Magda M. Olchawska's Blog, page 7

Why going on holiday has to be so fucking stressful?

It’s summer. It’s hot outside. The general population usually goes on holiday to relax and spend quality time with their families and friends.

In this aspect of life I’m no different to anyone else. I want to relax, chill out and forget about the everyday routine at least once a year.

Little O. finished school on the 12th of July so we had our flight out of London booked for the 15th. Handling a 4-year old when he is busy during the day is difficult enough so just try to imagine trying to handle the very same 4-year old when he is not busy and nonetheless wakes up at 5.00 am, every morning.

The weekend before we left we spent shopping. I love sales and I have to admit I feel I’m pretty good at it. Little O., on the other hand, doesn’t take kindly to any shopping trips. His concentration lasts, at best, for as long as I’m buying something for him. So, the shopping trip was on the verge of being stressful anyway. And on the top of everything that particular Saturday turned out to be one of the hottest days in the UK in recent years. We don’t have air conditioning at home so spending at least half a day in a mall seemed like a good idea to me.

In reality it was a real hard work trying to keep the little one in one place for half a day. Well, let me put it that way. We had way too many coffees, cakes and ice cream. However, we did manage to hang in there until 3 pm.

Little O. & I never travel to crowded places during the holiday season. We usually go to fancy places once the season is over, and there is much less crowds. Crowds are scary for both of us. So, we decided to spend a week together with Little O.’s grandparents, back in Poland. He was going to go to Poland for the summer one way or another, so in my mind it was only logical to go for it.

Our flight was in the evening but the Little O. remained true to his morning routine waking up at 5 am and by 5.30 am he was ready to walk out the door, to go to the airport. Obviously, I wasn’t even ready to get up at such a crazy hour.

The day before I travel I usually freak out big time as I’m not a very big fan of air travels, to put it mildly. Because of the late flight I had the whole day of freaking out to look forward on that Monday.

That morning was supposed to start with my ex. picking up the Little O. and taking him out for an ice cream or a cake. Of course it didn’t happen (Murphy’s law) as he happened to have his hands full with someone else’s kids. Typical right? All in all, I ended up hanging out with the little one in Blackheath Village.

Little O. was visibly upset and unruly. I had to keep bribing him with lemonade and ice cream to keep him calm. Well, I was pissed off & boiling on the inside ‘cos of his father’s stupidity but for Little O.’s benefit I was trying to be composed and show no signs of any feelings (just like Nicole Kidman does these days in her movies) towards his dad. Besides, I knew that he was very upset ‘cos he didn’t ask even one question about his dad not turning up.

By the time we came back home Little O. seemed to be getting excited about the trip. He even decided to repack and I decided to open my email. You know, just to check, casually. I have to admit that my obsession and addiction to email is growing, so I think I’ll need a therapy or something that would help one day. But not yet.

And… unknowingly I opened the gates of hell. I received several emails from my agent. All were referring to the project I was working on and most of the emails made no sense at all.

The production company (no names here) decided not to pay me ‘cos they didn’t like the script I wrote for them. Taking into consideration that they took very active part in the creation process and checked every draft I wrote, I found it a bit stupid. Ok, I found it ridiculous.

On the top of this my agent lost it completely and decided that the best way to handle it was a law suit.

So now he wanted me to travel to LA ASAP and talk to the lawyers he was lining up for me.

While I was reading the emails my ex called screaming his head off that I had no respect for his very precious time and asking me where the fuck we were when he was standing by the door two hours too late. I didn’t see any point in gracing him with my answer so I didn’t say anything. My only defence was to slam the phone and start ignoring his existence all together.

Little O. noticed that something bad was going on so he came over, gave ma a hug and kissed me. That changed my whole perspective.

I was supposed to enjoy the time with my son, relax and get my creative strength back, not sweat over someone’s ego.

The production company will have to pay, sooner or later. The agent will have to go for being a total nuisance.

My ex. will have to learn that his time is not any more valuable than mine, and much less valuable than the Little O.’s.

That enlightenment lasted maybe for half a minute but it was long enough for me to put myself together and leave all the negativity behind me.

As they say real love concurs all and there is nothing more real than Little O’s love for me.

Filed under: London stories, Novel, Parent stories, single mom, single mum, single parent, South East London, Woman books, Women books, Women stories

I’m on holiday.

Dear all,

I have decided that it’s time to go away. So I’m away with Little O.

I’m going to be back with more stories on the 28th. July

Talk to you in two weeks.

Magda

Filed under: London stories, Novel, Parent stories, single mom, single mum, single parent, South East London, Woman books, Women stories

I’ve been on a diet for 20 years and I’m tired!!!

I have been on a diet since I was 14. At that age I was yet another deluded teenager who decided to become a super model so I figured I’d needed to be extremely skinny.

Back than I didn’t realize I was way too short to become a model, plus my body has always been more womanly than boyish. The super model trend required (& still does) being very tall and rather flat. “Unfortunately” I developed a set of breasts at the early age so there went my super model career. But the body obsession stayed, the obsession that I wasn’t perfect.

How sad is that the whole generations of women are lost ‘cos of the “super model” syndrome??? What the fuck is wrong with the society.

Ok, here it is. Women need breasts, to feed the kids for instance. I’m sure the Little O. was grateful for that when he was born. I bet I can find a few more examples of people who are grateful for my boobies. However, it seems that the super skinny models industry has not come to terms with the concept of boobies as yet.

Another trigger for my diet quest was the shitty and humiliating bullying I got from some of the boys at school. Because of my very low self-esteem I believed them claiming I was fat and even now I spend most of my grown up life chasing a dream of a skinny figure to please all the men (including my ex.).

I was so obsessed with being fat that I wouldn’t wear short skirts ‘cos my legs weren’t perfect, and not being perfect was the worst crime ever. I still wear mostly trousers and long or extra long skirts and dresses, the ones that cover my legs.

But going back to my dieting I have done everything that I could to become skinny:

-   I have exercised.

-   I did yoga & Pilates (I think I enjoy these forms of exercise the most)

-   I stopped eating meat when I was 18.

-   I went through phases of various diets. You name it, I’ve done it.

-   I didn’t eat sweets or carbs for weeks just to stuff my face with it at some point ‘cos I was starving.

-   At times, especially under lots of stress or when I’m sick, I don’t eat at all.

-   I followed all the possible beauty treatments, especially after I had a baby and it did help me to get back to my figure. So this part was ok. However, once I stopped the treatments I had to really control my intake of food.

And… I’m still on a diet. There are days and times when I’m starving or days when I eat so much that the guilt is killing me from the inside making me feel sick about myself. How messed up is that?!?

And it all comes from wanting to be a super model, as to be honest with you I don’t even think that being so skinny is attractive at all.

I have never really been bulimic or anorexic but I’m always on the verge. My self-esteem and diets have always been strongly linked together. If I wanted to sabotage myself I only had to think about being fat. In fact I’d spent years hiding under shapeless clothes, pretending not to exist.

The disconnection between my soul and my body was huge, to the point of making me not only angry but also scared, stuck and pissed off most of the time. The people around me didn’t help either.

As a teenager whose body changes every single day I got no support from women in my family, quite the opposite. Something was happening to me and I had no understanding of what that was, and no one was willing to explain to me that it was normal that body changes. And what’s not normal is to be consumed by obsessive diets.

I had also several boyfriends for whom I was always big (but a good sex) before I became a “happy” wife. The reality is that I have never really been huge. The only huge thing has been my need to be skinny and loved by everyone for my skinny self.

I do admit that most of my life I was unaware of myself and ‘cos of that unawareness my brain created this body obsession. So, instead of focusing on the things I wanted to concentrate on, I was concentrating on various diets and exercising regimes.

However, enough is enough.

I love eating out and I love sweets and bread and cheese. Why do I have to take away all the pleasures in life for the sake of keeping some strangers happy or attracted to me on the physical level? This is just plain silly, if not stupid!

What really happened? Have I become a perfect product of our imperfect pop culture? What if I eat whatever I like and don’t think about the diet and whether I’m going to be fat or not?

What if I’m going to be huge and will never find anyone who will love me for me? Is love only conditioned on the physical aspects?

What is wrong with the society if an intelligent, well educated and successful woman conditions herself and her life on whether she eats carbs or not?

I guess I need to start re-dieting my brain and see where that is going to take me.

PS. Yes, my ex. is with someone who is slimmer than me, and have nicer legs. But as I said, enough is enough & I’ve just had enough.

Filed under: London stories, Magda Olchawska, Novel, Olchawska, Parent stories, single mom, single mum, single parent, South East London, Woman books, Women books, Women stories Tagged: single

MY WRITING PROCESS.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer.

Since the advanced age of five I was telling stories to my dolls and teddy bears (I only changed my target market recently and I try to tell stories to more grown up audience). I also played imaginary games with my angel friends (that helped a lot with my story making skills). I was the oldest child in the family and for a very long time I was the only child, so having imaginary friends was only understandable, I guess.

At this point I should probably mention that I’m not counting here my two oldest cousins for they weren’t very nice to me while growing up.

Anyway, the bottom line is that I wanted to be a writer for talkies. I tried writing at school both poetry and prose. However the support of my teachers (in my opinion the teachers should support their pupils, not make them feel like shit ‘cos of their own fucked up insecurities) was as big as my support for zombie theme movies. And anyone who knows me, even a bit, knows that I can’t stand them.

So, thanks to the “overwhelming” support of my teachers for whom (especially the one in the 6th grade who was a real bitch) my writing was too imaginative and too blah blah blah… As a result I stopped writing. The biggest problem my teachers had with me was that I was making spelling mistakes. It didn’t matter that I had something to say, a story to tell. The most important was the spelling, grammar and staying in the narrow mind convention of their writing styles. I was fucking dyslexic and you fucking knew that. You had me tested for that.

It took me years to pick myself up and pick up the pieces of my writing those soul eaters left me with. But at the end I did and little by little I started writing again. In the convention I liked the most & felt the most comfortable with.

At first my sentences or half sentences were as wobbly as baby’s first steps. But in time my confidence grew enough not too wobble and I didn’t need the approval of narrow-minded academic body that was dead to me as the zombies.

The only approval I needed came from within.

Now I write everywhere. I write in my head while I’m on a bus (I still love public transport, especially the one in London, where you can meet so many cool people and, granted, also a lot of not so cool, pushy people), I write while having a shower, I write while writing and talking to people. My mind and my soul just keep on writing. The more I write the more I want to write and the more I have to write.

The only thing I need to keep me going is a pot of hot tea or coffee. In fact I had a lovely purple pot for a while before I became a mom but Little O. broke it. I’m still waiting for the replacement and it’s been already 3 years so I guess I could be getting it any day now. Though perhaps he may need to get a job first or do what he said he was going to do for a living but I can’t share his idea with you as yet. After all it may not be so soon.

I also love the coffee shops in the early morning hours when life is just about to wake up. Of course since the divorce I avoid certain places and coffee shops to avoid a very uncomfortable encounter with my ex. and his “lovely” new girlfriend. No, no, I’m not bitter or sarcastic. I don’t mind, I just wish them all the happiness in the world that money can buy.

Also since I got divorced I have a little bit more time for the charity work (when you are in a relationship you keep on working on it and have to spend time together, find activities to do together to keep the romance alive but sometimes even when you do everything according to the book the romance still could die out), I talk to young people from time to time and at times it scares me that most of them want to become reality stars, have something to do with fashion and make porn to become famous.  Thank you very much Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian for introducing the younger generation to porn, very thoughtful of you. Indeed, very thoughtful

The lack of any bigger ambition in so many young people nowadays got me thinking that soon in the future I may not be able to write, or perhaps rather sell what I write ‘cos the entertainment business could be taken over by reality shows and the stupidity that is integral part of them. I can write a lot of stuff but I can’t write a script for a reality show where every other word is “fuck”, “bitch”, “ass”. You get the gist.

So, for now and for as long as I can write I’m going to follow my writing process (which is pretty simple, I sit down, drink something hot and write) and hope that stupidity is not going to take over our planet. As in my opinion it could be even more scary and dangerous than zombies or vampires. For stupidity and amongst it, for my ex’s stupidity there is definitely no cure.

Filed under: London stories, Magda Olchawska, Novel, Olchawska, Parent stories, single mom, single mum, single parent, South East London, Woman books, Women books, Women stories

WHAT IS THE POINT OF DATING MARRIED GUYS?

During my recent trip to LA I met a very interesting man (it was my first impression). We met at the airport Starbucks as people often do nowadays. While chatting I found out that he was also flying to LA.

He worked for one of the wine suppliers and was going to California to check out some of the new wines. He was nice, well educated and, man, did he know a lot about wine.

We spent almost an hour talking & during that chat I found him quite charming. I even had this crazy thought that it was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t hitting on me. That was until he asked me if I would like to catch up with him in California for an evening date. By the look on my face he instantly realized he pushed it bit too far. So he immediately tried to explain himself and here it comes:

- “Well (rather uncomfortable laughter), you probably wonder about the wedding ring. (Hell I do!!! Wedding ring?!? I didn’t know the UK government made it mandatory to wear wedding rings if you weren’t married.) Well… we are separated but I just wear the ring not to make my kids upset.”

Since I was silent he kept on talking.

- “We do live together so… I have to keep up the appearances. You know, the school, and at work… they expect you to have a family…”

I have to admit. I was amused and impressed by the amount of lies he was able to come up with in a minute. I guess it takes a bit of practice and he seemed like an experienced liar to me.

Of course, I didn’t stay. Why would I want to listen to some made up stories about his horrible wife and his difficult marriage and that she is this or that, blah, blah, blah. He actually seemed pretty surprised that I walked away. My best guess is that it doesn’t happen often to him. Certain men, and I’m using very carefully the word ‘certain’ so none of the blokes out there can accuse me of being a “men hater” which I’m not. I’m perfectly ok with lying and cheating; I can understand that – so fucking NOT. So, certain men have the ability to make women feel guilty and for some odd reason women want to rescue these blokes from whatever in their eyes they need rescuing from. Sorry, I’m not a super hero. I don’t rescue people, especially not married men.

I’m divorced and I’m not in my twenties anymore to believe a guy who tries to get to my knickers just for the sake of amusing himself. I knew he was married the minute we started talking. He had the wedding band on for heaven’s sake! I was disgusted by the whole incident and wanted to run away from that Starbucks as far as possible, and as soon as possible.

In the attempt to erase the whole incident I tried tax-free shopping but that didn’t help much. I just couldn’t get the bloke out of my mind. How could he possibly so bluntly assume that I was all hot for him? Can you not have a normal conversation with a man anymore, without him getting the wrong idea? Well, I surely do hope this is not the case. I like talking to the opposite sex, maybe even flirting innocently a bit but I don’t want to have sex with every single one of them.

At the end I was hoping the drink before taking off would relax me enough to put the unfortunate encounter out of my mind. However it worked only for a short moment. While flying over the pond, my mind started wondering and coming up with millions of scenarios about my ex and our marriage. I’m a writer at the end of the day so you can’t blame me for my very vivid imagination.

How long did he have an affair for? Did he tell her that our marriage was fucked up and we didn’t have sex, as this is one of the things the married men tell women, that their wives don’t want to do it for some odd reason. Bullshit!!! Women are as sexual as men and want sex as much as men do. So maybe, and this is only a general assumption, if they don’t want to do it with their hubbies is because the hubbies don’t know what they are doing. Good sex is an art and this should be clear  for all the blokes out there!

But the main question always reminds the same, at least in my case. Why do perfectly good relationships break down (I really, truly did think we had a good relationship, obviously I was living in a Lah Lah land)?

Is it the boredom of day-to-day life? The one that takes the romance away and replaces it with repetitive tasks of everyday routine? I don’t know. I’ll never know. I guess the bottom line is that I don’t even think I want to know. What I know for sure is that dating married men is a complete waste of time. They hardly ever divorce their wives. On the other hand, the married types love their wives and children and family life, but not enough to stay emotionally or physically faithful.

Filed under: single mom, single mum, single parent, South East London, Woman books, Women books, Women stories

WHEN AM I GOING TO HAVE A SISTER?

The other day after coming back from school the Little O. asked me bluntly when he was going to have a sister. I do have to say that he caught me totally by surprise and before I could even gather my thoughts he added:

- “My little sister can sleep under my bed. She will be so small that my space ship (bundle under his bed) will be perfect for her. Besides, she won’t have to be afraid of the ghosts ‘cos I’ll be there to protect her.”

Wow, right!!!

What do you say to that? My logical mind tells me to explain to the Little O. that I’m a single parent and I’m not planning to have another baby. However if I say that I would have to elaborate on well… how the babies come about. I’m a progressive parent but I still he is way too young for that.

Little O. knows and understands some things like that mommy and daddy are no longer together. He also knows that he was in my tummy before he popped out but this is as far as his knowledge goes.

I do wonder at times if we left having the second child way too late. However, taking into consideration the recent events and our divorce, being a single good parent to one child is difficult enough.

So after a little consideration I said to Little O.:

- “I don’t think you are going to have a little sister, sweetie.”

He looked at me and than replied:

- “Well, in that case I need to talk to dad.”

I obviously wanted to know why he needed to discuss the subject with his father and this is what the Little O. said.

- “Daddy’s girlfriend has three kids and I need to find out how to find one girl kid for us.”

Daddy has a girlfriend!!! Daddy has a girlfriend!!!

This short sentence kept ringing in my ear. We had a deal to tell one another if we start seeing someone. I don’t want some random woman to hang around my son!!! I was furious. My brain was racing. Of course whoever the “mystery” girlfriend was, she most probably wasn’t all that random for my ex.

- “I want to have a sister” – carried on Little O. – “so you don’t feel lonely when I’m gone to school or when I stay with dad. Dad said that the new kids could be my siblings but I don’t like them that much. And daddy’s new girlfriend smokes and she will die soon.” (This is something we taught Little O. regarding smoking, that when people smoke they die).

To keep the Little O. calm I made him a cup of hot chocolate and to keep myself calm I got myself a glass of wine.

Of course I was jealous in a way but most of all I was pissed off that the former love of my life, the father of my child didn’t have enough guts to tell me that he was seeing the woman who broke us, broke me and left me questioning myself.

So this is what I know about the other woman:

-   She is an idiot.

-   She destroys families.

-   She is not very well educated.

-   She has 3 kids, each one with a different man. (That one thing says a lot)

-   She smokes (Apparently my ex hates people who smoke but who knew).

-   She has no breasts. (Apparently my ex likes women with nice lungs. Oh well, people change.)

-   She was the reason we got divorced.

-   She has no ambition.

-   In short, she is a total opposition to me. But still someone worth the divorce. (I’m not sure what enticed my ex but I can’t imagine it was the sex. Having sex with one kid around the house is difficult. What about when you have three little ones running around the house?)

I had no idea what my next move would be or even should be. Shall I contact my divorce lawyer? Shall I limit the Big O.’s contact with the Little O. (I’m guessing with time the contact will be limited now he has got three more kids to look after)?

The Little O. noticed that I was upset and worried.

So he came over, gave me a kiss on the tip of my nose and whispered in my ear: – “Don’t worry mommy. We will find me a sister and you never be lonely again.”

Filed under: London stories, Magda Olchawska, Novel, Olchawska, Parent stories, single mom, single mum, single parent, South East London, Woman books, Women books, Women stories

DATING

Since I got divorced, most of my girlfriends who are in relationships have been trying to fix me up with (mostly) nice blokes, and on few occasions nice women. I’m not gay, I just like my hair very short and prefer wearing pants to skirts.

I know that I have already mentioned that I’m lonely but can’t bring myself to even begin to think about dating seriously or having a serious relationship.

Anyway, of course I’m dating. My ex. is dating so I’m dating too. Let’s face it, his primal urge to date other women, or rather to be with other women, was the reason for our divorce so I really don’t see any logical reason why I shouldn’t be taking advantage of my freedom from relationship too.

So I’m dating.

My latest date was, well… interesting, in some ways at least.

He was a lawyer, thank you very much (I have nothing against people with boring jobs. Honestly I’m trying not to be judgmental). He was very successful, owned his own business, and was divorced, with a very unhealthy obsession about his ex-wife who apparently dumped him for someone much wealthier. I would really like to meet all those women who apparently leave their hubbies to be with someone with more money than them. To be honest with you I’ve never met one.

My date also had a very sick, hmmm… let’s call it “a hobby”. He admitted to hiring young and attractive girls to go out with him to various parties and events. So he wouldn’t have to go alone. Actually quite the contrary, he would have a nice looking, smiling girl (thinking & conversation wasn’t in the contract) hanging onto him. So his business associates, or simply other people would be jealous. Apparently, no sex was involved. But that what he says and let’s faces it; I’ve been around long enough to know better.

He spent better part of our “date” talking about himself, his ex-wife, his depression, his suddenly re-found wealth. The man just talked and talked as if he was in love with his own voice and image. And you know what? The more I listened to him, the more fascinated I was that he was able to admit so carelessly to all of the things he had done, all the dodgy business deals he had done and his crazy fetish with young bodies.

Of course, while listening to him I wasn’t allowed to talk. I figured I was just another woman not really expected to use my brain, I should have just nodded and smiled. I airily started thinking about the characters and movies I would place him in.

So, on the scale of horrible dates this one was pretty much at the top. But the positive thing about that date was that I started working on a very cool egocentric script almost right away. (I had to find something positive in it, otherwise it would have been 2 hours of my life that I’ll never get back again.)

Anyway the story isn’t quite over. After hearing about his tragic love story, his difficult depression (which depression isn’t difficult), his loneliness, his paying for women’s companionship, zzzzz, he still thought that I was going to have sex with him. Do men really think that single divorced women cannot be responsible for their own orgasms? A lot of them mastered this art during their marriages.

There were two scenarios that HE had in mind, since I’m “only” a woman who shouldn’t think or have her own opinion. I’m guessing that he had already decided for me before we even met:

-   He was hoping I was so desperate that I would just jump at the opportunity to have a man’s body on top of mine. (I have my ex-hubby for that if I’m in a real need)

-   Or his tragic love story worked previously on different chicks and he thought it would work this time around too.

Well it didn’t.

In fact, having drinks with him only made me realize that what I had with my ex-hubby was actually quite special. Or maybe I only convinced myself that our love story was somehow special (Our love story goes back to when we were 7 years old.).

This horrible date only consolidated my conviction about how different men and women are.

We are mostly looking for something special. Men are mostly looking for someone special who can keep affirming how special they are.

Filed under: London stories, Novel, Parent stories, Woman books, Women books, Women stories

MY 20’S V MY 30’S.

I have no idea what triggered my trip into the memory line of my 20’s. But here I was seating in an empty apartment (the Little O. was staying with his dad over the weekend so I had all the time in the world to think things up and to be nostalgic), stuffing my face with anything that wasn’t carbs (I think I have an allergy to carbs and it keeps getting worse & worse each time I have a cracker or a slice of the lovely German bread from the market.) and kept thinking about my past.

While sitting, thinking and eating (not necessarily in this order of importance) I kept having flashbacks to my past. The past that wasn’t always rosy. At times it was pretty ugly.

Anyhow, right now I see it that way:

- In my 20’s I was constantly angry and sad until I met my now ex-hubby and became a mom.

- Becoming a mom was the biggest blessing of all.

- Getting divorced was, well… I still don’t know what it has been… so I’ll keep you updated on that.

Yes, I do have to admit that I spent most of my 20’s being angry. I was just constantly pissed off. I have no idea what was triggering my anger and irrational (from my today perspective) behavior. But I have the strong suspicion that extreme loneliness played a huge part in that.

I was simply sad. I wanted to be in love and I wanted to be loved. But there was no love around me. Even though I was dating and there were loads of guys around me, none of them was able to offer a girl like me the real love based on accepting who I was. And let’s face it, I’m not the easiest person to be around. I love working, I’m a vegetarian, which means that cooking for me is challenging in some ways (and I really don’t like wasting time for cooking so I prefer my partner to cook J)

On top of all of this anger and loneliness I was also searching for myself, for meaning of life and for opportunities to become a very successful scriptwriter, overnight. You read magazines & hear about these stories of success that happen overnight. Let me tell you something. Don’t believe in them!!!! It’s never like that. It is bullshit.

So, I was obsessed with work, which meant that I was able to carry on working on several projects at the same time. I could work throughout the whole night hoping that this was THE NIGHT I hit the jackpot. But surprise, surprise; most of my actions were not bringing any visible progress to my career.

It wasn’t until I became a mom that I realized that work is maybe important but working 24/7 is not only unproductive but also desperate and desperation is a killer.

I became a mom in my 30’s. Of course my priorities changed (and this time it happened overnight J) but also my search for unconditional love was over. I had Little O. who loved me.

The other thing coming with having a baby was that my anger dispersed as if driven away by little O’s good spirit I became kinder to everyone around me and to myself, too.

My constant obsession with my career stopped and guess what happened (I was never a type who was going to sit at home while her hubby or partner was providing for her). My career took off.

As if by the touch of a magical wand my working life was turned around. The ideas and opportunities started flowing my way and I didn’t have to do that much to meet those opportunities.

Was it the mindset? Was it the right time? Was I not ready in my 20’s to be who I’m now, in my 30’s?

No idea. I just know that I don’t miss my 20’s that much. Maybe just except for lack of these few extra lines on my face.

Filed under: London stories, Novel, Parent stories, Woman books, Women books, Women stories

“EVERYDAY CRAZINESS”

Every parent will tell you that weekdays are crazy. By crazy I mean very hectic, mechanical, boring in a way & repetitive. Kind of like ‘Groundhog Day’.

When I was a child, a concept of having only 7 days a week that kept repeating itself was beyond my understanding. At the age of 5 I found this to be less than exciting turn of events. How on earth the same activity could be performed day after day, week after week and month after month. That was too much for my little head J

As a kid I knew I didn’t want to have an unexcited life so I decided that I’d never go to work from 9-5 and will never work in the office.

After all what can be less predictable than being in the film business, right?

Now, being a little bit more grown up (I’m more than 5 and I’m allowed to use the Internet whenever I want), I have to do exactly the same what my mom was doing when I was 5. I keep repeating my chores every single day and every single day they look more or less the same.

Every day, or rather I should say every school day (I believe that a half term has been invented for parents only so they can rest and regenerate for a week), we wake up around 6 am. Little O. wakes up way too early ‘cos he is up often before 6 am. His primal morning activity is to wake me up as soon as possible. Not an easy task taking into consideration that I love my morning sleep. I can stay up late (well, until 11 pm as I’m not in my twenties any more) but in the morning I love my lay ins.

This morning he was building a spaceship under his bed and was trying to encourage me to check out his construction. How could I have possibly done that if I wasn’t able to open my eyes?

Anyway, I finally got out of bed just before 7 am thinking that I must be crazy and wouldn’t make it on time to school.

However, I have discovered new skill set in me, which I simply called: “getting ready within 30 min.” I take a shower, get dressed, make a cup of coffee and breakfast for both of us, all in 30 min. I’m pretty surprised myself that I can be that quick. Never happened when I was married.

So, for five days a week I’m in a hurry.

While O. is having his breakfast I’m doing my hair and putting my make-up on. (I’m at that stage of my life that I can’t leave the house without my make-up on.)

He always tells me that “I’m the most beautiful mommy on earth.” and I love that and believe him but there is constant pressure in that sentence. So I need to stay the most beautiful mommy for as long as I can and wearing make-up is a part of this J

We need to be out of the door at 8.10 am the latest. We either walk to school or take a bus. However, to keep in a good shape we walk a few stops (or rather I walk & I push the little O. on his little scooter). Then we get on a bus and go to school.

To get the bus back home & be at home on time I need to be out of the school at 8.55. It’s not an easy task. (I run most of the time to get to the bus. You probably wonder why I don’t drive. Well, the traffic is pretty heavy and parking spots by O. school way too limited.)

After getting back home I keep drinking my already cold coffee while working. I’m a very well organized person so I have lists that have lists and that lists have some more lists. I’m sure you get the idea.

I’m out of the door at 12.40 pm to pick up the little O. from his school. After picking him up we either have afternoon activities or some other plans.

I often wonder what Little O. is thinking. Does he find the routine boring or safe? Every day is the same or at least it seems the same from my perspective. That goes my non-repetitive life out of the window, right?

Filed under: London stories, Novel, Parent stories, Woman books, Women books, Women stories

THE WEEKENDS

It’s a quiet, lazy Saturday evening and after an exhausting day of pampering, working, eating & my Pilates I’m sitting in front of my telly, watching yet another romantic comedy and stuffing my face with sweets. Officially I don’t eat carbs so I need to keep my energy level up by eating sweeties.

Yes, my son is staying with his dad and I’m at home on my own. This is what every divorce does. It breaks the child & its life in half.

The weekends have always been difficult, even when we were still married. Trying to keep a child entertained is not much easier than trying to win a lottery.

The Little O. has not once in his life spent a whole weekend at home. Unless he was really sick, that is. The constant need to keep him busy had always left us a tiny bit tired, if not exhausted.

Since our divorce, and our lives being lived in separate houses I do get weekends off, or rather weekends away from trying to entertain little O. I should say. Every other weekend he is staying with his dad and this is the time when I should have the whole weekend all for myself.

However the reality is a bit different. I don’t really know how to be on my own. I don’t really know how to do nothing (this phrase always has sounded to me a bit oxymoronic as you can’t really DO NOTHING). Spending quality time with the family is not doing nothing, right?

When the Little O. is around, either during the week or a weekend, I’m busy and every parent would tell you that there is no time to think, eat or sit down.

But when the little one is with his daddy, I’m simply lonely. Yes, it is a huge adjustment from a family life to a single parent life.

There are only so many hours I can work and so many hours I can be out and about. There are only so many friends I can visit. There are only so many coffees I can have and lunches or dinners I can eat.

The truth is that it doesn’t matter how strong and together you are, a divorce is a divorce and it makes you lonely. You are left with your loneliness, thoughts, dreams and hopes. Hopes that the pain will dissolve sooner rather than later, and dreams that the happy ending is possible after all.

Yes, I’m single & I can date other people. Well, other man I should say as I’m not into the girl on girl thing. But I cannot bring myself to emotionally commit to a date, not to even mention starting thinking about a relationship.

Is it possible that my ex. sucked all the commitment out of me? Is it possible that the only way I see men at the moment is connected to the physical act of “love” = sex?

 

 

 

Filed under: London stories, Novel, Parent stories, Woman books, Women books, Women stories