Just lately I've been feeling a tad glum when I pick LittleBear up from school. All the other parents seem to be pairing up and leaving the playground together, heads tipped towards one another, engrossed in their own conversations. No, not that kind of pairing up, they've simply been organised and competent and arranged play dates for their children. And I've been gazing wistfully at all these other people and wondering why we're never involved in play dates. And then I remember that I never organise any. So I've been trying to make more of an effort, and today I decided to simply seize a moment.
We were walking back to our car, and passed SmallFriend and MummyFriend getting into their car.
"Are you busy?" I enquired.
"What, now?"
"Yes, now. I was wondering if you wanted to come round and play?"
Since SmallFriend was in the process of sulking because he didn't have anyone to play with, this was a fortuitous moment to ask.
It was only as I drove home that I remembered the state of the house. And given it's only a mile from school to home, I wasn't going to gain a time advantage by putting the pedal to the metal. I was just going to have to brazen it out.
I wasn't quite prepared for the cat sick on the carpet.
And I'd forgotten the (clean) laundry heaped up in the play room.
And the kitchen was rather less clean that it had seemed when I sprinted out of the door fifteen minutes late this morning.
Fortunately baby-wipes are basically a gift from angels, able to remove cat sick with remarkable speed, and a quick wipe of a hot, soapy cloth around the kitchen made it at least hygienic, if not tidy. And my friend very kindly either didn't notice, or didn't comment upon the lace knickers draped across the vintage Atari ST in the play room. They were clean. Honest. And everyone ends up with piles of clean laundry around the house don't they? Come on guys, work with me here. Knickers on vintage computers is not weird. It's just laundry. And vintage computers. You know what? I'm definitely hoping friend didn't notice, rather than politely avoided commenting...
Anyway, this is me being positive, and not publicly shaming my own, frankly sub-standard, housekeeping habits. And I'm not focussing on MummyFriend commenting on how good it was that I felt able to invite people round when my house was a mess rather than being retentive like she is*.
There's no point feeling left out when all it takes is a moment to reach out. Everyone wants a friend. We had a lovely afternoon.
* In all fairness, she was genuinely rueing the fact that she doesn't spontaneously invite people round, and wishes she did so. When written down it sounds much more critical than it did at the time!
Friday, 30 June 2017
Thursday, 29 June 2017
Work-life imbalance
I'm actually so tired and fed-up I almost don't have the energy to rant. So this isn't going to be a carefully crafted post, in which I labour over the perfect phrasing of every paragraph (which obviously I do on every other post, can't you tell?) No, this time, the words are simply going to spill out, as my hands rattle across the keyboard, trying to allow my thoughts to form coherence of their own accord as they materialise. It's perhaps not the best strategy, but it's the only one I've got.
I admit, I have a pretty good arrangement with my employers. They are understanding and flexible; they have accommodated maternity leave and a part-time return to work without caviling. I know I'm lucky. But that doesn't actually mean that every aspect of my working life is golden.
Take the current situation, for example.
For the last eighteen months, we've been short-handed. There appears to be no drive to change this situation. We've only just managed to replace the Problem Employee (who was himself a replacement for the Departed Employee). So for 18 months I've had an assistant/employee who was either new and/or useless. The current New Person is turning out to be awesome, but he's still new, and still needs a lot of training, and that takes time, and effort. And it means there are a lot of jobs that I'm still doing, 18 months after Departed Employee departed, on top of all my own jobs. And some of those jobs are going considerably slower than normal as I'm training New Person to do them. In the long run this will be a Good Thing. Just now, it's an extra loading on my time, and mental energy.
Meanwhile, over the previous umpty-tump years, we've generally built half a dozen large, bespoke scientific instruments per year. This gives us time to design, build, test, commission, document and ship each one. It also gives us time to find mistakes in the designs and modify them so that next time we build one, it's better than last time. But all that has changed in the last 18 months as well. Our entire business model has changed, and we are currently, simultaneously building thirteen instruments of three different designs (6 of one, 5 of another and 2 of another). And we have simply not adjusted, individually or as an organisation to doing this.
We don't have the man-power to build this much stuff in one go.
We don't have the space to assemble this much stuff in one go.
We don't have the brain capacity to remember every detail of every instrument as we go.
We don't have the systems in place to avoid screwing everything up horribly when we build multiple large instruments in one go.
The set of five identical instruments is my baby. I've nurtured this project, and its predecessors, for the past decade. I've sweated blood and wept bitter tears over this design. The first of these five instruments was due to be sent to the customer in December, with the subsequent four following on at monthly intervals. Not only have I missed the first deadline, I've missed the following four deadlines as well. I have five eviscerated, non-functioning scientific instruments scattered around my lab, and I cannot manage to engage the interest of anybody else in the company in helping complete them. Their attention is elsewhere - on the next thing, the next problem, the next customer, the next crisis. In fact, the only person who seems to care is the Finance Director, who comes and hovers beside me once a week to ask why I haven't finished yet. Which helps.
When I attempt to gain the attention of my Managing Director, he tells me that the next two projects are now more important. Unfortunately, despite the fact that we're already most of the way through building both six giant instruments, and their two smaller brothers (sisters?) I haven't actually finished my part of the design. So, when I'm not beating my head against the brick wall of five non-functioning machines, I'm fighting a desperate rear-guard action, and trying to design electronic control systems more than three days ahead of when our electronics team will build them. Today I ran downstairs to tell them to stop building the set of ten circuit boards they were working on, as I'd realised I'd missed a vital component off.
On top of all this, I'm also (still) trying to deal with a man with a turnip who won't place an order with us, but wants me to promise that his turnip will do what he wants.
Have I mentioned I technically only work 22.5 hours per week?
Have I mentioned that my current workload is enough to fill that time more than twice over?
Have I mentioned that I've worked here for nearly 19 years, and I have an over-developed sense of responsibility?
Which is how I've found myself working until 10pm four evenings this week.
Which is how I found myself driving home from Homebase and Dunelm Mill and other Exciting Places this afternoon on the verge of tears, for no reason other than utter exhaustion. And frustration. And loss of morale. And a growing sense of being hung out to dry professionally. And feeling undervalued and unappreciated. And having no end in sight. So not exactly "no reason".
So, while I might be completely aware of the positives of where I work, there are days when I'm not entirely sure they compensate for the negatives.
I admit, I have a pretty good arrangement with my employers. They are understanding and flexible; they have accommodated maternity leave and a part-time return to work without caviling. I know I'm lucky. But that doesn't actually mean that every aspect of my working life is golden.
Take the current situation, for example.
For the last eighteen months, we've been short-handed. There appears to be no drive to change this situation. We've only just managed to replace the Problem Employee (who was himself a replacement for the Departed Employee). So for 18 months I've had an assistant/employee who was either new and/or useless. The current New Person is turning out to be awesome, but he's still new, and still needs a lot of training, and that takes time, and effort. And it means there are a lot of jobs that I'm still doing, 18 months after Departed Employee departed, on top of all my own jobs. And some of those jobs are going considerably slower than normal as I'm training New Person to do them. In the long run this will be a Good Thing. Just now, it's an extra loading on my time, and mental energy.
Meanwhile, over the previous umpty-tump years, we've generally built half a dozen large, bespoke scientific instruments per year. This gives us time to design, build, test, commission, document and ship each one. It also gives us time to find mistakes in the designs and modify them so that next time we build one, it's better than last time. But all that has changed in the last 18 months as well. Our entire business model has changed, and we are currently, simultaneously building thirteen instruments of three different designs (6 of one, 5 of another and 2 of another). And we have simply not adjusted, individually or as an organisation to doing this.
We don't have the man-power to build this much stuff in one go.
We don't have the space to assemble this much stuff in one go.
We don't have the brain capacity to remember every detail of every instrument as we go.
We don't have the systems in place to avoid screwing everything up horribly when we build multiple large instruments in one go.
The set of five identical instruments is my baby. I've nurtured this project, and its predecessors, for the past decade. I've sweated blood and wept bitter tears over this design. The first of these five instruments was due to be sent to the customer in December, with the subsequent four following on at monthly intervals. Not only have I missed the first deadline, I've missed the following four deadlines as well. I have five eviscerated, non-functioning scientific instruments scattered around my lab, and I cannot manage to engage the interest of anybody else in the company in helping complete them. Their attention is elsewhere - on the next thing, the next problem, the next customer, the next crisis. In fact, the only person who seems to care is the Finance Director, who comes and hovers beside me once a week to ask why I haven't finished yet. Which helps.
When I attempt to gain the attention of my Managing Director, he tells me that the next two projects are now more important. Unfortunately, despite the fact that we're already most of the way through building both six giant instruments, and their two smaller brothers (sisters?) I haven't actually finished my part of the design. So, when I'm not beating my head against the brick wall of five non-functioning machines, I'm fighting a desperate rear-guard action, and trying to design electronic control systems more than three days ahead of when our electronics team will build them. Today I ran downstairs to tell them to stop building the set of ten circuit boards they were working on, as I'd realised I'd missed a vital component off.
On top of all this, I'm also (still) trying to deal with a man with a turnip who won't place an order with us, but wants me to promise that his turnip will do what he wants.
Have I mentioned I technically only work 22.5 hours per week?
Have I mentioned that my current workload is enough to fill that time more than twice over?
Have I mentioned that I've worked here for nearly 19 years, and I have an over-developed sense of responsibility?
Which is how I've found myself working until 10pm four evenings this week.
Which is how I found myself driving home from Homebase and Dunelm Mill and other Exciting Places this afternoon on the verge of tears, for no reason other than utter exhaustion. And frustration. And loss of morale. And a growing sense of being hung out to dry professionally. And feeling undervalued and unappreciated. And having no end in sight. So not exactly "no reason".
So, while I might be completely aware of the positives of where I work, there are days when I'm not entirely sure they compensate for the negatives.
MPP: work-life balance
Today is a day for feeling fortunate in working where I do.
Obviously, there are a lot of things I can (and do!) complain about. And you can consider this post a means of making sure I acknowledge the positive in a futile attempt to stave off the frothing rant that is approaching. Because, no matter what I say, I know that I am extremely fortunate to work in an incredibly flexible company.
I leave for work only ten minutes before LittleBear leaves for school with BigBear. If I need to, I can take LittleBear to school from time to time, even though I arrive at work late.
I can take afternoons off to do such things as join in LittleBear's "history walk" around the village, as long as I catch up on a couple of hours work by taking my laptop home and working in the evening.
I collect LittleBear from school every day, which is a joy in itself. I see his beaming smile at the gate. I have his warm, soft arms thrown round my neck for a cuddle. I play with him and read with him and share his day, every day.
In the holidays I shuffle my days around so I can spend as much time as possible with my LittleBear, and still get some work done. Normally I work 2/3 of a full day every day, and yet this school summer holiday I will spend one week working mornings only, then take two weeks holiday, then spend a week working three mornings and one full day, then a week with three full days, then a week with two full days.
And I get paid to do this.
There are few people I know who have colleagues and management who are quite so relaxed and family-friendly as to ebb and flow with what my son and my family need from week to week.
I must try and remember this.
Obviously, there are a lot of things I can (and do!) complain about. And you can consider this post a means of making sure I acknowledge the positive in a futile attempt to stave off the frothing rant that is approaching. Because, no matter what I say, I know that I am extremely fortunate to work in an incredibly flexible company.
I leave for work only ten minutes before LittleBear leaves for school with BigBear. If I need to, I can take LittleBear to school from time to time, even though I arrive at work late.
I can take afternoons off to do such things as join in LittleBear's "history walk" around the village, as long as I catch up on a couple of hours work by taking my laptop home and working in the evening.
I collect LittleBear from school every day, which is a joy in itself. I see his beaming smile at the gate. I have his warm, soft arms thrown round my neck for a cuddle. I play with him and read with him and share his day, every day.
In the holidays I shuffle my days around so I can spend as much time as possible with my LittleBear, and still get some work done. Normally I work 2/3 of a full day every day, and yet this school summer holiday I will spend one week working mornings only, then take two weeks holiday, then spend a week working three mornings and one full day, then a week with three full days, then a week with two full days.
And I get paid to do this.
There are few people I know who have colleagues and management who are quite so relaxed and family-friendly as to ebb and flow with what my son and my family need from week to week.
I must try and remember this.
Tuesday, 27 June 2017
MPP: days like these
It is days like these when I need the discipline of making myself think of something positive. Days when I'm tired, when work has gone badly, and has come home with me. Days when I've got soaked through to my underwear collecting LittleBear from school. Days when I've spent too many hours fretting about this, that and the other.
So, as an antidote to all the fretting, weariness and feeling sorry for myself, here instead is something that has made me happy...
Having had my heart break very slightly that LittleBear now wants to read at least some of his own bedtime stories, I spent an hour, both yesterday afternoon and this afternoon, curled up on the sofa with my precious boy, reading stories to him. And today had the added variation that this story-reading was also for the benefit of a small array of dinosaurs, whose voices I had to provide at suitable intervals. The Ankylosaurs needed to be interested in what gingko fruit tasted like; the Triceratops had to be worried about whether the T.rex would catch the Wannanosaurus; the Corythosaur had to be confused by what "people" were etcetera etcetera. It was a return to the days when I had to play the part of a moronic mammal in almost every game with LittleBear, which was deeply tedious when undertaken every single day, but rather lovely to return to in a small dose, as an opportunity to remember times past with my little boy.
I will still get plenty of chances to read to my baby, even though he's no longer a baby, and even the games that I think are long past will occasionally return for a reprise. There is joy to be had in the simple, happy pleasures with my boy. (Just as long as I don't have to pretend to be a complete idiot every day again...)
So, as an antidote to all the fretting, weariness and feeling sorry for myself, here instead is something that has made me happy...
Having had my heart break very slightly that LittleBear now wants to read at least some of his own bedtime stories, I spent an hour, both yesterday afternoon and this afternoon, curled up on the sofa with my precious boy, reading stories to him. And today had the added variation that this story-reading was also for the benefit of a small array of dinosaurs, whose voices I had to provide at suitable intervals. The Ankylosaurs needed to be interested in what gingko fruit tasted like; the Triceratops had to be worried about whether the T.rex would catch the Wannanosaurus; the Corythosaur had to be confused by what "people" were etcetera etcetera. It was a return to the days when I had to play the part of a moronic mammal in almost every game with LittleBear, which was deeply tedious when undertaken every single day, but rather lovely to return to in a small dose, as an opportunity to remember times past with my little boy.
I will still get plenty of chances to read to my baby, even though he's no longer a baby, and even the games that I think are long past will occasionally return for a reprise. There is joy to be had in the simple, happy pleasures with my boy. (Just as long as I don't have to pretend to be a complete idiot every day again...)
Monday, 26 June 2017
Had enough of experts
There have been very few occasions in my life that I can even come close to agreeing with anything Michael Gove has said. But sometimes people who purport to be experts, and yet directly contradict each other, really do vex me quite considerably.
I'd been having a lovely day today. I was thinking that writing a positive post tonight would be a walk in the park, because I was feeling genuinely upbeat and happy.
And then I took LittleBear to the dentist.
We've been to the dentist before. The first time was mostly a "hello". The second time involved looking in his mouth. The third time was the rather traumatic occasion when I carried a small boy in, sobbing and dripping with blood from a mashed up face to be inspected, after coming off his bicycle face-first. On that occasion, the quick thinking of one of my friends had resulted in a knocked-out tooth being replaced. The lovely dentist was quite content with this, and told me the tooth might take root again, or might not, but it wouldn't be a problem either way, and (this is the important bit) that we'd done the right thing.
The tooth re-rooted, and has caused no problems.
The lovely dentist has left.
We have a new dentist.
This was the first time we'd met the new dentist.
He informed me that we shouldn't have put the tooth back in. He suggested that the correct course of action would be to extract the tooth now, in case of infection, as the gum looks a little bit red. The tooth has been back in, and perfectly happy, for SEVEN MONTHS. Seriously? He wants to pull it out, just in case a slight redness of the gum is because it got infected when it was put back in seven months ago.
As the tooth in question is already wobbly, and likely to come out perfectly naturally in the next few months, I decided to go with his alternative (reluctant) offering of "wait and see". It's not that I don't take my son's dental hygiene seriously, or the protection of his teeth and gums, but I'd much rather keep an eye on a gum and see if it becomes any more red, and let LittleBear's tooth fall out of its own accord if possible, than inflict a tooth extraction on a small boy and potentially put him off dentists for life. I'm pretty certain that hating dentists and all their work would do his long-term dental health a lot more harm than "having a slightly red gum".
And I'm left with a Govian distaste for experts, having had two different dentists tell me diametrically opposite things about LittleBear's tooth. One of them must be wrong. And since I clearly don't want the one who agreed with my friend's actions, and who reassured me that I'd done the right thing to be the Wrong Dentist, I'm left being forced to disagree with the expert opinion of my current dentist. Who'll be looking at my teeth on Wednesday.
My lovely happy day has turned into a stressful, annoying day with a looming sense of dread at having to see New Dentist again, and find out all the things that are wrong with my teeth as well. I'm already worried about what he'll say about the wire that cements six of my teeth together...
Not to mention that horrible lurking sense of doubt about whether I've taken the right path, whether I've actually risked the development of LittleBear's big teeth, whether new dentist is right and that tooth is best off out, and always was best off out. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm being a bad mother. Maybe, maybe, maybe...
So now my Happy Day has been turned into a Fretful Week. Bother.
I'd been having a lovely day today. I was thinking that writing a positive post tonight would be a walk in the park, because I was feeling genuinely upbeat and happy.
And then I took LittleBear to the dentist.
We've been to the dentist before. The first time was mostly a "hello". The second time involved looking in his mouth. The third time was the rather traumatic occasion when I carried a small boy in, sobbing and dripping with blood from a mashed up face to be inspected, after coming off his bicycle face-first. On that occasion, the quick thinking of one of my friends had resulted in a knocked-out tooth being replaced. The lovely dentist was quite content with this, and told me the tooth might take root again, or might not, but it wouldn't be a problem either way, and (this is the important bit) that we'd done the right thing.
The tooth re-rooted, and has caused no problems.
The lovely dentist has left.
We have a new dentist.
This was the first time we'd met the new dentist.
He informed me that we shouldn't have put the tooth back in. He suggested that the correct course of action would be to extract the tooth now, in case of infection, as the gum looks a little bit red. The tooth has been back in, and perfectly happy, for SEVEN MONTHS. Seriously? He wants to pull it out, just in case a slight redness of the gum is because it got infected when it was put back in seven months ago.
As the tooth in question is already wobbly, and likely to come out perfectly naturally in the next few months, I decided to go with his alternative (reluctant) offering of "wait and see". It's not that I don't take my son's dental hygiene seriously, or the protection of his teeth and gums, but I'd much rather keep an eye on a gum and see if it becomes any more red, and let LittleBear's tooth fall out of its own accord if possible, than inflict a tooth extraction on a small boy and potentially put him off dentists for life. I'm pretty certain that hating dentists and all their work would do his long-term dental health a lot more harm than "having a slightly red gum".
And I'm left with a Govian distaste for experts, having had two different dentists tell me diametrically opposite things about LittleBear's tooth. One of them must be wrong. And since I clearly don't want the one who agreed with my friend's actions, and who reassured me that I'd done the right thing to be the Wrong Dentist, I'm left being forced to disagree with the expert opinion of my current dentist. Who'll be looking at my teeth on Wednesday.
My lovely happy day has turned into a stressful, annoying day with a looming sense of dread at having to see New Dentist again, and find out all the things that are wrong with my teeth as well. I'm already worried about what he'll say about the wire that cements six of my teeth together...
Not to mention that horrible lurking sense of doubt about whether I've taken the right path, whether I've actually risked the development of LittleBear's big teeth, whether new dentist is right and that tooth is best off out, and always was best off out. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm being a bad mother. Maybe, maybe, maybe...
So now my Happy Day has been turned into a Fretful Week. Bother.
Sunday, 25 June 2017
MPP: Out of the mouths
Truly a mini-post today...
It is impossible to be sad on a day when your son says to you,
"Marks and Spencers always makes me think of Massospondylus."
I will never look at M&S in the same way again. Or Massospondylus. So here, for your pleasure, is a badly photoshopped Massospondylus in big pants:
It is impossible to be sad on a day when your son says to you,
"Marks and Spencers always makes me think of Massospondylus."
I will never look at M&S in the same way again. Or Massospondylus. So here, for your pleasure, is a badly photoshopped Massospondylus in big pants:
Definitely too fast
A short while ago, I wrote about my lovely boy growing up too fast. And now he's busy doing it again, and I'm not ready for this.
On Friday night, we had friend Piglet's little boy, who is 7, to stay for the night. He and LittleBear have known each other since before they knew what being friends was, and after the initial insane giddiness of having BoyPiglet staying, they had a lovely time, and both went calmly and happily to bed. Which was something of a surprise, if I'm honest. I was expecting mayhem.
However, BoyPiglet, being an older boy, and being quite capable of reading his own stories at bedtime, has a slightly different bedtime routine to LittleBear. BoyPiglet might have a parent read books to him at bedtime, but he also gets to read his own books until a parent comes back for Lights Out time. LittleBear thought this was a wonderful innovation. So wonderful that he wants to do the same thing.
So, last night BigBear read a story to LittleBear, snuggled up in bed together, and then... left him with his light on and a book to read... Ten minutes later I went up to turn the light off and kiss him goodnight. And I found that my beautiful boy had read two and half chapters of his book, on his own. And he declared, "this was the best bit of bedtime ever". And my heart broke a little bit.
I am so happy that he loves reading. I'm so happy that he wants to read. I'm so happy that he's discovering the joy of reading in bed before going to sleep. But I want to read to him. I want to have the warm, snuggly cuddles. I want to share his joy, and giggles and excitement as he explores new stories. And I know we'll carry on having bedtime stories, and we'll carry on having cuddles, and we'll carry on snuggling at bedtime. But this felt like a big and sudden step away from me. A step into indepence. A step into having his own world that I'm not a part of. A step that he's ready for. A step that he's delighted about, and that I cannot and should not spoil for him. But it's not a step I was quite ready for yet.
Don't go too far my baby. Don't go too fast.
On Friday night, we had friend Piglet's little boy, who is 7, to stay for the night. He and LittleBear have known each other since before they knew what being friends was, and after the initial insane giddiness of having BoyPiglet staying, they had a lovely time, and both went calmly and happily to bed. Which was something of a surprise, if I'm honest. I was expecting mayhem.
However, BoyPiglet, being an older boy, and being quite capable of reading his own stories at bedtime, has a slightly different bedtime routine to LittleBear. BoyPiglet might have a parent read books to him at bedtime, but he also gets to read his own books until a parent comes back for Lights Out time. LittleBear thought this was a wonderful innovation. So wonderful that he wants to do the same thing.
So, last night BigBear read a story to LittleBear, snuggled up in bed together, and then... left him with his light on and a book to read... Ten minutes later I went up to turn the light off and kiss him goodnight. And I found that my beautiful boy had read two and half chapters of his book, on his own. And he declared, "this was the best bit of bedtime ever". And my heart broke a little bit.
I am so happy that he loves reading. I'm so happy that he wants to read. I'm so happy that he's discovering the joy of reading in bed before going to sleep. But I want to read to him. I want to have the warm, snuggly cuddles. I want to share his joy, and giggles and excitement as he explores new stories. And I know we'll carry on having bedtime stories, and we'll carry on having cuddles, and we'll carry on snuggling at bedtime. But this felt like a big and sudden step away from me. A step into indepence. A step into having his own world that I'm not a part of. A step that he's ready for. A step that he's delighted about, and that I cannot and should not spoil for him. But it's not a step I was quite ready for yet.
Don't go too far my baby. Don't go too fast.
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