The Problem with Princesses

Well, I just got round to the frankly rather irritating task of hand-washing the Girl's princess dresses. Actually, I did it in two batches (small house, and they all need to air-dry), but still. 

All fancy dress outfits these days require hand-washing, which isn't really the issue for me. Fill a bowl in the sink with water, squish them in one at a time, and there you go. But afterwards, with two dresses scrunched on my draining boards awaiting hanging space in the shower (these things drip forever, I swear), I got to thinking.

I just washed away a swirl of glitter from one of these dresses, from a pattern glued onto the fabric. It looked lovely on the shelf, but I am all too aware that its days are numbered. When the glitter is gone, it will look a lot more shabby. 

Yes, sharp-eyed parents of Rapunzel fans may know that the purple dress

is technically sponge-clean only but, that didn't work. It never does.

Most of her other dressing-up garments are similarly fragile. I gently tease the marks out of the polyester, because they are too fragile to go in the washing machine. That said, there is so little natural material in these dresses that everything comes out with remarkable ease. I mean, even tomato stains rinse right out.

Still, I look at her little collection of dresses, all about £15 a go, and wonder at the point of it all. None of them can stand up to thorough use - they all rely on little girls playing princess tea-parties and practising curtseys no doubt - but the Girl has a big brother, and a rather more enthusiastic streak. She is the Princess with a Light Sabre, or a Princess with a Sword (even if the "sword" is actually one of my scarves). 

She's going to ruin the dresses long before she outgrows them. And, while I'm totally on-board for the sword fighting, I can't help but think it's a shame that her make-believe clothes can't stand up to her make-believe ambitions. And seeing as I have a sewing machine, I've gotten to wondering if there isn't something I can do about that. 

This grand scheme may all come to naught. But I'm definitely going to look into what I can do to make a sturdier dress that won't rub off all over my sofa (seriously, there is purple glitter everywhere from this latest dress), and will let my daughter be the Sword-Fighting Princess she is in her head. Maybe I can even give it a scabbard. 

Watch this space, eh?

The Tea is Taking Over

I sometimes joke that I "live on tea". It's an obvious exaggeration, something I jest about as I make cup number six of the morning. Still, it has the ring of truth about it.

I know from past experience that if I don't drink at least one cup of everyday tea in the morning, by the afternoon a bit of caffeine withdrawal has begun to kick in, and I'll have a headache. I'm happy to stand up and admit my caffeine addiction - at present and for the foreseeable future it's a relatively benign one.

For me though, tea goes beyond just a caffeine hit in the morning to wake me up, or to stretch out a long evening. I did a mini-stocktake earlier and discovered that in my cupboards I have twenty-one different varieties of tea, four of which I have in both teabag and loose-leaf form.

I even made a handy (and totally not-weird) list which I stuck to my kitchen wall. 

If you deciphered my handwriting, or if you don't care, you can skip this next paragraph, because I'm going to list them all:

Everyday (+L); Rosehip; Breakfast (L); Cardamom; Earl Grey (+L); Rooibos, Green (+L); Morocco (Mint + Spice); Peppermint (+L); Cinnamon; Chamomile; Lemon; Lemon + Ginger; Jasmine (L); Apple + Cinnamon; Gunpowder (L); White tea with Elderflower; Green tea with mango and lychee; Blackberry blueberry + and acai; Cranberry Raspberry + Echinacea; Strawberry + Loganberry. The "L" stands for loose leaf.

I also keep a jar of instant coffee for visitors to drink, along with sugar and sweeteners. None of these three things are used by myself.

After totting it all up and writing it down, I got to thinking. Why do I keep so many varieties? Why do I drink so much tea, too? It's not just the caffeine hit, because most of the listed blends don't contain any particularly measurable quantity of the stuff.

When I was a girl, I can remember knowing that children had squash or water, and grown ups had tea. It was How Things Were. My family were not great consumers of alcohol, so I didn't see them with a glass in hand. No, it was a mug. It was: "Oh, I'm gasping, put the kettle on!" When my mum (dash of milk, no sugar) visits, often first thing she does after the hello-and-hug is to ask for a cuppa.

To this day I consider it a matter of genuine embarrassment if I fail to remember how people take their tea (or if they prefer coffee), or worse, if I forget to offer to put the kettle on at all. It's a social conditioning, a habit which I inherited, and which already the Boy and the Girl are mimicking, holding tea parties for their teddies.

It's a comfort too; a ritual which precedes writing sessions. Do I make a pot, or use a bag in a cup? Do I need the caffeine in the evening, or do I want to relax with chamomile? I have two teapots, a selection of large mugs, and a set of Cath Kidson teacups which are a treasured present from my Dad (milk, one sugar).

If I really want to get into writing, and I have the time, I make a point of getting out my little teapot and making tea with leaves. I set out the pot and strainer at a safe distance from my laptop, and refill when necessary. It breaks up the writing, allowing me to collect my thoughts now and then. I've gotten to the point where I associate certain flavours of tea with certain times of day, or occasions.

Everyday tea is for general drinking. A cup (or preferably two) to wake up with in the morning, and then a steadyish stream throughout the day. Early Grey is for a change, or when I run out of milk. Lemon and Ginger is for when I have a cold, and my various flavoured teas are for the evenings mostly, when the children are in bed and I can sit back and drink without the danger of it going cold without my noticing.

As for why I have so many? Well, if the fact that I located another flavour while writing this (Lemongrass and Ginger, if you're interested) is anything to go by, it could be that I enjoy a wide range of flavours to suit my moods. It could be that I keep a wide range out of habit, to account for visitors and their preference. Or, more simply, it could be that as much as I am addicted to tea, I am also very good at buying it and then losing track of where I've put the boxes afterwards.

As a writer though, I think I'm going to keep telling people it's because I'm creative and eccentric. We all need our little oddities, don't we?

'Tis the Season...

...To be piling on the anxiety, it seems.

I'm like it every year - every season, really, but particularly Christmas it seems, because there's so much to worry about. Gifts to buy, and to wrap, cards to write and send, and now school events to remember, attend, send cakes/money for, and friends to consider.

And as someone who dislikes crowds due to social anxiety, even popping to the shops for a pint of milk can become a little daunting. I get home and want to curl up on the kitchen floor with a cup of tea, reassuring myself that I don't have to go out again. Or I would, except that I do have to go out, because if there's one thing I can rely on at Christmas, it's that the stress of trying to be on top of things and remember everything will lead to me in fact forgetting more than usual.

So far, I have written half of my Christmas cards and posted none. And as I type this, I realise I went shopping earlier (with the Girl in tow) and despite writing "stamps" on the list, forgot to buy any. So that will be another trip out. Tomorrow, it can be tomorrow, and I'll suck up the price of a first class stamp, sighing with relief that due to a bit of travelling around, I only actually have to post three or four cards this year. Or five. Could be five. Either way, hooray for not having a lot of casual friends, eh?

I'm riding the adrenaline rush at the moment and hoping the seizures don't happen at the wrong time. I had two yesterday, and both fortuitously managed to be when my children were at school/pre-school and then asleep. I gloss over the note of fear which whispers into the back of my mind that one day, surely, the law of averages will spring one on me at a bad time. It's a chiming worry which I never listen to, apart from late on those nights when sleep eludes me, and if I were a child again I'd want to turn to the comfort of a parent to reassure me that all is well.

That's the thing about adulthood. I have to smile and reassure my children; all the while I'm fighting the urge to call my own parents and ask them the same thing. The single-parenting aspect gives me so much freedom - I went into town today straight from school and stayed there until I wanted to come home instead of rushing back, feeling as though time were ticking away - but the counter to that freedom is the anxiety that I'm an army of one. Help is on hand, but it's a hand several miles away, to be summoned by a phone I can't always use.

And for every person who helps me, I feel the nagging tug of an obligation to be repaid. A debt I owe, one which mounts with each and every favour I offer to repay in kind but never quite settle to my own satisfaction. Then looms Christmas, and I settle it on myself to repay at least a little with gifts and cards. Gifts and cards which must be bought, prepared, and given. All added stresses which I balance on my scales, adding and subtracting what I can do and what I have to let go. And for the let-gos, do I rush to catch up later, or call for help? My cycle of anxiety grows and multiplies.

Yes, 'Tis the Season. To be Merry, to be Festive, and to smile brightly, all the while I am masking wishes for it to all be over so that I can try and find some time to catch up on the things I have not done, the things I forgot, and the favours I am sure to owe in the New Year.