Thursday, August 12
Thursday, August 5
I have posts in my head that will only seem relevant once a certain date comes around (September will be an awesome month) and I have topics I want to broach but more thought needs to go into it first.
I am an avid reader of so many blogs and the writing is so original and (this is going to be cheesy) inspirational, that it makes me want to be a better writer. That being said, I am in no way a writer, but I do LOVE writing. I don't want to let the blogging world or readers of this blog (hello? Hello? is there anyone there?) down with my inane observations or banter.
I am new to this and I am finding my feet. I
Bear with me, it WILL get good.
Tuesday, August 3
(Yes, I am a lists type of person)
1. Nieces' Birthday BBQ, this coming weekend, they are having a joint party
2. Looooong weekend 13th-17th August
3. Finally meeting up with my best friend, Suzan
4. Finally seeing my Godson, Adam
5. Better off Ted being on FX (Does the humour remind anyone else of Dead Like me?)
6. Breaking Bad Season 2 arriving via Love Film.
8. Hubs not doing night shifts for at least two weeks after tonight
9. My Glamour magazine subscription, which just keeps arriving even though I could've sworn it run out in May (Please don't shop me in to Conde Nast)
10. Wedding album hopefully arriving.any.day.now. SQUEEEE!
So yea, its getting good.
Monday, August 2
A Monday where I got those nerves in my stomach.
You know those nerves which, if your like me, determine if you have a good day or not.
A Monday where I had a moment in Liverpool Street station and had to stop amongst the mayhem of commuters and wonder what I was doing there.
I have not taken my anti-depressants for 8 weeks. We've been back from Canada for 8 weeks and when we got back, it seemed as good a time as any to stop taking them as I was finally feeling like I could cope. I was In a good place.
Today, my moment in the station made me realise how far I had come in 2 months.
It made me realise that its OK to get a little overwhelmed and have some anxiety to prove that I can get over it.
It felt like it I couldn't move. I was stuck still and my breath escaping me. Everyone was moving around but it was slowed down. I was in a still of a movie with the background blurring and becoming hazy. Me, I was suddenly in clear cut focus. I wish I knew what triggered it. Sleep came easy to me the night before; I got to see my Husband in the morning; I wasn't stressed by travelling. It just happened.
It was scary, but I took a deep breath and looked around, and walked on.
I class this as a triumph. I could've quite easily broken down and walked away and curled up at home.
But, I didn't.
I might not be out of the woods yet, but at least I can see a clearing.
Wednesday, July 28
Me and my weight have always had a tough relationship.
I was athletic when I was younger. Gymnast from 5-11 years old. Short distance runner and relay champ.
This enabled my growing body to diffuse calories quicker than lightening and define it with muscles and have no boobies.
Moving to senior school meant, less gymnastics, less running. More homework and a sudden interest in boys and, HELLO, mahoosive jugs.
Since then, my love affairs extended from boys to food.
I L.O.V.E food.
I married a Man who also loves food. In fact I am to blame for his love of food. He was very 'vanilla' when he met me. I get him to try all the things I love and try something new.
This does not help my waistline.
My Sister is a qualified chef. You do the math.
So you can see my problem. I'm a food whore. And a sloth.
The only activity that I actually enjoy is swimming. I think this is because it doesn't actually feel like work. Your floating so essentially the water is carrying you. And you don't sweat, or at least it doesn't look like sweat.
I see swimming as a solitary exercise. Yes you can participate in water aerobics and swim with a buddy, but have you actually tried swimming and talking? I get out breath just writing about it so i'd be useless as actually doing it.
My issue is, when I work long hours and Hubs works long hours and we have little time together, is it fair that I take pleasure in swimming alone?
I know it isn't really an issue, but (and I can't actually believe I am writing this) will swimming become a guilty pleasure?
But If I am going to be a fit (as in 'Phwoar' not physical fitness) wife, then I am going to have to make a sacrifice.
Hope my Husband knows how much effort I am putting in for him ;-)
Sunday, July 11
My weekend has been so, so good. Picnic with my hubby at our new favourite spot in the forest.
Drinking until the wee hours with my Brother and his Girlfriend in our communal garden. Not realising we had sunk 2 bottles of wine and 3 bottles of vodka. Alcohol units don't mean anything when your talking away and eating pitta and hummus.
Sunday was even better. Late breakfast and slowly getting ready for a day of sunning ourselves in the garden, embracing summer for the few days we have it. It was truly showing off my Mediterranean roots with my mad tanning skillz.
And now? Now, we must rest for tomorrow it is back to work. Back to earning some money so that we can hopefully enjoy the weekend again.
But before that, I can write as much as I want and twitter till I am blue in the face, all while Hubs is watching the World Cup final. Its win-win.
I will miss the World Cup for letting me have 2 hours of unadulterated 'Fran time'. Oh and I will miss the thighs of the footballers.
Wednesday, July 7
So here are some pictures of my Godson from our trip to the park on Saturday:
And a gratuitous shot of me and Adam. With an extra portion of boob.
Nothing like sofa snuggles and 'Pink me me' on a Saturday afternoon
Tuesday, July 6
I have to be precise to make sure I don't forget what little memories I have left.
I am the youngest of 8 children. Two families with 3 siblings on one, 2 on the other and they joined up and made us three. Two don't talk to the other 6 and 3 don't see the other 3 that often.
But still, family is what we are, once united by grief, then torn apart by politics.
It was considered lucky that I was only 4 years, 4 months and 14 days old when my Dad died. I managed to escape all the fights over the will. All the slander over my Dad's fidelity. All the rumours of half-siblings. All the despair over who should have what possessions. All the rows in Italian; my Mother frantically trying to find the phrase book to try and find and way of saying "We need this banking document".
I wish I was lucky to not have had to witnessed it first hand. I wish I didn't see my Mother in despair, worrying how she was going to feed us let alone how she was going to pay the enormous mortgage, on a house that my Dad had purchased in the April before his death.
But I did see. I watched as a 4 year old.
I'd only known love. I'd only known a Mother and Father. From the 5th July 1988, all the love I received was tinged with guilt. Sadness for not having a Father, pity for not knowing what was going on around me.
But only, I did know what was going on. From that day on, I was no longer a child. I was a girl who's Dad died of a heart attack at 51.
Each member of my family before me have each had there own personal issue with our Father dying. Each had there own scenario which has scared them for life. My Brother discovered my Dad, my Sister had tried to revive him. Everyone else was just too late to get to him.
But I've never been able to tell mine, until now.
Except what has scarred me is that I don't have a story. I was asleep the entire time the heart attack took my Dad and killed him. I was only 4 years, 4 months and 14 days old. In some way, this makes me feel distant from my siblings. I don't have a story to tell, because I was doing what every other 4 year old was doing. Sleeping and dreaming of My Little Pony.
Memories. My visions of my Dad are fading. They are sometimes brought more vibrant when a family member talks of him. Something he used to do or something he didn't do. Even still, it is something that makes me remember him a little bit longer.
I often hear from my Brothers and Sisters, that 'There is no way I could remember such and such' or 'You were too young to remember that'. And for some of it, that's true.
But I remember walking across a bridge over the Thames, sitting on his shoulders. Dad immaculately dressed in a suit, with coiffed hair lacquered to within an inch of its receding life. I think I have a red coat on. It was cold. But the picture is now silent. I don't remember the noise around us.
I remember being in the bath with him as an 18 month old. It wasn't weird back then. It was the bonding time we had with Dad when he got back from working long hours in his restaurant. I remember the gold chain he worn whilst in the bath, not worrying to take it off.
I remember the heavy set frown and laughter lines, which my older Brother now has himself. I remember tracing my finger in the grooves of skin and wondering where they came from.
But his voice.
His Voice. That is something I don't remember.
I wish I could hear him.
If he was alive today, I would imagine it to be raspy from the secret smoking he would no doubt be doing. Words still thick with an Italian accent. R's would be rolled and he would probably only speak to us In his Mother tongue.
That is what makes me jealous and sometimes separate from my Brothers and Sisters. It sometimes hurts my heart to know that they might still grasp some sound of him. They might be right that I wont remember everything they know. But at least they might remember what he talked like. What it sounded like when he said 'I love you'. I wish I remembered him saying my name.
I'm not writing this as moan to my family. I'm writing it because this is the first time I've had the courage to say anything at all. Because even though I was only 4 years old, I did lose a Father. I went through everything everyone else did. Just because I was only 4 years old, didn't make that any easier.
I love my Dad with all my heart. He wasn't perfect and nothing ever is. But in my memory of the two of us walking over the bridge, I can pretend for a moment it was.
Monday, June 28
Dinner at Evergreen chinese restaurant in NYC
6. What color is your toothbrush?
My mind, but its slowly coming back.
I don't have no automotive vehicle
Sunday, June 27
So here is, in list form, what has been going on the last three months:
1. I got over the stomach flu
2. I got the blues
3. I get worse
4. I got antidepressants
5. I had a crash in confidence
6. I admitted that I wasn't doing so great
7 I then got slightly better
8. I started feeling even more better
9. We got a new apartment - our first as a married couple
10. We bought a sofa, chair and kitchen utensils
11. We broke our bed on the first night - no, not from that you filthy minded people...there was a screw loose...not unlike myself really.
12. We travelled around Toronto, Montréal, Québec, Ottawa and New York
13. We've decided to start trying for a family soon.
14. Potential health problems with Hubs put a stop to that.
15. Getting the 'OK' to get our freak on from the doctor has opened up the baby discussion again
16. Money issues has dampened the spirit of having children right now
17. Discovered that we might have a ghost in our new abode
18. I've found some awesome blogs, which inspire me
19. Both working hard for the Man
20. Ooo its finally sunny in England.
And that is about it....
I've made a promise to myself to write more often. This blog might not get any readers but that's OK because, this is my therapy. And If I do get some readers, then that will just help me further.
Monday, March 22
Sunday, March 21
1. Getting married
2. Becoming a Godmother
3. Watching my Nieces and Nephew grow up to become young adults
4. Going to see Take That in concert and therefore reliving my youth.
5. Watching Barack Obama become President of the United States
But i've had loads of 'best' experiences and don't want to limit them to five.
Saturday, March 20
Friday, March 19
As a newly-wed, who is very much in the blissed out loved up stage in the marriage, its hard to imagine being married to anyone else, right? I mean its completely normal to feel like you want to be with this person for the rest of your life because, hey, this is the reason you got married.
So it is interesting to me, as a newly-wed, to have the opportunity to see inside other peoples marriages because if there is one thing I have learnt since getting married is that people like to tell you about there own marriage. A lot.
Its kind of like therapy, if therapy means passively telling you that a holy or legal union is not what its cracked up to be and that maybe you shouldn't have got married. Although, this is from people who are have had or are currently going through some sort of trauma in there marriage. These are the people who are more than willing to tell you when something is wrong.
The people who are not talking about marriage? Those are the 'Happy' ones. The couples who are so close, they finish each others sentences. Who order for each other when you go for dinner. There the couples who know that as soon as they say how happy they are, people around them instantly make the fake puking sound. But what people don't realise is that, that fake puking sound actually makes a two folded point.
1. The people making the puking sound (Lets call them pukees for ease) realise something. Pukees realise that they have a jealous reaction forming within them. Sure they may joke with the two-fingers down the throat action, but really its them showing they are missing what had before. Or even a yearning for something they didn't have at all.
2. The people who are being puked on (Lets call these...puked on?) realise that they have released something. They have released something to the world which previously wasn't tarnished, wasn't subjected to ridicule or scrutiny. Are the puked about to become the pukees when the next new couple comes along, because they too have become jealous.
Here is my two cents.
As part of a happily married, albeit newly-wed couple, I can feel the pressure to 'become' a pukee. Having recently been 'puked on' (I should've thought about the names before writing) when expressing perhaps stupidly my profound happiness and in fact, I believe my words were 'We've never been happier', the wrathful-ness of the pukees was tantamount.
The reason for this...WE WERE HAPPY BEFORE WE WERE MARRIED.
The fact that we were married and happy in the same sentence was actually a tiny detail in the mockery of our happiness.
People had pre-empted the puking, practising the two-finger action to make sure they got it right. They knew we were going to say 'We've never been happier' because we were already that happy. Why would we let a thing like marriage get in the way of that.
As the saying goes, misery loves company. The pukees need more people to be like them. The puked on realise that they have said too much and want to do anything they can to take it back, because lets face it, who wants to be friends with misery.
However, once you have endured the whole "That feeling wont last; wait till your married a couple of years or have kids" blah blah blah, you will be accepted into the 'Pukee Clan' which in turn allows you to ridicule the new, naive couple, who just can't keep there hands off each other.
But who wants to do that?
I'm keeping hold of my 'Puked on' status for as long as I can.