I Ain't Scared...I Think.

Lately I've been cleaning our local preschool every evening. Being alone in that place doesn't bother me, it's chocca full of evidence that children have been there playing to their hearts content. It's a happy place. Cleaning up there is very similar to home so it's no hardship. 
But when it goes dark outside I scare myself silly.

Talking about it with the manager a few days ago I admitted to closing the blinds in case zombies find me.
This is a very real fear.
Think about it, if the world came to an end in any other way, I'd notice.
Asteroid crash, I'd notice the explosion.
Acid rain, I'd hear it on the tin roof. 
A big freeze, I'd notice. There's no heating on by the time I'd get there brrrrr.
I may even notice a sudden influx of fire breathing dragons.
But a zombie apocalypse...that could creep up on me. The world as we know it could come to an end and I wouldn't notice a thing, I wouldn't hear the scratches of zombie fingers at the door over the vacuum cleaner. But if I keep the blinds closed, maybe they wouldn't notice I'm there all alone, tasty brains and all. I could keep myself locked in, raiding the coffee and biscuit supplies, indefinitely.
There was an incident the other day. As I hoovered, I suddenly heard a screech, a proper blood curdling scream. My head filled with a wide variety of swearwords before I remembered I'd just hoovered up a tiny piece of paper. Once it passed through, the screaming died away.

It seems as though fear has been a big part of my life the past few weeks. 
I don't know what it's like where you are, but here, every September the house is full of spiders. Now, of course, the sensible me knows they are always here and you only see them in September because they come out for mating season, but still, let's not dwell on that too long, I may freak out. I hate spiders. They make my skin crawl. Just writing this is giving me actual shivers. They have been massive this year. It got to the point where every day I was coming across a great big beastie. I had thought it might de-sensitise me some what, but it hasn't helped at all. And I never did get over the whole Driving with Miss Muffet incident.
A few weeks ago, while putting a new duck house (what I made all by myself!) into the duck pen, I managed to get a spider on me. There had been a lot of bugs in there, but I'd remained brave. I thought I was fine, until while carrying something into the house, both hands full, I could feel something crawling on the back of my neck. I couldn't do anything about it until I'd put the things down, but I managed to get into the house, put them down, and yank off the creepy crawly which turned out to be a spider I'd seen previously.
I knew exactly how it had happened; it had been on a plank of wood which I fallen back onto during a clumsy moment. I tried not to completely freak out, and my darling husband congratulated me on keeping my cool, but inside I was jelly.
Then, last week, while loading the washing machine, I felt that same tickle on the back of neck. I brushed it off only to knock a little spider straight into my bra. I couldn't fish it out, so I squished it against my boob. Then I had to do a funky little bending over dance to get the corpse out of there without touching the damn thing.
Whenever these things happen, my skin crawls for hours after. Sometimes I have to change my clothes when a 'spider check' (you know, when you get someone to check your back in case something is there you can't see yourself) isn't enough to stave off the creepies.

Kinemortophobia; fear of a zombies. I can't say it or spell it but I obviously have it. 

According to Wiki, phobia is an irrational fear.
It doesn't make any real sense for me to be scared of either spiders or a zombie apocalypse. 

I know this.
I'll have to get past it somehow. On the plus side, nothing has ever happened, I've never been bitten by a spider, or even a zombie. My worst fears are very unlikely to happen, so there's really no point. 
As I write this, I got a call from someone who will be popping into preschool while I clean tonight, warning me not to cack myself when the door suddenly opens. Thanks for the warning! I needed it haha. Can you imagine?

So, what are you scared of? 
I once knew someone who was sacred of buttons. Oddly, we were on a fashion design course together. Now that is silly!
Tell me, what's the silliest, most unreasonable thing you are scared of? Feel free to entirely embarrass yourself :)

PS. If like me, you are of a slightly delicate nature, do not under any circumstances google image search the words 'fear', especially 'fear of zombies'!

Selfie Mummy

Before we got married and had children, Mr Strawberry and I used to go on road trips and he'd snap the two of us. It became 'a thing' we had to do. It was awesome.

Now it seems it's a thing everyone has to do...but alone in front of a bathroom mirror...with a duck face pout.
Weird.
One of the many reasons I'm glad we didn't have Facebook during my youth.

However, I enjoy being an iPhone generation Mummy.

With phone in hand, I am constantly taking pictures of my little guys and playing online games during the more mundane parts of our days. But when I scroll through the mountains of photos I’ve taken of my children, my husband occasionally pops up but my face is quite rare.

It’s an argument I’ve brought to his attention many times in the past but the poor soul just simply never thinks I might like him to take a photo of me and the boys as we go about our business. I started handing him my phone at opportune moments and he’d take one really crap photo. He has since learnt to just leave his finger on the button and thankfully there’s usually one that's half decent.

We recently went to a family wedding. When we arrived, I took one of Mr Strawberry and I, since we were all dressed up. I was done up to the nines, which is highly unusual for me. I was even feeling extra brave a wearing red lipstick, so it seemed a waste not to.

During the day we ended up going on an unexpected miniature train ride. I guess I must have been lost in the moment (train ride!! The boys and I may have been a little excited) and I took loads of selfies of us all in our little train cabin.

I remember when I was planning my wedding, my darling Mother recommended I get a good photographer because when the day is over, it's all so manic you barely remember anything. She was so right! Years later, I have a few vague memories but I've got a ton of photos which depict the day perfectly. Without them, I'm certain I would question whether it happened at all. So, if that's the case, how am I going to prove to my ageing self that I was present in my children's upbringing? 

My 2014 file of photos, all taken on my phone, already exceeds 12GB. That's a lot of photos. I'm in about four of them. It's bad enough as a mother you lose a sense of self; everything becomes about the baby and we don't have much time for the things we used to enjoy, but to vanish from the photo folders too? 

That's pants. 

And it's time to take matters in to our own hands.

With this thought sitting at the back of my mind, I went away for a weekend for some time to myself and to catch up with an old friend.

Safe to say, I went a bit 'selfie' mad.

Outside my first youth hostel experience (obviously, tired).

Outside the Globe Theatre.

Outside the Tate Modern.

Checking for Dementors at the Millinium bridge.

In front of a Monet.

Outside St Pauls.

With a friend and bright blue telephone box (not the TARDIS).

Outside the National Gallery.

With a blue chicken in Trafalgar Square.

When I was posing for the last one, a bloke offered to take it for me and I told him I was "doing a thing" (plus I was never going to hand my iPhone to a stranger!). Probably came across a little crazy but hey ho.

So, grab your phones, take lots of pictures of the kids, then turn the phone around or press that snazzy button and take some of you too. You know you'll regret it if you don't and when the kids are gone, all you'll have is a much older face and no photos of that less wrinkly version you used to wear when you were busy taking photos of other people.

I'm Trying Not to Regret the Little Things, But it's Difficult When I'msuch a T**t.

Ever have one of those moments that you wish you could take back?

Not the big moments we all regret but the little seemingly insignificant ones.

And I'm not even talking about those moments when you should have reached in for that kiss - it took me about 9 hours of talking all night and drinking cheap white wine to kiss my now husband - or the moments you shouldn't have, like when it was my boyfriend's friend. 

I'm talking about the ones that stay in your brain and crop up all the time, even though you know you're being silly. Those times you made a bit of a tit of yourself and just wish you could take back.

I used to be an avid over thinker. I would go over all the conversations and social situations I had been in over the previous few days, cross examine them intensively and often found a excuse to wish for a rewind button. These days I try to be a little easier on myself. Mostly I think people are too wrapped up in their own lives to over think me and the silly things I do, in the same way I never notice anyone else's strange behaviour and wonder if they wish they had a re-do option. Training myself to stop over thinking has been one of my biggest challenges but I'm getting there.

But there are some moments that just won't go the hell away.

When I was quite new as a Mummy and showering was done in a rush, there was one time when I found what I first thought to be cream cheese in my ears. Unfortunately, when I found it I was in the company of someone I don't know particularly well but someone who was important to my Mother's life in a business sense. Sleep deprived, my thoughts were spoken aloud as I wondered how the hell my little boy had managed to get cheese in both my ears. We hadn't eaten any in a few days at least.

I later of course discovered that while showering (in our freshly installed shower after being so used to having a bath for my daily cleanse) I was washing my face scrub into my ears, where those little dishes collected it and it remained all day until my next shower, where I added more.

These days rinse my ears thoroughly, probably too thoroughly, but the memory pops into my head every single time. I pine for a chance to take it back, to explain, it wasn't that I was filthy, quite the opposite. But it'll never happen.

This one doesn't crop up very often. Thankfully my memory is so bad I don't remember even 10% of the stupid things I've done but still, it's there in the back of my mind.

We haven't been on holiday in a few years which is probably just as we'll because last time we went, while getting dressed fresh from the sea, caught up in a moment of beach dudette-ness, feeling rather free spirited, as I dried the salt water from my body and shoved my clothes on under my towel, I accidentally showed my lady garden to my little sister's boyfriend. If I could have contained myself a little better, it wouldn't have happened.

There's obviously no way round some of the stupid stuff I've done, I just have to let it go. Put it down to experience and try to keep my damn mouth shut in future, or at least invest in a bigger towel.

It's funny because I do not regret the bigger stuff. 

There is a vague niggle of regret for not finishing my degree in London when I was at a truly prestigious university, but had I not moved and finished it elsewhere, I would not have met, and consequently married, my soul mate. 

All of my decisions, however good or bad, all led me to where I am, who I am now.

Yesterday, very aptly, while reading the work of a friend I came across a poem which really struck a chord. I'm certain he won't mind me sharing it with you here. Bare with me, it's long and won't be to everyone's taste (contains swear words, drug use & mentions sex), but give it a go.

A Three-Part Harmony in a Deep Sleep.

By Christopher P.P. White.

Smoking on the tenth floor

Of ten-story car parks

With a joint that wilts

Like a dying rose;

Grasping onto sanity

Whilst the walls

Covered in graffiti

Spin like a laundromat's innards.

My feet pointing upright,

The smell of a strangers urine in my nostrils,

The flickering spotlights flicker

In time to my tune-

A normal Friday night, I say,

As I drift off to a slumbered state.

Drinking the contents

Of acquaintances' fridges

At house parties and runaway homes.

Bottles of cheap beer and corner shop wine

Flood my lungs

And their voodoo curse

Attacks my lucidity with force;

I end up on the railings

Of a Jehovah's Church,

Under the new day's watch

With the help of police officers

And the responsibilities that the law provides.

I've slurred in front of the cops

Far too many times.

Not a day goes by

That I don't miss the drugs,

The booze, the recklessness,

The deep conversations under

A cloud of smoke,

The all nighters in pool halls,

The excitement of attraction,

The laughing fits,

The music--

THE FUCKING MUSIC!

The falling asleep to indie films,

The bubbling euphoria of being young

And being alive and wanting

To wake up and live the whirlwind

All...over...again.

I miss it.

Who wouldn't?

I would live through that beautiful mess

Every day for the rest of my life

If I could.

I'd rather have those times than

Gaze upon a sandy beach,

A fuck with no repercussions,

A guzzle of a £200 bottle of red wine,

A substantial win on the lottery,

A day in space,

A week abroad,

A meal cooked in a Parisian restaurant,

A second shot at being a kid again,

A striptease,

A new book of poems,

A look through old photos,

A freshly rolled cigarette,

A dance to a great song,

A first breath in an intrepid breeze,

A world without Jazz,

A time without war...

I would live through the intoxicated youth again,

The failed relationships,

The sleepless nights,

The self-loathing after a bender,

The lonely beds,

The tears,

the abuse,

The pain,

Anger,

Sorrow,

I would live through my years as a failure

And make all of those bad mistakes again,

Because it led me to you.

The book, his second collection of poetry, is available here.

Comment below and tell me an embarrassing story that makes you wish you had a 'do-over'. 

Complete with gruesome details please. 

I need you to make me feel better about showing my muff to a boy half my age.

Love to you all xxx