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....

When Life Throws You Lemons

I, like many of you, was a 'high functioning' alcohol addict. I never (well, hardly ever) dropped a ball, my guard or (God forbid) my knickers. I kept the ship afloat pretty well on a bottle of wine a day.

I now realise this was only possible because my life was blessed. I have a great marriage, happy, healthy children and active parents. We're solvent (most of the time), and relatively secure.

But sometimes life throws you lemons. Divorce, bereavement, a sick child, a major illness. Suddenly, out of the blue, your life can shift on its axis and never be the same again.

And, however easy it was to stay on track in the good times, that's when the wheels start to come off and everything falls apart. That's when 'high functioning' quickly morphs into 'low bottom',

I was thinking about this the other night. I woke up to find little fingers around my neck. #3 had had a nightmare, and had crept into our room and snuggled into bed between us.

I remembered being that age (very nearly seven), and the feeling that if you were with both your parents then absolutely nothing can harm you. It's like being enclosed in an impenetrable magic circle of safety.

It reminded me that I am the leader of this pack. That utter certainty, that innocence of my children, is totally in my hands. If I fall apart then everyone falls apart, and, like Humpty Dumpty, no-one will be able to fix them without the cracks showing.

If I had had to deal with cancer when I was drinking I know for sure that this is how it would have been different:

When I found the lump, instead of getting it checked immediately, I would - with the help of a few glasses of wine - have pushed it to the back of my mind for at least a few weeks. Alcohol, as you know, gives us false confidence. And those few weeks could have made all the difference.

When I got the diagnosis I would have gone on a bender. And being drunk (or hungover) makes us self centred and unaware of those around us, doesn't it? I would have cried (a lot) in front of the kids. I would have ranted and raged. Then I would have disappeared into my room and not emerged for some time.

In one fell swoop I would have destroyed the confidence and security of my family. I'd have pushed Humpty Dumpty off the wall and mocked all the kings horses and all the kings men as they tried to put them together again.

Instead everything carries on as normal, around all the endless hospital visits - and it's that normality that's keeping me sane, as well as them.

I hold everything in my hands, and I'm keeping it safe.

You, too, are pack leaders. You are responsible for your cubs, your partners, your aged parents.

One day life will throw you lemons, and it's down to you to be strong enough to greet them with a sharp knife and a grater, not a large gin and tonic.

Make sure you're ready. For them, as well as for you.

Here endeth the lesson!

SM x

P.S. Mr SM has just called me from work where, it appears, he has been reading my blog. He is outraged. He wishes it to be known that he is, in fact, Pack Leader. My response? "Yes, dear."

14 days - Discovering Mindfulness

We got through the weekend, ladies! (are there any blokes reading this? If so, do shout and I'll stop being so sexist). Congratulations to Kags who did her first big night out sober - woo hoo! Love and hugs to Whimsical (great username!) who was out drinking until 3am Sunday morning and felt terrible yesterday. We've all been there, and we're with you.

14 days in, and here's what I've noticed:

Bright eyes and clear, sort of dewy fresh, skin. And I've lost 2 pounds and about an inch off the muffin top. I'm not yet at the 'hot mama, careful as you walk past building sites' stage, but definitely not looking as raddled as I did. Yay!

Cravings not as bad as they were. I've realised that my danger periods are the old 'wine o'clocks' i.e. around 1pm and 6pm. The way I get through these tough times is to indulge myself. I lie down on the sofa with a good magazine or book, or I have a bath with bubbles, candles and some chilled music - just for 30 minutes until the craving passes. And it does.

I'm not as distracted as I was (see previous post - withdrawal symptoms), so I am managing to (more or less) get through my 'to do' list for the day. And - thank goodness - the digestion seems to be back to normal.

But the big change is that I have suddenly discovered the ability to live in the moment. For the first time in as long as I can remember I can do 'mindfulness'. It strikes me that mindfulness is impossible for an alcohol dependant. We are either wishing time away so we can get rid of the hangover, or wishing it away because we're longing for the next drink or - most likely - both simultaneously. The last thing we want to do is linger in the moment. Maybe we're in the moment when we take the first sip of the first glass, but we're very quickly looking forward to pouring the next one.

The other issue with alcohol and mindfulness is that we use our drinking to take the edges off life - to make it all a bit fuzzy. This is the antithesis to mindfulness, which is about noticing everything clearly and sharply - colours, smells, sounds, our own breathing.

Mindfulness has been in the news a lot recently. Wikipedia define it as "the intentional, accepting and non-judgemental focus of one's attention on the emotions, thoughts and sensations occurring in the present moment." (Try doing that drunk). The effects of mindfulness include alleviation of anxiety, depression, stress, handling emotions and treating substance abuse disorders. Hey, what's not to like?

So, Sunday morning I take my youngest (aged 5) for a walk with the dog round the local cemetery (sounds ghoulish, but it's beautiful). Half way round and I realise that I am absolutely in the moment. Not wishing away a hangover, not checking the time constantly to see when I can pour the first glass. I'm seeing all the daffodils appearing around the gravestones, the glorious spring light and the terribly poignant inscriptions on the monuments. The little one and I play 'who can find the most angels' (not celestial ones, sadly - stone ones). She turns to me and asks " How old are you again, Mummy?" "As old as the hills", I reply. She pauses, thinking, then asks "how old are the hills, Mummy?" I laugh till I cry.

Here's my mindfulness quote for the day: "You must live life in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look towards another land; there is no other life but this." Henry David Thoreau.

Best of luck to you all. Stay in touch. X

Sober Saturdays

I think Saturday is the hardest day of all. I've noticed that my page views drop by 50% from Friday to Saturday. Hopefully that's because we're all busy with family time rather than out getting trollied ;-) I was thinking about Kags last night - one of my readers - and hoping that she got through her first big night out sober. Please let us know, Kags!

I thought I'd compare and contrast my day yesterday with how it would have gone 'in the old days' (i.e. 2 weeks ago) in the company of - approximately - 2 bottles of wine.

Yesterday: Woke up at 6.30 full of beans after 7 hours deep sleep. Went downstairs to drink coffee and write blog, then back to bed for big group hugs as the rest of the family woke up - husband, 3 kids and dog all under duvet (dog pretending not to be there as 'officially' he's banned). Bounced down to kitchen followed by the merry band at about 8.30am to make breakfast.

Drinking days: Would have been awake since about 4am drinking pints of water and stressing about anything and everything. By about 7am would drop back off to sleep. At around 7.30am when kids and dog start piling in would hide head under pillow and hope that it all went away. Would give up eventually (about 8.30am) and get up grumpy and knackered.

Yesterday: Husband and son went off to football club. My eldest (11) was playing her oboe in a big music competition in the afternoon and hadn't done any practice all week. She played her competition piece and it was pretty awful.  I quickly realised that she was nervous about the afternoon, told her that it didn't matter at all, it was only practice for playing in public and, if she really didn't want to do it, we could pull out. She thought about it for a bit and then said that she really didn't want to let her teacher down. She played the piece a few more times and it was sounding way better. We then decided we should have a break, put Spotify on loud in the kitchen and danced.

Drinking days: Eldest would have played her competition piece badly. I would have yelled at her for not having practiced all week, and told her that she was letting her teacher down. She would have stomped upstairs to her room and refused to play any more. The bad atmosphere would have prevailed until it was time to leave for the competition.

Yesterday: We had a jolly family lunch. I drank water. Husband had a beer (I've become obsessed by watching what he's drinking!). Eldest and I hopped into car in a good mood and headed off.

Drinking days: I would have been having an endless internal monologue about whether/how much to drink at lunch time. I would persuade myself that I absolutely had to have a glass of wine to 'take the edge off' the competition nerves. Having had one I'd want another. I'd try to work out how much I could drink and still be under driving limit. I'd consider sending husband to competition. Daughter would complain vociferously on basis that her father is tone deaf (true). Another argument would take place. I'd decide that two glasses was bound to be under limit. We'd leave with me grumpy because I hadn't drunk enough, and guilty because I'd drunk too much. Daughter would still be cross with me for yelling at her over lack of practice, plus worried that - due to her big sulk - she hadn't done any practice at all!

Yesterday: Daughter played beautifully and came out with top prize for under 12s - medal and a cup. We were both totally gobsmacked. As I was sober I was sufficiently socially aware to spot the rictus grins of the assembled tiger mums and realise that we had to scarper quick before we were lynched. We got to the car and whooped all the way home.

Drinking days: I would have hated arriving at competition as I'd have to 'air kiss/hug' all the Mums I knew while trying not to breathe alcohol on them. Daughter would have done fine, but not won anything due to lack of practice, and we would have left grateful to have got it all over and done with, vowing not to go again the next year.

Yesterday: Got home and celebrated with a cup of tea (actually felt v cross at not being able to crack open champagne, but craving only lasted ten minutes and I got through it!), managed not to post unbearably smug photo of daughter holding cup on Facebook. We all went out to local bistro for steak frites. I drank water. Husband drank 2 glasses red wine, one glass sauternes (see, I'm doing it again!). Watched 2 episodes of new box set on sofa without falling asleep, then slept like a log for 7 hours.

Please let m know how you got on, and - for all my UK readers - HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!