Falling off the Wagon

I'm in Scotland for Christmas.

I drove up here yesterday, with three children, the dog, and a car packed to the gills with presents. It took nearly ten hours. Mr SM is still working, so is following by train tomorrow.

Today, the kids and I ordered a turkey from the local butcher and bought a Christmas tree, which we lovingly decorated while dancing to cheesy Christmas tunes.

I was feeling smug.

So smug that I posted this picture, on Facebook and Instagram, of my favourite Christmas ornament hanging from the tree.

I should have known what would happen as soon as I started feeling like I was really good at this whole Christmas thing. Pride does, after all, come before a fall. And it was a really big fall.

Just an hour after we finished, all nine foot of tree came crashing down onto the kitchen floor, decapitating the Christmas Tree Fairy and smashing some of my favourite glass ornaments as it went and crushing all the lovingly wrapped presents beneath.

Bollocks.

In the old days, this would absolutely have been a trigger to open a bottle and proceed to get plastered. In fact, this very house, in the middle of nowhere in Scotland, was the scene of my last relapse.

Christmas is a magical time, but one that is loaded with such high expectations that it's inevitable that stuff will go wrong. It's never going to be as perfect as the Christmas of our imaginations, which is why it's a really common time to fall off the wagon.

Plus, there's that nagging voice saying go on. It's Christmas. You can quit again as soon as it's done.

So, for any of you who are struggling, I thought I should provide a link to an old post of mine on falling off the wagon, how it happens, and what to do if it does. It tells my relapse story, and if you check out the comments below it, you'll see similar stories from many of my readers. You can find it here.

The truth is, it's just not worth it. One drink never is one drink. Before you know it, you're back at square one and starting a new year with a whole belly full of regrets.

So don't give up on giving up now! Read my last post on how to make a sober Christmas fabulous (click here). It's going to be amazing, just you wait. And once you've done Christmas sober once, it's never as hard again.

In other news, The Sober Diaries (the warts and all story of my first year sober) is out in just six days in paperback! You can read the first few chapters for free using the Amazon 'look inside' feature. You can find it here.

There's also information and inspiration daily on the SoberMummy Facebook page.

Merry, merry Christmas to you all!

SM x

The Secret to Happiness

Whenever anyone asks me what I most want for my children, my answer is to be happy. And isn't that what we want for ourselves too, above everything else?

Well, I've read several books and countless articles on the secret of happiness, and one thing comes up again and again: Gratitude.

This is particularly important for we addicts, especially those of you who have only recently quit drinking.

The reason we love alcohol so much, the thing that makes us crave it more and more is dopamine. 

Dopamine is the feel-good hormone that is released in the brain whenever we reach for that glass of vino.

When we quit drinking, our brain really misses that dopamine, which is one of the reasons you'll often crave chocolate - sugar releases dopamine too.

But here's the good news: there's a really easy way to get the same dopamine hit, without all the downsides of alcohol like hangovers and self-hatred, and without mainlining cake: Gratitude.

Feeling grateful increases your levels of serotonin too, in exactly the same way Prozac does. It's nature's natural anti-depressant.

I know what you're thinking: that's all well and good, but what if you can't think of anything to be grateful for?

Sometimes life just really is a bit miserable. Everything is going wrong, and the last thing is the world you feel is GRATEFUL.

Well, here's a wonderful trick:

Remember when you wanted what you currently have.

I saw that written on Facebook, or Instagram, or a t-shirt - I can't remember. What I do remember is it getting stuck in my head and having a profound impact on me.

It's so easy to constantly strive for the next thing, always looking ahead and feeling miserable when we can't clear the next hurdle.

The crucial thing is to look back from time to time, and to see how far you've come.

For example, I have (many) days when my children are driving me crazy and I'm just exhausted with it all.

So, now I make myself remember my two early miscarriages, how utterly devastated I was and how all I wanted in the whole world was to be pregnant. I told myself that if my husband and I could have children I would never, ever want for anything else.

I remember when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer and thought I might die pretty soon. The only thing I wanted was to be around for long enough to see my children reach adulthood.

I remember when we bought our first flat, and just a couple of months later there was a fire in the flat two floors above us, and the whole house nearly burnt down. I remember thinking that the only thing that was important was a roof over your head.

If you're struggling with the early months of being sober, remember when the thing you most wanted was to just get through a whole week without a drink.

The truth is that when the s**t hits the fan, we realise that all we really want is the simple things: family, health, a home.

However bad things seem, if you can remember to be grateful for these things, for anything, you will feel happier. The more often you find something to be grateful for, the easier it gets and the happier you feel. Simple.

If you'd like to read more about how to feel happy without booze, then there's a wonderful article from Time Magazine going up on the SoberMummy Facebook page this evening. (If you 'like' the page, Facebook will keep you updated).

For the story of my first year sober, with all its ups and downs, read The Sober Diaries. Click here if you're in the UK, here for USA and here for Australia.

Love to you all!

SM x

Paying it Forward

It's nearly time to go home.

After three weeks of sand, surfing, cliff walks and beach barbeques, it's back to reality on Friday.

It'll be a flurry of washing, ironing, buying new school shoes, dental check ups, hair cuts, and all the other minutiae of getting three children back to school in a presentable state after weeks of being feral.

As I've been mentally packing away our holiday in a little memory box labelled 'Cornwall 2016', I've been thinking about what holidays are for.

In the drinking days I was pretty clear on this point: holidays are a reward.

After months of being good - working hard, bringing up children, doing all the endless chores, here are a few weeks of the year which are pay back time. Time to let your hair down, go wild, time to indulge - 'me time'.

And all of that is important. But I took it to extremes. Because, as ever, 'rewarding myself' meant never applying the brakes.

The minute I, or anyone else, even thought about criticizing my behaviour, I'd reply But I'm on holiday!

This meant that by the time I got home I'd have gained a stone in weight, I'd be held together by toxins and mentally and physically exhausted. In need of a good holiday, in fact.

The following few weeks would then be all about payback. I'd go on another fad diet (only raw food, or no carbs, or nothing after 5pm).

I'd try (yet again) to keep a lid on the drinking (not drinking during the week, or only drinking beer, or not drinking at home).

I'd vow to be a better person.

Then, after a few months of trying, and failing, to do all of the above, I'd need another good holiday to REWARD MYSELF.

Repeat, ad infinitum.

I see holidays - like everything else - differently now.

Now I see that it's actually about paying it forward.

This last year has taught me that we really have no idea what's around the next corner - particularly as we get older, so having reserves in the bank is crucial.

After three weeks by the sea I've caught up on sleep, fresh air and exercise.

Three weeks of carrying surf boards up and down the hill every day from our cottage to the beach has made me feel fitter than I've been for ages.

Three weeks of spending pretty much every minute with the three children means I feel like I've got to know them all, in this current phase of their lives, fairly inside out.

Three weeks with the husband might not have completely rekindled the fires of young love, but we have at least warmed the embers.

So I feel like I'm all set up.

Set up to weather the endless battles over homework, the squabbling over household chores, and the inevitable next big challenge that life will throw at me.

And these weeks of being immersed in nature - huge skies, crashing waves, towering rock faces - have made me feel ready to appreciate the energy and buzz (and reliable wifi) of the city.

Instead of going home dreading the next few months, and ticking off the days until I can go away again, I'm going home thinking BRING IT ON.

I'm ready.

Love SM x

What Would They Say About You?

One of my favourite books is The Telegraph Book of Obituaries.

I know it sounds morbid, but it's actually hugely inspiring. Beautifully written pieces about the lives of extraordinary people. They make you want to climb mountains, swim oceans and paint masterpieces.

One of the (many) reasons I quit drinking was thinking about what people would say about me if I died.

SM - so much promise, so much talent.....loved a party.

Not exactly inspirational.

Unlike Q's eulogy, which Mr SM delivered on Friday to a congregation of six hundred people who'd travelled to Q's home town in Scotland from all over the world.

Q packed a huge amount into his (too short) forty-seven years, and made an impact on hundreds of people, so this reading - A Song of Living by Amelia Josephine Burr - was perfect for him:

Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky.
I have run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast.
My cheeks like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

I have kissed young love on the lips, I have heard his song to the end,
I have struck my hand like a seal in the loyal hand of a friend.
I have known the peace of heaven, the comfort of work done well.
I have longed for death in the darkness and risen alive out of hell.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

I gave a share of my soul to the world, when and where my course is run.
I know that another shall finish the task I surely must leave undone.
I know that no flower, nor flint was in vain on the path I trod.
As one looks on a face through a window, through life I have looked on God,
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.                         

Would you be able to say that about your life?

It's never too late to make sure that you could....

Love SM x

SM's Guide to Sober Summer Holidays

The British summer holidays are officially here, as evidenced by the fifteen hour traffic jams outside the ferry port of Dover this weekend.

We enthusiastic drinkers often fret a lot about doing a summer holiday sober.

Summer holidays are totally connected in our minds with images of sipping (did I say sipping? Who am I kidding?) glasses of chilled white wine outside a Greek Taverna, drinking cocktails while dancing to dodgy holiday tunes, or rediscovering the romance over a shared bottle of champagne.

Aaarrrggghhhh!

And the thing we really loved about summer holidays was the Summer Holiday Rules which, in my case, went something like this:

1. It's fine to drink as much as you want every evening because you're on holiday!

2. It's okay if you get drunk and behave really badly, because you can run away in a week or two leaving all those memories behind you.

3. It doesn't matter if you wake up with a terrible hangover, and are unable to do anything much for most of the day, because there's nothing you have to do anyway.

4. It's fine to drink at lunch time (every day), because that's totally normal behaviour in the Mediterranean.

5. It doesn't matter if 'lunch time' starts at about 11am, because you're on 'holiday time'.

So, summer holidays are dangerous times.

It's really easy to fall off the waggon because the wily old wine witch starts saying something like this:

Oh for f***s sake, you're on HOLIDAY! You deserve a drink or two. You've done so well! You proved you can do it, so you can do it again. Just drink while you're away. What goes on tour stays on tour, right? I won't tell anyone if you don't. You can quit THE MOMENT you leave. Or maybe the moment you get back (a drink or two on the 'plane would be nice ;-)).

Please don't listen. Because it won't work like that. You won't give up the minute you get back because it'll be too hard.

You'll feel down because of all the booze, and because you're back to reality, holiday over. You'll put it off for another few days, then another, then another.

Chances are it'll take a few months before you manage to re-gather all the strength and determination you need to quit again, and this time it'll be harder. It always is. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

The truth is that summer holidays without booze can be way better. Honestly.

Think about it. What are holidays really for?

They're for recharging the batteries, physically and emotionally, exploring new places, doing new things and reconnecting with family and/or friends. Right?

And all of those things are much easier to do sober than when you're endlessly drinking.

So, here are my top tips for having a fabulous, sober summer holiday:

1. Prepare.

Write a list of all the things you want to get out of your holiday, and remind yourself why they'll be easier to do sober.

Often the 'getting there' is the most stressful part of the holiday, so make sure you have your favourite alcohol free drink to hand for when you arrive.

(I always take a stash of Beck's Blue with me, but last year arrived at our rented cottage to discover there was no bottle opener. I ran around like a mad thing bashing my bottle over rocks, trying to dislodge the cap. This year I'm taking my own).

2. Love the mornings

Waking up in a beautiful place with no hangover, full of energy, and with no work to do is awesome!

So I go to bed pretty early on holiday and wake up shortly after dawn. The world is sleeping, it's just you and the birds, and that's the time when magic happens....

3. Look after yourself

Sober holidays are a great time to really recharge your body and soul.

Eat wonderful fresh food from the market. Get lots of exercise and fresh air. Take up yoga and/or meditation. You'll come home feeling (and looking) a million dollars, not all toxic and depressed.

(Try the yoga videos on YouTube, and the Headspace App for meditation. You'll feel much less of a pillock going all New Agey on a beach than you do in your kitchen at home).

4. Coping with cravings

The hardest times are when you're in a situation when you'd usually be drinking - like sitting outside a café, watching the sun set without a glass of wine.

So, if you get hit by a major craving, take yourself off as soon as you can, and do something that you do not associate with booze. Go swimming. Take a walk. Do that yoga. Have a nap. It'll pass....

5. Know the wine witch

You know what she's going to say (see above) at some point, or at several points during your vacation, so be prepared. Know what to say back. Know it's all lies.

But, the main thing, is to have a wonderful time. You've truly earned it.

Love SM x

Friendship (again)

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.

C.S. Lewis

Thank you, again, for your wonderful messages of support following the death of my friend, Q. It is really appreciated, and the thought of all of you, out there somewhere, makes things easier.

I have written a few posts on friendship over the last year or so (click here for one on how booze affects our friendships), but the last few days have made me think about it in a different way.

As news of Q's death has spread there has been an outpouring of grief on Facebook. A remembrance page has been set up for friends and family to post pictures and memories.

(I was searching for another word for death, but I hate them all. 'Passing' is okay if you're talking about wind, but not a human being. 'Loss' makes it sound as if they've been mislaid on a station platform).

Mr SM has been asked to deliver the eulogy at Q's funeral. He is terrified. He was awake most of last night trying to work out how to get the tone just right, and worrying about breaking down in front of hundreds of people.

Trying to describe (in just a few minutes) a man and his life, and a little of what he meant to all those who are mourning him, is a horribly hard task.

It's made me think how sad it is that it takes a death to make us realise how wonderful our friends are, about how they've enriched our lives and what makes them unique.

It's all too easy to focus on negatives, on silly day to day irritations (a joke misfired, a thank you not delivered, an invitation turned down) and to forget the big picture.

So I've made a pact with myself. I will make the time to imagine a Facebook remembrance page for each of my close friends - the photos, the memories, the lists of all their awesome qualities, and I'm going to feel grateful for them now. While they are still here. And I'm going to take the time to tell them so.

As for the booze, I don't miss it at all.

My friend S told me that when her father died, she and her siblings flew from various parts of the world to be with her mother (a recovering alcoholic). Their greatest fear was that, after two years sober, their mother would be drinking again.

As they gathered together, the first thing S's Mum said to them was "I know what you're all thinking, and it's okay. I'm not going to drink." S had never been more proud of her mother, nor loved her more.

It's at times like this that you need to be a rock, to protect your family and hold them close. Without the drink I feel strong.

(See my post: When Life Throws You Lemons).

Thank you again,

SM x

Booze and Bereavement

Thank you so much for all your kind messages yesterday after the death of my friend, Q.

It has been a very hard couple of days.

I have never seen my old Etonian, stiff upper lipped husband cry before, even during the whole cancer thing, but several times I've caught him quietly sobbing.

Mr SM and Q first met when they were at boarding school together at the age of seven, and there's something about wrenching young boys from their families, and subjecting them to inedible food, cold showers and the public school 'fagging' system that forges incredibly strong ties.

#2 picked up Mr SM's iPad yesterday and it opened on a site named 'coping with bereavement.'

I'd always thought that if a close friend or family member died I would play my 'Get Out of Jail Free' card. Nobody can be expected to cope with grief without booze, right? Alcohol was practically invented for this - it's medicinal. It numbs the feelings and makes everything bearable.

But I figure that drinking now would be like closing the front door on a house fire. You might be able to forget, temporarily, that it's there, but at some point you have to open that door again, and the fire won't have gone away, it'll just be more out of control.

Instead I've discovered nature's way of dousing the flames: weeping.

I've been doing it a lot. Twenty or thirty times a day. Every time I pick up the 'phone to another friend, but also at random times. The fact that I might be out on the street or in a shop doesn't seem to stop me either.

And, you know what? It really helps.

It feels like a safety valve that clicks into action just when you think that all those feelings building up inside are going to make you explode, or spontaneously combust like a character in a Victorian novel.

The children, who are at home for the holidays, have got used to Mummy randomly weeping.

I've explained to them that grief is an entirely good thing, as it's a sign that you have properly loved, and a life without having properly loved is no life at all.

They get this. What they would not get, and not like is if Mummy were also drunk and incoherent.

Oddly, I don't really want to blur the edges. I feel it would be doing Q a disservice. I want to remember all the times we shared in glorious technicolour. I want to properly grieve for all the new memories I thought we would make in the future.

Plus, I want to be there for his wife and children, my friend and our Godchildren, not just by sharing a few bottles of vino late into the night (which I am sad I can't do), but by helping with the housework, the cooking, the childcare and so on, which I couldn't do drunk or hungover.

One thing I am terribly grateful for is that I don't have any regrets.

The thing about someone dying unexpectedly and suddenly is that you don't have time to prepare. To make time to see them, to tell them that you love them, to show them how much they mean to you.

Had this happened in the Drinking Days I have no doubt I would have been riddled with regret. I'd neglected my old friends for years.

But I'd seen Q a lot recently. He'd been to stay with us in London, we'd seen him up in Scotland. I'm pretty sure he knew how much he meant to us.

I'm weeping again.

SM x

Reunited!

In the early days of writing this blog I didn't have huge numbers of readers, but the few I had, who started on the sober road around the same time as me, I felt hugely close to. They were my posse. My virtual AA group.

Three of my favourites were Laura from Belgium, Kags and Tallaxo (my first male reader, or - at least - the first one to make himself known).

I used to imagine us all holding hands and tripping down the road together, helping each other up should any of us trip. I wrote this post back on Day 53: Follow the Sober Brick Road.

Anyhow, the Soberverse has many advantages, but one of its biggest downfalls is that people can disappear and you have no way at all of finding out if they're okay. You can't call a mutual friend, or go bang on their front door, or turn up at their workplace.

And, about six or seven months after we started hanging out together, at the end of last summer, one by one they disappeared. Like some Agatha Christie murder mystery. First Laura, then Kags, then Tallaxo.

I was bereft. And worried.

Then, about two months ago Laura came back! Back on the sober road after a few months on The Dark Side.

And yesterday I found this e-mail in my inbox (which the author has kindly agreed I can share with you):

Hi there SM,

I thought I would email you personally to let you know I’M BACK!

How are you gorgeous lady?

I’m sure you noticed that I completely dropped off the radar……around the end of August last year – and I’m also sure that you are well aware why.... 

I really don’t know why I decided that it would be a good idea to have just a couple of (rather lovely champagne cocktails no less) with my gorgeous friends at their delectable farmhouse last August.  After reading Jason Vale and absolutely knowing that there is no just one etc etc -  I rather dumbly assumed  that I would be perhaps the exception to the rule (the same ridiculous thought that got me trapped in the first place!)

I have to admit that even after only 3 cocktails after 6 months of abstinence I was rather sick that night!! You would actually think that even if I had slipped up – being sick might have been enough for me to realise that my drinking days were done....  but before long then it was creeping back to ½  or ¾ bottle of red wine per evening. I can’t tell you how thoroughly disappointed I was, not only with myself but for also letting you down, so I crept off to oblivion.

Anyway that all stopped 28 days ago today. A lightbulb moment and a re-read of Jason’s book – a very long awaited catch up with your wonderful blog and a total resolution to stop being such a selfish moron.

I have to say although the actual act of stopping drinking was easier this time – as I knew in my head I had done it last year and not died from trying! The headaches I have had in the past few weeks have been thoroughly miserable.  (I don’t recall getting them the last time) and rather than the euphoric feeling I had last year – I have felt very down this time. (crying / tiredness)

The bonuses have of course also crept in over the last month – bouncy hair – and glowing skin – and white eyes ( I really had forgotten how wonderful these were) 

Love, love, love, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to be back in the room :-)

Love Kagsx

YAY!

Now all we need is Tallaxo (where are you, Tallaxo?) and we can put the band back together :-)

Love SM x

Alcohol, Relationships and Happiness

There are, I think, three main phases in the sober journey.

Phase 1, The first 100 days, is all about physical detoxing, grit, determination and a rollercoaster of emotions.

Phase 2, the next six months or so, is all about introspection. We spend hours, days even, thinking about ourselves.

We ask questions like how did I get here? Am I happy? Am I an alcoholic? Am I a good mother?

Then, at some point, we stop looking inward and start looking outward. We start becoming fascinated by the really big things.

The questions I've started asking are along the lines of: what makes a good person? What are the most important things we can do for our children? Is there a God? And, my current obsession: what makes us happy?

So I found a TED talk by Robert Waldinger called 'What makes a good life? Lessons from the longest study on happiness.' (Click here to see it for yourself).

Robert's talk is based on The Harvard Study of Adult Development which studied 724 men and over 2000 of their children over 75 years, asking them about their work, home, health and happiness.

The study found that wealth did not make people happy. Nor did fame. Nor did Leaning In.

What made these men happier and healthier was good relationships.

The study concludes that the more socially connected you are to friends, community and family, the happier and healthier you'll be, and the longer you'll live.

Lonely people (and 20% of the adult population of the USA describe themselves as such) are less happy, their health and brain function declines at an earlier age and they die younger.

The single biggest predictor of a happy, healthy life aged 80 was being satisfied with your relationships at the age of fifty.

This is really important for us, because if you are addicted to booze it becomes increasingly hard to maintain strong, happy relationships.

Over time we alienate more and more of our friends and family, avoid spending time with anyone who doesn't drink enthusiastically, and spend increasing amounts of time drinking on our own.

If you let yourself get to the classic 'rock bottom' you can find that your family and friends have, finally, given up on you.

This is one of the many reasons why alcohol does not make us happy. In fact it makes us lonely and miserable.

I didn't get this when I first quit. In fact, one of my biggest fears was losing all my friends. I thought I'd never be invited anywhere again.

(see my post: Will I Lose All My Friends, written on day 13)

This isn't what happened.

Looking back now I realise that I hadn't made many new friends for years. I used to say I have far too many friends to keep in touch with as it is. I really don't need new ones.

And the only really old friends I saw frequently were the really big drinkers. My other friends had gradually drifted away, probably because I made very little effort to nourish those relationships.

Now (with the possible exception of my friends who, like me, are 'problem drinkers') my old friendships are way stronger. I've taken time to see them, to help them, to listen to them. I've remembered birthdays. I'm making up for lost time.

And I've made a number of really good new friends. One of my best new buddies hardly drinks. Never has. Doesn't like it. There is NO WAY I would have wanted to be friends with her in the Old Days.

Then I wondered how much of this is in my imagination? Am I fooling myself? Is it all self justification?

So - right now - in real time, I am going to do a scientific experiment.

Every Christmas for the last ten years I have bought myself a present: a traditional, leather bound Smythson's desk diary. It lives in the kitchen and details the whole family's social, school and work commitments.

I'm going to look at June 2014 (towards the end of the Drinking Days) and June 2016 and compare the number of social events in both. I'm going to include any pre-arranged event like parties, date nights, dinners, meeting a friend for lunch, coffee or a dog walk, and exclude anything child related (like class parties, sports days, speech days etc).

I'll be back in ten minutes....

Right, scores on the doors are:

June 2014: 12 social events
June 2016: 19 social events

That's a fifty percent increase. Scientific proof that quitting drink improves your relationships and therefore, according to Robert Waldinger, makes you happier, healthier and live longer.

So, go be happy!

Love SM x

Drunk Visitors

Last night a friend of mine was throwing a big drinks party for her birthday.

A few days ago, another old friend, S, (who lives in the country) called to ask if she could stay the night after the event.

Now, S and I go back a long way. We're old drinking buddies. Many a night we'd sit cackling on a sofa at some party or other like a pair of old crones. She is Godmother to one of my children, and I am Godmother to one of hers.

I know that she is not very happy about me not drinking, so I was a bit nervous about her coming to stay.

I find drinks parties the most difficult situation to navigate sober. I still feel less sparkling, less witty, less interesting in that scenario than I used to (although it is, slowly, getting easier). I handily forget how utterly boring I could be after a few too many drinks.

Despite that scratchiness, I loved the party, loved parking right outside, loved catching up with old friends, loved the fact that they served virgin mojitos.

BUT by 11.30pm the crowd had thinned out massively and I was ready to head home.

Not my guest, however, so Mr SM gave her his keys and she said she'd follow on in a cab a little later.

We were woken up shortly after we'd fallen asleep by S who was having problems making the keys work in the lock (remember that feeling, anyone?).

Mr SM let her in and she stayed up a little longer for a nightcap and a cigarette while we went back to sleep.

We had to get up early this morning as it's a school day. Mr SM walked out of the bedroom first and I heard him yell "Oh my God, what's happened here?!"

"What?!?" I replied, suddenly wide awake.

"You'd better come and look."

There was a five foot hole in our staircase, and three of the carved, wooden bannisters were lying on the landing in pieces.

It turned out that S had staggered up the stairs to bed, tripped over her bell bottomed trousers and all six foot two of her had hurtled back down the stairs, like a giant redwood being felled in a forest, and through our bannisters.

She's fine. Just a little bruised and embarrassed.

Our staircase isn't.

Now, had I been drunk or hungover when this all came to light we may well have had the sort of row that would ruin an old friendship.

But I'm sober. I am zen. I've been to yoga twice this week. My chakras (whatever they may be) are aligned. I am, according to my oncologist, currently cancer free.

(And it was a welcome reminder that parties may be a little bit harder sober than drunk, but at least I'm not careering round the country destroying other people's property).

So I got the kid's UHU out of the craft box, found a roll of Sellotape, and did a temporary patch job, before sitting down with a hungover S for a debrief on the party.

"Sorry about your stairs," she mumbled over her breakfast of strong coffee and Marlboro.

"That's okay," I replied, passing her two of the extra strong ibuprofen I'd been given after they removed a sizeable chunk of my left boob, "but don't expect me not to tell anyone. It'll make a great dinner party story. That's the quid pro quo. You may not be a perfect guest, but you're a fabulous anecdote."

What she doesn't know is that I'm sharing it as a cautionary tale with thousands of my friends on the internet too...

Love SM x

A Simple Way to Break a Bad Habit

That's the title of a TED talk by Judson Brewer. You can see why I was interested....

(Here's the link to the talk).

Judson talks about quitting smoking and stress eating, but his techniques are just as useful for quitting booze.

Here's my take on what he has to say:

It's all about mindfulness.

Brewer (he really should be a drinker with that name, don't you think?) talks about how bad habits arise.

We're programmed, at a deep subconscious level, to repeat behaviour that gives our brains a reward. It's how we learn to find food, water, reproduce etc. Trigger. Behaviour. Reward. Repeat.

The problem is that, in the modern age, some of the things that reward our brains - like alcohol - are not at all good for us.

Our conscious brains know this, but our subconscious brains are too simple, too hard wired, to get it.

(The problem is exacerbated when we're stressed, as stress causes the logical bit of our brain to short circuit, leaving us to rely on our more primal instincts. The ones that have been engrained with the habit.)

When we try to quit drinking, our conscious minds try really, really hard to not think about drinking. But the harder you try to not think about something, the more you do.

Your subconscious basically throws a big hissy fit and bombards you with instructions revolving around drinking more booze.

Brewer says the key to dealing with these cravings, these brain tantrums (my words, not his!) is curiosity.

Don't fight those thoughts. Definitely don't give into them. Don't try to make them go away. Study them, like a scientist. Be mindful about what they're saying and how your body is reacting.

Oh, here we go again. Primal brain throwing big strop. Jaw clenching, shoulders tightening up, starting to feel like a kettle reaching the boil. I wonder how long this one's going to last before it gets back in its box.

Once you start attacking cravings with curiosity they lose all their power. And you realise that they are separate from you, and that each of the small effects of that craving are manageable, and temporary.

And gradually, over time, like trying to train a really stupid dog (and, as the owner of a really stupid dog, I say that with love), the subconscious gets the message and stops seeing booze as the solution to every issue.

Try it. It works.

Love SM x

Karma

I love the whole concept of karma.

(See my post: Alcohol and Buddhism)

Whilst the Internet has a lot to answer for: trolling, bullying, grooming, and all those smug yoga pictures on Instagram and Facebook, for example, it can also be a wonderful karma enabler.

Take the sobersphere as a case in point: you blog to help yourself, in doing so you help other people, all around the world, then - when you're in trouble - they come back and help you. It's awesome.

So, here's my latest example of magnificent karma....

#1 and #2 have school exams next week so, despite the fact that this is, in theory, a half term HOLIDAY, I feel obliged to help them with a bit of revision.

However, as it is a HOLIDAY, I think it should be FUN.

That's why yesterday I decided to use several of #3's fluffy toys to re-enact the Battle of Bosworth, with lots of sound effects and gory deaths.

(Lord Stanley, the turncoat, was played by a particularly fetching pink unicorn, which was far better than he deserved).

For the benefit of my non British friends, this is the battle that ended the War of the Roses in 1485.

Richard III (the hunchback, played by a penguin), fought a dashing young Henry Tudor (polar bear), and was eventually cut down from his mount (shouting, according to Shakespeare, "a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!") and killed, leaving Henry to become Henry VII, and father of the one with six wives and a penchant for beheadings.

(Are you still following? I'll come back to the alcohol thing in a bit).

The strange thing was that nobody seemed to know where Richard's body ended up.

Then in 2012 he was, finally, discovered under a multi-storey car park in Leicester. He was dug up and re-buried, last year, with all the due pomp and circumstance, in Leicester Cathedral.

So, after half a millennium of being abandoned and forgotten, Richard was finally at peace, thanks to the good people of Leicester. And here's where the karma comes in....

.....Leicester have a football team - Leicester City. They've never done particularly well, generally languishing in the lower divisions. The last time they got near the big time was in 1928 when they came second in Division One (the level down from the Premier League).

Then, this year, against all the odds (bookies had them at 5000:1) they only went and won the Premier League!

Bookmakers have never had to pay out on such odds for any major sporting event, making this the most unlikely result ever. And all those people who'd put a fiver on their local team to win, out of loyalty rather than expectation, won £25,000.

Now that's a classy way for the Universe to say thank you, don't you think?

(Mr SM says that this is a co-incidence. I say that people who believe in co-incidence have no romance in their soul).

And, just in case you're feeling a bit peeved because this post hasn't yet had anything to do with alcohol, then here's an interesting fact for you:

Studies of Richard III's bones and teeth show significant changes to his alcohol intake after he was crowned in 1483.

All the stress of being an unpopular ruler (and, perhaps, guilt about murdering his nephews, the two Princes in the Tower) led to him drinking three litres of alcohol a day, so they say. No wonder he fell off his horse....

Go make your own karma.

Love SM x

Why Alcohol Makes You Fat

Last night I watched a programme on the BBC called The Truth About Alcohol.

(Thanks for the tip SW6Mum)

It was a light hearted look at the effects that alcohol has on the body.

It was a tad trivial, with the usual discussion about 'how to avoid hangovers', and 'why a little red wine is actually good for you.' But, even so, great to have a programme about the negative effects of booze on prime time TV.

Inevitably, they looked at the impact alcohol has on our weight.

Now, we all know that alcohol is full of 'empty calories', and they pointed out that drinking a pint of  beer has the same effect, calorie wise, as eating a jam donut. A glass of wine is like eating a tea cake.

If I ever think about taking up booze again, I imagine sitting in front of the TV and eating five tea cakes in swift succession. Bleurgh!

But that wasn't the interesting bit.

They then took two groups of young men and put each group in a room with 2 pints of beer each, and several bowls of snacks.

What the men didn't know is that whilst one group were drinking 'proper beer', the other group had alcohol free beer (my favourite: Becks Blue. They ought to sponsor me).

After about an hour they totted up the results and discovered that the group with the real beer ate significantly more than the Becks Blue chaps. The booze made them hungrier.

And when you added the booze calories and snack calories together, the boozy lot demolished 30% more calories than the others.

Imagine doing that every night!

And we've all been there, haven't we? Hoovering up the crisps at the drinks party, ordering Death by Chocolate at the restaurant, or raiding the snack cupboard after a big night out.

Plus, what they didn't discuss in the programme is the morning after!

If you wake up with a hangover the last thing in the world you want for breakfast is a green smoothie. Oh no! You want CARBS. And FAT. Preferably combined in something like a bacon sandwich, or a greasy fry up.

It's no wonder I gained 21 pounds in a decade. Frankly, it's a miracle it wasn't more.

But, here's my (familiar to all you regular readers) health warning:

DO NOT EXPECT TO LOSE WEIGHT STRAIGHT AWAY WHEN YOU QUIT.

I know. It's really unfair. You give up all those calories and then..... Nothing. In fact, many people GAIN weight initially.

Do not panic. Our metabolisms are complicated machines, and they take a while to adjust. And you'll probably crave sugar initially. Quitting booze is not easy, and if cake helps then EAT IT.

Most people find that, at around 100 days alcohol free, the weight starts to come off. Slowly slowly. About half a pound a week.

(Plus, even before the scales start moving you'll notice that you look much less puffy and the wine belly starts shrinking).

And here's the magic thing: it stays off! Unlike every other 'diet' I've ever done.

Fourteen months in and I've lost that 21 pounds, without changing the amount I eat all all.

I've stopped losing weight now, but it's not going back on. And I still eat cake.

So, if you weren't already convinced that quitting booze was the right thing to do, then look down at that wine belly and think again..,.

Love SM x

Let Yourself Off

I've had a pretty tumultuous year, what with giving up a decades long booze habit, and then dealing with breast cancer. And you know what? In many ways the two experiences were similar.

Both involve going through the wringer physically. And then, by far the harder part, dealing with the emotional fall out.

In both cases you end up doing a lot of navel gazing. Who am I? What's important in my life? How did I end up here?

Both require you to dig really deep. To find strength you didn't know you had. And to totally re-write the image you have in your head of your future, which inevitably leads to a grieving process.

And, after all of that, you end up a slightly different person - more battered, but wiser, calmer, more philosophical and, possibly, spiritual. You rediscover your appreciation of life, family and the things that matter.

There are, however, some key differences.

One of the main ones is other people.

When you're going through all this change, and angst, and physical and emotional battery as a result of cancer treatment, people fall over themselves to help you. It's almost too much.

Any time it gets on top of you, you're exhausted or just can't cope, all you have to do is raise a little finger and there's a stampede of people offering to collect your children from school or make you a casserole.

Plus, you can (as Mr SM called it) play the cancer card.

Regular readers will know that I played the cancer card to get off a parking ticket. And it was hugely helpful when I just didn't have the strength to do one of those additional jobs we mums get lumbered with constantly.

For example, I remember getting an e-mail just after my diagnosis asking if I could run one of the stalls at the school Christmas Fete (known in our family as the fete worse than death).

I sent an e-mail to the fete committee which went something like this:

Dear Ladies,

As you know, I am usually very happy to help with school events, however in this instance I'm afraid I have to say 'no'.

I have breast cancer, so am rather busy. Sure you understand.

Good luck with the fete! I'll send Mr SM and the smalls along to buy lots more plastic tat for the playroom.

Love SM

P.S. Isn't that just the Best Excuse Ever?

The problem with giving up drinking is that, as so many of us do it secretly, we don't get to play the sober card.

You can't say sorry, I'm not hosting the class party/having your children for a sleepover/taking on more responsibility and stress at work, because right now I need some space to concentrate on not drinking.

No-one's rallying around to help with the kids and cook your family meals so that you can go to bed early with a copy of Jason Vale.


So, here's my plea to you: Let yourself off.

If no-one's rallying around to help you, you need to help yourself.

Treat the early days of quitting like having an illness (which it is).

Give yourself a reasonable time to recover (100 days?), and in that time let yourself off anything which is too hard, and which'll make you want to reach for the booze.

For me it meant not cooking evening meals for a while. Instead I'd eat fish fingers with the children early and leave Mr SM to forage in the fridge. That gave me space at wine o'clock to go for a run, or have a hot bath, or read the sober blogs.

If (and I'm thinking of you, Annie), you find getting through the first five days really tough, then pretend you have 'flu. Go to bed with lots of chocolate, the laptop and some good books, and don't come out until you're strong enough.

Here's a secret: The world will not fall apart.

You are making a huge investment in your future health and happiness, and that of your family, so a few weeks of dropping balls and not living up to your usual standards is well worth it.

Don't take on any voluntary jobs. Don't feel obliged to turn up to any social events unless you really want to. Don't see anyone who stresses you out. There's plenty of time for all of that later.

Be your own support group.

(And we're all here to support you too. Although I'm afraid the service doesn't stretch to delivering casseroles).

Love SM x

All or Nothing

Regular readers will know that I hate the word 'alcoholic,' and refuse to describe myself as one.

This is not, you understand, because I am in denial. I happily admit to being an alcohol addict. And I (fairly) happily accept that I can never drink again.

BUT I will never happily say "My name's SM and I'm an alcoholic."

(I yelled at Mr SM when he used the word 'alcoholic' in relation to me the other day. Poor thing just looked confused and went back to the Financial Times).

So why the animosity to the A word? Surely it's just an innocent little adjective?

Well, actually, I think the A word does a huge amount of damage.

Because it's become loaded with such terrible baggage. It has an awful image, particularly when it comes to mothers...

If a mother is described as 'an alcoholic' you immediately picture a woman passed out in her own vomit while her grubby, neglected children forage for stale biscuits in the cupboards. Or, at least, that's what I imagine.

The implications of being an 'alcoholic' are so frightening that no-one wants to join the club.

We spend hours, days, Googling 'am I an alcoholic?' and, luckily, the definitions are so vague that we can easily convince ourselves that we are not.

So, instead of addressing the issue of our alcohol addiction (which we secretly know is there) we wrap ourselves happily in the cashmere soft cloak of denial and pour another drink.

The term 'alcoholic' is too black and white: you are one, or you're not. Whereas, actually, alcohol addiction is all about darkening shades of grey. A slippery slope. And one that it's best to get off at the top, before it gets harder.

By the time things are so awful that you'll happily accept the alcoholic badge, you've lost everything, including all self respect, making giving up terribly, terribly difficult.

But that leaves the question what terminology do we use instead?

I like to talk about 'alcohol addiction', because it makes it clear that alcohol is a drug like any other - like nicotine, heroin, cocaine. And, as a result, anyone can get addicted. Not just the unlucky few, born with some genetic disease called Alcoholism.

Then, this weekend I was reading an interview with Fearne Cotton, married to Jesse Wood, son of Ronnie the Rolling Stone.

Fearne talks about how Jesse and Ronnie got sober together: 'an incredible bonding experience.' BUT she doesn't describe her husband as an alcoholic. She says:

Like his dad, Jesse's an all-or-nothing guy, and with a growing family he felt that he'd prefer to not drink alcohol, so it's tea and fruit cake all the way, round at Ronnie's.

HURRAH for the all-or-nothing tribe!

Now that's a label I'm happy to admit to, a club I'll accept membership of.

(And I'm sure thousands more women, currently still home alone, drowning their sorrows and convincing themselves that it's 'normal' to drink a bottle of wine a day, would do the same).

My name's SM, and I'm an all-or-nothing girl. I did decades of all, and I've done 14 months of nothing. And it's great.

The 'all-or-nothing' label makes it clear that our relationship with alcohol is intrinsically tied up with who we are, and, therefore, that drinking again isn't an option, BUT it also portrays the positive side of the coin.

With that descriptor, you don't picture the slovenly mother having her children taken into care, you picture the wild, funny, party girl who's reached the age where she's had to throw in the sequinned towel.

And that, my friends, is me. Not an alcoholic, but an alcoholic addict and all-or-nothing girl.

Love SM x

If Only.....

I'm still recovering from Saturday night's awesome Moonwalk. 50,000 women (some men), all dressed up, walking through London overnight in aid of breast cancer charities.

It's been a long time since I've been up all night with crowds of excited people wearing silly, neon clothes. And I've never done it sober!

We laughed. We wept. We weed behind bushes in St James's Park. It was a great reminder that you don't need to drink to get high.

(Walking past all the scary, edgy, wild eyed drunks around 3am was a great lesson too).

While lying on sofa bemoaning my aching muscles and shredded feet, I was thinking about a question Annie asked me last week.

She asked me if I ever felt sad that I can't just have one drink from time to time.

As soon as she asked the question I felt a wave of regret as I pictured myself on a terrace, overlooking a perfect beach, clutching a glass of chilled white wine.

With huge effort I pushed the image to one side and thought logically.

"No," I replied (lying only slightly), "because that's not the sort of person I am. To wish that I could drink moderately would be to wish that I were a moderate person. And that's not me."

You see, we enthusiastic imbibers are not moderate, we never were. That's why ex drinkers are awesome.

We didn't want one glass to just soften the edges, we wanted all the edges obliterated.

We didn't want one glass of champagne to toast the bride, we wanted two bottles and a serious PARTY!

We didn't want a drink or two at the end of the day to relax a bit, we wanted to be transported to somewhere else entirely.

To become a moderate drinker I'd have to become someone altogether different.

But, in being totally sober, I have found myself again. Still all or nothing. Still over the top. Still immoderate. Still me.

But now I can be immoderate about other, better stuff, like being a great Mum, and a good friend, and making the most of every opportunity (that's all still work in progress, obviously. Not there yet....).

Love to you all,

SM x

Put the Glass Down!

There's a classic self help parable doing the rounds on Facebook. It goes like this:

A psychologist walked around a room while teaching stress management to an audience. As she raised a glass of water, everyone expected they'd be asked the "half empty or half full" question. Instead, with a smile on her face, she inquired: "How heavy is this glass of water?"

Answers called out ranged from 8 oz. to 20 oz.

She replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long I hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my arm. If I hold it for a day, my arm will feel numb and paralyzed. In each case, the weight of the glass doesn't change, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."

She continued, "The stresses and worries in life are like that glass of water. Think about them for a while and nothing happens. Think about them a bit longer and they begin to hurt. And if you think about them all day long, you will feel paralyzed – incapable of doing anything."

It’s important to remember to let go of your stresses. As early in the evening as you can, put all your burdens down. Don't carry them through the evening and into the night. Remember to put the glass down!

This struck me as somewhat ironic, as what I used to do, as early in the evening as I could, in order to put all those burdens down, was to pick up another damn glass!

And it works for a while, doesn't it? Pick up that glass of wine, and the glass of water that's been weighing down your arm all day is completely forgotten. Magic.

But, gradually, we find that we're spending so much time holding onto that glass of wine that our arm is aching more and more. And the glass of water hasn't actually gone away. We're holding that too, with the other hand.

Instead of one numb and paralysed arm we have two. Oh bugger.

So, eventually, we put down the glass of wine.

Initially things get even worse. All the feeling comes back to the arm that had been numb for so long, and it hurts.

Plus, without the glass of wine to distract us, all our attention is back on the damn glass of water in the other hand.

But, over time, the freed arm completely recovers, and we find new - and better - ways to put down the water: meditation, yoga, running, drinking hot chocolate, eating cake....

So, put down all the glasses my friends, and take up something more interesting instead :-)

Love SM x

Connection

I wouldn't be sober now if it weren't for the internet.

Maybe some people can do this completely on their own, but it can't be easy.

Johann Hari's Tedd talk on addiction (for more, see my post here) concludes with the words the opposite of addiction is connection. And connection is what AA have provided for alcoholics the world over, and what the sobersphere gives us today.

The reason I think connection is so crucial is that it is so very easy for us to give up on ourselves, to push the self destruct button in a moment of stress, fear, boredom or raging hormones. We're used to letting ourselves down, after all.

But, the more connections we have the more difficult it becomes to activate the ejector seat. Because we're letting down other people too. Our children. Our partners. Our AA sponsor. Our sobersphere buddies. And all of them have their hands out ready to catch us when we're falling.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I picture all of us round the world - so different in terms of culture, background and circumstance, but utterly united by common fears, experiences, hopes and dreams. It makes the world seem smaller, and our reach across it so much broader.

I remember feeling the same when I had my first baby. Buoyed up by all that serotonin and oxytocin, I felt 'at one' with all the other new mothers around the world.

Then the sleep deprivation kicked in, and I began to realise that mothers spend an awful lot of time criticising each other rather than supporting each other.

The sobersphere, however, is generally a really warm and accepting place. We look for similarities rather than differences, and we know (from bitter experience) that no-one is perfect.

We find the sober community when we're looking for help, then we hang around to give back. It's twenty first century karma.

Which is why I've found the news this week so shocking.

Fort McMurray in Canada has been burning for days. All 88,000 inhabitants have been evacuated. 1,600 of their homes, shops, schools and offices have been reduced to cinders.

In the old days I would have seen this news and felt a fleeting compassion for the people affected, then been jolly glad that I was okay, and carried on with my day.

But now I don't just see nameless strangers, I think of all those women like us. Women wrestling with all the day to day challenges of home, family and work, and dealing with issues like addiction, divorce, redundancy and so on. And now....facing this biblical style disaster.

And most of all I think of Anne and her family who live in Fort McMurray. Anne who has inspired all of us in the sobersphere by sharing her life, hopes and dreams (see her blog here) for the past two years. Anne who is safe, but must be dealing with the most unimaginable situation.

So, please send your love and strength to Anne. And Anne, if you find this post, point us in the direction of a funsdraising page so that your virtual community can do something to help rebuild your real one.

Love SM x

Alcohol and Buddhism

About 14 days after I quit drinking I left a comment on someone else's blog (can't remember which one!).

I was thrilled when the author replied. She said something along the lines of 'you're doing really well! Now you need to find something spiritual to fill the gap.'

I confess that I snorted with derision.

I was far more worried about whether I was going to lose all my friends, and why I was sleeping for twelve hours a day, than filling some hole I didn't think I had.

As with so many things, I was wrong.

Way back in my early twenties, and following several months travelling through Thailand, I became fascinated by Buddhism.

However, my brief flirtation with Buddha was quickly set aside and forgotten, as I got on with the important business of burning the candle at both ends.

But, recently I've found myself being drawn towards Buddhism again. It turns out quitting the booze did leave a hole after all.

Then I read a post by the fabulous Hapless Homesteader (find her blog here), where she talks about the Five Precepts of Buddhism, and I was reminded of the fact that the fifth precept is refraining from intoxicating substances.

Hurrah! I'm already one fifth of the way to enlightment!

I did some more research on the precepts.

Number one is doing no harm to other living things. Two: not taking what is not freely given. Three: no sexual misconduct, and four: no lying or gossiping.

The reason the fifth precept exists is that taking intoxicating substances leads to 'heedlessness', or 'carelessness' - the exact opposite of mindfulness.

Plus, becoming intoxicated is very likely to lead to you breaking one or more of the other four precepts.

I found this parable which explains it beautifully:

A Buddhist monk is told that he must either sleep with someone else's wife, kill a goat or drink a bottle of wine. He chooses the wine, believing that it would do less harm than the other actions.

Several hours later the monk wakes up naked, having drunk the wine, shagged the wife and eaten the goat.

And ain't that the truth?

I may be past the days of 'sexual misconduct', but I certainly caused 'careless' harm left, right and centre. Secrets spilled, promises broken, good deeds not done.

And alcohol, as Hapless Homesteader points out, turns us all into liars.

We lie about how much we drink to others (friends, husbands, doctors), but mostly to ourselves. We lie to give ourselves excuses to keep on drinking (I've had a super stressful day), and we lie about the harm it's doing (a glass of red wine is good for you! It's Mediterranean!).

Plus I was the most terrible gossip.

I've been trying to work out why. I think that when our own life is less than perfect we revel in the imperfections of others. And, when you're a few drinks down, idle gossip is easy, non-demanding, conversation.

Funnily enough, I've started to find gossiping (which I confess I still do from time to time) increasingly distasteful. It feels bitter and mean spirited. It leaves me feeling depleted.

So, I'm trying to ditch the gossip. I'm taking it slowly, starting with only gossiping about strangers. For example, I'll happily dissect the state of David Beckham's marriage, but not those of my friends. Baby steps....

Gossiping, thinking badly of people and being mean about them is just bad karma.

In the words of Buddha:

We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.

That's what I'm working on. Now, I'm off to kill a goat and flirt with my gym instructor ;-)

Love SM x

Family Time

We've just had a lovely, sunny, three day weekend here in the UK.

In the old days, this would have been a great excuse to drink like a fish.

I'd, obviously, have overdone it on Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings, and I'd have found excuses to start drinking by midday, continuing on for much of the afternoon.

By now I'd be feeling like death, and would have slunk into a pit of despair.

But these days my Bank Holiday weekends are all about family.

It struck me recently that I've spent much of the last decade trying to avoid my children. Isn't that terrible?

I would look for day time activities at weekends where they could play happily somewhere, while I would sit and watch from the side lines with some adult friends and lots of booze.

In the evenings, I would try to feed them relatively early, then there would then be a frantic rush, with lots of kicking and screaming, to get the children into bed 'on time' so that Mr SM and I could settle down for a boozy, 'adult' dinner a deux.

Over a bank holiday weekend I'd often arrange a 'family lunch.'

These generally involved inviting round another 'bon viveur' family. We'd eat lunch with the children down one end of the table and grown ups down the other, then pack them off to watch a movie/destroy the house, while we got really stuck in to the vino.

They'd leave at around 5pm (and probably stop drinking at that point), I'd keep on going until I eventually passed out on the sofa at around 10pm.

Despite the 'family lunch' description, I'd have spent barely any time at all actually talking to any of the children.

This weekend was different.

I booked tickets for us all to go to a wonderful Roald Dahl exhibition on South Bank. We then had lunch by the river, and walked along the Thames, pointing out St Paul's Cathedral and Big Ben, and ogling all the street performers.

We stopped, along with over a hundred other onlookers, to watch an amazing Australian escapologist doing a Houdini style show. He picked two young men out of the crowd to help tie him up. Then he looked around for a female assistant and....picked me!

The smalls were thrilled that Mummy got to be a star in a show and we all had a ball. (I lied when he asked me my name, so every time he addressed me as 'Sheila' the children cracked up).

Our evenings are different now too. Instead of wrestling wide awake children into bed too early, we've relaxed all the rules for non school nights. We all eat together, and we find programmes on TV that we can all enjoy.

The current favourite is Britain's Got Talent.

(Runners up are The Durrells and The Wives of Henry VIII - which counts as revision, and the children love the gore and sex references. You need to watch this sober, as you get thrown questions like "what does he mean 'Anne Boleyn had relations with her own brother'?")

So, Saturday night, I invited a friend and her daughter round, we ordered in a takeaway curry and we all watched Britain's Got Talent, piled onto cushions in the playroom, with much cheering and booing.

None of the smalls got to bed before 10pm, there was no 'adult time', just one big mess of family.

But that's the way I like it now. And, needless to say, so do the kids.

Hugs to you all,

SM x

P.S. Thank you all so much for your messages yesterday. You, and just the act of writing down my fears, helped enormously. I am 90% sure I've just strained my arm (probably as a result of an over-enthusiastic dog on a lead), and I'm not going to die (yet). I know that these cancer fears will fade in time, just like the wine witch does when you quit the booze....