Book Hour

Yesterday I instigated what I have decided is going to be a new regular event in our household - book hour.

I've realised that my daughter, while a very capable reader for her age, seldom actually ever sits down with a book at home. Sometimes she reads in bed but that is about it. She also borrows large amounts of library books that go largely unread. 

I'm also aware that I have neglected my own reading life hugely over the last few years. I used to blame it on being a single working parent and for a few years there was a lot of truth to that. When my daughter was little and I was working from home at night while looking after her during the day (not to mention coping with constant tantrums and 2 hour night wakings in addition to trying to meet deadlines) I was just so brain-dead and exhausted and stressed most of the time that the thought of trying to actually read a book was way too much effort. 

Frankly, sometimes it was too much effort to even follow a train of thought to its conclusion. I would often start to talk, only to forget what I was saying halfway through and would meander off into confused silence, like an old lady in a resthome. Which was fitting, as most days I felt 100 years old anyway back then.

(Memories of those days are also why I'm not the remotest bit clucky when I see other people with newborns or toddlers, no matter how cute they are. Best contraception ever.)

But now that she is at school I seldom work nights anymore because I can generally get my work done during the day. And she seldom wakes up at night anymore. And it only takes about half an hour to get her to bed as opposed to the two hour tantrum-fest it used to be, so it's all so much easier. Even the attitude I sometimes get from her is nothing compared to the difficulty of those early days. But despite things getting significantly easier, I still have done very little quality reading. (Grabbing an easy read from the bookcase that I've already read 20 times doesn't count.)

I can no longer blame childraising/work for my dearth of quality reading time. Instead I blame television and the internet, and laziness. Actually I blame those things for my daughter's lack of reading time as well.

When I was growing up I was a voracious reader. I grew up in that weird family down the road who didn't have a telly. Having a computer in your house was unheard of in those days. As for the internet, it wasn't even invented yet. We'd spend a lot of evenings sitting in the lounge, with everyone reading. 

Times have changed with technology. I think we have become lazier in a lot of ways, including our ways of entertaining ourselves. 

And a good book does take a bit of effort, both to find and sometimes to fully understand, and the TV and the internet spoon-feed you bite size bits of information with minimal effort. It's easy. Too easy sometimes.

Anyway I have been getting a bit bothered by the amount of time both my daughter and I spend on the computer, and watching TV. I really want to instill in her a love of books and reading. So yesterday I told her that from now on we were going to regularly have book hour once a week. In her case it can be book half-hour to begin with. 

So I prepared for book hour. I tidied the lounge and turned off the TV. I made us each a plate of our favourite snacks. I poured her a juice and myself a wine. I put some Chopin on the stereo and we settled down in relative silence with our respective books. It was luxurious. 

How did my daughter fare? She read her Magic Pony book nicely for quarter of an hour, then spent the next quarter of an hour asking how long there was to go. After half an hour she was released and bolted for the computer. 

About as much as I could expect for a first attempt, but next week we are doing it again. I'm sure she'll learn to love it as much as I do. I hope she does because book hour is here to stay.

Procrastination

Today I completed my annual accounts. I've been procrastinating on doing these for - oh, since April this year which is when I received the forms from the accountant. I promised to do what I always promise every year: "This year I'll get my tax return back to you quickly! Definitely." 

And I really meant it. Then I took the forms home, put them on the 'To-do' pile and that is where they sat for the next seven months, giving me the guilts every time I saw them. Every week I decided "Right! This week I'm getting my tax done." and I'd put them on my Work in Progress pile where something else more urgent would always somehow take priority. (Funny how that keeps happening when you really don't feel like doing something.)

My accounts are slightly more complicated than some people's because I'm self-employed, have my house in a family trust, and also claim Working for Families. So there are three separate parts to my tax.

But the thing is, it's not brain surgery. All I have to do is gather a few papers, go through a few bank statements, do some simple calculations, work out a few expenses, fill in the various forms for the accountant, put it all in a big envelope and send it off to them so they can fiddle my expenses or whatever it is they do. (Only joking in case anyone reading this is an employee of the IRD. I'm really very honest.)

And what prompted me to do them now? Well my accountant realised sending reminder letters was having no effect on me so he ended up ringing me up. I said, "Yes, absolutely. I'll have them done by this Friday! Thanks for the reminder!" 

Then I stuck them on the WIP pile again where they sat for another two weeks. 

However, I finally just did them and it took me all of two hours. That's all. And once I started I actually quite enjoyed it. It felt good to finally get rid of the paperwork beastie that has been eyeballing me malevolently from my in-tray for seven months. 

Contrary to popular opinion, doing paperwork isn't actually as bad as it is cracked up to be. It is looking at the paperwork pile and knowing it has to be done that is the worst bit.

So why prolong the bad bit by procrastinating in the first place? It's a mystery. Delayed gratification? 

I don't get why I do this because I'm a very decisive person in most aspects of my life. (Most. Not all. I've done plenty of dumb indecisive waffling in the man department. "Do I stay? Do I leave? Or maybe hang around for a bit longer even though I suspect this isn't going to work?" That kind of thing. Suspect it is why I'm still single.) 

But in general I have no trouble making decisions and then following them up with actions. When I go shopping I either love something straight away and buy it or I forget about it. My favourite clients to work with are the ones who can say: "Yes I like this" or "No, lets try something else." If I decide I want to get something done on my house I'm on the phone to the builder/plumber/electrician/whatever the same morning. It's so easy to just get things done when I don't muck around.

But yeah, paperwork. My nemesis. Last month I procrastinated on sending my invoices to clients and missed the cutoff date for payment. So this month I have no income. Next month I'll have two months income (that is providing I don't miss this month as well). You'd think I'd have learned my lesson but I'm still cutting it fine as Monday is the last day of the month and I still haven't sent my invoices. 

New Year's resolution: Stop procrastinating. 

I know it isn't New Years Day for another month, but with my track record of delaying things I don't want to do, it is probably a good idea to start early. That way I've got a month to procrastinate and can still keep my resolution. Win-Win. And next year I'll definitely get my tax in quickly. Definitely.

Investment dressing

It seems I have reached a certain milestone on my journey as a grown up – investment dressing.

I don't buy a lot of clothes but when I do, I have noticed that in recent times I have tended to spend a fair whack of money on individual items, with the idea of them lasting me for a long time. I recently brought a lightweight anorak / dress thing for $370.00. It is awesome, one of those pieces that will never really go out of style, and can be worn lots of different ways, and is so well made. I feel great in it, get lots of compliments on it, and what's more I know it isn't going to fall apart or lose its shape at the first wash. 

I'm not a label snob at all, I don't even know what the labels are in the vast majority of my clothes (including the anorak) without going to the wardrobe and taking a look. I'd happily wear gear from Glassons or Farmers any day of the week, except that:

(a) As I've got older and more curvy I find it just doesn't suit me to wear clothes that seem to be designed for teenagers. Plus I don't care about the latest fashion, at all. I want to wear stuff that will last more than one season and represents me, rather than follow the fashion herd. 

(b) Has anyone else noticed how nasty a lot of fabric is these days? All synthetic and flimsy and half the time see-through. I'm a total fabric person and I love quality. A garment has to feel good, not just look good. And as I mentioned above, it definitely can't lose its shape after the first wash!

(c) Has anyone else also noticed how badly made most clothes are these days? I don't mind so much when buttons fall off something I've brought in, say, Shanton, one of the cheapest stores around. But one of the biggest culprits for shoddy workmanship is a mid-range store that used to be a real favourite of mine - Max. Their clothes used to be fairly well made. But in recent times their quality has been pretty poor - buttons falling off constantly being the main issue. I've noticed a lot of their fabrics are not as nice as they used to be as well. Max aren't top of the line, but you do pay a reasonable amount for their clothes, and I do feel a bit ripped off when I'm paying $120-ish for something that I then have to get out the needle and thread on to fix up a few days later.

So, investment dressing it is. 

With that mindset I ventured out today to tackle something that brings fear to many a woman's heart, including mine: the dreaded bathing suit shopping expedition. I truly, deeply, hate shopping for swimwear. For the past couple of years I've avoided it and made do with a saggy and rapidly falling apart ensemble from Farmers, a bikini consisting of a size 10 bottom and a size 14 top. 

That is because I'm a size 10 and have DD cup boobies so normal bathing suits don't fit me. If the bottom fits, the udder coverage is woefully inadequate. (What is it with all those nipple covers out there masquerading as bathing suits?!) If it fits on top then the rest swims on me. Plus, even though I have a small build and am in reasonable shape for a 30-something mother, I do have that jelly belly pooch that many mothers seem doomed to have once they've heaved out a sprog or two. So I don't feel I look good in a bikini - way too much tummy exposure. I'd spent many a depressing hour in normal bathing suit shops wondering why nothing looked right on me and coming out empty handed.

So I'd been putting off the bathing suit shop until I could put it off no more. However luck was on my side. Quite by chance I recently heard about a shop in Beckenham called Savoir, that specialises in lingerie and swimwear and has a good range for the - erm - well endowed woman. So off I trotted to see what this place was like. It's just a little shop. I'll be honest and say I didn't have high hopes due to many previous disappointments but this place turned out to be bloody fantastic!

They had a range of bathing suits and lingerie in there designed for people just like me, who don't want to look like they are wearing their nana's bathing suit but do want to keep the girls (and everything else) in check, as it were. It was a pleasant and novel surprise to find I had one of the smaller cup sizes there - a DD is tiny compared to the G cups and beyond that were on display. Some of their ranges go up to K cups (imagine lugging those around!). The staff were helpful and knowledgable, and the place was packed. Obviously word has got around. I tried on three bathing suits, all of which fitted, and two of which looked really good, and I picked one of those. It was so easy. This bathing suit has a built in bra for boob control, a tummy panel for tummy control, and is built to last. I mean this baby has scaffolding. It is a cool style, accentuates my best bits and covers the worst bits, and feels very comfortable.

It cost $179. It might seem like a lot to pay when I can pick up a bathing suit for $30 from a chain store (at least in theory), but it is going to last for a long time, as long as I look after it - because it is really well made. Even more importantly, when I went swimming today I actually felt good walking around in my bathing suit. I wasn't hunched over trying to disguise this bit or that bit or covering the whole thing up with a T-shirt and board shorts like I usually do. I wasn't worried about anything popping out or going see-though. I was able to relax and really enjoy myself.

I consider that investment dressing in more ways than one.

Girly bonding time

When I was in high school I had a lot of girly nights in with my friends. One of my friends had a mother who worked in the evenings so we'd have the house to ourselves. A group of us would gather around at her house with our sleeping bags and snacks, make fudge, gossip, and watch Nightmare on Elm Street videos with the sleeping bags pulled up to our eyeballs. 

I don't think I ever actually enjoyed the movies, particularly the time when a friend and myself decided to go to the actual movie theatre and watch three horror movies in succession on the big screen, for over six hours. Our eyeballs were numb and our brains were fried by the time it was over. Why did we think that was a good use of our time? I don't know. We were teenagers. We did dumb things pretty much on a daily basis. It was practically the rule to do dumb things.

But I really enjoyed the get-togethers with the girls. It was great fun. Even if we couldn't sleep a wink afterwards (I remember that the mantra in all the Nightmare on Elm Street movies was don't fall asleep or you are dooooomed!) as we lay in our beds half expecting them to turn into giant insinkeraters and munch us up – the fate that befell the delicious Johnny Depp in one of the movies. Yeah, what are the chances, but teenage girls are very suggestible.

Anyway, I digress. The point is, the girls nights in were a lot of fun, regardless of the movie choice. They sort of petered out as we left school and eventually got boyfriends and sort of went our separate ways. 

But now, 20 years later (did I just say 20 years have gone by since high school? Eeek.) I now have another regular companion for girls nights in. My daughter is now old enough (at six) to sit up with me for a while and watch some TV or a suitable movie on the weekend. We are thankfully well past the Dora the Explorer and Little People stage these days (except when she is feeling retro and nostalgic for the viewing choices of her wild youth) Nevertheless the choice of viewing is obviously somewhat different these days from those old horror movies of my teenage years.

We watch Australian Idol which is one of the very few shows on after 8.30pm that I consider is okay for a six year old to view. Tonight we went to the supermarket and each got some treats to eat. We got into our PJs and watched the show together until she fell asleep on me at about 9.30. We talked about the contestants and who we thought would win. It was nice, girly bonding time, and a respite from a stressful week. I'm looking forward to continuing to do this on a regular weekend basis with her.

Some things I guess you never grow out of. I certainly grew out of horror movies (wild horses couldn't drag me to a horror flick these days) but I never grew out of girly bonding time.

The six year old teenager

I don't know what has happened to my six year old lately. 

What happened to the lovely five year old I had until quite recently? It isn't long ago that I was waxing lyrical about how fabulous it was at this age, how much easier was now she was past the toddler stage and in school, and about how much I was enjoying it, and how I felt this was the 'golden stage' of parenting. Ha! Famous last words! 

In the past couple of months I've had inordinate amounts of attitude and backchat from her.

She challenges everything I say. She slams doors. She throws hissy fits. She imitates me just to be annoying. She wants to take long baths constantly. She wants to stay up late and watch Australian Idol. She is grumpy if she can't be with her friends after school. If she hurts herself it is my fault "because you didn't tell me it was dangerous". Her emotions are up and down, loving one minute and obnoxious the next, and then dissolving into a flood of tears and wanting to be alone. When she is told to go to time-out she stares at me and says "No, and you can't make me."

My gawd. My six year old has mutated into a teenager.

I've been doing some research on the net and it seems this is very common in six year olds, especially girls, as they apparently experience a hormone surge at this age. Apparently it tends to settle down around the age of seven, so my fingers are crossed.

In the meantime I'm doing a lot of deep breathing, trying not to get too wound up, and reminding myself that it is still nowhere near as bad as when she was three. She is still lovely and cuddly sometimes, which does help. 

Even so, I really hope this stage passes soon and I get my child back as I'm just not ready for a teenager yet.

Medicine for the body and soul

This is something that I sometimes (okay, often) neglect to do. In the busyness that is my life - parenting, working, taking care of a house, renovations, bills, obligations, and on top of everything else, a relocation - it is really easy to just neglect the things that make me feel good, because they seem like they aren't an efficient use of my time. 

I know I'm not alone in doing this. I think many mothers (particularly if they are also juggling work and other obligations) can attest that they often feel they have emptied their tanks in giving and taking care of others to the detriment of themselves. You see them at the supermarkets, the parks, the pre-schools, looking harassed and tired, hair scraped back into a ponytail, wearing whatever was the closest thing to hand in the morning. 

I have always been glad I chose to become a parent, even during the darkest hours of parenting (and some of them were, frankly, pretty dark in the toddler years). Admittedly I never had it in the original life plan to be a single parent, but even that has turned out pretty well, all things considered. But let's face it, parenting can be a real juggle, and often the ball that gets dropped is our own self-care.

Those things that make life good sometimes get put to one side. The simple good things like eating good, tasty, healthy food, having a friend over, reading a really good quality book, exercising. You know, the stuff that you need to put a bit of effort into and feel better for afterwards. But somehow in all the busyness those things can get put aside for convenience food, television, rubbish magazines, surfing the net instead of the waves. Easy, no-brainer stuff that doesn't require any real effort and leaves you feeling kind of tired and depleted, even a bit annoyed, not to mention with a nagging feeling that this isn't the right way to live.

I paid the price for neglecting myself recently. I've been working hard, stressing, living on junk, and it all caught up with me. On a recent trip I caught something icky. I spent the entire trip feeling lousy, and very depressed, came home and felt even worse. The weather was awful, I was sick, and my battery just ran out of juice. I didn't have the energy to go to the supermarket so I ate a lot of convenience food and takeaways. Even while I was eating them I knew they would make me feel a whole lot worse, and they did. I just got totally overwhelmed and wanted to crawl under the covers and not come out. Obviously, for a mother, that wasn't actually an option.

Finally after a week of wallowing and feeling like crap physically and mentally, I decided I needed to do something to help myself. I strongly believe in the power of good food as medicine, so I went to the supermarket and got lots of healthy food. Then I went to the health food shop and got a vitamin D supplement (to make up for the woeful lack of sun lately) and an Iron supplement. I'd been tired and craving meat, which is unusual for me, a vegetarian, so that was the clue I probably was low in iron. I also bought myself a new book, The Time Traveler's Wife (which looks really good), and rented a DVD I wanted to watch. My ex had my daughter for the day, so I spent the day and evening just looking after myself.

After only two days of eating good food and taking time to do things that I really like, I already feel so much better. Way, way better, even though I still have the tail end of the flu. I don't know why I let things slip, when it really does only take a little extra effort for the rewards. I've been doing all the normal things I do - parenting, working, taking care of the house - but just changing a few small things has made a big positive difference to my energy levels.

So although I still have (as always) a full in-tray of things to do, and could easily spend my entire evening doing chores or work, or mindlessly surfing the net, now I'm going to switch off the computer, switch off the TV, make a nice cup of tea and a healthy snack, put my feet up and start reading The Time Traveler's Wife and actually relax mindfully.

I think it will be just what the doctor ordered.

Carpe Diem

Well I finally did it after a few weeks of kinda-sorta-possibly thinking I might do it. Yes, I set up a blog with the help of my friend cesca, bloggess extraordinare, We were sitting outside in the (sadly, all-too-rare-at-the-moment) sun having a chat when I mentioned I was thinking of starting my own blog. She offered to help me set it up, and here I am!

One of the reasons I wanted to start a blog is because I am moving soon, to Auckland, and it could be a way of keeping in touch with people. (Or just a place for me to ruminate and ramble mindlessly. I'm fairly good at that).

Whether I'll actually stay in Auckland permanently is anyone's guess because I don't even know if I'll like living there yet. The main reasons I chose Auckland is it is quite different from where I live now and it is warmer. But it seems most people have a negative view of the place. Some people get why I want to move, but most people seem to think I'm a bit odd for uprooting myself and my family for no 'real' reason. When people find out I'm moving the conversation tends to go a bit like this:

Chia: "I'm moving to Auckland at the end of the year."

Person (8 times out of 10): "Why would you want to live there? Have you got a man/new job up there?" or (more rarely) "That's exciting! Why are you going?"

Chia: "Uhm....well I just felt like I needed a change."

Person (looks confused): "Oh...ohkaaay."

The truth is I don't really have a compelling reason to move anywhere. I have a comfortable life here, I just feel I need to branch out. I'm a bit like those people that settled down really young and never did the clubbing, pubbing, drunken debauchery that most people experience in their late teens and early twenties. Then they hit their thirties, split up from their partner, and suddenly they are the thirty-something in the club with all the younguns. 

Now I did a lot of nightclub hopping in my younger years, more than enough to ensure I have no desire to bother with any of that again. However during the time when many people are off doing their big OE or moving cities, I stayed put in my hometown. Various things kept me there, in theory mostly relationships, but underneath the real reason was just fear of change and lack of momentum. When you are in your mid-twenties you think you have endless time ahead of you to do whatever you want. So I procrastinated.

I'm still afraid of change to some extent, but the great thing for me about getting older (there have got to be some benefits to ageing) is that I realise that if I want to do something, the time to do it is now. Not some vague unspecified time in the future. Carpe Diem really starts to become something real, rather than just a feel good quote. 

It is a mission moving not just myself, but my daughter, my business, and all our stuff to a different city. There are hundreds of things to work out. It might work out for me, it might not. But I have come to realise the things I regret most in life are the things I either didn't try, or only half-heartedly tried. I sure don't regret my nightclubbing days even though I have no desire to repeat them. But I do regret not spreading my wings more when I was younger.

So I'm seizing the day and leaving. I may be back, I may not. I may love it, I may hate it. But I really don't think I'll regret giving it a go, either way.