I don’t have much time for resolutions usually. If I want to start something new, or give up something I’ll just do it any old time. I like to hibernate a bit in the winter. Pyjamas by 830pm, that kind of thing. I drink moderately, and I eat pretty okay too I think so I never think to give up alcohol or to diet. I know – it’s so hard being perfect. (I could probably do some class of sugar detox but dammmmnnnnn sugar tastes so good)
Last year, I decided to do a half marathon in April, so I did start training harder for that in January. For posterity, I completed it sub 2 hours, as I had hoped. Big tick for that resolution. I have no such lofty ambitions for 2015. That one massively enjoyable half marathon has not been followed by any gnawing need to start doing triathlons or complete a full marathon. Not that I could have before now anyway: following knee surgery in October I’ve only recently got back out running, and I’ll be very happy to get back up to doing a few 10k’s by the summer.
But the need to think about the year ahead presented itself rather unexpectedly in December. On the cusp of New Year, I was presented with the opportunity to stay at home with my boys for a bit, and I took it. Yeah, okay, that’s a roundabout way of saying the R word. Redundancy. It’s a huge change for me – I’ve worked full time since I got my degree. (That’s quite a few years ago now.) I had a few extra days off before Christmas, and now as the last of the worker bees makes their way back to offices all over the country next monday, I’ll be donning my runners, and pushing the buggy around on the school-run.
I am terrified. My boys are hard work. Deliciously cute, and ridiculously funny (to me) but full of energy, mischief and violence towards each other. My identity rightly or wrongly has always hinged on sticking a bit of mascara on and going to work. Sometimes I’ve relished challenges, got stuck in and learned lots and sometimes I’ve just gotten through the day. I’ve worked on some really great projects and with some really great people. Ones that made me laugh loads, taught me stuff, made me tea, begged me to bake for them and argued with me about absolutely every little thing. I loved that. They’re what I’m really going to miss when my coffee is going cold and I’m only arguing with a toddler about whether the TV can go on or not. (He knows nothing to speak of about feminism or water charges.)
Instead of clients’ deadlines there is huge pressure on me now as official educator of the two and a half year old. He doesn’t know his colours. I do. Ergo, I must teach him. Currently he shouts “Red! Blue!” enthusiastically for absolutely everything. He sings songs all day long: Hickory Dickory Dock; Camptown Races; Incy Wincy and many many more classics that I did not teach him a single one of. What if he stops singing? What if he forgets them all and the tunes dry up because I am not up on my nursery rhymes?
This is most likely a temporary situation. I am job hunting. Needs must: financial needs, mental health needs, my-own-sense-of-fulfilment-needs. I worry that I write that too easily, like I’m just dying to put my kids back in childcare for 45 hours a week. I’m not, but you try finding a well paid three or four day a week fulfilling job in my area and pro-rata childcare and then come back to me. So full time work it will most likely be.
So for now, monday’s plan is The Grand Old Duke Of York and the colour green, because it’s my favourite. I’m looking ahead, resolutely, and without a paid job. Onwards and sideways!