Book list for 2011

Nothing will stop me from reading the following books this year. Nothing will stop me from doing this because some of these books have been living in my Amazon search history for so long that I'm surprised Amazon even bother, given the fact that I hardly buy online anyway.
I would really like this year to be about just enjoying little things, within time and financial reason of course, and just do them for Gods sake.It feels awful knowing how much putting off I do, just because of not having an envelope handy, a telephone number, or enough welll-managed time. I hate that about me. So enough hating and more lovin.
Leaving the World Douglas Kennedy
Garners Modern American Usage Bryan Garner
The Use and Abuse of the English Language Robert Graves
The Highly Sensitive Person Elaine.N.Aron
John:A Novel Niall Williams
The Continuum Concept Jean Leidloff
The Infinite Jest David Foster Wallace
The Element: How Finding Your Passion Changes Everything Sir Ken Robinson
Getting Things Done David Allen

This has been a resolution of mine since 1997. I'm looking forward to actually doing something about it in 2011.
There are more unfulfilled goals from previous years that I'd like to share with you here. For now though, just enjoy my book list and marvel at what goes on in my head with those cheesy titles. Don't be a self-help book hater. Unless you already are one in which case you won't like me very much. Oh well.
Next post: other musings on goals unfulfilled from the past and staring them in the face once more. I shall make 2011 the year of transformation!
At least a little.

Clinique mascara and Coffee...

...are a girls best friend. Because those are the two things I have been abusing excessively before getting out to work each day-Isaac has been waking up in the middle of the night, every night over the last two weeks,at the kind of time most bars and clubs across Lisbon are closing. It takes almost two hours for him to settle, in between us, whilst I, semi-conscious but still retaining some use of my limbs, attempt to nurse him to sleep. To put it mildly, He's been a pain in the arse. Oh-and when I say pain in the arse, I actually mean it quite literally, because he's got some funky nappy rash due to a nasty combination of a food reaction with the wretched teething phase.

But other than this life is treating us well. Antonios on his third day of not smoking. I'm hugely proud of him. Despite him wanting to strangle me everytime I ask him if he's alright.
I've pretty much planned my year in terms of vacations and the days I'll need to take off work. Just knowing what I'll be doing in September makes the year itself seem so small. I don't think I've ever been this organised before. On top of my attempt at weekly menu planning (it's chicken soup today) I'm getting all this extra space in my head to think about things I like to think about,instead of having all these worries and that constant feeling of remembering something that I can't remember. I finally treated myself to a Moleskine diary, a new purse and got back into listening to my ipod again. It feels like bits of me are coming back to life again after having Isaac. I'm feeling things physically and mentally that were completely switched off over the last year. It's good to be back. And, in contrast to the warnings of how difficult Isaac would be once he started walking, I've actually found him much easier to manage. It's lovely seeing him walk around observing, picking up toys and just trying out new things. He's chatting a lot more too. I've found that I don't need to play with him so much, he's quite happy doing his own thing. It's great.
I just hope his sleeping pattern improves otherwise I'm going to end up looking like Dolly Partons make-up artist went psycho on me.

A quote to remember....

On the occasion where things start getting a little quiet around here.

The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself - Friedrich Nietzsche

Reaching for the stars...particularly the vertiginious ones.

Vertiginous (comparative more vertiginous, superlative most vertiginous)

1.Having an aspect of great depth, drawing the eye to look downwards.
2.Inducing a feeling of giddiness, vertigo, dizziness or of whirling.
3.Pertaining to vertigo (in all its meanings).
4.Revolving; rotating; rotatory.


I have a secret. I like reading dictionaries. It may seem boring to the vast majority, and granted, at times it is, but I've always had a fascination with new words and how many of them are out there, that I have never heard of and will probably never hear of in my lifetime. Instead of getting down about this fact, it only makes me more curious.The curious collector in me wants to write it all down somewhere in a notebook-preferably a pretty one with a ribbon for a bookmark-and feel that much stronger up there in my head-and a little below- in my heart and the pit of my stomach. Just from learning something new. Just from loosening the grip of being passive to what's beautiful out there.

2011 will be all about me. What I do best. What I want to do best. Over the last three years or so, I've constantly remained undecided about how to deal with hurt, loss, guilt and all that other stuff that life has a tendency to throw at you just when your'e thinking 'Hey, I think this year's gonna be great!' I've tried to toughen up, I've tried to be graceful, I had a go at the humility thing. All of it didn't work and I think I know why. I think I might anyway. There was always that underlying feeling that something about me needed fixing. A few tweaks here and there and hey presto. The new and improved super duper hot confident mama,teacher,wife,woman khairun. This meant having to ditch my little dictionary habit. And my nights in rather than going out and making lots of hot super duper friends. This would mean knowing how to converse and be funny and be memorable all at once. Aspiring to this actually made me feel bad about myself. It was like I was punishing the me that doesn't do any of that stuff, that doesn't like to do any of that stuff. I was punishing the me that was a pain in the arse for being so quiet and unsociable.
I think a useful exercise for anybody, particularly at the begining of another year-would be to ask themselves if anything they set out to do differently this time round is out of a kind of disappointment in themselves. I'm trying not to be happier out of a disappointment in myself for not being happier enough. Last year, and the year before that, and the year before that one too. I should just try stuff without fixing what was. I wish I had known this before. Self-improvement is a terrible word. Be curious, playful, interested-sure. That sounds like a far better idea than to improve something because you failed the last time.

Anyway, heres to 2011. Just enjoying stuff. Having a go.Vertiginiously difficult to reach or not. It doesn't matter. As long as I'm not letting the Mr Positive Thinker bully me into change.

Planning away.....

What I'm currently doing

1. Menu planning. As boring as it sounds,it's not really that soul-destroying. I hope i still have friends after they read this. My working hours are from 3 to 9pm weekdays, which means our dinnertime is very late. It means I've had to seriously think about how I manage my time in the mornings. So here's what I do. I drop my baby off at the nanny around an hour earlier than I used to (I used to drop him off on my way to work which was a mad circus act that usually involved me running out with an apple in my mouth as a means of preventing hunger, and a baby who's hanging off my leg)On Sundays, I try to figure out what I'm going to cook for the week with what we have in our fridge. So far so good. I'll be really boring and write more about my menu planning parade in future posts.
2. Saving money. With my husbands imminent plans to quit smoking, we both decided to put €3.50-the price of a pack of Marlborough lights here in Portugal, in a jar, every single day. We hope to have around €500 by next summer.
3. Getting back into reading again. I have a colleague at work who lent me a book by Hugh Laurie-pre Dr House. One of the advantages of public transport is that you can actually read. You couldn't do that in a car. Especially if your driving. Obviously. Good job many people are aware of this. The book is hilarious by the way. Thoroughly recommend it.
4. Learning to respect my sensitivity. I can't change who I am. May as well take care of myself by not having to tolerate things that I can't tolerate. Like large crowds of strangers. Like loud music. Like chit chat. Like bright lights. Like shopping malls.Like being away from home for too long. Be around my element instead. Like tea. Like my closest friends. Like books. Like blogs. Like my family. Like the great outdoors.
5. Back in the pre-internet I used to write letters to my best friend all the time. It was this little ritual we had. It started at 13, back in 1993, when I lived in Bangladesh for a year. During that time I would regularly write letters to her. Like 8-page letters! I would decorate the envelope and include little drawings. What teenager does that these days! Noone! When I returned from Bangladesh to my hometown in London, we still kept on writing letters to each other. Even though we lived nearby. At that time, growing up in an asian community was tough. We didn't have the freedom that a lot of our English friends had. No jeans. No going out at all. And definately no boyfriends. Including boys as friends. So our letters and sleepovers (which was the only privelage given to us) was our way of feeling normal. I love Yasmine to bits. She's like a sister to me. And we speak on the phone to each other regularly despite living in different countries with very different lives. We rarely use email or Facebook to keep in touch, because we don't have a problem keeping in touch the old fashioned way. Everybody should know what its like to have a friendship pre-Facebook!

That's it for now. Hope some of these have given you something to think about.

Friends are your second family...

well, that's the hope anyway. After years of supporting this ideal, I have discovered that the friends we gather to fill up our lives, in order to encapsulate the Sex and the City dream, have their own families too.Many of my friends are getting married. They have new jobs, live in different cities,in different countries raising children. I've realised from my experience,that to have a perfect idealistic notion of a second family, a 'family of friends' I've had to go back to that flawed dysfunctional first one. The one I forgoed to make way for more interesting social groups in my life. The one I fell out with practically every other day, the one I saw as a hindrance in my search for more adventure in my life. The one I reduced to a mere backdrop of who I am. In the late 90's i went on a mission to replace my family, my childhood friends, with an updated better version in the form of university intellectuals, colleagues, friends of friends, aquaintances at parties. I filled up my contact list with people I tried to find a connection with, and in turn tried to do the same with me but in the end, for whatever reason, the efforts to form a 'second family movement' fizzled out by the time we all graduated and left the all important university social scene.Then came Facebook. I facebooked my way into a world of socialising that I had never experienced before in my first family. It was great for a while. But not for the reasons I thought it was. Because with the hugely uncool inconvenience of being a mother, combined with my hugely uncool first family suddenly making me feel loved and less lonely, I've suddenly stopped trying so hard. Putting an end to my 'creating your own family Movement'
We all need special connections in our lives. I don't think having 260 Facebook friends does that. Not for me anyway. It leaves me feeling very drained. Like being in a room filled with people who don't really know my hopes and fears. If I was a social bee, Facebook would be an endless source of amusement. Sharing my happiness with people I keep in touch with facebook 'friending', but kept at a non-commited distance too. It's not just a second family. It's an endless number of families. Your family of friends, your family of colleagues, your family of classmates. It's a family of families. I'm not a social bee. I like to keep in touch. But I hate the idea of managing an ever expanding social circle. And so it is. That is who I am. I can count on one hand how many adult friends I have. My husband, my baby sister, my best friend, my mum and my dad. My other hand (I should include my toes too) is for future inclusion of my siblings who I rarely keep in close contact with,but I hope to one day,my son when he can string a few words of joy together, and other close friends who may come and stick around abit longer to share their hopes and fears with me. For now though, that one hand is my family. First, second, always.

Still here

I know it's blogging suicide to not post for so long, but I've essentially been unplugged for the last month or so, due to the recent move. All the time offline has given me a valuable glimpse of how my life could be, how I would like to spend my time, and the simple changes in my day to day routines needed to keep my happy self fulfilled.
All of the offline pondering led me to cancel my Facebook account. I just had to do it; it took up more of my time than I had liked and I could never get my head round the 'Facebook way' of keeping in touch. Maybe I'm too old-fashioned for my own good, but it suits my way of living life and a person should always be true to that.
I'll be spending most of whats left of this year unpacking, and setting up a space for my artwork and teaching material. Isaac is growing up so fast I can't keep up with him. He inspires me to be joyful about everything I do. My love for him is endless, but of course, what mother wouldn't say that about their child?

Got to go now. I have no idea when I'll post again. I will. I miss blogging very much.

xxx
Khairun

I've got this new thing going on

I'm not quite sure what it is, but it appears to be doing me the world of good. Whatever this feeling is, one that I can't explain, it's making me want to hug random people, smile incessantly, drop my guardedness and act a little silly. I am pretty sure it has alot to do with us moving, which is a huge positive in our life. But combine that with the running around like a chicken on coke, the sleeplessness, and you've got this kind of spinning wild positive rush of, well, positivity. Can't wait to find out what this rush will create once it has officially moved in with us in the new abode. I hope it manifests itself into more art work and a more settled feeling of creative domestic bliss.
All is good. We're taking Isaac to the zoo tomorrow, and then some old fashioned cake splatting to celebrate his first year on this earth, our first year of pure wild love. His gift will be the new house. Not many babies get a house for their first birthday do they? Well, its our way of looking at it. The reality is, his birthday happens to fall during a humungous time in our life right now. We're just trying to put a positive twist to the fact that we cannot go all out on a birthday party for him. Definately not now. He's not fussed anyway. He's too busy enjoying everything around to notice he's a year older. Us grown ups could learn a thing or two from babies. I certainly have.

Im tired. But Im not going to disappear on you dear blog.

Should i keep going on? Yes I will. It's not an emphatic yes I will. More of an exhausted whispering yes I will. But a yes I will nonetheless! Because I know, and those of you, my dear friends who read this blog knows, things have been wilting ever so slightly over here in the last few months, save for a precious drop of a post whenever I can for my blog to survive on. I have been terrible at looking after things here, which in other words means, looking after me. And when I think of it in that way, I feel compelled enough to want to write about it. Because I'm drawn to doing so. It's me after all. And why wouldn't I want to take care of me?I know deep down, that the last two years of doing this has been a big deal for me, in a way that many non-blogging, folk might not get. That's okay by me of course. I'm just acknowledging this very real fact. There are people who get it, there are people who don't. All this self obsessed personal writing malarky. Jeez, get over yourself woman! I hear that phrase ringing over and over in my head sometimes when I read some of my posts. I feel like im indulging too much in the world of ME. But who else could do that but me? Why would i want anybody else to do this but me? It can only be me! I get this. Writing, and writing publically as a means to meet people who want to meet me, help people who can be helped by me, and deliver a kind of loyal support through regular posts, to those who return the loyalty by reading my blog, me. That's what sets blog writing apart from writing privately. Writing privately is a bit like wanting something to change in your life but keeping this desire forever locked away in your heart. Writing publically is a bit like allowing that change to roam free and actually get things changed. This has happened to me. My blog helped me set free my artistic wants and needs. It has helped me get more comfortable with who I am and the wants and needs that make up who I am. It has helped me create a narrative for my story and I think every story deserves to be expressed and read, and needed, by those who want to read it and feel the need for it.
Yes I will!

Dreaming of a more natural way of life

Nothing involving chickens though. Or carving wooden spoons. Reusable sanitary towels (I'm not joking, they do exist) and smelling like someone who's not accustomed to soap.I don't want to treat my London roots like weeds that need pulling out. But there are days, many many days, and especially now that we are moving, that I long for a far simpler flow to my life. One that involves raising a family, getting creative, cultivating time for education and experience, without worrying about the wheres and the hows. How can we afford this? Where are we going today? What's for dinner? Why are we watching Americas Next Top Model? Why does my hair look like this? Questions questions questions, thrown into the void of Isaacs nap time. Sometimes it feels like, when we have a glorious opportunity to bathe in the art of simple, we spoil it by throwing in all these questions, and general fidgety mood as to how to spend the time constructively We end up looking at Isaacs baby photos and missing him. Even though five minutes prior he was sitting on the living room floor, post-bathtime, fiddling about with his peepee and laughing his head off at the absurdity of such a thing.
I see all these boxes around me and it feels like we've unburdened our apartment, our home over the last three years, of a huge weight. Like one big pile of box poop. What a relief!! We were living in a severely constipated home! We never truly took the time to enjoy our possessions. It was more a case of putting it in places so that Isaac couldnt reach them, or in a place where we'd figure out where to put it in the future ie. the guestroom with no guests aka the room with no purpose except to put things we couldn't decide what to do with. Long name for a room i know.

I can't wait to breathe a more simpler way of life. One where we don't question the hell out of the precious time we have to be together as a family. One where we can appreciate and enjoy and be proud of our home and our carefully filtered possessions.

A very fine house indeed...

Well thats the idea anyway. Over the last few months we have finally succumbed to a yearlong fantasy of buying a home. I guess with a baby in the picture the notion of building a family nest suddenly pushed itself up further in the ranks of things we want and need.
As of now though, we've been living in a spacious apartment in a quiet area. It's just not very child-friendly. Carrying my heffalump of a baby, with bags of shopping up two flights of stairs is not a hugely enjoyable task these days. It's not a very child-friendly home either, with an attractive steel stair case leading up to our loft bedroom, and large ornaments dotted around the house like a diggeridoo and a wood carved African mask. All remnants of Mr Ts travelling days pre-heffalump, pre-easily impressed moi, pre-having no worries in the world except to prance about the world collecting stuff. What impresses me now is his magic ability to sing Incy Wincy Spider like a lullaby. Knocks Isaac out in 30 seconds flat. I can never do it.
So the image of a back garden instead of a balcony 30 feet up in the air with the constant threat of my undies raining down on innocent bystanders, home grown tomatoes and cucumbers instead of wilting basil and coriander in my 57th attempt to pot plant a herb garden, opening the door to my home without having to climb up stairs with sweaty baby in arm to get to it; It all finally took its toll. Somewhere in a land far far away,there was a rundown house in need of our love and attention. And an owner of course. We found that house. It's in a stable condition but with abit of planning we hope to move in and make it our home, by the beginning of October.
In the meantime, we have been packing boxes and moving random pieces of furniture every weeknight like two deluded individuals, shushing each other everytime we make a loud noise, even if that loud noise happens to be the result of having a box of Chinese teapots rest on your little toe. All because we don't want to wake up Isaac or our otherwise very understanding neighbours. Every night, we have sacrificed our guilt-free vegetative state in front of the T.V, for some much required elbow grease. Hard work, lots of angry shushing, broken finger nails and odd combination of clothes being worn due to not knowing where our clothes are these days since there are so many boxes it's blocking our mirrors.
Things just get done faster when you don't worry about how bad you're looking.

i want to be alone....so do I Greta, so do i.....

FB update:Yesterday the lady at the pharmacy made the intelligent observation that by me holding my baby instead of keeping him strapped in his stroller screaming his eyeballs off, he would be spoilt. Theres a fine line between expressing an opinion and being a complete asshole. Welcome to motherhood Khairun.

I don't have the luxury to be quiet these days. Greta never had children of her own. Perhaps because she knew that a miniature version of Greta would have her screaming those famous words instead. Miss Pharmacy Lady saw to it that I never retreat to my cosy self made shell again. And she wouldn't have been on a mission to put my blossoming parenting skills down, without there being a baby in my arms.So it was Isaac who got to the job at hand, that of holding his podgy hands up to my face, to stop me from retreating back into the closet of Thinking everybody is Nice and Thinking everybody thinks I'm Nice-Land.
Before motherhood went and shoved my creative free time high up where the sun don't shine, I had the luxury of having my quiet moments uninterrupted, my boredom free to roam and wander and multiply. Me and Mr T secretly delighted in being occasionally ignored by the more talkative parent scene at random get togethers. Add to the bag the fact that I'm usually surrounded by non English speaking individuals, it was even more of a pure unashamed indulgence of mine to slip out of the conversation, which I didn't understand anyway,about various schools and the funny things my child says which I also didn't have much to add to accept a smile and and a reallllllyyyyy??,and instead would find myself jiggling someones baby on my hip or smile at random children whilst they imitate my mute condition by staring back at me, before running off to find someone slightly more entertaining. It didnt bother me in the sense that I didn't pressure myself as I did in my uni years, to get out of my shell and cure myself of this crippling

introvertigo

. It meant I never had too many kids wiping their noses on the back of my skirt and asking me lots of questions. I just figured, why fight the very essence of what makes you YOU? I was grateful for feeling confident enough to be quiet, to go with the flow, to not give a hoo haa what other people think. Us quiet folk are often misinterpreted as being rude, unsociable, selfish, insecure, cut off from what is supposed to be the basic human prereqhuisite: communication. Not to say that there aren't any quiet mean people out there. I just like to think I'm from the quiet and nice variety!
Try being quietly nice with a baby then Khairun. It worked for Greta because of 1.Being childless and 2. Being what you call, sassy.
Sassy Khairun is an oxymoron. Sassy Khairun sounds like swahili for wimpish. My wimpish temperament combined with motherhood, meant an inevitable facewipe from complete strangers who think they know how to be a better mother than me. This smiling mute condition doesn't hold up so well in the face of unsolicited advice and the very real changes that have to take place in order for me to take it on the chin. I cannot be chinless anymore. I created my own version of self confidence out of something that, for as long as it remained untested, which was my feelings and ideas, I was doing great. My own personal manifesto on how to survive a very loud opinionated world with a very quiet,chinless and totally unsassy soul. Smiling in the hope to win over peoples hearts with my ditsy ways doesnt work whilst jiggling a baby that is very much mine and will always be mine and nobody elses. I need to know how to take hurtful comments with a firm hand. I need to know that keeping myself to myself, isn't going to do much for me anymore. Im touching upon an issue i wrote about recently, about how I've spent too long defending a shyness that has now proven to not work in the real world. Being a mother has suddenly made the world very real to me.
There is a me somewhere in all of this. Its through the writing, the painting, the way i love my son, the things that make me laugh, the things that make me want to be a better version of the current version. I love all these things about me. i love that I want to know so much without ever feeling that I know it all. To see that I am still the same person to those who matter, whilst knowing that I need to change so much of that person. The acknowledgement of this has been a real joy for me.

It's good to give a voice to these things.

Getting back in the blogging groove.

FB update: Last night I accused my son of destroying the universe because he refused to sleep like normal people usually do at 5am. But then i woke up with him sleeping on his tummy, face squooshed against my side, with his butt in the air. I forgave him.

I've been reading several mummy blogs over the last few days and feeling really inspired by the level of brutal honesty and overall fearlessness of these women. It brought home to me even more just how sad it would be for me to feel that blogging about my life, my thoughts, my feelings is a no go area. I think the key to writing honestly so publically is the intention behind it. If its to deliberately piss people off, like your mother in law, then its not cool. No matter how uncool your mother in law may be. But if the intention is to make people aware of something,consider a new perspective to a problem they might be going through, then blogging is really a cool thing. If it creates informed, thoughtful dialogue, if it touches a nerve without pushing a button, then it is more than cool! Theres so much that each and every one of us have inside ourselves, that could provide an abundance of inspiration for others. Why keep it to yourself? Why confine your thoughts within your heart? Its no use to anyone in there. Let it out. See what happens. It might not go down well with some. But then again, it might help someone going through very tough times.

No more Mrs Nice Girl

Now that ive hit the big 3 0, ive decided to be painfully predictable and create a list of things that are in dire need of change. Ive stopped befriending my sensitivity, aiding its nonchalant attitude towards life, supporting its futile cause, wiping its tears for the last time. It doesnt do me any favours, it doesnt help anybody else. It just sits in a corner like a child who refuses to smile, wanting to leave the party. Theres nothing endearing about being sensitive. It doesnt make me a good person. It tires people, tests their patience. Im sick of it. I know there will always be a slight fragility to my personality: completely normal for an introverted soul like me, but im tired of having its back, when its never had mine. I have to speak my truth more, step on a few toes if thats the case, i have to accept that thats all a necessary part of being couragous, of being present in the world. Im tired of wanting to please, or worrying if i hurt another persons feelings by not pleasing enough. Im always questioning my motives. Thats it. No more! Everyday, im going to do something, no matter how small, that expresses my truth with courage and commitment. Im going to experience the exhilaration of not being nice. Of being judged. Because thats the only way i ll know how committed i am towards supporting myself.

Im 30. Gotta start acting like a lady

I spent much of my twenties woofing down chicken burgers and chocolate cookies with a 'somebody smack me for getting away with eating junk and still being skinny' smile. Now that Im a mother of a hefty heffalump of a baby, my body aint all that forgiving anymore. Its in dire need of a change. And the change has to start from me. It pains me to say it, but I have got to start eating better. And whats even more excruciating, I have got to go to that faraway place called The Gym.
But before I start anything, i really have to get my hair looking like this.

Seeing life through art

Pierre Bonnard. One of my absolute favourite artists.

Cyclamen

The bottled up botanist in me.

Moving on

He's an extension of me. An extra chunk of Khairun.My love, my soul, embodied in his fat squishy legs and big sad eyes.
Leaving him for those few hours everyday makes me feel as though I've forgotten my doorkeys, my umbrella, my mobile phone. All these things at once (which incidentally, has happened.)
Something always feels missing.
We spent the whole morning talking. In between us in our bed,trying to master the art of conversation. I swear I thought he was telling me to not leave. But I think that must have been my imagination. He probably wants me to get a move on. Yeah yeah, you love me...GO TO WORK!I've already taken two sickies this week. But I'm going back today. I HAVE to go back today. Even though it's pouring with rain outside. Even though I still have the sniffles. Even though I'll always feel like somethings missing. Because I'm so busy missing him.
I have to move on.

This little blog of mine in a forest of much bigger blogs....

I've always loved writing. Not being particularly good at it has never put me off either. I used to jot anything and everything down, in cheap notebooks, on blocks of A4 lined paper from Woolworths, the back pages of my school exercise books.I kept diaries religiously, writing into the wee hours of the night with exact and therefore incredibly boring details of who said what on the bus to school that morning.
Reading them now makes me want to sandpaper my eyeballs.
I was a closeted spotty muslim girl, whose life rotated around dreaming of being more popular, more beautiful, more free.


Nowadays, those dog eared notebooks have morphed into this blog, in the same way that Ive morphed into someone more happier about herself. Happy enough to let other people read abit about her, happy enough to feel comfortable in her own skin and go out into the world with it.
And when the passing blogestrian, the friend,the colleague or relative, reads the mental blurt-out of what amuses me, makes me ponder, makes me annoyed, Im always fighting the need to pack it all in and go back to keeping my thoughts in a shoebox under my bed, strictly for my sandpapered eyeballs only.
All I know is that my anonymous readership, those who leave comments and those who dont, those who acknowledge it, ignore it, forget about it, do whatever they want with it, it all makes me feel more present in the world. Despite the awkwardness, the worry that my presence lacks merit of some kind.That there are other bloggers who do it far better than me. Making my posts visible on Facebook for instance, whilst it does leave me feeling like I've just walked into a convention for Farmville enthusiasts in my pyjamas, It helps me fight my demons of unworthiness.

You know that age old question -If a tree falls in a forest and noone is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
I ask myself the same thing about my blog. If there is noone to read it, if what is better, more popular, more fun, continue to make me wonder What am I doing here?, is it still worth doing? Can my voice still be heard?

Ill always feel like running off into a corner and hiding under a blanket everytime I press the publish button. Ill always get that nagging feeling that my friends and family on Facebook may not want to have 'Khairun's feelings' thrown into their face,(image of me in pyjamas and saying 'I need a hug'in said Farmville convention springs to mind) But there is a stronger part of me that is doing a sort of grassroots appeal for more genuine, human, meaningful dialogue online, particularly on social networking sites.

But anyhow. Thats me.

Enough of the blogging. I have a baby nearby babbling away. He certainly knows how to make his voice heard. Perhaps I should take a few lifelessons from him.

Have a lovely day!

Back to Work

After almost six months at home, I went back to work last night.
Five and a half hours of trying to not think about him.
It was not easy. But I know it could have been alot worse.

He wasn't particularly happy. We're trying to wean him off the milk by giving him solids during the time I'm out. It has worked. He loves the mushy stuff, and he wiggles with glee when he sees a spoon of orange gloop coming his way. So that has worked. But alas, he meltsdown at precisely an hour or so before I'm able to get home. By that time, Antonios with him and he has to put all 10kg of sleepy orange-stained fussiness into the Babybjorn.

It will get better.Thats what I'm saying to myself constantly.
And I will find the time for my creativity.

The Invisible Book

It's invisible because it's in my head.
It's in my head because the dirty dishes and laundry folding are outside my head.
My invisible book has a lovely front cover, contents, bad photo of the author on the back. ISBN code. Even a couple of bad reviews about it online.
But you can't read it. Because it's invisible.
That's not the only thing invisible in my head. I also have an invisible etsy shop of all my papier mache bowls, pendants, art prints, crocheted brooches.
I have an invisible illustrated collection of my poetry.
I have an art exhibition of all my collages and mixed media pieces. But guess what? It's invisible.

I am on the verge of becoming invisible myself if I don't learn how to turn away from the very visible reality of chores, bills, worries, distractions, stressed out for not having time, then feeling guilty for having time,then feeling guilty again for not using that time constructively, and then waking up the next day with lots more guilt for whatever comes to mind. Fun fun fun.

It's more than just a kick up the rear end, I need. It's the fact that I have a book with bad reviews, a shop with things that perhaps three people might like, and all sorts of other wierd and wonderful things taking up residence in my body, and whether or not this is okay by me.

It clearly isn't.
I'm going to open that awful etsy shop and write a book that nobody wants to read.And make Isaac laugh by dancing to Blondie on VH1.
(I do the latter already)
After all, if I can write a blog for this long, then I know i can give it a shot.
I just have to stop convincing myself that my day to day life won't fall apart just because i have a pen and paper in front of me. And accept that I will never be able to get dressed nicely either.

Back to work next week. Eek.
But I have a feeling this will suddenly make that invisible book in my head feel alot heavier. Along with everything else up there.
I'll have no option but to get them out.

Will keep you posted on my very random burst of motivation.

Heres a picture of Mr Giant Cheeks.

Have a lovely day!

I-m still here

My computer appears to have a language settings bug, so excuse the absence of punctuation. I-m determined to write a post before yet another reason not to. And a misbehaving computer isn-t the only reason. Theres the lack of inspiration to write, the mental space taken towards gearing up for work next week. Then there-s Isaac. Of course. He loves daylight. So much so that he doesn-t like napping much, except on the odd occasion. Like today. So my blogging has basically become dependant on the odd occasion that my baby puts his head down for a few minutes, and the odd occasion that i-m not thinking about handwashing carrot puree off my tops, calculating how much we-re gonna be paying our nanny, and Isaacs spectacular bowel movements.

But despite the lack of time spent here in cyberspace, I still feel productive, quietly working away in certain areas of my life, one at a time. Accepting that things can-t be fixed overnight.

Back in January i made alot of plans. I stared eagerly at the fresh blank pages of my newly aquired journals. I followed through for most of the month. February though, seems to have slipped through my fingers. I think its because its such a short month. And also for me, even shorter because I see its end coinciding with the last day of my maternity leave.

i need to see how I will incorporate my work schedule into last months enthusiasm to fulfill objectives, have more clarity, and create opportunities for myself and my little family.

Last month was also about stamping down old anxieties surrounding my life here in Portugal. The loneliness, the lack of confidence, the fear. I want to really focus on the positives of being here.

Thats as much as I can think of writing right now. Last months enthusiasm may show up in the coming months. I know it will.

He-s woken up.

Have a lovely weekend. A happy Carnival and Valentines day to all!

This is where I need to be

That has been my personal mantra these days. This is where I need to be, this is where I need to be, this is where i need to be....

Sitting here, sleeping baby in my arms, typing with one hand,looking down at his face every now and then,thinking about my sister.She's coming over from London for three days. Reading a few blogs here and there.

Or, I could paint a different picture entirely.

I'm sitting here, my arse hurts from sitting on a cold hard chair, I've got pins and needles in my arms because of a baby that refuses to nap in his cot and is the size of a pygmy elephant. I should have eaten lunch by now so I'm starving, instead I'm just sitting here, waiting for the right moment, to get up and get on with stuff that i have to do before my sister comes.

I'm happy with the way the first picture turned out.

It is no fun being miserable, on a day that looks miserable. So I'm just going to accept things as they are.
Because this is exactly where I need to be. Even if it means resorting to eating the arms of this chair for lunch.
This is where I need to be. And when I think about things in this way,something inside me slows down.
That can't be a bad thing at all.

Papier mache bangle

Wondering

when I'm going to get into the swing of working, creating and taking care of Mr SlushyCheeks.
In all my gusto for planning I completely overlooked the dire state of my body, my hair, my wardrobe. To put it quite simply, me. I haven't thought about my eating and exercise habits. I don't want to get so immersed in my creative projects that I forget to look in the mirror.
I don't want to stay in my pyjamas all day as I have been for more weeks than I care to mention. To the point where, when Mr T asks me if I feel like going for a walk around the neighbourhood with Isaac, I panic at the thought of opening my wardrobe and actually getting dressed for the day
This week, I decided I needed to sit myself down for a serious talk. I realised that a part of my need to plan this year was in some inadvertant manner, trying to deny how much looking and feeling good means to me. I want to not care about it too much. But I also don't want to let myself go completely. The alarm bells rang when, a couple of days ago, I actually considered the idea of being a little overweight for a while, slobber around a little, quit brushing my hair. Some absurd notion of mine to let go to the point where I just didnt care what people thought.

But theres letting go and theres letting go. I was intensely self conscious of my physical appearance growing up. Absolutely tore myself to pieces with endless comparisons and self loathing. With time, I managed to be less negative and learned to appreciate myself better, but there was always that lingering anxiety underneath it all. The longer I inspected myself, my face, my clothes, my figure, the more things I saw that needed to be fixed.
So the near-conclusion I came to recently, was to stop looking altogether. It made sense at the time.
That's how my hair is in the state that it's in right now. From not looking.

I have to learn how to look at myself, without wanting to fix everything. And learn to not look, without letting myself go completely.

So now that we have a nanny, she's coming next week for a trial run to see how Isaac handles five hours without his boobmachine that sings 'Incy Wincy Spider' when requested. During this time, I'm going to have a much needed haircut, buy a pair of good fitting jeans and a decent skin concealer.

I just made the mistake of turning towards the direction of the television and seeing a news report on Haiti. i feel so shallow right now, Isaac could swim in me.

So whilst I sit in my warm apartment with all my basic needs tended for and my baby fast asleep, safe and sound in his cot, I better start thinking about how much I have in my life to be thankful for.

I might miss my family sometimes, I might have it tough being alone at home with a baby, with terrible hair and a flabby belly, but at least I have what I need. At least I don't feel cold, hungry, afraid, desperate. in my book, I'm doing okay. Alot of us are. We might not think we do, when theres so much planning and re planning and figuring out lifestuff. But when we see the utter hell that goes on in places far far away, we need to reassure ourselves. It's not all that bad. We're doing okay.

I have been thinking about giving away one of my papier mache pieces. I'm in the middle of finishing a bangle and another doll. Let's see if I can get the time to do this.

In the meantime, have a lovely peaceful weekend.

Beautiful things

I have had a crazy old week, taking in every little amazing thing Isaac does. He's giving me the biggest lifelesson ever. Learning to be patient with him, with myself. Learning to balance the need to get things done and let things go, and trusting in myself and in this learning curve m on as a mother.

We've been rearranging things around the house, turning our guestroom/junkroom into a diningroom and taking my studio space into the bedroom. Everythings all over the place, but our objective is to create more of a family space in the main living area. More space for the pitter patter of baby feet, easier to clean and get around in general. I really need to learn to give things away more. I'm abit of a hoarder. This habit isn't very compatible with my liking for a more zen-like interior.

So with all that going on, I haven't had much time to be here on my blog. And when I do, which tends to be in the evening, I am too tired to think of anything interesting to write.

Well, heres something interesting. A few links that are truly beautiful.
Beautiful things. If you can't think of anything to say, just share something beautiful.


1.Sophie Blackall -Missed ConnectionsI am in love with her work. Touching, moving, and oh so gorgeous. Creating illustrations out of notes left by strangers on the subway.
2. Letters of Note. Fascinating collection of letters and postcards
3. Photographer Peter Funch spends weeks taking photos on Manhattan street corners and then pastes them together into single photographs. Mindblowing collage technique.

I'm off to do some serious babyfood research. Enough of the boobjuice paradise for my little buddy, instead it's going to be pear and mango mush heaven!

Before my very eyes

He grew! I've had so many blah days, but one look at him is all it takes for me to feel much better. My star.
And when I think of the horror that's unfolding in Haiti now, I hold him that little bit closer.

Managed to make this as part of my on going commitment to do something creative each week. A papier mache doll.

Not much to say right now. I wanted to go out for a walk with Isaac but it looks like its going to rain. Says the lady with no car.
Got to sort that out at some point.

Hope you had a lovely weekend.

In spite of it all

I like living here.The beauty of Lisbon didn't hit me at first. I had to search for it myself. It all depends on the time of day, the season, whether or not there's yet another monstrosity of a shopping centre being built within walking distance from it, how much dog poop I have to dodge to the point where I look like I'm walking on nails and of course with me, how much I let living away from London, my home, get to me.
And for a while, living away from London really did get to me. The Portuguese healthcare system made sure that I let it get to me. The lack of local services, the lack of community, the lack of neighbourly friendliness let it get to me.
But i'm responsible for all of this too.

I teach English, yet I am the worlds worst language student ever. I have not made any effort to learn Portuguese. A few half hearted attempts maybe, but I've never stuck with it. If I did, I wouldn't have felt so frustrated about being here. I can pin the blame on my job and my English speaking Portuguese husband and my English speaking Portuguese friends, but I shouldn't. It all came down to me, and me not wanting to do anything about it.

With abit of planning, I could have got out and about more, perhaps frequented my local coffee shop more often, said hello to the neighbours instead of avoiding eye contact. I could have built more bridges for better relationships with people in my community. But I didn't. Instead I just moaned about the dog poop outside our front door and the never ending circles round the block every weeknight to try and find a parking space.

I could have taken driving lessons. Period. Having a car would have helped me get around, felt more independent.

I sense I'm being hard on myself. Talk about writing to get things back ON my chest. A major detour from the positive here.
I'm going to make a sharp turn to my right. To what is RIGHT for me.

I'm letting go of the last few months and the heaviness of it, gently. Putting it away without destroying it. Because it's still important to me. Like a big chest of old letters from a previous life. It's still a part of me. I just can't keep lugging it around thats all. I want to feel light again.

So I'm giving myself a new pair of eyes. Look at things differently. To take the digital dust off these photos and discover a new reason for wanting to be here. To appreciate the Portuguese way of doing things. The language,the culture, the lifestyle, the habits. And just the fact that I have a lovely home here.

Im trying to be more of a planner this year. I want to have my ideas laid out in front of me so that I can not only see what I need to do clearly, but remember what they are (because I always have so many ideas in mind) and why I want to do them in the first place.

Perhaps, as part of my creative-making plans for the year, I could also incorporate learning Portuguese somewhere. Learning a language is a creative challenge isn't it?

Not quite sure how creative driving lessons are. Worth a try though!

I want to look and feel glowy again!.

Like I did here.

Isaac's naps are a rarity these days. He prefers me to entertain him, no matter how many toys I put around him. I've devoted my time towards making those big cheeks of his, get even bigger with each beaming smile.

So I haven't started anything crafty. I've watched this week slip through my fingers. I worked and reworked the last papier mache piece which for me, was a telltale sign of my pesky need for perfectionism. I know that when I do this I stop enjoying the process. Like reading a bad book till the end in the hope it will get better. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't. But regardless of the outcome, I come out feeling a little bit dejected by the process, to the point where I lose the inspiration and discipline to get back to a book or a new painting again.
So I let this week go. I made a mental note to do so. Normally I would be in a really foul mood for going off track yet again, as I've done many times before. But instead of being crabby about it, I'm seeing it as a 'creative vacation'. I'm learning to be comfortable with the idea of actually doing nothing for a little while. I have my 'maps' around me. My calendar, my post its, my journals. Once I come back from my vacation, all glowing and well rested, I can easily go back to where I left off. That's what I didn't do before. So when I did stop my artwork or writing for a while, going back to it felt like I had to undergo a creative lobotomy.
I can't do that any more. With a baby and work commitments coming up, I need my maps to stop me from feeling overwhelmed by so many needs, interests, wants, hopes....

My word for this year: RHYTHM.
I need a rhythm to my day. To help me settle down. To help me wake up. To stop me from feeling overwhelmed. To get whatever needs to be done without feeling like I HAVE to get it done.

We interviewed a nanny yesterday and it looks like we've found the right candidate for the job. I've been feeling alot more comfortable in the idea of going back to work now, after paying my colleagues a visit a couple of weeks ago. It felt like I was visiting an old friend again. The old me included. Reminded me of how much there is of me 'outthere' from the classes that I teach, to the people who value my time. A sign of my presence outside of my newly acquired mummy status. It felt validating.

Antonio took the morning off work to be with Isaac so I could go out for the first time without him. I had breakfast at our local coffeeshop. I went to the local supermarket to buy some apples. It was a dreary Wednesday morning. But feeling the wind against my face felt like a splash of cold water it worked wonders.

So we are going to ask our new nanny to stay with Isaac at somepoint next week, just for him to get used to a new face, and for us to go out and do something fun together. We really seriously need it!

I can hear my hips clanging. Not good.

Heres what I've been doing this afternoon. Singing.

Up like a rocket!
Down like a plane!
Back and forth like a choo-choo train
I can fly here, I can fly there
I can fly everywhere!

With me lying down on the floor and Isaac resting on top of me, I sang this little song whilst lifting him up and lowering him down again.He loved it, but man oh man, he is one heavy bubba! Got myself working up a sweat.
Word of warning: Don't do this just after feeding your baby.
He almost threw up in my face. Hit my shoulder instead.
Classic first time mum mistake.

He had a longer nap than usual, which allowed me to finish this piece, as part of my January Papier Mache Project Extraodinaire.
I just came up with that title now. I might not have made it very obvious, but that means next month it will be a different creative project.
CROCHET!

I'm counting down the days before I go back to work. And start learning how to be away from the bubba. Which leads me to my confession: I haven't been apart from him since he was born. Nope. Not one second. I haven't stepped out of the house unless it was with him in tow. And I can count how many times I've done that without Mr T. I'm not going to tell you how many. It's embarassing. I'm turning my son into a hermit! Which is not good. At all.
Am I a bad mother for not going out with him more often? I'm just scared tis' all. The only car that I might be able to drive, would be this and my neighbourhood is not very 'stroller-friendly'.
But I need to go out with him. I don't know why I'm scared. I think I'm still getting over the whole experience of having a baby altogether. I feel like the hospital stole my body after the birth and loaned me this one whilst they repair it. I don't feel at home in my skin is what I'm trying to say. They haven't given back my body yet. So I'm stuck with this old clanger.

I wonder when I'm going to get back to being myself physically I mean.
A weekend spa should do it.
With bubba in tow of course! I can't live without him!

All in good time I suppose.

Look into my eyes, look into my eyes

Three,two,one....Your'e back in the room.

It was twelve hours of 'Operation Diaper Rash Control'.The poor fella was not in a good mood at all whatsoever. It was one of my worst days alone with him.
Makes me wonder really. There will be more episodes like these in store for me, in a future inextricably tied to parenting. How do my personal objectives factor into this lifelong commitment? I felt so guilty whilst writing yesterday evening, after getting him to sleep finally. It just didn't feel right. Am I not supposed to be sitting in a rocking chair, in a white dressing gown, by his bed with a candle in a silver candle holder, flickering in the dark, watching over him?
Sorry, got carried away with the Victorian imagery there.
I just felt I had to be by his side. It was our fault for not being more scrupulent with the diaper cream. He was suffering from our laziness. I wasn't proud of myself for making my otherwise cheerful bubba, a not so cheerful Mr Magoo. Nothing consoled him, not even when I pulled out the box of flashing colours.
Television.
Thankfully today, as I'm writing this, he has happily settled himself to sleep with a fist in his mouth.

I've written 700 words! But I won't reveal about what just yet. It's still very very early days on my novel writing attempt.
Still at work with my papier mache. I've made a wonky turquoise coloured plate. Hopefully, I'll get it done tonight.

My positive attitude is tinted by anxiety because I'll be going back to work soon. I don't know how I'll be able to keep up with the creative work. I fear that I may get a big slap in the face by the reality of this.
I guess it's all about accepting certain things. Without giving up altogether.

Wishing you a lovely weekend.

btw, for the few lovely lovelies that stop by and leave a comment from time to time, I've had to start moderating my comments because of a recent onslaught of Chinese spam.
I know. It's ridiculous isn't it? There is a very tragic individual out there who goes out of their way to start a blog, just so they can spam me in another language.

Now you know why. I still like getting comments so do stop by everynow and then.

Have a lovely weekend!

The writeist in me.

I like writing. I like art. Why not do both for the rest of my life? I might not be brilliant at it. But I can practice towards brilliance. And I am a geek who is eager to learn. Always have done.
For years I've felt inadequate for not having one sole interest, pursuit or dream in mind. You hear about kids wanting to be a ballerina or a doctor or a fireman. i wasn't one of those kids. I didn't know what I wanted to do. So I tried abit of everything really, hoping that maybe one of them would stand out and grab my attention. What I'm starting to realise now, is that I was pushing away the writeist in me because 1. I didn't think I qualified for it 2. I thought it was too geekified of me to want to be one 3. It didn't look great next to the doctors and scientists in my family, all of whom were showered with praise whilst I withered in the background 4. I thought I was not disciplined enough and 5. I was scared by the amount of solitude involved. I was an intense introvert growing up. Solitude was not what the doctor prescribed for me. This dream of mine had the very real possibility of making me depressed. I sure as hell didn't want that.
So I dabbled with the idea of being a teacher, a librarian, a social worker, a counsellor, a shop manager. Anything to curb the writeist dream. I guess looking back it was the healthy thing to do at the time. Dreams need to have a solid foundation. They need to have the back up of a confident driver. I wasn't confident. And I didn't know how to drive. I would have crumbled under the pressure to live the dream when I clearly wasn't ready for it. I made half hearted attempts to test the writeist in me once in a while but I often fell at the first hurdle. I wasn't passionate enough. I didn't have that magic spark that you need when you want to achieve something in life. And the more half hearted attempts I made, the further away I got to being ready for it.
So it's only now, at the age of 29, at home,with a baby babbling and cooing in the background, that I'm setting out some goals, towards a dream that FINALLY NOW,I feel ready for. To write, to paint, to make. To perhaps earn a few bob or two out of it. To be a proud geek.

Rainy Monday morning

and cloudy too so it was abit difficult to take a good photo. The stairs leading up to our loft is the only decent spot.
I like painting leaves. I'll be doing more of them. I'm not very good at finishing things off perfectly because I get very impatient and I want to see the end result. I have to learn to be abit more patient, hold back abit, don't get too anxious because I want to make it look good for others to see. This bowl is far from perfect. But it's done. And that's more than I could ask for with a baby to take care of.

I'm working the dream

I'm working the dream for 2010. That involves alot of todo lists, alot of sorting and shifting, all so I can carve out a chunk of time each day for my writing, my bowl making,my me-time basically. Might sound selfish, but if I don't do it, I won't be the kind of mother Isaac will be proud of. And I want him to be proud. Proud and inspired. I want to inspire him with my strengths, encourage him to be expressive and independant. I want him to see me happy.
Im on a mission to fight off the waves of passive t.v consumption and fear. My God, don't mention the fear. The fear to live the dream and to believe that I am good at something. The fear had me in its claws for years.
But I think I can safely say that I am out. With a few scratches perhaps, but I'm out.

Finished one bowl today. I had hoped to finish it in the morning, but with Isaacs random napping that has us in circles, I ended up finishing it tonight.
Finally found a positive prospective for a nanny. I was deliberatly avoiding having to think about it for a while now. I just didnt want to deal with the huge change of me going back to work whilst feeling so protective over him. I'm a foreigner here who doesn't know how to speak the language well. And when you have a baby in a country where you don't know how to speak the language well, it doesn't paint a very good picture. But lets not go there. I need to learn to trust again, without being a softly spoken, foreign pushover.

Mr T cooked turkey and roast potatoes for dinner. It's our eight year anniversary today. Eight years together. I can't believe it. And now we have this beautiful baby to make those eight years sparkle.

I can't quite believe it. This is my life. This family I've created for myself. It's the firm ground I need to get where I need to be.
I can't wait to get there.

2009. A year of procrastinating

And not knowing how to be kind to myself.
Thought I'd share this with you. I wrote it before i found out I was pregnant.

Is it possible to write and paint, take pleasure and invest in both? It feels like I'm taking too much on board, like I'm indulging in too many hermit-type activities. Far too self absorbed in myself. But I love both of them you see. I'm not quite sure why I have wanted to write for so long because I don't have a book in me as such and the thought of writing one seems such a monumental task. I´m plagued by the lack of knowledge, intellect even. Punctuation and badly written sentences haunt me. Even though I've kept diaries since I was a kid, written poetry,albeit awful ones since then too,and an equally awful dissertation on Seamus Heaney for my degree. I have a love for reading and researching. I'm a geek. I'm coming out of the geek closet. But I'm not going to any geekpride parade because of it. That's my problem. I just don't like myself enough.
The same goes for my artwork. At most I can enjoy it on a personal level but to showcase my work more seriously seems to me a strange concept to grasp. I almost feel like I'd have to take on another persona entirely in order to be an 'artist' or a 'writer'. I don't know where the Khairun that i feel used to, would fit in. My question I guess is- How do you know you're not deluding yourself? I honestly don't want to pin my hopes onto a pursuit that in the end wastes both my energy and my time.

Wow. I sure know how to procrastinate the life out of living don't I? I wrote that during my intermittent craving for wanting to write a novel.
I'm sure I did mention my secret desire to be a writer didn't I? I guess my crocheting, doll-making and painting distracted me from that particular fantasy of mine.

2009 was a year where I wanted to be fully present in all the good things that were happening, particularly on being pregnant with our first child. But I didn't realise how much of a bully I could be towards myself. My quest towards being happy was a very unsucessful boxing match, with the part of me that wants to get everything right, fighting the part of me that wanted to cut myself some slack and take things easy. I was so disappointed for not being happy when Isaac was born. For waking up in the morning and watching the day slip away in a fog of tears. For not being more organised, for not just getting on with things. For being homesick. For wanting to just stay in bed and not shower.
Then there were days, where I was viciously protective of these tears. They were valid tears. It made sense to cry. I wasn't going to pretend. The quest to be happy was a quest to be truly, deeply, happy with the person I was and the person I was becoming. Not to put on a happy face, and get out of the house with make up slapped on. I didn't want to go out alone with Isaac, in the first month. Or the second month. And even now I find it hard to get out of the house. I haven't been away from him since he was born. But whereas before I felt abnormal for feeling like that, now, I'm okay with wanting to be at home with him. I go out at weekends with Mr T, and that is as much as I can do. The weather will get warmer. Isaac will get bigger. I'll get more comfortable in my role as a mother. And eventually, I will be out and about with him more often.
As 2009 drew to a close, I saw the true blessing that being at home has given me. I was able to take stock and really think about all the things I have wanted to do in my life without going into a goalmaking frenzy followed by my usual demise into a procrastinating mess. I took my time to do things, and in doing so, felt more of a sense of achievement than I have ever felt for a long time. I know where my strengths lie. it's in writing and drawing and learning about new things. The writing comes in so many forms, one of them being this blog. So the one thing I can be sure about, is that I love writing. 2010 will be my year to fully appreciate that.That is where my heart is. As for my drawing, again, I'm discovering what I like to do creatively and what I don't. I've stopped pressuring myself to do large scale oil paintings. They take too long, are too expensive to do, and bring out the perfectionist in me which I don't want. I'm making a series of papier mache bowls which are fun to make, whilst teasing out an ever evolving thought process of visual ideas.
I wouldn't have known this if I hadn't spent this time at home recovering, resting, and raising my child. I would have spent the entire year procrastinating again, getting stressed out by so much I want to do and ought to do, and striving to improve myself all the time.
2010 is all about doing it. Not too much. Not too little. Just enjoy it and experience the thrill of it.
Here are a few things I plan on starting the year with.
1. Complete a creative piece each week, whether that be a papier mache bowl,a watercolour sketch or doll.
2. Write everyday
3. Get up earlier. Having a three month old for an alarm clock helps immensely towards meeting this particular goal
4. Enjoy being a homebody and make my home a reflection of who I am and what I enjoy rather than who I want to be and what I ought to do.
5. Google Calendar GTD and Zen Habits are my new friends
5. Budget, budget budget. Less eating out. This was the first and the last expensive toy we are going to splash out on. He's more interested in sticking his fingers into his mouth.
6. Declutter. Around the home, my clothes, and more importantly, the contents of my head.
7. Get myself some king sized journals. One for a diary, one for my creative ideas, and one for my writing.
8. Less T.V. Do I need to explain why???
9. Less electronic baggage. Already made a headstart on that by cancelling my HI5 and Myspace accounts.
10. Revel in the love I feel for the two most important, most amazing people in my life.


That's my scary list for 2010. Scary because it's out there now, and it makes me feel like I need to be accountable. These are the things that I would most like to spend all my time doing.Except no.9 that is.
So I've got to do it. Isaac will grow and make some of those goals harder to do and I'll be going back to work but it's still doable and there are plenty of mums who are doing it. Following their dreams without any unrealistic expectations.
Now's the time to join them.

Wishing you a wonderful start to the new year.
Happy 2010!