Alluring fine figure of a woman

So I have a week without the munchkin as she goes camping for a week with the other Young Women from the church youth group and other youth groups in this area.  Historically I have scheduled this annual week, my only week) to the rafters and been out dancing and seeing buddies or working on huge projects around the house.  One year I took a few days to decorate Missy’s room.  Another year it took me two days to dig out all the trash from her room.  Swings and roundabouts.  Other years I have done gardening or garage projects or donated time to a valuable cause or two.

This year, her room is tidy and just needs a bit of a go round with the vacuum cleaner.  It is decorated already.  I have two blinds to install, one on the stairwell and one in the spare room so that the neighbours don’t continually get a shock as I am not particularly careful about being robed in our own home and sometimes nosey people cop an eyeful.

But this time I am tired.  I am also superbly alluring as in the past couple of weeks I have broken out in blisters all along my legs and now on my eyes.  So the probability of dating is off the cards right now until this calms down.

Either I have used a product which doesn’t agree with me – there are a couple of candidates – or I need to nap, lots.  I’m going to go with the napping option I think.  I have Netflix, takeaway menu’s, healthy fridge food and the ability to mimic a sloth when required.  I think I’m set.

Apart from now I’m thinking about that grout in the bathroom and how I don’t like it and how I have time to sort it out now.  And the garden needs mowing.  The hedges need taking down a few feet in the back garden, the shed # 2 needs a weathertight roof.  And the floor in the living room could do with a sand and varnish.  And the hallway needs painting, and the ironing needs to be put away, and I need to do some paperwork.  And I could do with getting all the tools back to the shed.  And I haven’t investigated the loft yet apart from sticking my head up there and saying “Huh, that looks pretty full”, and I have to go over some quotes for driveway stuff.

Otherwise though, I think I will get a bit of a nap schedule going.  Hopefully.

 

 

DEBT FREE AT LAST!

Debt, significant debt, followed me for decades but I just made the final payment! *Pulls kilt over head and screams FREEDOM!*

Only gone and blinking done it! Decades of debt finally all gone, all paid down, every penny. I await a bill for some car repairs but otherwise and aside from a mortgage and regular bills, I owe nobody anything. The money in the bank is mine to do with as I please. I cannot remember back when this was the case previously. It has been my constant companion, my lullaby at night, my alarm call in the morning, it has been my travelling companion and as close to me as my own heartbeat. It has been a motivation to focus on what matters. We had a good life none the less but this is a legacy I didn’t want to pass to the next generation. I wanted the next generation to be free to take chances and be bold if they choose to be. It would have been easy to pay off minimums for the rest of my life and ignore the freedoms afforded to those who are not thus shackled. Easy. The hard decision was to live up to what I though was right for us. To actually decide that my life work until it was completed was to be free of things which erode my freedom to choose, and debt was right up there at the top. Each month it would eat away at my disposable income. It was a constant reminder of mistakes made. It annoyed me.

If you are minded to make the same decision and become debt free, hats off to you.

If you are minded to make a different decision and stick with minimum payments, more power to your elbow.

Shakespeare in Hamlet wrote:

“Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all: to thine ownself be true,”

The whole phrase resonated with me but it’s the “This above all: to thine ownself be true” part which always rang in my ears since my days at the Provo Missionary Training Centre (MTC) and our District Leader, David Muntinga would repeat this phrase out loud to himself frequently. It stuck like an earworm and shaped my personal philosophy. So, thanks Dave!

My philosophy is based on strength of character, freedom to choose, kindness where possible, resilience to weather the storms, and a passion to embrace opportunities.

I think the experiences we have gone through as a family, particularly in the last 4.5 years should act as a cautionary tale to young people making life choices!

At any point we can make a different decision and choose a different path. The principle is called Agency. We all have it and it is like a muscle in the body, we either use it and it strengthens or we don’t and it weakens. Making a different decision feels awkward, clumsy and ungainly. It is not a pretty sight at first but I liken it to watching a class of 4 year old children learning ballet who look like cats on roller-skates at first vs that same group 5 or 10 years later with a gracefulness which is inspiring. Work through the kittens on roller-skates phase, it doesn’t last forever.

If I had my time over, these are some of the things I wish I’d adopted earlier.

  • Choose your path of study – does it get you where you need to be for your next life steps? Does it open or close doors?
  • Choose your career well – will it provide for you and your dependents. The higher qualified you are, the more freedom there is to make your own schedule. Qualify young, qualify highly.
  • Choose your partner well – if you choose to have a partner do they have complimentary goals and philosophies, are they equally carrying the load, are they easy to be around, can you talk about the specifics of budgeting without fighting or someone becoming moody?
  • Choose your financial strategy early in life – are you a spender, are you a saver, what did your parents do and did it work for them, if you don’t know about money, learn! There are endless resources available online or in your library. How many hours can you put in to your career. Do you have other priorities which draw away your attention. Is your strategy working for you?
  • Choose to budget – know what is coming in and what is going out. Know the dates of payments. Write it down.
  • Choose to recognise the true cost – I mentally add the time away from my family to earn the money and the tax already taken by the government into the cost of the product and think to myself “is it still worth it?” Conversely, if you have financial woes and plenty of possessions, know their value and sell them! Generate revenue, get back some of the cash and pay down expenses.
  • Choose to find the best deals for you – as contracts come to an end, shop around. As birthdays come up, buy early and allow time for shipping at a reduced rate. As utility prices fluctuate, move deals or suppliers. As tools become needed for a DIY project check the internet vs the high street prices and make good choices.
  • Choose to cancel duff subscriptions – FREE MONEY! Who doesn’t love free money. That’s what it feels like when you find a subscription you’d forgotten about on your statement and cancel it down.
  • Choose to continue learning and growing – there will be wise people around you in your life, listen as they chat, ask questions when appropriate, learn from them, use them as a mentor.
  • Choose to ask for help – if you are in over your head, ask for help. Call the companies and tell them. Tell a friend. Approach organisations who manage these situations daily. You are in it on your own, your choices got you here and your choices are going to get you out of it, but if it all gets too much and you need expert help, ask.
  • Choose to build a reserve – if you are debt free, build a slush fund, a reserve, a cushion, whatever you want to call it, to fall back upon in tough times. Tough times always come. It’s prudent to have done what you can to make those times a little easier.

My experience has reached the Build A Reserve phase. It is quite exciting to build rather than be repairing. Feels completely different and it is actually a little scary which is silly. What if I do the next phase wrong! Anything new can be daunting so I choose to push through, carry on learning, carry on listening and carry on trying to make good choices. I may never rival the likes of a billionaire, people who I do not envy at all, they worked hard for what they have and I am pleased for them, but I can build from this point forth and can be pleased that I got my little family this far in the journey. It is hard. Oh so difficult in ways that I cannot find words to articulate. It is possibly one of the most challenging experiences of my life. I’m hoping that the effort one day feels worth it. Right now it is all a little raw and a little new so I have to let it settle in to the new normal before I can speak on that with any degree of confidence. This is my new Kittens On Roller-skates phase!

Now hopefully you’ve had a charmed life and never have to consider much of the above. You people who are adulting successfully have been a quiet inspiration over the past few years so thank you.

Critics Gonna Critique

When kids have opinions.

My kiddo is not a fan of the writing here.  The kid actively hates it. I know that because it has recently been articulated thus!  I have been articulating my journey through our experience and trying to be incredibly vague on anything which skims near her experience.  This blog is not about the kid, it’s about me, my experience of divorce, or new single life, the British Legal System, standing up to bad guys, or emotional health or single parenting in difficult circumstances from the adults perspective.  I frequently get things wrong but when I finally figure out how to do it right, I write it down.  When I started writing I didn’t quite know where I ended and others began.  I’d given away much of who I was in the name of compromise.  In writing, I find definitions.  In writing, I find a pattern of cheerfulness or hope, perhaps even a dash of courage here or there, and I definitely identify a trend in resilience.  I hope that the reference to third parties in years to come will be an evidence of my love for them and my reverent astonishment at their magnificent journey.  It is a little disappointing that I’ll likely cease referencing the kid because much of who I am is defined by her presence so it’s a little like asking a fish to describe themselves without referencing water.  I’ll figure it out.  Anyway, Kiddo, I love you and you can’t stop me shouting about that!!!

My Curly Haired Baby Finishes 3-16 School. 

16 year old kids are ready to leave school, I however am not ready. I am a hot mess.

OK, so I might have been a hot mess last night. I might have managed to keep my “I am so pleased for you, congratulations sweetie” composure as Missy dropped the news that she leaves school officially on Wednesday lunchtime. The penny dropped. I suddenly twigged that my little curly afro haired baby who’d been wearing a school uniform for over a decade would be finished with uniforms as she enters study leave for her exams. My curly haired baby who looked at me so doe eyed in those first days of school was now laughing at me getting misty eyed as she talked about the final ever classes with her favourite teachers and how they were taking pictures with the students and giving them pep talks. My child is a child to me. Sure, the world sees a 5′ 10″ young woman who is capable and confident but I see my baby fresh out the hospital or in her oversized polo shirt with a logo. They see someone doing really well in the sciences and I see Chip and Biff early reader books. They see someone who stands her ground and I see someone who needed defending. 

She is ready, I am not. 

After this summer, adulthood looms. She is going to be magnificent and rock everything she sets her mind to. I will have to continue letting her move away and acclimatise into opportunity and responsibility.  My whole mandate for 16 years has been to let her be free enough to be a child, safe and loved. Now my mandate is changing and it is happening so quickly that it is difficult keeping up but I will get there.  She still has two more years of school but is more like junior college where they’re more autonomous. My baby is no longer a baby and it has come as a surprise. 

I am often behind the emotional curve, this is nothing new, no major surprises. I am very pleased with the woman she is becoming and look forward to standing back and observing her in adulthood in a few years, but not yet. I need a little more time. 

Writing a book via Email.

How could I help her remember her roots and learn from others experiences? I decided to write a book just for her.

I email myself things I want to tell my daughter when she is grown… things I wish i’d known about how the world works. I have the intent of compiling a book for her for when she heads to University.  Hopefully she’ll take a few moments to browse the pages and be able to incorporate some of the things shared.

There is so much I wish I had known and stumbled upon this idea a few years ago. Not wanting my daughter to fall into the same trap of starting from scratch I came up with a way to pass down the things I learned through graduating from the school of hard knocks.  Things on budgeting, careers, prioritisation, staying very close to friends and paying particular attention to the quality of your girls who are friends, making time for oneself, becoming subject matter experts in things which she is passionate over and which are useful to the wider community, health, how much I love how she can work a room, how much I love how she notices the people who need someone to talk to, some memories of her before she can remember, how I found moving beyond my own wants and needs led to a happier life, a reminder of her childhood dreams and aspirations, some photos of her early artwork and some comments perhaps about her to me over the years from our nearests and dearests.

Whether she loves it or not, it has been a delight to compile over the years.  Emailing myself little memories or thoughts on the hoof, from anywhere in the world using my phone, helped me to gather a wide repository of items to share.  Even reading back over early entries at this point in time shows me how quickly we forget the little things which make a life.  There are entries on subjects and events which until prompted I had completely forgotten even though I was the author.

I have noticed that when I stop and notice the good things in life, I am more prone to continue noticing the good things.  This has been a blessing to my life as it helped me focus on someone other than myself and helped me look for the good.  There is a sense of enrichment.  It also fortifies me against the moments which chip away at happiness.  It is like the id says “this rubbish thing may well be happening, but look at this vast array of successes” as it throws its arms wide over all the collected moments.

So, as much as this has been for Missy to peruse at her convenience at some later date, it has become a talisman of goodness in my own life, right here and right now.  I am pleased I started and pleased that I didn’t think to myself “ah, she’s already 10 years old, it is too late”.  Transpired I remembered much of her little years when she was 10, and as we start to focus on adulthood there are things for which I want her to be positively aware.  It wasn’t too late.

 

The House # 3 – what happened next

We had the key to the house, Missy had 3 days booked at a residential course in Cambridge, we had the shock realisation that the rental house wasn’t packed as much as is required to move home.

Elbow grease.  That’s what was required from this point forth.  That, and money.  Lots and lots of money.  My purse is now filled with receipts from DIY stores.

So, the teen seemed to be emotionally stopped on packing her room.  That’s all that was required of her apart from picking up after herself.  She had to pack her room.  I saw dozens of rubbish bags exiting her little sanctuary but didn’t see many boxes making it to the move me pile.  What should have taken half a day ended up taking more than two weeks.  Whenever I go in her room it is a cause of contention.  We end up arguing so I tried to leave her to it.  In the end I found myself standing on the landing tersely pointing out that she was not fulfilling her end of the bargain, I was highly disappointed in her and she needed to pull her finger out or argument or not I would go in and sort the situation.  “But I’m deciding what to keep and what to throw”, “Decide Faster!!!”.

I dropped Missy at Cambridge, and then collected her and took the day to look around that beautiful city with her and my cousin Noele.  We had an amazing day.  The course was more than everything she’d ever dreamed of.  We needed some together time.

The house with the key needed emptying.  Debris everywhere, cupboards still full and unable to receive our personal effects.  So, every night after work and every morning before work, there I was emptying the house into my car to be taken to the recycling centre.  Walls needed scrubbing, floors needed scrubbing, every single surface needed scrubbing.

Every time I moved something in the house I found more mould.  Rather than being able to proceed, I would have to stop, strip the wall, apply mould remedy, wait, scrub, reapply, rewash, repaper, before I could get on with what I had intended to do before moving the item.  It was rather disheartening and time consuming.

I bought trade paint.  I thought “Tradesmen, they know what they’re doing, I’ll buy their paint” but it transpires that tradespeople do not buy trade paint because it is fit for very little.  What should have taken 2 coats took upwards of 4.

Missy had design ideas about her room including stripping the woodchip wallpaper, painting, and adding brick wallpaper as a feature wall.  Apart from me sneakily adding 4 coats of paint to her room while she was in Cambridge, and laying a carpet, she did the rest herself.  It looks great.

So, slowly the house began to change from dirty, mouldy, icky to a place where you could touch the paintwork, run your hand down the bannister, walk through a room and open a cupboard to find emptiness.

The helpers helped, during week 2 mum arrived and stayed over.  We hired gardeners to help tame the wildly overgrown hedge.  We’d cut it down to an appropriate width using heavy duty power tools but needed help topping it off and taking away the cuttings.  The gardeners also helped me to put the fence back up which had been pulled down.  The Mormon missionaries arrived and helped me change the roof of a shed, to re-board and re-tarp so that it was watertight.  I still have remedial work there fixing the back wall, but baby steps.

The skip filled, the cars filled over and over again.  One of the dogs my mum owns, a big floofy German Shepherd, slipped through the gate and took a walk through the neighbourhood causing much excitement among the local residents.  Appliances were delivered.  Things were starting to come together.  Now, to pack the old house and book a removal company.

But one thing at a time.

 

 

The House # 2. What we found.

I hadn’t been home for 4 years, and prior to that it had been our home, not mine. I hadn’t any idea what I would find but this had been such a difficult process I was prepared for almost anything.

So, we left off at me and Missy retrieving the key to the house from the neighbour.  It was this key.  One solitary, very expensive, hard fought and won key.

We took our courage and entered in to the house.  First impressions were that the place was grimy, as though a house full of greasy handed adults had lived there.  The air smelled dusty and dirty.  A carpet on the stairs was threadbare and torn.

Some items including an armchair were left in the living room but it wasn’t bad at all.  The bathroom was dirty.  The bath – I just don’t know how a bath gets that gloopy with gunge.  The bathroom cupboards were occupied, the understairs cupboard was filled, the living room cupboard was filled, the bureau that we fought over where I ended up giving up my furniture in favour of making space for his furniture – was sat there, abandoned and containing stuff… lots of stuff.  The conservatory wasn’t too bad on first inspection but fish tank stands were screwed in to the windowsill and the blinds were broken and unusable.

A photo with my face scratched out but you can still see my smile was left behind.

The sheet detailing the police record of his taped interview was in the drawer.

Love letters and cards to his ladies, Linda and Louise, were left for me to find.  Apparently he helped them get through their darkest hour and everybody loves everybody.

The kitchen, I didn’t want to touch anything, the grime was evident on all surfaces and handles.  All the cupboard doors were wonky, many of the cupboards were filled with unnecessary clutter, lots of clutter.

Upstairs all the blinds had been removed so we were open to view from neighbours on all sides, cupboards were filled, Missy’s room was kitted out in full furniture including a dining table and bar stools (really, bar stools), a broken bed, a tv stand, all her toys we’d not been able to take which were now for children not adults, her wardrobe was empty.

The third bedroom has built in closets, full to the brim.  Aircon units were left which will end up being handy in the summer if they work.  Bathroom sink in a box was left.  A bathroom cupboard in a box was left.  DIY tools and tool boxes were scattered around the house.

The main bedroom, to be greeted by the king sized marital bed was disturbing.  I could see the impression from where he had lain these past four years, with my side undisturbed or indented.  Other items of furniture abounded.  My bookshelf over the chimney in the bedroom lay untouched, none of the books read, all dusty and as I left them.

Black mould in the cupboards and in the corners of the room.  How can someone knowingly live with black mould in the room they sleep?  It is unfathomable to me.

The boiler was broken with an error message indicating trouble with the intake vents.

Wires, cut, severed, uncapped or made safe, were dangling from the boiler.

Black mould behind two kitchen cupboards.

Plumbing piping on the outside of the house had been smashed.

Debris littered the rather decent for an English house’s garden.  Canopies tangled and broken, rubbish all around the garden, paddling pools were strewn across the grass, the giant fire drum which stands at around 8ft tall was filled with hedge cuttings but from where I do not know as the hedge had grown to be as high as the upstairs windows and covering much of the garden and garden buildings.  The sheds were filled to the brim.  They were filled with abandoned tools, with 4 lots of bathroom sets of wash basin, pedestal, toilet and cistern.  That was around 16 sanitary items had to be taken to the tip!  There were old dishwashers, freezers, fridge freezers, tumble dryers, shower trays and surrounds.  The roof of both sheds had caved and ripped, one worse than the other.  Behind the sheds we had a hip high, 30ft wide expanse of broken and discarded wood and weeds.

The front of the house as you pull up on the drive looked perfectly respectable.  As you entered the home and moved further through it became a more shambolic representation of the truth rather than the façade.  For a man so fastidious and aggressive regarding all things housekeeping, the condition of the place was a shock.

In that moment, once I recovered from the surprise of how grimy and unkempt this house had become, I determined that I would invest the capital required and invest the elbow grease necessary to make the house habitable again.

It would take many days, dedicating myself to the task, and calling on service providers and accepting the help of those who wanted to assist including my mum to get it to a point where we could move furniture in.  The house needed to be decontaminated of mould, walls needed to be stripped, everywhere needed to be painted and repaired, carpets needed to be laid.

It took a skip, a gypsy scrap dealer, another flatbed truck for garden debris, a mass of furniture donation including saying goodbye to the marital bed, and 15 estate car loads to the tip and we are still going strong to remove the unnecessary and undesired items from the house.

The Saturday before last we moved in our things.  We’re now trying to close down the rental home and hand in the keys but landlords, gosh they make things difficult!!!

This house is littler than the rental so our furniture doesn’t fit, we’re having to be quite creative and repurpose items and continue downsizing but we’ll get there.  This last weekend we managed to get 3 bedrooms set up, a washing machine plumbed in and find homes for lots of possessions, mostly keepsakes and bathroom stuff.

On the Saturday I moved us in, I thought I had made a terrible mistake.  I felt like an interloper in my own home, I was a little upset for no tangible reason other than the mess that the removal company had left was a little overwhelming.  A friend at Church on the Sunday suggested that Missy and I take a day off, that we just eat easy food, watch a movie, spend time there, don’t worry about the boxes.  It worked.  We bonded with the house and come the Monday I felt less like a stranger.  So, thank you Julie Brann, you helped me get back on my emotional feet and I will always have a soft spot in my heart for your kindness toward us.

Now, and for the next 25 years while I pay down this mortgage, Missy and I will (fingers crossed) have a home to come back to, a place to call our own, a place to rest from the world where people aren’t inspecting us every 12 weeks on a Wednesday, where we can have friends over in an impromptu fashion, where we can hang pictures on the walls and plant our garden without wondering if we’ll be around to see it flourish.  I’m looking forward to getting used to the idea that this is home.  Pictures to follow.