The letter from the electricity board read; ‘ Notice of disconnection’. As I stared at it I wondered when things had got quite so out of control. I hadn’t set up a direct debit, it didn’t seem necessary for the length of time we plan to be here. As I result, I’d simply forgotten to pay it. I wasn’t surprised, on the adrenalin richter scale it didn’t even bother me greatly; it was just another curve ball thrown into the spiralling chaos of everyday life.
Trying to keep on top of every aspect of life right now is a plate spinning challenge of Olympic proportions. Managing a house renovation project and two small young children is proving to be a monumental challenge. Cramped into our small rental property surrounded by boxes that there’s no space to unpack, I feel that I am living in a permanent state of disarray. Piles of paper, (bills that need to be paid) get filed somewhere ‘safe’ and then disappear (get forgotten) under yet more piles of paper. Ditto registration forms for swimming lessons and forms for Pip’s school. Dust is piling up on skirting boards, since I parted company with our cleaner; our finances are tighter than my pre-maternity tights and it seemed ridiculous to pay for a cleaner that couldn’t clean.
The architect and builder are becoming increasingly demanding. I am thankful we chose to rent so close to Faulty Towers. EB regularly gets pushed into the building site, a shroud placed over his pram to protect him from the dust. Suddenly life has become punctuated by many decisions. All needing to be made yesterday. We’ve been planning this forever, but there is something about finalising decisions; accepting responsibility, that makes me second guess myself and doubt my judgement. There are many choices, too many choices and they all need to be made at once. Husband is consulted each night from 9-10pm, when after a late supper I download the day’s progress and discuss any decisions that need to be made.
Annabel Karmel’s recipe book sits perched atop bathroom and tile brochures on the kitchen worktop juxtaposed against pouches of Ella’s kitchen; a reminder of good intentions amidst the benefits of time saving convenience. Every time I look at them, I feel a pang of guilt, that EB’s weaning is not as ‘wholesome‘ as his brothers, who only ate homemade food for the first year of his life. Yet I have to accept I just can’t do it all, I’m struggling as it is; any free time is taken up with tile showrooms and bathroom shops (much to EB’s disgust). I would dearly like to write about this project on my blog, but there just never seems to be the time or the head space. Some days I find it hard to even remember what day it actually is. Sleepless nights with a suckling, teething babe attached to my breast coupled with long frenetic days have made my head a fuzzy mess.
Last week we took a holiday with friends. A crazy thing to do, given our current circumstances and finances, but, it had been booked and paid for a year ago. We hoped it would offer some sanity saving respite, if only temporary.
I had forgotten just exactly how much time it takes to pack up a family of four for a holiday. The Friday before we left was bedlam, from it’s 6am start we didn’t stop; watching 7m steels be delivered to the house on a crane at 9am I felt that half the day must surely have passed already. By 8.30pm that evening when the baptism visitors arrived to discuss EB’s christening I was exhausted. My weariness must have been self-evident, they didn’t stay long. At 10.30pm I finished writing emails to the architect and continued packing. At 11.30pm I had a shower. At 1am after making sure we had everything we needed and sending yet a few more emails, I rolled into bed, knowing that a taxi would be picking us up in 4 hours time.
I wondered how many more weeks I could take like that one. Surely the holiday week would be less stressful.
It was, to a degree. But still the calls came, conferencing with the architect or the builder on Husband’s phone. And still the adrenalin pumped and still I postulated and deliberated about each decision. EB decided sleeping at night was for wimps so I found myself up nearly every hour in the night, placating him with breast far too regularly in an attempt to at least keep his older brother asleep. By the end of the week I was producing enough milk to start a dairy, evidenced by the number of times my friends or husband would whisper; "You’re leaking" as I sported wet patches on my t-shirt for the umpteenth time.
I returned home no more rested. Both eyes have developed twitches, my head aches. Stress or brick dust? Who knows. A house to rebuild, a 4 year old birthday and party, a christening, a weeks worth of washing, a leak in the rental property, more unpaid bills. The to-do list seems endless. I like life to be busy but this is ridiculous. Perhaps the letter from the electricity board was a sign, an omen of some sort. I need to find a way of balancing things better - before I become disconnected myself.
Trying to keep on top of every aspect of life right now is a plate spinning challenge of Olympic proportions. Managing a house renovation project and two small young children is proving to be a monumental challenge. Cramped into our small rental property surrounded by boxes that there’s no space to unpack, I feel that I am living in a permanent state of disarray. Piles of paper, (bills that need to be paid) get filed somewhere ‘safe’ and then disappear (get forgotten) under yet more piles of paper. Ditto registration forms for swimming lessons and forms for Pip’s school. Dust is piling up on skirting boards, since I parted company with our cleaner; our finances are tighter than my pre-maternity tights and it seemed ridiculous to pay for a cleaner that couldn’t clean.
The architect and builder are becoming increasingly demanding. I am thankful we chose to rent so close to Faulty Towers. EB regularly gets pushed into the building site, a shroud placed over his pram to protect him from the dust. Suddenly life has become punctuated by many decisions. All needing to be made yesterday. We’ve been planning this forever, but there is something about finalising decisions; accepting responsibility, that makes me second guess myself and doubt my judgement. There are many choices, too many choices and they all need to be made at once. Husband is consulted each night from 9-10pm, when after a late supper I download the day’s progress and discuss any decisions that need to be made.
Annabel Karmel’s recipe book sits perched atop bathroom and tile brochures on the kitchen worktop juxtaposed against pouches of Ella’s kitchen; a reminder of good intentions amidst the benefits of time saving convenience. Every time I look at them, I feel a pang of guilt, that EB’s weaning is not as ‘wholesome‘ as his brothers, who only ate homemade food for the first year of his life. Yet I have to accept I just can’t do it all, I’m struggling as it is; any free time is taken up with tile showrooms and bathroom shops (much to EB’s disgust). I would dearly like to write about this project on my blog, but there just never seems to be the time or the head space. Some days I find it hard to even remember what day it actually is. Sleepless nights with a suckling, teething babe attached to my breast coupled with long frenetic days have made my head a fuzzy mess.
Last week we took a holiday with friends. A crazy thing to do, given our current circumstances and finances, but, it had been booked and paid for a year ago. We hoped it would offer some sanity saving respite, if only temporary.
I had forgotten just exactly how much time it takes to pack up a family of four for a holiday. The Friday before we left was bedlam, from it’s 6am start we didn’t stop; watching 7m steels be delivered to the house on a crane at 9am I felt that half the day must surely have passed already. By 8.30pm that evening when the baptism visitors arrived to discuss EB’s christening I was exhausted. My weariness must have been self-evident, they didn’t stay long. At 10.30pm I finished writing emails to the architect and continued packing. At 11.30pm I had a shower. At 1am after making sure we had everything we needed and sending yet a few more emails, I rolled into bed, knowing that a taxi would be picking us up in 4 hours time.
I wondered how many more weeks I could take like that one. Surely the holiday week would be less stressful.
It was, to a degree. But still the calls came, conferencing with the architect or the builder on Husband’s phone. And still the adrenalin pumped and still I postulated and deliberated about each decision. EB decided sleeping at night was for wimps so I found myself up nearly every hour in the night, placating him with breast far too regularly in an attempt to at least keep his older brother asleep. By the end of the week I was producing enough milk to start a dairy, evidenced by the number of times my friends or husband would whisper; "You’re leaking" as I sported wet patches on my t-shirt for the umpteenth time.
I returned home no more rested. Both eyes have developed twitches, my head aches. Stress or brick dust? Who knows. A house to rebuild, a 4 year old birthday and party, a christening, a weeks worth of washing, a leak in the rental property, more unpaid bills. The to-do list seems endless. I like life to be busy but this is ridiculous. Perhaps the letter from the electricity board was a sign, an omen of some sort. I need to find a way of balancing things better - before I become disconnected myself.
How do you hold it all together?
