A little bit on prejudice and crawly creatures

Prejudice - "A preconceived belief, opinion or judgement made without recourse to reason...most commonly used to refer to a preconceived judgement towards a people or a person because of race, social class, gender, ethnicity, age, disability, political beliefs, sexual orientation or other personal characteristics..." Wikipedia.

We all know that prejudices have existed since, well, rather a long way back. I mean, who knew that the Good Samaritan would have been, so, erm, 'good'? He sent shockwaves right through the New Testament, so much so that five-year-old children are still making plays about him now.

What concerns me though is that 2000 years later, we are no nearer to a lack of judgement, tolerance or grace in our everyday lives.

Do let me give you a little example.

On Saturday my husband and I took the two children to a birthday party. It was in a soft-play area where children not associated with the party were also allowed to play.

As we watched Renée and Edie frolicking with an older girl, my husband, who, it should be known, is the world's biggest snob (when asked whether he would have been attracted to me had I been christened Sharon or Tracey* rather than Emily, he simply smiled and said "well it would have been a lot harder"), turned to me and whispered,

"Ew, look at that girl. She's all dirty. And I bet she's got nits as well."

It has to be said, I may have laughed. But I may also have said something along the lines of,

"You can't say that. Don't be such a bloody snob. She's no more likely to have nits in her hair than any other child here."

And that, I thought, was that.

Except, of course, it wasn't.

Cut to the very next morning and Renée just so happens to scratch her head...

Rather too many times for me not to go a foraging in her hair. And what do I find? A whole host of tiny little blood-sucking parasites.

I think my husband was rather too smug for my liking.

You see, the problem with bloody prejudice is that on occasion our original assumption turns out to be correct, thus reinforcing whatever prejudices we may have had.

I give up. At least on the bit where I try to persuade my husband to stop being such a snob.

But having spent all day yesterday picking the little suckers out of both my children's hair, I may just give up on the Mothering front too.

*Absolutely no offence meant if your name just so happens to be Sharon or Tracey. But don't expect my husband ever to fancy you.

Death

My Granny died today.

I'm not sure how else to start a post like this, except that way.

She died. She fell down the stairs, broke her hip and wasn't found for more than 24 hours, by which time her kidneys had been damaged due to dehydration. When the doctors operated on her, she was too weak to make it through.

She was 85.

When I told Renée, she was sad because she said it meant Nanny wouldn't get her letter from the Queen, not that the Queen even sends letters anymore, but Renée seemed to think she did.

No, she won't get her letter from the Queen.

Renée also said that there'll be no more sticky jellybeans covered in fluff and hair from her pocket. She's right. There'll be no more of those.

I feel bereft. It was a struggle to put the girls to bed. A struggle to hold it together before I could allow myself to cry, alone.

But that's what I'm doing now. I'm crying big fat tears and it's ok. I don't think she'd mind. I think she'd like it that I cared enough.

I knew one day she'd be gone. It's normally just a matter of time, isn't it? I just didn't think it would be today. I didn't want it to be today, or any day for that matter. You never want the people you love to die do you?

And what happens now? I have no more grandparents left which means we've all moved one level further up the tree of life. And so it continues. Life and death. Death and life.

Nanny, we love you. Enjoy the peace and happiness that I know is waiting for you.

A comment without a reply is like a blog post without a comment...

Can I just scream?

Aaaarghhhhhhhhhhh.

Thank you.

Damn blogger, damn the Thai Internet connection and damn this friggin' concrete bench that I have been sitting on for the past two hours. My bottom now has no feeling in it, whatsoever, and in fact, it probably never will have, ever again.

I wanted to write a post about comments and about how important they are to a blog and about how, since I've had my little blogging break, I have totally neglected replying to anyone's wonderful comments and about the constant daily guilt I have felt as a result.

I wanted to say, well the guilt has been lifted.

I am now totally guilt free.

Because as of now, I have replied to every last comment I have received since I stopped replying to comments which just so happens to be four months, 11 posts and 318 comments ago.

That's what I wanted to say.

That's what I was planning on saying.

But I'm just going to stop and re-group instead. Take a breath. Because I have typed and re-typed the same long reply eight times (yes EIGHT) and each time I have lost the connection, and thus the comment too. And it is driving me crazy. And my bottom is numb.

And I need a drink.

And I can't keep typing it again because I may just go insane.

So please, bear with me.

While I go back and attempt to reply to every last comment that has been un-answered (and I promise, on pain of death, I will do), tell me something.

Tell me about comments.

Do you reply to every single comment you receive? Do you feel guilty if you don't? Do you go back and check if someone has replied to your comment?

In the past, I have always replied - I like to - I like to feel that people feel heard and listened to. And I'm sorry if I haven't made you feel like that recently. I have been reading them. I just haven't had the energy to reply. But I do now. I just don't have the frigging technology.

Typical!

And if you have commented on my previous posts and haven't yet had a reply, then please do go back and check...I need it to have been worthwhile!

Thank you.

History and Happiness

Seventeen years ago I fell in love.

Completely and utterly.

I knew my life would never be the same again.

And I was right.

I was 19 years old.

But it was nothing to do with a man. Or even a boy. Well, ok maybe it was just a little bit, but for the purposes of this post, it wasn't.

It was a country.

Thailand.

I loved it. I loved the people, the food, the climate, the hapiness that it gave to me so easily.

In those days I think I had a permanent smile etched on my face.

And sometimes when I'm sad and exhausted and overwhelmed by my present day life, I like to remember those times. I like to think that maybe one day I can feel like that again. If only for a moment.

So, it was only natural, given the past few months, that I would want to come back.

So here I am again. Seventeen years after I first arrived and 15 years since I was last here. Looking for just a little bit of that happiness.

And do you know what?

I think I've found it.

Back then I fancied myself as a bit of a philosopher. Still do, but shhhhhh, don't tell anyone. At 19 you can get away with it. At almost 36, you can't.

So if I say I wrote the following when I was 19, maybe you can forgive me, just a little bit.

You will always love the place where you learnt about life
Because you'll never believe anywhere else can offer you such riches
And understanding life being one of the world's greatest riches.

But what you have to understand is that you can never stop learning.
So don't be fooled into thinking that there's only one place for you.
The key to understanding is that you can never understand everything.

So expect everyhting, but wait for nothing.

Because if you wait it will never come.

Thailand, I still love you. Thank you for making me feel happy again. I owe you one.

The Gallery - Portrait

The thing about the blogosphere is that it moves so quickly. I never officially decided to take a break from it, but a week of not blogging turned into a couple, which turned into a month which turned into a couple of those too. And before I knew it, I hadn't posted for what seemed like forever. And not only had I missed out on all sorts of memes, tags and awards, I'd also failed to contribute to a single one of Ms Sticky Fingers' Galleries. However, when I saw that this week was entitled Portraits, I decided that I couldn't abstain any longer.

So without further ado, I hereby include my two (sorry - couldn't just include one of my children) entries.

My children - Portaits.

Little Miss Renée - aged 5.

Little Miss Edie - aged 3.

Is blogging bad for your relationship?

Well is it?

I need to know what you think.

I need to know that I'm not the only one out there who, and I quote a very famous blogger here, is prone to say,

"Not tonight darling, I'm just in the middle of tweaking my avatar".

I read a very funny article recently on Fuel My Blog which stated that the number of blogging-related problems has risen by more than 3000% over the last three years.

But aside from mental health problems brought on by paying attention to visitor counters or hurty fingers for people who can't touch type (both of which were quoted as symptoms), the real problems that I'm talking about are those which concern relationships, specifically marital ones.

Now it's no secret that I've been a bit down in the dumps recently (don't panic - I won't bore you with all that again), besides my husband would never forgive me if I told the world that we've been having marital problems.  But, you know what, we have.

So there.  I said it.

But what I want to know, is if it has anything to do with blogging.

As the Fuel My Blog article recommends,

"Involve your partner with the process.  For instance, get them to make you a cup of tea while you're blogging and say 'thank you' nicely."

Now, all jokes aside, how many of us have spent an entire evening (or erm, evenings) in front of the computer reading about other peoples' lives while ignoring that very person who we've chosen to spend our own lives with?  And how many times have we preferred to stay in and blog rather than go out and, erm not blog?

Are our other halves happy that we've found something to keep us occupied and supportive in our writing, or are they hurt and upset that they don't have quality time with us anymore and exasperated that we prefer our virtual friends to our real ones? 

I'm not saying that blogging is solely responsible for the friction within my marriage.  I mean the fact that we've seen each other for ten days out of the past 64 could have something to do with it. But seriously, as much as I love blogging and all the things that it's brought me, wasn't life just a little bit simpler before I discovered it?

I'm not sure. I'm still thinking about it.

A little bit of Chocolate and Love

So we all know I've been a bit miserable of late.  A bit uninspired. And more than a bit prone to curling up on the sofa and sobbing until I've bored myself stupid with the sound of my own patheticness.

But, fear not.  I'm planning on putting an end to it very soon.

Besides, there's only so many times you can pretend that your watery eyes and swollen lids are because your contact lenses are playing up before someone starts to suspect the real reason you look like you've seen better days.

Sooooooo, imagine my complete and utter unadulterated delight when I opened an e-mail from Fuel My Blog a few weeks ago, asking whether I'd be interested in reviewing the 'highest quality chocolate that money can buy'.

Now I may be miserable, but I certainly am not stupid.

It had my name written all over it.

Because

• (a) I need to get back to blogging.
• (b) I NEED some chocolate.
• (c) I AM chocolate queen.

I mean, who else decides to eat chocolate every day for nine months during their pregnancy because they've read one article which states that chocolate makes for happy babies?  And who else is sent eight Mars Delights in the post by their Mother and eats them all in one sitting?  And as my husband says, only you can eat chocolate for breakfast, lunch and supper and not feel bad about it.  Well ok, you AND your Father.

What can I say?  There's a sweet tooth gene deep in my DNA.

So, having established my credentials and having let you in on a little bit of the background, you can imagine just how I was feeling when that parcel dropped through the door.

Desperate? 

Just a little bit.

Did it matter that it was two days after Easter and I had already had my year's fill of the brown stuff?

Maybe.  But I refuse to be weighed down by irrelevancies.

The fact remains...I tore that package open like I'd been starved of chocolate for a year.  Two years.  More even.  I could smell it through the fibres of plastic wrapping and jiffy bubble wrap.

All those evenings of crying myself to sleep would be undone in an instant.  The moment that chocolate passed my lips, happiness would be mine.

I could feel it.

I emptied the bars onto the floor in front of me.

One, two, three, four, five bars of chocolate.

But hold on.

Organic dark chocolate.

Organic extra dark chocolate.

Organic extra dark chocolate with natural orange oil.

RAW chocolate.

Another organic extra dark chocolate.

I peered inside the package.  Nothing else remained.  I tipped it upside down for good measure and shook.  Hard.

FOR FUCK'S SAKE.  WHERE'S THE MILK CHOCOLATE?

I may be the chocolate queen, but I'm the chocolate queen who doesn't like dark chocolate.

At all.

Ever.

The disappointment was palpable.

I could have cried.  I think maybe I did.  Organic dark chocolate bars may even have been thrown across the room.  And then I went into the kitchen and found solace in the form of my Lindt rabbit.

So what's left to say?  Well, I did of course attempt to eat it.  Tastes change over the years.  Or so they say.  Unfortunately, not in my case.

I still hate dark chocolate.

Organic or not.

Chocolate and Love or Terry's All Gold.

'Tis the same to me.

But all is not lost, Chocolate and Love.  You see, I had the ladies over.  Ladies who love dark chocolate.  I couldn't let it go to waste now could I?

And this is what they said.

Waxy, smooth, good without being too much, but not as good as Hotel Chocolat.

So 'not great, great then'? I asked.  'Well that's a shame', I said, 'because I have all these bars and they'll only be thrown in the bin.'

Needless to say, when  the ladies who love dark chocolate left for the night, there were no bars remaining.

Which is just as well.  Because I had my Lindt rabbit for company.