedging my bets, hoping that the request would not come to a head and I would not have to stand up and be counted. Why could I not just say no? Even proffer an excuse? But thinking on my feet is not my strong point especially where this person is concerned.

A bit of me felt, presumptuously of course, that if I said no, I would hurt the other person’s feelings. No doubt there is a bit of that in all of us. Let’s just say that that is my good girl complex coming through. A bit of me did not want to miss out, it could be good fun, but another bit of me was reticitient getting involved.

This has happened to me before when the shoe is on the other foot i.e. I have fallen off other friend’s radar over the years. And I do mean I have fallen off their radar! Shock, horror! For me it’s important to believe that it is not my fault, of course, and that I have done everything in my power to maintain the relationship. (When Mr. Mack reads this admission, he will smile.)

But in today’s situation, it is me that wants to change the ground rules and maybe, I am faced with another girl with a good girl complex who does not want to hurt my feelings. Now, there’s a thought! 

Distracted Mum may have an opinion on this but I would sum up by saying that sometimes it is easy to over-analyse things! Keep it simple, and beware of your good girl complex!

Mrs. Mack has raised some very interesting questions about parenting and her observations and experiences lead me to take a long, hard look at my own modus operandi.

I have always had a very easygoing attitude to parenting. My two eldest ladies have been sleeping over with friends from a very early age and it’s almost normal in our house that one or other is overnighting somewhere most weekends or has a friend to sleep over here. I’ve been known to enquire where a or b is and to be told “she’s with x tonight”. The eldest hardly bothers to tell me any more.

My liberal ways are undoubtedly as a result of my own sheltered upbringing and my determination that my children would not be overly cossetted and hence shy and ill at ease in various situations.

I am the only girl and eldest in my family and of course I was always going to be protected and my desires to succumb to peer pressure severely curtailed. And predictably I became a veritable monster when I turned about 15 and broke just about every rule there was to be broken. In fact I’m still fond of pushing boundaries in almost every area of my life. It’s second nature to me.

So, in giving my own girls free rein, I believe I am giving them confidence and maturity and independence that I so sadly lacked as a young adult. I hope they’ll feel no pressure to fit in or trail blaze. I hope they’ll feel no inadequacies but rather be happy in their own skins and able to look the world straight in the face unburdened by chips on their shoulders and insecurities.

I prefer the horse that canters unbridled and unfettered through the open field, its mane tossed by the wind, rather than the blinkered creature with the bit between its teeth that pulls at the reins and tries to shake off its rider. I believe that my role is to guide them but not to hamper them or restrain them. I hope I’m right. I hope that they clear all the fences and if they fall that they can pick themselves up and carry on. And I hope they return to the stable of their own accord because they’d like to have their noses rubbed by a friendly hand, a sugar lump and some warm hay in which to bed down.