New Year's Eve

Measuring time in arbitrary units often leads to confusion. The Mayans, for example, were obviously not using the Gregorian calendar when predicting the end of the world. The Gregorian calendar itself is not used universally; the Islamic calendar and the Chinese calendar are still widely used.

Having said that, it seems that cultures all over the world agree on one thing - everyone likes a party to celebrate the start of a new year.

I have, in the past, been fairly cynical about the whole party-like-it's-1999 thing. On the much-hailed eve of the millennium, my husband and I, exhausted by the needs of a new(ish) baby, decided to stay in. We invited the neighbours over. They proceeded to get massively drunk and have a row. We quietly sipped our champagne and watched the fireworks on TV, while they each carried on their diatribe outlining the other's massive perceived character faults. They made up (passionately) later.

Since then I have taken the view that a party is a party and the arbitrary start of a new set of 12 months does not mean I have to go out, spend a fortune, get drunk with people I hardly know, wear a silly hat and sing 'Auld Lang Syne'. Who actually knows the lyrics to that, anyway? We usually end up at the movies with virtually the whole cinema to ourselves.

So this year, when our plans for a quiet evening with some friends got turned on their head by circumstances outside of my control, I found myself agreeing to host a dinner at home, for many, with just 24 hours notice. Those who know me will know that this meant I would stress myself out about it.

Sure enough, last night, with a last minute shopping trip looming, I started the worrying. The usual absorber of my anxiety, my patient husband, told me not to worry (as if!). He said he would do the cooking (as if again!). I am a complete control freak and letting someone else take charge is outside my 'comfort zone'. I did not want to disappoint the people I had invited. I wanted the evening to be perfect.

Last night I found that we had bought ‘slimline’ ginger ale instead of normal ginger ale – this would never do as I was going to use it to cook my ham in (thanks Nigella http://www.nigella.com/recipes/view/ginger-glazed-ham).

Oh, the worry that followed! I dashed to the supermarket this morning in the glorious sunshine and some great songs were playing on the radio. I bought the last of the ginger ale on the shelves, and some carrots I had forgotten to buy the day before and picked up a coffee and generally felt good. In fact I felt happy; happy to be out and about in such nice weather, happy that the new supermarket had opened in a small mall near our house, happy that the small mall had an excellent coffee shop, happy that I had found enough ginger ale and just happy to be alive. As I wished the man who bagged my shopping a ‘happy new year’ I realised that he would probably be working all day today and that his family are probably miles away. Would he be celebrating with friends? Would he be celebrating at all?

In that moment I had an epiphany. I would be celebrating this evening with my husband, my children and some very good friends. I was going home to prepare a veritable feast. My friends would all bring more food. We would have had enough food in the house to prepare a feast even if I hadn’t been shopping the night before. First world problem – worrying about having ‘enough’ food for a party?

So as the ‘new year’ starts, I am not going to make any resolutions I cannot keep. I am not going to resolve to lose weight – my muffin-top is now a whole muffin – because although vanity means that I would like to be slimmer, I am actually healthy and fit. I am not going to resolve to be a better wife or parent because I know I am being the best wife or parent I can be – I am not perfect and it is useless trying to strive for perfection. I read something recently in a book called The Happiness Project (http://www.happiness-project.com/) that came as a revelation for someone as perfectionist as I am – “Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good”.

So here I am, writing this blog, relinquishing control of the kitchen to my husband and making the one resolution I hope to keep this year…to see the good in all that is around me.

Happy New Gregorian Year everyone! Have fun whatever you choose to do.

Spring Clean

As is supposedly customary at this time of year, I decided to have a spring clean.
I am a terrible one for hanging on to things long after they serve any useful purpose. However, this time I was determined to do it right and rid myself of unwanted cutter.
Call it a mid-life shake-down if you will.
I started with my clothes. I am guilty of that terrible female crime of having lots of clothes and nothing to wear. Nothing ever seems to match anything else as I tend to impulse shop - buy in haste repent at leisure.
It came down to having the courage to let go of the old things that no longer fit - admit that they will never fit again and that no diet on earth will ever make them. The fact is that most of those things were of a very dated style or else too 'youthful' for my maturing years anyway. I created a massive pile in the middle of the bedroom floor which my long-suffering husband was delighted to see when he came home. He might not be so delighted by the hole I intend to create in the bank account when I go shopping for replacements.
Next came shoes and handbags and again a giant pile was created. It was therapeutic to finally admit to myself that certain things I had never in fact really liked and really shouldn't have held on to 'just in case'.
When I was done, what was left was truly worth keeping - quality items that made me feel good about myself.
The process made me open my eyes to other aspects of my life. So many of us hold on to old notions or old feelings that clutter up our mental space. We often stick with relationships or friendships that no longer fit or make us feel awkward.
My shake-down made re-examined old ideas, and discard a few that were outdated. I saw things in a fresh light and cleared some mental space. The clean-up was long overdue.
I recommend a thorough spring clean to anyone who feels there life has become filled with the old and worn.
Go on, free yourself of clutter!

The Beauty Counter Vampire

I had a dream about a hamster last night. I figure it's the Universe's way of reminding me to update my blog.

I have just spent a week in a remote desert, and I have to say, my skin looks great for it.
Oh, alright, yes, I hear you...there was more to it than that. I wasn't there just for the complimentary sand-blast exfoliation treatment. I did actually work rather hard patching up those crazy biker boys and girls.
But for now I am not going to write about that. I want to write about my skin. When did I stop being a soap-and-water sort of girl and become a victim of the 'skincare regime'?
Here's what I packed by way of skincare, to take to said remote desert- make-up remover, foaming facial cleanser, toner, moisturiser, eye gel, night cream, firming body cream, lip balm and hand lotion. All in trial size, of course, but still, it means sharing a toiletries bag with my other half is a thing of the past.
I think being told that I had 'fine lines' and 'tired eyes' by the witch at the beauty counter a couple of years ago triggered a sort of panic.
This was exacerbated by another beauty counter encounter when I was innocently trying to buy hand lotion. Washing my hands before and after each patient and using alcohol gel makes hand lotion a necessity and not a luxury. I had picked up my usual brand when I was approached by a tall, pale man with a jet-black quiff wearing a white shirt open at the throat and tight black trousers. I could swear he was wearing a touch of red lipstick. Imagine if Dracula had been gay, and you'll get what I am talking about.
He looked at my choice and shook his head sadly. "What is it?" I said, knowing I would regret asking. "Show me your hands" he said, in a Transylvanian accent, like a particularly creepy palm reader. He took my hands in his immaculate, white ones and I immediately regretted missing that manicure appointment. He turned them over and inspected the backs and shook his head sadly again and sighed. "What is it?" I asked again.
"You must buy the cream for aging hands" said the seer.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because you have aging hands" he explained patiently, as though talking to a small, simple child. "Look" and he proceeded to point out all my wrinkles, dry bits and sun spots.
I did manage to guilt him into giving me the promotional gift even though I had spent less than the required amount. Trial size products are useful for trips to the desert.
I realise that I have become a sucker and an advertiser's dream. I really do believe the hype. A cream that makes you look younger? I'm buying. Another that destroys cellulite? Bring it on. My body is like a testing ground for chemicals of mass destruction.
Having said that, I didn't use all my fancy lotions and potions in the desert after all. Just the moisturiser really. And I was eating whatever junk we were served, as well as a sneaky Pot Noodle or two. And I was surviving on five hours or less sleep. Funny how my skin seems to look better for it. Maybe the sand, sun, soap and water were all I needed after all.

Choosing a name for a child is an agonising process for most people - apart from the woman on the ward when I delivered my eldest who named her baby 'Tray', obviously. The name you give a child may lead to glory or shame. Spare a thought for the Theresa Greens and Michael Hunts of this world (think about that second one). I knew of a urologist by the name of Richard Skinner. I have no idea what became of poor baby 'Tray'. Maybe she's a genius and her friends love her, or maybe she's routinely humiliated because her mother named her after the first household object that came to mind.
Naming my blog was almost as agonising as naming my offspring, I can tell you. I had wanted to call it 'Nice person, wrong planet' but there are clearly other space cadets out there with the same idea, as a simple Google search produced many a displaced nice alien. I racked my brain and wrung out my creative juices. After all, having conceived this blog, I am now responsible for it.
The name ‘Flying Saucer Hamster Wheel’ appeared to me – literally- following another Google search for ‘hamster wheel’. The idea of a hamster wheel being that the poor creature on the wheel keeps running and gets nowhere. I have often thought us humans are much the same; forever striving for unattainable goals and finding no happiness in the relentless pursuit of them. Sometimes you need to just step off the wheel and gnaw a bit of bark or scratch behind your ear. Or maybe, sometimes, you need a flying saucer to whisk you away.
When I step off the wheel I like to read. I also like to write-but if you’ll excuse me for now, I’ll just be in the corner nibbling on a carrot stick. Unless, that is, I happen to spot a passing alien craft...