The Three Stages of Raising an Independent Child

I wanted to raise independent children. By that I mean that I wanted them to be strong, capable, and confident on their own. As far as I can tell, I've succeeded. Here's how I did it and what I learned.

Stage One: Infancy

When babies are old enough to be properly aware of the world around them, they want to take part in that world. Interactive toys help in this quest but the first time they really get a chance to become independent is during weaning.

For the uninitiated, this is the process by which babies move from exclusively being fed milk to eating three square meals with a bottle of milk at bedtime and it can take place any time between the ages of four and eighteen months, usually.

Giving your baby control of weaning lets them discover foods for themselves and means you're not forcing them to eat things they don't like. However, if you're anything like me and you hate mess - for the sole reason that you hate cleaning - sitting back and watching them play with food is a horrifying experience.

When purchasing our high chair we were recommended a plastic floor cloth to protect our surfaces - stone tiles in the kitchen, cream carpets everywhere else! It was a rented house! The floor cloth was a mat about 4ft by 4ft and was meant to be put down under the high chair to catch spills. Unfortunately, my first born ("M1") didn't understand that he only had a four foot square in which to share his joy. One of the first foods he took to was Weetabix and, while he enjoyed using a spoon to get it to his mouth with his right hand, his left hand would explore the texture of the wheat biscuits and would decorate his high chair, face, hair, clothes and beyond with what he found. His preferred method of decoration was to flick his hand vigorously to shake off the mushed biscuits. These flicks could go anywhere from the far left of his high chair with a single flop out the side or to the front, forwards; at me if I wasn't looking, at the wall if I managed to duck. Placing the floor mat in front of the high chair caught the worst of these forward flicks. Placing it to the left caught the floppy-arm mess. I couldn't do both. Oh! And I almost forgot: his right hand with the spoon in it? That's the one he used to tell me if he was finished... by throwing the spoon on to the floor. He had a fair throw for a wee baby!

Top tip for weaning: if you can't afford to lay linoleum throughout your house, buy tarpaulins.

The terrifying face of a yoghurt-eating monster

Stage Two: The Terrible Twos (& threes & fours!)

So you've raised your independent offspring this far. They're now a little person: walking, talking, expressing opinions. You've taught them how to do things for themselves. They want to do things by themselves. But they still have the "L" plates on. For me, this was the worst part.

Nothing strikes more fear into the heart of the exasperated parent than the words "I do it by self!" [sic] ... Simple tasks that you used to do for your baby in ten seconds begin to draw out over minutes. Who knew that putting on a jacket could be such an ordeal?

Of course, there's also the horrible realisation that the child has worked out how to rebel. If the child doesn't want to leave the house, the child can take steps to prevent the excursion. These can range from refusing to get dressed, to actively removing layers of clothing and even the old-fashioned clinging to the doorframe. Extracting a rebellious child in these circumstances requires skill, patience and time. Ideal for a mum on the run.

I found that very hard to cope with for a long time. I couldn't stand the fact that where once I arrived everywhere with my hair done, make up on and with time to spare I now barrelled in at the cow's tail, lucky if we were all clean and fully dressed. It almost felt like resignation: understanding and accepting that it just takes longer to get the little annoying people out of the house. I had to move the mental goalposts many, many times during this stage.

Taking an independent child to the park or soft-play area is an excellent opportunity to let them explore their boundaries. Running away from their caregiver, climbing frames and swinging from ropes are all fun, exciting things to do by themselves. Except...

"Muuuuuuum! I can't reach!"

"Daaaaa-aaad! Push me on the swings!"

"Muuuuuu-uuuuuuummmm! He won't play on the seesaw with me. You do it!"

Wanting to be independent and being able to be independent are two very different things and they don't always progress at the same rate. It took years of persevering at soft-play before I was able to drink a hot cup of coffee without interruption.

Top tips for the toddler years: allow extra time for all activities; and don't use the park or soft-play to get peace - ain't gonna happen!

M&M, near the end of an attempt to leave the house

Stage Three: School (and letting go)

So you spent the first four to five years of their lives doing everything for your children and taking hours showing them how to complete the minute tasks that make up daily life. Now what?

The nursery transition for the kids going up to "the big school" was absolutely excellent - I can't fault it. However, no one prepares the parents. By the time the children reach day one of primary school they've visited at least half a dozen times beforehand. They walk in on the first day of school as if it's no big deal and they wonder why the parents all have red faces. "You can go now, Mummy, I don't need you any more." One of the M&Ms actually uttered those words as I stood over him in his new classroom.

No more the daily report from nursery with every activity your child enjoyed and exact notes on snack and drink. With M1 at school I was lucky if I could find out whether he'd actually done anything all day! Two parents evenings per year are the only opportunity for most people to hear how their kids are doing. If you have the time and inclination to join the parent council or equivalent you learn more about what's going on in the school generally, but it's not a place to ask questions about your individual child.

You just have to hope you end up with a wee boy like M2, who comes out of the playground every day full of gossip and news, rather than M1 who finds it a great personal insult that you're asking him questions and "why do you need to know anyway?"

The other thing that comes with this stage is after-school clubs. Whatever the discipline, most of these clubs are drop-off and pick-up: you take your child, sign them in and leave them to it. However capable or otherwise your child is by now will just have to be enough.

Losing control over your child's every waking moment is bizarre. When they were born, I used an app to log the M&Ms sleep, nappy and feeding habits until they started weaning. Now I can only imagine what they get up to for 6 hours at school and another hour at their after-school clubs each evening.

They also start to venture off to friends' houses after school. Again, you have no input. The parent of the play-mate might text you to ask what they like to eat, but that's it. You just have to trust them to behave.

For me, there are three massive positives that make up for the huge loss of control and knowledge of your children's lives:

1) the pay-off. I do hate to write in cliches but it's true to say that all of your hard work is finally paying off. You finally see your children being strong, confident and independent individuals. I spent this morning at a "Sports Taster Session" watching my M&Ms run from activity to activity. M1 donned a padded helmet to try karate, followed by judo, handball and table tennis. M2 bounced from friend to friend - some of whom he's known from infancy, others he met for the first time today. The activity wasn't important for M2, so long as he was with his pals.

2) you can be a hero with very little effort. My boys love going to the park and going to soft-play. They also love museums, castles, beaches and anywhere else you could name. If I want to pass an in-service day when my (teacher) husband is at work, I just pack a picnic and head to one of the above. I plop myself in a shady spot or a quiet corner and tell the boys the relevant rules and then I sit back, read a magazine and enjoy watching them. But more importantly, I no longer need to get up every two minutes to fetch, sort, carry or assist. And when we leave, they're delighted - they thank me repeatedly and tell me what a great day they've had. It's magic!

3) free time. The most valuable commodity to anyone who's been a stay-at-home caregiver. After almost five years at home alone, day after day after soul-destroying day. And that's if you've only had one. I had two, so I had six years at home with one or the other. Suddenly, your youngest child starts school and the house is empty. It takes a little getting used to but, 18 months in, I love it. The M&Ms are happy, they both enjoy school and have lots of outside activities, and our weekends and holidays are filled with love and fun. I worked from home for a while, but always around the kids' schedules. Since my health has been rubbish I've not been working at all but actually I've really enjoyed having time to myself without feeling guilty about what I should be doing.

Top tips for school age and letting go: Don't feel guilty. You've worked hard. You deserve this time to bask in your independent offspring's glow. There are plenty of challenges ahead in this parenting lark. And if you miss feeling needed, find a nephew, niece or random toddler to take care of for a few hours - their parent probably needs it and you'll feel doubly glad when you hand them back!

M&M plus friend; photo taken with zoom. Magic.

My kids are independent. This means that they are capable, they are confident and they are strong. They're also kind, empathetic, generous and funny as hell. Don't tell them but I quite like them.

Here's to raising independent kids. God damn, it's hard. But it's very rewarding.

Peace and love.

FG x

Guidance on parenting - Part 1

Following on from my last blog I've decided to share my thoughts under clearer headings from now on. This is the first such entry. I'd love your feedback, including suggestions for topics to cover.

The easiest topic for me to start with is the thing which has occupied most of my time for the best part of a decade now: parenting. From the moment I learned I was pregnant in March 2009 I haven't stopped learning... not all of it was useful! This is a selection of what I've learned, presented to you in the hope that you can skip some of my mistakes and also so that anyone who's not as far through the journey can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

EDIT: this is a very long blog and I have a dozen more ideas, so I've renamed this "Part 1"

1) Forget everything you think you know about pregnancy

It's pretty obvious to say that old wive's tales are occasionally right but won't apply to everyone. Nonetheless I have one example to give to show why you should take them with a healthy dose of cynicism.

Have you heard the one about bad morning sickness meaning you're having a boy? I had dreadful nausea during my first pregnancy and - sure enough - I had a boy. Then it was plain sailing during my second pregnancy then - you guessed it - I had a boy. Anecdotally I've had friends with morning sickness go on to have girls, relatives who were never sick had boys... It's all rubbish. What may be true is that your morning sickness is actually caused by the surge of testosterone given to the baby in the later part of the first trimester. Your body isn't used to having these levels of testosterone so it does what it's programmed to do with anything upsetting the ecosystem: upchucks it.

Babies of either sex have more or less testosterone than the next baby of their sex. So my first son ("M1") loves playing rugby, running, throwing himself around in the mud (what he and his school friends term "the falling down game") while my younger son ("M2") prefers playing with toys like My Little Pony & Disney Princesses and hates getting dirty. M2 also likes watching rugby and happily wrestles with his big brother while brandishing a lightsaber, but generally I'd say it's safe to assume he has a significantly lower testosterone level than M1 and that's why I wasn't nauseated.

Pregnancy myths have some truth to them but if anyone tries to tell you something as fact while you're expecting, stick your fingers in your ears and run in the other direction. Or, you know, just smile and nod politely. But don't take it seriously!

2) Birth plan, shmirth plan

When I was carrying the bump that would become known as M1, I went to a lovely ante-natal class that prepared me for every aspect of a beautiful, natural labour, birth and breast-feeding experience. By the time I wrote my birth plan, I was all set for a relaxed labour on my yoga ball followed by a water birth set to music by a band called This Will Destroy You (which is more chilled out than it sounds!)

In reality M1 started burrowing for escape at 31 weeks, causing me immense pain and false labour on an almost-weekly basis. By the time I got to full term, I was demented with the uncertainty and I'd been signed off my work, so my consultant decided to book me in for an induction at just over 39 weeks.

Instead of a non-intrusive, holistic labour, I spent 48 hours labouring in a hospital ward, attached to monitors while the three other beds in the room operated a revolving door system of women who appeared to be mooing on the other side of the curtains, while my (ex-midwife) mother-in-law sat crocheting beside me, occasionally glancing at the monitor and unhelpfully commenting "oh yes." I'm sorry Mum Gibson, you were great company, but it was a difficult few days! By the time I'd been in there for over 2 days, I'd been examined from every angle by more people than I've ever given my home phone number.

On the third afternoon I was told that, although I was in labour, I was only three centimetres dilated. I was then given the choice of staying put and waiting, going home and waiting (not on your f***ing nelly!) or having a Caesarean section. After speaking to my darling beloved, I told them I'd like a Caesarean. The final part of my birth plan packed its bags and flew out of the window I'd been staring through for 52 hours. On the following morning, three full days after I'd entered the maternity ward, I was subjected to one final degradation - being shaved by a stranger who'd just put on my surgical stockings. When I went down to theatre and my consultant asked if I'd be willing to allow her student in the operating room to shadow her, I actually uttered the words, "the more the merrier."

Having a birth plan is a good idea: it lets your medical professionals know what you're expecting, it guides them on how to care for you and it mentally prepares you for the fact that you're going to have to push that bump out of you. But someone forgot to tell me that the baby didn't read the birth plan.

3) Babies also don't read "What To Expect When You're Expecting"

When I had M1, my partner had just started a new job and getting any kind of leave was very difficult. I was very fortunate that during the first few weeks my lovely, above-mentioned mother-in-law and most of my own family took holidays - or gave up their pre-existing holidays - to come over and run after me. Recovering from major surgery and breastfeeding a very hungry baby who's losing weight a little too quickly is rather difficult. Having a veritable village of helpers around me made a world of difference. I'll never be able to repay the soup-making, bottle-washing, endless laundry and general awesomeness of my little team.

Nonetheless, there were many times when I wanted to sit M1 down and read him appropriate chapters of the baby books to show him where he was going wrong. "You're not meant to feed for only 10 minutes at a time, once every 40 minutes," I cried hopelessly.

"You're supposed to nap now, it says so right here," I wailed.

"Why isn't your poop the right colour?"

"Don't sleep now, I'm meant to wind you first!"

"Wake up, I need to feed you."

"Don't lie that way, the book says it'll deform your skull."

"Don't look at me like that, it's not my fault!!!!"

It took me until week five to realise that the little pudding was starving, I simply wasn't producing enough milk to feed his appetite - an appetite that has thrived for over seven years since that realisation. When I finally gave him bottled milk (to complement what I could offer him myself) he devoured the whole thing in jig time and began putting on a pound per week for the next several weeks!

When M2 came along - also by Caesarean - I'd already decided not to breastfeed. This was for a variety of reasons, which I am happy to elaborate upon but have not been happy to receive criticism about from total strangers online.

To any new or expectant mother, I say, read all the books, take all the advice, then do what suits you and your baby. But you first. Your baby will be okay with bottle feeding. You, however, do nothing for yourself or your baby by suffering endlessly and driving yourself to the brink of exhaustion.

To anyone who has strong opinions on the "breast is best" debate, I plead, don't force those opinions down the throats of women who are already overwhelmed, bombarded with data and statistics and opinions and advice. If you're asked for your opinion, offer it, but do it nicely: calmly, clearly and with measured tones. Don't say that breastfeeding advocates are militants. Don't say that powdered milk is poison. It's not true and it's incredibly damaging to vulnerable women's psyches. Everyone agrees that breast is best, but let's keep the rhetoric on a simmer. Girl power.

4) Other parents are your new best friends

It doesn't matter how good your friendships are, no one wants to hear about your sleepless nights or cracked bits. Unless they're also currently Lansinoh's best customer. And if you don't know what that is, consider yourself lucky and go on about your day. Please don't Google it.

I'm afraid this lesson took me much too long to learn. I did make a few lovely "mummy friends" in the early days, but mostly on a one-to-one basis. One such friend was in a very similar situation to myself - challenging kids, lack of confidence - and she was trying her best to work, like me, but not keeping up with it very well, also like me. Our kids were only months apart, they adored each other and Gill & I became fast friends over shared frustrations and a fondness for a large glass of something strong at the end of the day. We remain firm bosom buddies to this day - more on this later.

I did go to Bookbug story sessions in the library once or twice when M1 was wee, but I'm afraid that when M2 came along my depression took over and he was two years old before I started attending toddler groups - largely to keep Gill company. Mine eyes, dear reader, blew wide. Here was a collection of women and some brave men who faced an identical dilemma to mine: one or more children below school age, too many hours in the day and not enough money to afford a drinking problem. Among the brigade of childminders with gangs of toddlers in tow were mums struggling to fill the days for their precious darlings or those who craved adult company beyond the presenters of CBeebies. I befriended the mums, I networked with the childminders, I watched my children develop friendships that would last a lifetime or a playtime. Crucially, my children learned how to form friendships, while I learned to embrace the ridiculous notion of asking an adult, "please can we be friends?"

Making friends as an adult is a strange experience. Essentially, you sit quietly watching the parents while pretending to be monitoring your little dears, pick someone who looks friendly, then sidle up to them and strike up a conversation. My favourite opener is, "which one's yours?" It came naturally and it lets people talk about their kids instead of themselves. The hardest part is how you get out of the conversation: you've either decided they're not likely to become a friend, in which case you just excuse yourself by going for a cup of tea; or alternatively, you enjoy the chat and want to befriend them. That's the bit where you choose to let it develop over a few weeks of toddler sessions but risk them not coming back ever again (which happened to me) or you try to get a method of contact... without sounding like a lunatic. I'm afraid that one's on you, reader. Good luck!

5) Repeat after me: this too shall pass

The hardest and the best part of parenting is that everything passes so quickly.

Oh, how I wish for those baby smells again, for the chunky little legs of M1 while I was bathing him and the long slim fingers of M2 wrapped around mine. Oh, how I'm glad to be far removed from sleepless nights, food fights, cries over wind... But I detest the hilarity over loud farting! Would I rather they still had wind and couldn't pass gas to relieve their stomachs? Of course not. Do I foresee a time when farting won't be hysterically funny? Sadly, no.

There are moments that you wish you could preserve in amber when your children are young. Within the first year of M1's life I'd taken thousands of photographs and videos in an attempt to capture his little sounds and expressions. He was only 50 weeks old when M2 came along and I continued my photography binge with gusto. When I got my new laptop as M2 turned four, I had 12,000 items in my iPhoto account. As each year has gone by, I've realised that nothing can replace the actual feeling of witnessing your child's "first" anything and one photo to record the event is sufficient. But I sometimes wish the clock would slow down ever so slightly.

That said, I wish daily that this stage would hurry up, bugger off and take its friends with it. Whether it be teething, weaning, sleep training, potty training, fears, shyness, tantrums or obstinance, all of the worst elements of raising kids have eventually f***ed off. Some linger on, like foul smells you can't wash away, but the majority disappear as quickly as they came. Most of the time I didn't even notice - the good and the bad. When M2 was little he couldn't say the letter "Y," instead using the letter "N." Thus, he would frequently ask for a "nogurt" after he'd finished his (self-imposed) "noga pwactiss." A small, naughty part of me didn't correct him when he'd make these little errors yet somehow he learned the way to ask for "you" to do something and the habit was gone. But I hadn't noticed. One day I told him I'd fetch his nogurt and he turned around - disgusted - and insisted, "Mummy! It's YOGURT! Yah, yyyogurt!" with indignant emphasis on the Y. I stood stunned in the doorway, staring at my baby and I burst into unbidden tears. He raced over and grabbed me round the knees saying he didn't mean to shout at me and I had to explain to him that his mother is an idiot.

M2 was also the one who just wouldn't go to sleep on his own. Since M1 started walking (at 51 weeks, when I had just come home with a 1 week old M2) he has sped everywhere as fast as his little legs could carry him. When he had nowhere to go, he ran anyway - in circles, to fetch more toys, to find someone to play with. He has boundless energy but he uses all of it and he desperately needs his sleep when bedtime rolls around. M2 was a different story.

I have a photograph of M2 when he was about 6 months old. The photo is taken from my pillow, while I was lying down, with M2 on my stomach. He's sitting upright, but in the way that babies do when they've only just learned how to sit by themselves - all of his weight was leaning forward and his tummy was being cradled by the basket of his folded legs. It's very clearly the middle of the night in the photo, only the softest light from my bedside lamp fills the room. M2 is looking down at me, all gums and slevers (a good Scottish word for "drool") and he's grinning. Not smiling sweetly, but grinning the milky grin of a baby who knows he's driving his mother batty. His face screams "I know it's the middle of the night, mummy, but isn't it fun to be awake!"

For the first few years of his life, M2 needed either my husband or I to stay in his bedroom with him for upwards of an hour. A movement too soon would rouse him and the whole bedtime process was for naught. Neither of us felt able to go out at night for the first few months of his life and even once we did start taking it in turns to have the odd night out we'd feel horribly guilty for leaving the other one to face this tiny terror's wrath alone.

I am delighted to inform you that for quite some time now M2 has been a great sleeper, easy to put to bed and a very happy long-lier. However I don't have a clue when this happened. The memories are so distant now that it could be anything between two and four years ago. But if you'd seen me back then, or especially if you'd seen my husband (who, as a working father, wanted to have bedtimes as "daddy time"), you would have seen two exhausted and fed up people with no end in sight.

6) Repeat again: this too shall pass

Walking around like a zombie, or like a pin cushion for sadistic nurses, or as cracked and dry as a sandal in the Sahara; all of these things combine to make you feel less than human. In the beginning you focus so totally on the little human that came out of you that you forget to be a person yourself. For a lot of new parents, the first few months are solely about not breaking the creature that the hospital let you take with no instructions. Even a Kinder egg comes with a warning label, but human children have no set text. Concentrating on not killing small people takes up a huge volume of brain power and parents often neglect tasks that would previously have been second nature: brushing your teeth, washing your hair, even changing your pants can sometimes go forgotten when a tiny Hitler is screaming violently from the baby monitor.

M2 turned six in November and has been at school for 18 months... I now have makeup on most days, my hair is always brushed and often presentable enough to be left out of a ponytail, I get my nails painted professionally once every two to three weeks and I never leave the house in yesterday's underwear. I have health problems which mean my sleeping pattern is a little chaotic, so success isn't guaranteed but it's regular.

I can see friends during the day whenever I please and I even have standing dinner plans with Gill (from earlier thoughts on toddler groups) and our friend Mandie. I met Mandie when M2 started going to a dance class. Mandie was a childminder who brought the whole gaggle of children in her care along so the dancers among them could attend class when they were with her. This also meant that Mandie brought entertainment & snacks and therefore her little group was of great interest to M1, who came along while his brother was settling in. Mandie has the most generous and warm nature and instantly invited M1 to join them. Before long, M2 was asking if we could arrive early so he'd have time to play with them as well.

A year or so later when Gill was trying again to get back to work, I recommended Mandie as her childminder. It would suit Gill's little girl better, who was intimidated by the big nursery environment, and it was a lovely, warm, family home so her older son wouldn't feel babied. I'm delighted to say that it was not only a perfect match for Gill's kids, but it also created a friendship circle between the three of us. We used to grab a hurried coffee between nursery drop-offs and school pick-ups and toddlers and so on... But when Gill moved to a town 15 minutes over the hill from Mandie and me, it separated us just enough that daytime get-togethers as a threesome became more challenging. Damn you, Gill!

Truthfully, it was a stroke of genius on Gill's part: we are now forced - forced, I tell you - to meet up in the evening, usually in the local curry buffet. The coffee has been swapped for wine and the food bill rarely exceeds the drinks bill. It's brilliant! But three years ago if you'd told any of the three of us that we'd be going out regularly at night together and coming home drunk - to the embarrassment of Gill's poor husband who has dropped me home in some terrible states while Gill slumbers in the back seat - we would have laughed squarely in your face. One of the times we went out, I even had "pre-drinks" at Mandie's house while she finished getting ready. Imagine!

Parenting is full of cliches - "it's one of the most challenging and most rewarding things you'll ever do" springs to mind - but most of them come from a good heart. All of the above tips aren't new. I haven't tried to reinvent the wheel (cliche klaxon!) but I am giving honest advice to anyone who's reading this blog. If you're a new parent or even a would-be parent, embrace the good bits and try really really hard to grit your teeth through the hard bits. It is worth it, honest. If you're an old hand at parenting, I hope this blog has made you giggle, but feel free to pass on the advice to friends at the start of their journey. If you're a parent who's further on than me, please tell me when they start using initiative in the morning to get ready for school - soon? - because I'm fed up of shouting "SOCKS! NOW!" at small people who don't seem to care. And if you're a non-parent, determined never to have kids, I say "well done" and "good for you" and all of that sort of thing. I hope you've had a right good laugh at what a shower of pillocks we all are for voluntarily subjecting ourselves to this, the slowest form of torture known to humanity. Try not to be too smug in your clean car, on your exotic holidays, in your white- or cream-coloured homes. The rest of us are trying very hard not to be jealous.

Peace and love.

FG xx

Sock it to me

So, dear reader, we've been on a long ramble over the past eleven blogs, but where has it led us?

Do you feel enriched for reading these musings? Do you nod along as you read or quietly debate me in your mind? Have I grown in the last 2 months of writing? Have I matured as a writer or as a person?

As I start this, my twelfth blog, I have no title - the first time I've begun a blog without knowing what it's about. That's probably because I was talking to a friend this morning about my writing process and how I approach my blogs, so my mind is filled with too many ideas and only one line to give this post a name.

On the one hand, I want to tell you all that I've previously tried my hand at writing poetry and I still do - I recently crafted a little rhyme for friends who have become parents. I've also written a more non-traditional musing on depression, which was quite dark but lyrical. But then I think that's all very poncey and decide not to mention it(!)

I was also considering the content of the blogs - have they been too political, too personal, not personal enough, too whiny? Am I writing about fun stuff or am I discussing the grand issues facing the world today. Looking at the statistics (which I mentioned in a previous post as being decidedly unhelpful) I see no pattern in content versus audience response. So that's no use.

Coincidentally, the person I was talking to was involved in the group where my music debuted (as mentioned in my first entry), so I was thinking again about the name of the blog - FeeGee's Ramblin' Prose. So far, that's what I've provided. Caveat emptor - these are my ramblings! They take no overarching shape or style. They are just the brain farts I have at 2am, mostly. This one is a 2pm effort, but it's rare that I have time to think during the day.

Where has all of this navel-gazing got me? I think the main thing I've learned is that I definitely enjoy writing and want to pursue it further. Which was rather the point of starting the whole thing; to dip my toe in the water. What shape should the writing now take? Shall I craft some fiction and see how it reads? Should I share my poetry and risk alienating my lovely readers? Should I keep blogging but narrow myself down to one or two subjects? Which subjects?

I'm not really any further forward for the exercise. And it's just occurred to me that this is what today's entry is about: what do YOU want? You, the person reading these words, right now, in your head. You're probably looking at your phone or maybe a laptop. Did you just look over your shoulder to see if I was watching you? (I'm not. I'm about to go pick up the kids from school, plus an extra one for fun. Who doesn't love a play date?)

What have you enjoyed reading? Have you read every entry? Do you wait for the next one? Do you only click through when you can be arsed? What has stuck with you? Can you remember old posts without going back through them? Have I written something that resonated with YOU? What was it?

I don't think I've ever written more questions in one place.

I'm going to keep writing as I am for now, but I really want your feedback. Go back through the blogs if you have time - remind yourself which ones struck you and what made you skim past. Tell me. Tell me the truth. There's no point in me writing if no one is enjoying it.

So be honest. Don't be brutal, 'cause there's no need for that! Just be true. Have you read or have you skimmed? What's working? Sock it to me. There. I've just typed in the name of this blog. But I'm going to leave the rest of this one unedited. If it reads poorly, I can only apologise. But if I'm asking you to be honest, I'll be honest too: I edit what I write. I do allow myself to ramble because that was the whole point, but normally I go back and clean it up. This entry is laid bare, warts and all. Sock it to me.

Peace.

FG x

Getting on with it

Before I begin this entry, I have to thank everyone who got in touch after my last post, you're all just lovely.

Anyway, regular readers should know a fair bit now of who I am and why I write. However I can't write all the time or you'd all be sick of me(!) so I do other things too. A lot of things tire me out quite quickly so I've been scaling back on activities, especially where walking is concerned, as a lot of my problems are in my joints.

For all that I said I've been cleared of my depression, I've still been feeling pretty fed up with watching so much daytime television in lieu of too much activity.

With this all in mind, I set out last week in search of something new to occupy myself. The criteria was quite rigid: minimal walking, low cost, low impact, preferably social, during school hours, not too much brain power (e.g. not studying, which I tried and failed in autumn)... Quite hard to find something which ticks every box, isn't it? [Incidentally, I'm still open to new ideas, if anyone has something to suggest, please do so in the comments]

I had no grand plan of how to find something, but I gave myself a mission to have my eyes and ears open to opportunities whenever possible. On the Wednesday, something caught my eye. I was in the wool and crafts shop in the town, checking on some handmade knitted items I'd ordered, when I spotted a little sign on the desk that read: "Learn to knit or crochet - ask for details"

As a child, my Mum taught me how to knit, although I never actually retained the ability to cast on and off. My Gran and I spent many rainy Saturdays embroidering and cross-stitching. However what I've always really dreamed of is making my own clothes. In my head, I see myself living in the countryside, with my children and dog playing outside all day, me growing my own vegetables, keeping hens and making beautiful clothes for myself and my family.

The reality falls far, far short of this ideal. I do live on the last street in a small town with fields outside the window, but there's a very busy road outside and the house belongs to my parents who also happen to live here! My children can't play outside for fear of being run over by the cars who speed in and out of our street or on the main road, but even if they could they wouldn't because they're currently far too interested in watching other people play video games on Youtube (why is this a thing???) I don't have the energy to dig a vegetable patch, although my Dad has an allotment plot so we have fresh veg and I could maybe steal a little corner once I feel better (if he lets me, after all the teasing I've given him for being a wee old man in a greenhouse!) I can't keep hens because of the fact we live with my parents and the enclosed part of the garden has no space for a coop and no grass for any would-be hen residents. Oh and the fact that my dog is a nutter who'd probably eat them all. I've never made a single item of clothing for anyone, not even a doll, and I even had to get help sewing my son's badges on his jumper for Beaver Scouts.

As I said, the dream is a long way away.

So the idea of learning how to knit and crochet from a professional seemed like a step towards the dream. A teeny, tiny step. I asked the woman who owns the shop and she invited me to start learning there and then. By the end of that afternoon, I'd knitted a 10x10 square (read: postage stamp!) and crocheted a "granny square." The lovely lady in the shop is wonderful: I've known her for a couple of years now, since her shop opened, and she's always seemed like one of life's truly nice people. As a teacher, she was fab: explained clearly, very patient and has total faith in every student's ability to learn. The next day I went back to the shop and started my first project - an infinity scarf/cowl for myself, crocheted. It took a little bit of effort to get me started, but I finished it within a few days of going into the shop. By Monday of this week, I felt confident enough to bring my second project (another scarf, as my entire family decided they wanted one!) home after I got started in the shop.

The great thing is that I can work at home or in the shop, as the owner has cleverly used the space to create a community area for classes or just letting people come in and sit to work on their creations, get a little help with tricky parts or get pattern ideas. This means I can socialise, either with the owner if she's not busy or with the other people who come and go. There's only a small financial outlay: a small donation to the "tea fund" and whatever supplies I need. The joints in my hands are only affected when the rest of my body flares up, so there's nothing stopping me from working away for hours at a time. Although I need to learn the techniques and skills, once I start a project there's very little mental exertion required.

I've really enjoyed spending time in the shop a few days of the past week. I felt at first like I was being a pest to the poor woman, sitting in her shop and taking up space. But she's been so welcoming and warm, and she's reassured me constantly that it's okay, the space is there to be used by the community. And I realise now that I'm contributing to the tea fund and to the shop by buying my supplies, and making the place look busy which I suppose is good for business(?) She's been so kind letting me be there but it's been so good for me, being productive, not being lonely at home, socialising. It's definitely a hit.

So that's been what I've done recently. It's definitely helped my mood and kept me busy. I did have a little low morning this morning, but as the sun came out around 11am I headed to my favourite wee seaside town for a walk along the front with a good pal and we went for lunch. It blew away the cobwebs and the blether lifted my spirits.

Feel free to leave your suggestions below, if you have any!

Peace and love.

FGx