Just another random blog

I can't believe it's February already, not only this but I still don't seem to have anything of great interest to blog about. I often feel like I am doing this blog space an injustice. It deserves more than I can get out of my head. I'll trundle on though and hope that one day I can deliver something a little more interesting than apple crumble and my latest rant.

Today was one of those strange days that, as usual, was not particularly special, but at the same time I feel as if I have made some progress. Well, that is perhaps a premature assumption and I will find out tomorrow if that "progress" was well received.

After pestering Mark for the past four days to contact his mum, to see if she could make the napkins for our wedding reception, she beat him to it and gave him a call today. I felt quite bad that she wasn't really involved in anything to do with the wedding, and thought that if perhaps she had something to do, she might take to the idea a little better. Karen was kind enough to accept the challenge but said "not today though because I feel like crap", bless her, I know I have turned into what mammy monster describes as "bridezilla" but I'm not THAT demanding.

After that I found out that she's struggling with her post gastric band operation. She asked Mark if I had been taking my thyroxine, something that I used to hypocritically moan at her each morning for not taking. When she found out I wasn't she said that was OK because she hadn't been taking hers either. Just taking her pills in the morning with a little water fills her completely to the point she doesn't even want to look at food. I myself am not a massive fan of breakfast, but I'd much rather a slice of toast to lactose covered hell hormones, because that is exactly what they are! Feeling very bad for her I decided to call the florist down in Prestwich, picked out her favourite flowers and they will be delivered tomorrow with the message "Hope this cheers you up a little and thank you for helping with the napkins". Perhaps it was too soon of me to send them, I mean after months of bad feeling one "how you doing" and I send flowers? Is it too much?

I worry too often, it is a curse. At the time it made me feel good, I thought about her face when she opened the door to them assuming they would be for Claire and then discovering they were for her. She loves flowers, particularly roses and fuchsias, which is what I picked. What I didn't picture was her face when she realised they were from me. I hope she likes them, and I hope she understands I'm trying to bridge broken relationships and that I genuinely felt for her today, I want to bring a smile to her face. I also want mine and Mark's wedding to be the most precious day, I don't want bad atmosphere and sidewards dark glances. I want Karen and John to be there, to enjoy themselves and the day just as much as I know my parents will.

Speaking of the wedding, we finally paid our deposit with the Lynnhurst tonight. After an argument with the co-ordinator last night over something so stupid that could have easily been sorted, I was genuinely dreading meeting her face to face to sign contracts and hand over the cash. I really shouldn't have worried, because she was lovely and we didn't just talk wedding. I found out about her friend's midlife crisis as she turned forty and was told about how the girl in the photographs on the website is actually a friend of hers. Granted I didn't plan on stopping the hour we were there, I desperately wanted to be at home curled up in a ball feeling sorry for myself and my crampy tummy, but it could have gone a lot worse.

Joshua was also down tonight, that is my young cousin from mum's side. I help him usually once a week (or whenever he pops down, could be 4 times a week sometimes) with his Maths and Physics homework. He's a sweet little kid, although at 14 he hates being called a kid. Keeping his attention when the football is on proves difficult though, and I don't have the heart to turn it off while we revise or I'm quizzing him. As a result our 1 hour revision sessions often turn into 4 or 5 hour ones. I pretend to be annoyed by this, but he sees through me and knows fine well that I enjoy helping him every bit as much as he enjoys ignoring it and watching the football. He is the one thing I'm most proud of this year. He started coming to me around October time when his grades were C1/C2 and now he averages around a B1 and has had a few A's. The other night we got chatting about his physics teacher, and frankly he sounds like a bit of mentalist. See his idea of teaching is to instil fear into his class, and Joshua is too much like me, he worries. Typical Cartin. Instead of paying attention in class, he gets nervous as the teacher raises his voice at the more vocal pupils, and sits panicking about whether or not he is next to get yelled at or threatened with a punishment exercise. Poor kid. Another thing I noticed is that Joshua is more like me than either of us could have imagined. I never picked up on things the way I was taught in school, but I was a dork, I loved to read up on everything at home and often made up songs and little sayings to remember things that just wouldn't stick. I'm glad I did now because those same songs that I once thought made me stupid and more of a dork actually work with Joshua. They also proved a great ice breaker at the beginning when he was too embarrassed to say he was struggling. I'd sing and he'd laugh at my rubbish attempts, so I'd make him sing while I laughed. After that we have been fine with each other ever since. I'm proud of wee Josh man!

My Nana Jeanie is another one praying heavy on my mind. I have become a bit of a coward recently and it makes me feel guilty as anything to admit that I have not been to see her in over a fortnight. I could give you a million reasons, all selfish ones like, "I can't handle her crying, I hate seeing her like that knowing there is nothing I can do about it." That however, is just being selfish. Yes, it may hurt to see her like that, but it's not me stuck in there day in, day out rotting in front of a television with nobody really to talk to. Waiting on visitors that never come and being kicked to bed at 7pm. I need to go see her, I want to go see her but I have put up barriers in my mind that seem to prevent my legs from getting me to the I.D hospital half a mile up the road. It's sickening really and makes me a hypocrite because what I am doing, staying so close and not making an effort, is exactly what I complained others were doing in the months I was caring for Nana and seeing how it hurt her. I do her washing for her, send up books and iron her clothes and the labels on to them, but that is pansy behaviour and certainly not a get out clause! Perhaps I could take her out for lunch during the week, one day when Mum has left me the car. I know that's allowed because mum has done it before. I think I could handle it so long as we were not stuck in that dull dinning room of the I.D. Get her out an about, new scenery and some fresh air, away from the doom and gloom of early bedtimes and solitude.

For now, I am going to go up to bed and not sleep. My sleeping has been all over the place of late and it always is the case when I am in pain. I tend to just lay there on my back, left leg sprawled over Mark for warmth while I stare at the ceiling and wait for the birds to come out and sing their little morning lullaby, letting me fall asleep. It's like I wait on them, make sure they are all there and accounted for, safe and have made it through the cold Scottish night.