Life Goes On

I've been trying not to let my various blended family issues get me down recently. I'm not sure if I'm succeeding, but I've certainly managed to achieve a lot of the things I've needed to.

I handed in a 200 page thesis last week. Somehow, it was all a little anti-climatic. The woman who collected the two bound copies that I reluctantly handed over looked very unimpressed, and primarily displeased at have been disturbed from Strictly Come Celebrity Pop Factor in the Jungle, or some variation thereof. She gave me a little yellow slip as a receipt. I felt like getting one of those t-shirts made: I spent four years doing a doctoral thesis and all I got is this lousy yellow slip.

Somehow, four years ago, a doctorate seemed like such a worthwhile thing to do. Now it just feels like I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to catch up with my pension & national insurance payments, and listening to people say: 'But you're not a real doctor, are you?'

However, I am glad that I didn't succumb to that avaricious urge to apply to Lehman brothers like some of my contemporaries at college. Although it does seem that those who are losing the most in this global fiscal crisis are the workers at the bottom of the food chain, rather than the investment bankers. All the major banks and consultancies are still booked in for the University milkround and practically salivating at the prospect of all those quantitative analysts now free to work for them. Hang on, I think I'm drifting dangerously into political territory now - let me just drag myself back to safer ground.

So, what I was trying to say was that it seemed like such a good idea at the time, and now I'm 27 with no pension, a healthy student debt and an oncoming recession. However, I did manage to get a job, albeit on a short 6 month contract, although goodness knows how as I haven't exactly been at my sparkling best recently. And that leads us nicely into the picture heading this post.

I have endometriosis and have been put on Zoladex for the forseeable future as it is the only treatment that has successfully treated the large amount of tissue growth around my various organs, thus reducing the pain to a minimal amount. Had to have an implant yesterday and my tummy is still swollen. For those curious to know where that big fat needle goes, it goes here:
Yeah, that hurts, but not as much as say, having a wisdom tooth out, or slamming your chin on the side of the pool when trying to get out and clamping your teeth shut around your tongue (blood everywhere, I was traumatised for life), or indeed endometriosis itself.

What it does do is induce temporary menopause for the duration of the treatment. So I have been grouchy and irritable and neurotic and hopelessly insecure. The physical symptoms (hot flushes, night sweats, joint pain) are nothing compared to the emotional effects. I discussed it with my GP yesterday and she pointed out that this is what bad PMT is like and that I was feeling permanently what a lot of women feel for four days a month.

Ladies, if you've ever had to suffer this, let me say wholeheartedly now how much I respect and admire you. I've been lucky enough not to suffer from PMT, back when I was having the M, and truly cannot believe that it isn't a bigger issue in women's health.

As for me, I try to watch out for any extremes of behaviour so that I can attempt to put a stop to them, but it's difficult as I genuinely feel like I'm awful at everything, like I'm going to kill the person who insists on sniffing so loudly at the desk next to me, like I don't have enough tears to express the heartache I feel sporadically throughout the day, for no good reason.

Nevertheless, I've discovered the best indicator is Jason; when he gets that scared look on his face and starts quietly but carefully backing away, I know I've gone too far.

In Training...

Thanks to all who offered sage advice and support. Sometimes a little reassurance that you're not being unreasonable in your expectations is crucial to stop that self-doubt niggling away at your confidence and happiness.

He thinks he sees a little better. I'm not sure quite what that means, but it's a start. He understands that I don't need to do what I do and he's starting to realise what those things are. Although, as Meesha points out, even after many years it seems that our partners struggle to fully appreciate the demands and expectations we must live with and live up to. To those who understand better than others: can you come explain it to my partner 'cos sometimes I think we're speaking different languages?

I suspect one of the hardest things for him is to listen to me complain about the way I'm treated when he feels that he's been working really hard not to take me for granted. He sits in silence and takes it until eventually it gets too much and he gets upset enough to let it all out at once in an explosion of hurt and anger and misunderstanding. Then he climbs back into his cave and it takes much love and chocolate to entice him out again. He knows he has to talk things through to make them better, but he's a man and not very comfortable talking about his feelings. Plus he feels hurt and unappreciated that his efforts have failed.

He is, however, beginning to understand that buying me flowers unexpectedly and showering me in love, while wonderful and appreciated, is no substitute for basic human respect from his children. And the ability to stay in my own house without being bullied.

So now he's reading 'The Single Girl's Guide to Marrying a Man etc'. I don't know how much it'll help, but I think it does make a difference seeing how the same situations make others feel the same way I do. Thus diminishing my status as neurotic, unreasonable, demanding female.

Well, diminishing the 'unreasonable', anyway ;)

How Do I Make Him See?

Jason doesn't understand. Anything. I've been trying to explain how I feel - taken for granted, left out, ignored, hurt, insulted, unappreciated. He doesn't get it.

He sees that I don't have to do what I do. But he doesn't think I do much. He doesn't see that welcoming people into my home half the time who are rude and nasty to me, then paying half the rent for the house I'm not welcome in, half the food for 4 people, tidying up after them, cooking and washing up when required, entertaining when required, helping with homework, buying gifts then making myself scarce when not wanted whilst always being nice, never complaining in front of anyone, never telling anyone off, never being short or angry or upset in front of anyone; and all this with no say in what goes on in what is supposed to be my house - no say in when the kids come over or for how long, how they get to treat me, what they do, most of the time no warning even... He doesn't think that amounts to anything.

Does it really not? If it doesn't then what's wrong with me that I feel like this?

And if it does amount to something - how do I get him to see?

When I first met Mark I thought he bore an uncanny resemblance to Damien from 'The Omen'. I know - not pleasant, and probably not the sort of thing you want to share, right? Except, I figured that with this kid, it probably was. And he thought that was great. He loves those scary kids books with monsters and vampire pirates, and he does a great impression of a zombie.

So it's become an in joke between us.

Except.

Secretly, I have this tiny fear that he really will turn into Damien. After all, it's not like his sister's that far off. And he is a teenager. So when he pretends to be 'evil child' there is occasionally a nervousness to my laughter.

Now this is not entirely fair. He is a fantastic child, and his enthusiasm for practically everything on the planet is pretty infectious, as is his hyper energy level. However, Jason has mentioned that he has changed an awful lot since he started coming to stay with us, a little over a year ago. Once upon a time he was showing signs of becoming more difficult than Angelica is now. He would suddenly go into rages and was liable to stomp off, no matter where they were, with no regard for his own safety, and then get impossibly lost. Jason thinks this was the testosterone flaring for the first time, but he is still impressed by the transformation that Mark underwent. Surely the hormones must still be there surging away when the lights go out?

And that's what I'm worried about. Mark has never behaved badly in my presence. I walked in on the remnants of a strop about a year ago, and my presence must have made him decide it wasn't worth holding on to, as he snapped out of it pretty quickly. Life's far more fun when you stop sweating the small stuff (who moved my cheese?) and concentrate on enjoying yourself.

Nevertheless, I have, on occasion, watched the seeds of a strop appear, looking for a place to germinate. When his sister is winding him up, when his father is teasing him just a little too much, I can see him beginning to get angry and then change his mind at the last minute. We had one of those at the weekend - Mark and Jason were chasing each other around the house as I was cooking. It resembled a school playground very closely - underwear was yanked into cracks, wet fingers were poked into ears and I would hear sporadic roars followed by Mark shouting 'nipple cripple!'

Men.

Anyway, Jason got the last one in and as Mark recounted the attack to me, I could see his righteous indignation swell and the frown he wore grew darker. I got scared - he didn't seem to be clearing this potential storm. So I asked him about the number of times *he* managed to get his father.

That worked. The clouds cleared and he delighted in revealing the minutiae of his attacks.

I love this boy. But I am afraid that a horrible hormonal teenaged nightmare might yet reside within that cheerful, mischievous heart. After all, as Smirking Cat rightly pointed out - teenagers aren't fun. Certainly not 24/7, anyway.

So I'm a little apprehensive. I really hope it doesn't happen; but isn't that whole Jekyll and Hyde thing kind of inevitable for teens?

Whipped

I'm giving Jason some time on the Angelica issue. He's decided to take them to his parents for a series of talks. I'm leaving him to it for a while - after the ear-bashing he's received from me recently I imagine he needs to go away and think about what he's been doing (I think I was a primary school teacher in a previous life).

In the meantime, he dropped the kids off on Wednesday and was told that he'd be taking Angelica to a university open day in Notts on Saturday, because it was his turn. They've decided to alternate so this is his second, and BM's done one.

This kind of scuppers his plans for the weekend. Well, actually our plans, as we were supposed to just have Mark over, which is always fun. Now Mark will be babysat by Jason's parents, which I'm sure he'll enjoy. They have a terrier that Mark loves to torment. However, I know that Jason was also looking forward to the things he'd planned to do with his son. Still, he'll get Sunday.

We were discussing the change of plans when he told me on Thursday, and all the little details, like whether they would be back for dinner, would they be eating together, should I fend for myself, could I invite someone over or would he be bringing Mark back and expect dinner? In the past I've not asked any of these questions, have been told to expect them home for food and then not eaten myself because they didn't get back till late, ate elsewhere and didn't call to tell me.

Not anymore, Sweetheart - that woman is outta here.

Jason's quite laid back - he doesn't do plans. He had no idea what he wanted and couldn't understand why I wouldn't just wait and see what happened (see previous experiences, Sunshine). Not that this is a big deal, but I'm starting small with the training him to think about the position he puts me in.

He eventually said, 'Hey, it's not my fault - this was dumped on me last minute too!'
Apparently the word 'no' is not a part of his vocabulary. I'm familiar with this. For New Year's last year we had long planned to go out together for a special evening, just the two of us (Jason had had the kids the year before). The day before New Year's eve he tells me that 'We're taking the kids to London for the fireworks'.

I'm sorry, what?

This is after a particularly nasty Christmas where I had worked my backside raw for them, earning money for gifts, organising outings, making and embroidering stockings, cooking until the oven was gasping for mercy and cleaning the house practically daily after the kids and, occasionally, dog, left their mark on things. That wasn't the nasty bit. The horrid part was Angelica's treatment of me - which meant that I was left out of all the celebrations and had to clean the house all over again afterwards because she decided it would be hilarious to throw glitter, shredded paper, sequins and foil everywhere. Literally, everywhere, it was like Tinkerbell had vomited after a frat party and we still find glitter in the carpet pile and foil bits down the back of the couch.

Ok, I didn't mind too much about the work (except for that last bit, I swear she knew exactly what she was doing when she did that); it was the being left out that really hurt.

Anyway, I'm digressing. When I pointed out the lack of short notice and that I wasn't sure spending New Year entertaining Angelica would be pleasant after Christmas, Jason said:
'Well, you don't have to come.'

No, I'm sure I can make other plans with ONE DAY left to go. After I've turned down other invitations and lost the opportunity of a lift given that everyone I know has gone away and I didn't think I'd need to go with them. Sure, I could stay at home on my own and get sozzled on port while I beat myself at hangman. Or maybe just beat myself.

I found a solution. I'll tell you about it another time.

Basically, the point that I lost somewhere back there amidst the foil and fireworks was that Jason has a hard time saying no when the BM says 'jump'. He admits this. I can understand, it just bugs me sometimes that I'm expected to constantly work my life around them. Obviously only when it affects me too. Is a little bit of notice too much to ask?

Personally, I went to all my university interviews alone - even when they were technically in a different country (as I'm sure the Scots prefer to think). But that really wouldn't work for Angelica.

'I'll only get a phone call when she's in Glasgow,' Jason points out.

Can't argue with that.

To the Easily Offended... Please Avert Your Eyes...

Somewhere in the bush behind our house, there is a garden. Or so I've heard - it's been quite some time since I saw the evidence.

I commented to Mark that soon it would be time to get out the shears and trim things back:

Me: I really hate that part of gardening. I get scared of the garden spiders waiting to ambush me, and I always emerge covered in lethal scratches, even when there's no thorn in sight. Bushes have it in for me.

Mark: That's ok - I'll do it! I like trimming bush!

Me: !

Your Halo's Crooked...

Jason has been 'Trying' to talk to Angelica about her behaviour for a while now. Apparently. He has had the 'Don't you like Medea?' conversation, the 'what you did really upset Medea', conversation, the 'Why did you do that?' conversation, the 'When you treat her like that it's really upsetting for Medea' conversation, as well as a few others. Her responses have been of the form: 'Of course I like Medea', 'I didn't do anything wrong', 'You misunderstood me' and 'I didn't mean to, I was upset because of you/Mark/xyz' etc.

Her behaviour has remained unchanged. Actually, no, that's not true: it has actually been getting worse. So the contract on our house is coming up for renewal and I told Jason that I would no longer be paying for a house in which I did not get to live. I was moving out. And boy was I looking forward to it.

That lit a fire under him. So he has decided that he's definitely going to do something. I'm not quite sure what. Anyway, he made his first move by taking the children to his parents' place (neutral ground, apparently) and sitting down to talk with Angelica.

He explained to her that the things she'd been doing were unacceptable. He wasn't brave enough to point out any of the things she'd done that were really nasty, just talked about her ignoring me, talking over me and generally being rude. I think that was a bit of a cop out, really, but I guess he's trying.

Angelica denied all of it. Didn't happen. She doesn't do things like that.

At this stage, Jason's sister came in to say that actually, she had seen Angelica treat me this way the last time I had joined them all for dinner.

Angelica claimed to have no idea what they were talking about. Apparently, I must be making it all up. I must be over-sensitive. I misunderstand her. Maybe it's just that I talk too quietly and she doesn't hear me. It's because I'm so short.

(WTF??!)

I can't say I'm overly surprised. It did blow the wind out of Jason's sails for a bit, because he didn't know where to go next. So he gave up.

I tried pointing out that there were plenty of occasions that he could specify individually, some of which I've detailed here, others that I haven't - when she arranged for me to be left out at Christmas, when she complained about Mark being nice to me, when she suggested that I left all the chores to Jason after I had spent the day cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, when she suggested that I was lazy when I was so ill I was on thirty pills a day just to function without pain, when she told me to get lost after I brought her some hot chocolate, the weekend when she consistently left a room if I entered it and insisted that Jason and Mark go with her. Oh and not just me - there was the time she slammed her brother's face into a window and claimed he was attention seeking when he went to Jason with tears pouring down his face, looking for justice. He didn't get any. Jason just left Mark with me and took Angelica to spend the day with him (in order to separate them you understand).

I'm thinking of taking up smoking again. I need some way of dealing with the frustration without going nuts. I should find a healthy outlet - oh hang on. I have a blog ;)

I am quite happy about that fact that not once have I taken out my frustration on the children. I haven't said anything horrid, I've not shouted at them, I've not berated them. I have vented here and tried to talk things through calmly with Jason. I just wish men wouldn't wait until the last possible minute to do something when things are going wrong.

He doesn't have them again for a couple of days. At this rate, I think he'll still be 'working on it' by Christmas, because in three years, I've never known Angelica to ever admit to doing anything wrong.

Let the games begin.

Hardwork + Dedication = Snow Leopards

So I think I've been letting Angelica get to me an awful lot recently. So I've decided I'm going to try to balance things out. I'm going to try to remember a time when she was nice, in an attempt to convince (remind?) myself that she *is* a nice person, deep down, somewhere; and that her behaviour is not personal.

Oh, but it so feels like it is.

Stop. Not going to fall back into that trap.

Ok, lets see. I know. Once upon a time, Angelica and I used to spend a lot of time together. She was struggling in school and had important exams coming up. I teach maths and science in my spare time and have quite an impressive success rate, so when Jason mentioned Angelica's ongoing issues and that she was worried that she would fail badly, I desperately wanted to help. I genuinely believe that no child can ever be 'useless' at maths or science if they get the right attention and approach to learning. You need to tailor the teaching to suit them. If they want to learn - and Angelica really did, then it should be rewarding to watch them flourish.

And you know what? It really was. We did need to start pretty much at the beginning. Angelica had been left behind over the years as the course went on at a pace that was just beyond her. Nobody took the time to make sure she'd understood before moving off topic - and it really didn't take much time. In the end, I taught her two years worth of maths in six months. Plus a bit of science, literature and French thrown in. I loved puzzling out the best way to explain things so that they would make sense from where she was sitting. She thrived - she would come to see me with evidence of hours of extra work she'd put in to a subject she used to hate that she now saw as just a series of games and puzzles.

Plus we were getting on really well. In between discussing the number of prada purses a girl could by with 600 euros (In my world a prada purse costs about the same as a hardback book), we talked about the things we loved to do, the people we knew, hobbies, friends, our families and our pets - everything you could imagine.

She had been predicted an E in maths. Six months later, she got a B. I was incredibly proud, and very impressed by her hard work and determination. So to reward her, I started saving up for a particularly special birthday present for her. Angelica loves animals, and had wanted to be a vet (at that stage). So for her 16th, we got her a day looking after tigers, lions, jaguars, cheetahs, meerkats, red pandas, snow leopards, coatis and pretty much every other animal you can imagine at a wildlife conservation park. She got to climb into enclosures and feed racoons, monkeys and birds of prey. It rained all day but nothing could wipe that smile from her face.

Oh, and the park-keepers were great at including Mark whenever possible too. It was a fantastic day - and she really deserved it.

Fair D'income

I have been devouring every scrap of literature on step-motherhood and dating divorced daddies that I can find in the somewhat vain hope that one of them will contain the magic spell I can whisper to make things better: to stop being the scapegoat for anything that goes wrong with the family, to stop being crapped on from up high by Angelica and occasionally other family members when they need someone to take the blame for misbehaving children and general unhappiness (because, of course, it's always the step-mother's fault eventually, because everything would be better if things went back to the way they were before she came along - but hang on, that's another blog for another day).

Anyway, in the midst of one of the many books I've been pawing through like a teenaged boy on his first date was an article on finances. Now this was something I thought I had sorted. I'm a scientist, I've taught math, I can handle the finances. Yet recently I've realised that I'm beginning to sense potential problems, just around the corner. They haven't made their presence felt yet, but I suspect it might happen sometime when I least expect it.

Let me elaborate. The article was about a woman who moved in with her partner and his two boys - although he was the non-custodial parent, so they weren't there for more than 40% of the time. When it came to the bills and rent, he happily divided things up 50:50 as he thought was equitable and fair. Meanwhile she had other ideas and pulled him up - she wasn't going to pay half of everything when she didn't use half of everything. Does everyone get this? I tried to explain this to my partner a while ago and he didn't get it. Let's put it this way - two people live there all the time. Two littler people live there half the time. So you could say that three people live there all the time. Or something.

Regardless, she didn't use half. So in the end she paid about 40% of the mortgage bills, a third of the utilities and some fraction of the food costs, I forget exactly what, but you get the idea.

I have to say, this is not something I ever thought I could contemplate - it would be so unfair to Jason to have to pay for the majority of everything when I knew his responsibilities to his children before we moved in together.

However, recently, secretly, there has been a tiny grain of dissension burrowing its way past my morals and into that part of my brain that's in charge of self-righteousness. I'm a little ashamed of it actually. I don't want to do this. But I would like for it to be acknowledged that I don't have to do what I do. I don't have to pay half the bills, when I don't use half the utilities; I don't have to pay for half the food when I don't eat half the food; I don't have to pay the phone bill because I rarely use it - it's there so the kids can call mum whenever they want to and get in touch with Jason without paying extortionate mobile bills - I don't have to buy gifts and organise outings that I then pay for - why should I buy birthday and Christmas gifts for every member of his family when he doesn't have to because I don't have any family - it's not fair! It may only be money but it's MY money and I work silly hours to be able to pay for you all! ARGH!

Sorry. Bit of a rant there. I'm calm now, I promise. Well, calmer.

So. Why this now? Why is this becoming an issue for me now, when for so long it hasn't been something I'd have contemplated? Well, partly because other people have been saying things like 'Why are you paying for that?' etc. Which is something that other people do, who haven't been in the situation you're in and couldn't contemplate loving a man enough to take on both his physical (two kids) and fiscal (child support, loan repayments, feeding, housing, clothing and entertaining of two kids) responsibilities. Partly because I read this article and it got me thinking. Mainly, actually, because I realised that Jason, his children and his family expected me to do this. Of course I would - that's part of the package. But I'm also expected to disappear from the house - my house and my only home - when the kids decide that they don't want me around. I'm expected to provide gifts but not be allowed to the parties as they include BM, and certainly not expect anything in return. I'm expected to understand when I'm excluded from events I helped to organise and pay for due to the churlish whims - usually - of a 17yr old (guess who?).

This became an issue because we tried to address Angelica's behaviour towards me. I made the mistake of going down the 'look at all the nice things I've done because I care about you and why do you treat me so badly?' route. I really should have known better than to head down there. Obviously it didn't work. Her response to 'why do you think we did those things for you?' was to turn round (she'd insisted on having her back to me while we were talking) and spit into my face: 'Because he's my father!'

Everything I've ever done for them negated in one phrase. Nothing I do will ever count because it's the least that's owed to them. I owe them because I'm with him, and he's their father. Don't get me wrong - I can see the reasoning - but it made my stomach drop. To my knees. Where it sits today as though I ate a bowling ball. Anyway. Moving on - again, another post for another day.

If I have to leave every time they're here - should I really have to pay half of everything? Doubtlessly, I know I'm not brave (stupid? childish? selfish?) enough to suggest to Jason that he ought to be contributing more - though I know he probably spends more on them when I'm off trying to give them space. Still, what's fair?

Eventually, the pretty-sounding lady in the article concluded that it's simpler (and nicer) in the long run to split everything down the middle. But then she married her guy. And she got to live in the house she was paying for.

Maybe I'm just bitter because I had to wander the streets once too many times this year, waiting for the children (Angelica) to go to bed so that I could go home. I promised myself I wouldn't be bitter.

Must try harder.

If Angelica Ruled the World...

At dinner the other night:

"Did you hear about that woman whose son was stabbed in London? She said she forgave the people who did it! What kind of mother is she??? If it were me I'd never do that - I'd go out there and find out who it was and stab them back! Only a terrible mother would forgive someone like that. If she was any good she'd be asking for blood right now! Some people!"

Yes, dear.

It wasn't the least bit admirable. Just what the world needs - more vengeance.

I'm sure your remarks don't offend and invalidate her grief in the least - or disrespect her right to offer forgiveness and understanding for the children drawn into gang culture.

Yes, Angelica, I'm sure you know best.

Again.

Later that evening:

"I'm never having children - who'd want to? They're so ungrateful and selfish."

Jason and I just stared at each other, open mouthed.

Slugs and Snails and Puppy Dogs' Tails...

For the first time in ages, we had Mark on his own. He was bubbly and excited and more talkative than ever. There were no mood swings and no arguing. Jason cooked while Mark and I played. I taught him to play a new tune on the piano. He got it in five minutes and put me to shame.

Then we made cupcakes for dessert and sat down for dinner. The atmosphere was light and comfortable and fun. Afterwards I washed up and Mark whupped his dad's ass at a boardgame. When it was time to go, he didn't want to leave.

Is it always the daughters that are the cause of all the trouble or is it to do with the fact that she's the eldest here? Either way, I wasn't the only one who noticed how different things were to usual, when Angelica comes too.

Everyone had a great time; though I can't help but wonder - are boys really best?

Woulda Shoulda Coulda

Back when we first moved in, whenever Angelica kicked off and had a strop, or was nasty to people and stomped off, I would go up to see her later in the evening to talk through what was bothering her - once upon a time, she liked me. Then she would complain to me about pretty much everything and everyone. I know this is part of being a teenager. So I listened, was sympathetic, offered possible options, solutions, or tried to find out what we could do to make things better.

One of the things she complained about most vociferously was that her brother was treated faaaar better than she was (in her opinion). She admitted that this was especially true at her mother's house, where she was required to undertake many chores and he was required to do none. I had not noticed any unfairness in the way the two children were treated - we didn't ask them to do any regular chores, although Jason occasionally got Mark to set the table and clear it at meal times, and Angelica occasionally helped him. Anyway, I promised to keep an eye out for it but said that we couldn't affect the rules at her mother's house.

Cut to a meal some time later where Jason asked Mark to clear the table after dinner. Mark agreed but immediately launched into an excited retelling of something that had happened at school that day. Angelica groaned loudly and began clearing the table.

Jason asked her to stop, please, because he would like Mark to do it. Angelica says "But he's not doing it!" Mark says that he will do it as soon as he's finished his story, which he's still really excited about - he hasn't seen his father in three days and soooo much has happened since then!

Angelica groans again and continues to clear the table despite Jason's protests. So we all get up to clear the table together and Mark tells his story while we do it. Then Jason tells the children that he would particularly like Mark to do the drying up as a chore for the weekend. Mark agrees and picks up a tea towel. I always try to do the washing up to give at least one of the kids additional time alone with their father after dinner. Jason wanders into the living room and Mark and I set about the dishes.

Angelica approaches Mark and asks him to move his bag which is currently lying on top of hers in the dining room, about 5 steps away from her. Marks promises to do it as soon as he's finished. Angelica insists that she wants it moved right now as it's on top of her things.
"But I'm drying up!" says Mark
"I don't care! Move it now it's crushing my clothes!" Angelica is shouting by now.
So Mark drops the tea towel and goes to move his bag. Angelica then steps in to take the tea towel and continue drying up.

I ask her to leave it as Jason asked Mark to do it. She smiles. And ignores me. And continues. Mark returns and asks her to give him back the tea towel so that he can continue with his chore. She ignores him too.

I remind her of the fact that she complained about Mark not having to do as many chores as she did. I point out that this is one of those occasions where we're trying to keep things equitable between them, as she wanted, and could she please give Mark back the tea towel and go relax in the living room. She keeps smiling. And ignoring me. And drying up. Badly.

I point out that she can go and spend time alone with her father, and how she once said she wanted more time with him to herself. Again, she keeps smiling and ignoring me.

In total I asked her five times, calmly and kindly, while Mark was also asking her, not so calmly but not unkindly and she ignored both of us until the last time I asked when Jason came into the kitchen to see what was going on. Then she slowly put down the tea towel, grin still on face and said "But he doesn't do it properly...." quietly, before going to put her arms around her father and take him away, lest either Mark or I explain what was happening.

Later, it occurs to me that I should have asked once, and then left myself, with Mark in tow, to spend time with Jason ourselves, and let her do the washing up too.

Maybe next time.

I pray there won't be a next time.

On blogging...

Lots of the people who write blogs that I read religiously are beginning to make them private. This has led me to think about exactly how private blogs really are, and how vulnerable we make ourselves when we blog.

I realise, reading back over my other posts that the person I project when I write is not the real me. However, as the writer of 'A New Beginning' points out, blogging is often about allowing someone a place to vent safely without being judged. How you will respond in person is very different to how you respond to an event, or react to a situation when you discuss it in a blog. On your own blog, you are able to voice all those tiny demons that eat away at your thoughts without fear of reprisal, judgement or criticism. At least that's what we hope when we write. In reality, the minute you press that 'publish' button to share your thoughts with the ether you allow a million others, most of them strangers, to see you, sometimes at your worst, and cast judgment on your thoughts. Not fair, but not unreasonable.

Personally, I love to read blogs. Especially those of others who are in similar situations to myself, in order to feel a little less lonely in my angst. I also like to write when I'm upset. It's cathartic to see your thoughts in print, and it allows you to respond calmly to those around you as you've already vented your feelings elsewhere, where you couldn't hurt them with your words. However, I am also terrified of being judged. I love having other people comment on my blog as it makes me feel validated in my reactions, even when I know I'm being more extreme than I should be - but I'm also more than a little afraid every time I look in case someone judges me badly, misunderstands my motives, or just doesn't like me. Even though I know this isn't the real me, or all of the real me, I still want people to like me. Who doesn't? I know that I would think twice about leaving a hurtful comment on anyone's blog, but there are plenty of people out there who feel liberated by the anonymity of the internet and use it to express forthright opinions on others with less care than they might exercise face to face.

I am also a lurker. The world of blogging can open up opportunities for friendships that might never otherwise have existed, but I sometimes find it difficult to comment freely for the first time in case I'm not welcome. So I have been faithfully reading many blogs for a long time without leaving comment. However, I think I have been allowing fear to rule my life for far too long, so I've begun to be brave and introduce myself. In the interests of openness and honesty, then, I thought I'd do the same here - albeit with a view to blanketing some of those details that might compromise my own anonymity to BM etc.

I like reading. Love it. I can devour books like they're candy. I also like candy, especially tangfastics and those old packs of popping candy you used to be able to buy freely at local stores. I adore food and there's almost nothing I won't eat - tripe being a notable exception. I love wearing killer heels, but my feet love comfy flats. I prefer Margaret Atwood to Jean Auel, but only when I'm feeling happy enough to cope with her, and have been known to curl up with a soppy romance and a glass of red when I think no one will catch me.

I like movies, and sports, and Brad Pitt. Would buy Benefit and Guerlain makeup constantly if I could afford it, but often can't. I love to buy presents and live for the smile on the recipient's face. It makes me happy. As does bouncy music and milk chocolate and endless summer days spent with friends and ice-cream. I'm hopelessly neurotic but fiercely loyal; and hopefully becoming braver everyday....

A Card on the Table...

I am angry. Isn't that an ugly word? But I've said it and, according to some psychologists, that is a great step for a woman. Apparently we rarely admit to being angry. We admit to being hurt, we admit to being upset, we admit to being lonely and feeling betrayed, but we struggle to admit to when we feel angry.

I think this is because we don't want people to think badly of us. We don't want anyone to think that we are as ugly as the word 'angry'. Yet it's a natural human emotion and a natural response to certain situations. I don't think feeling angry makes anyone a bad person. I think it's how you respond to that anger that shows what kind of person you are.

I am angry because I feel that I have been treated unfairly for a long time, and that the people who should have looked out for me, who should have been fair to me, and whom I loved regardless have hurt me. I feel betrayed, and lonely and hurt, and, yes, angry.

As a result of my anger, and the shame I feel for being angry at all, I feel that people judge me. There is a paranoia and a defensiveness that I carry with me. I worry that I am wrong to feel angry and that those who treat me badly are justified in doing so because of that. This leads to further hurt.

Still with me?

I began this blog as an outlet for that anger, and also to put my point of view out there, like so many others who also blog. However, I have realised that I vent only when I'm angry and this makes me sound ugly. I have also realised that I don't want to be defined by my anger. So I decided to stop feeling ashamed of it and to do something about it.

Step one was admitting to it. I told my partner how I feel. Step two was explaining why I was angry. I did that. And you know what? He understood. It's nice to be understood. Now we're working on step three together: trying to fix the things that make me feel angry and hurt and betrayed and lonely. It's a long list of things; it's amazing how much women can silently put up with for years before they finally explode. It's a slow process, but we're getting there, and he's trying, and that means the world to me.

Last weekend, Jason inadvertently did something that ended up causing me a lot of physical pain. For the first ten or fifteen minutes of pain, I felt guilty that I might be ruining his plans for the weekend. After that, I felt angry at him for putting me in that position. We were two miles from home. He sat me down on the grass verge by the road and walked home to get the car to collect me and put me safely onto our couch with a bucket of painkillers and a mug of tea. He was gone for ten minutes and I was angry for five before I decided there was no point. If he had thought about what he was doing in detail, I would not have been in pain. However, if he had, for a second, considered the pain he would eventually cause me, he would never have done what he did. Besides, I've had enough anger this year to last me a lifetime. He was careless with me, but he regrets it - and what's more, he worked to make it up to me. He got back with the car to find me, still in pain, but joking about it now and smiling instead of cross.

Anger can be a useful emotion, when it drives us to act, when it makes us do something about whatever it is that is causing us pain. After that, it becomes destructive. I'm grateful that I have this blog as a place to vent, but I'm also glad that the things that made me angry are being fixed, so that I don't have to feel angry anymore.

When is a Joke not a Joke?

If you've ever had the misfortune of being bullied by a girl, or been at the receiving end of any sort of passive or relational aggression, then you will know the pain caused by other people's 'jokes'. You know the kind I mean. The ones that are actually spiteful, nasty, insulting and often deliberately hurtful comments.

It usually comes completely out of the blue - at least, at that moment it is a surprise blow, even if the bullying has been taking place for a while. This type of behaviour is often pretty clandestine. The term 'two-faced' was defined for people like this. You'll be involved in a seemingly relaxed conversation and you casually make a remark that is a little self-deprecating. Apparently the ability to laugh at yourself is vital for a balanced, happy existence, so why not? You feel comfortable enough with the people you're with to be able to do this. Or perhaps you don't make such a comment at all - perhaps you simply admit to a weakness, a lack of confidence or lack of ability. Nevertheless, you don't expect what comes next.

At this point the bully will take advantage of your words to throw them back at you. The 'joke' is typically a comment that sleights you, insults you, puts you down. It may be sarcastic, or it may be delivered with a smile. But it is cutting. You reel at the shock of what you've just heard because you can't believe that someone you trust could deliberately hurt you that way, or that those around you who may have heard could accept your being subjected to such obviously malicious remarks. There is usually a pause that is sufficiently long as to fully drive home the knife by the perpetrator, who is commonly found to be wearing a smile at this point.

And then the coup de grace: 'Just Joking!'

How is it funny to poke at someone's weaknesses and insecurities to their face? Nobody laughed at any point, so is it still a joke? Commonly, the behaviour of this person towards you the rest of the time is sufficiently antagonistic as to belie any facade of friendship or camaraderie that might allow them to be so close to you as to not cause you pain by such words, but they are often close enough to you that if you dare to object they can play at being outraged enough to fool those around them.

This is a much used and deliberate game designed to wound freely and usually in public without any threat of reprimand or any recourse for the victim. By slipping in that comment at the end they ensure that, if you are to maintain any sense of civility, you cannot retaliate in any way. It is nasty and manipulative, and cannot be undertaken accidentally.

My partner's daughter does this often. It is a regular part of our relationship. To date, no one has called her up on it and any time I have tried to appeal to her father or grandparents for aid in putting a stop to the behaviour I am told that I am overreacting or have misunderstood an attempt at friendship.

My arse.

If you state that you are bad at something and someone else responds: 'Good', then that's no attempt at friendship. Especially when it's followed by silence and a grin. Nevertheless, I encouraged my partner and the children to arrange to do the very thing I was terrible at because I knew they'd enjoy it. Why should being bad at something stop you from enjoying it? All that matters is that everyone has fun, right? Besides, Angelica's 'Only joking' remark had been followed by her insisting that I *must* join them, it'd be great.

The following morning I came down with a cold and couldn't go after all. My partner wanted us all to stay but I insisted he go and not disappoint the children. After all, they'd have no fun here with me while I was ill, and it would be another opportunity for them to be alone with their father. So he went to wake the children.

The first thing Angelica said when she was woken was: 'Is Medea going?' Only when it had been established that I wouldn't be going, did she agree to go.

How is that friendship? And from which angle exactly is it funny?