My little house

How on earth are we hurtling towards the end of May already? I can’t believe it, January seemed to drag and now it’ll be the longest day before we know it and so far the things I have achieved in this big “year off to sort everything out and get my house and garden finished” is a big fat zero. Ok not actually zero, maybe 0.5 – I have managed to buy a pot to hang outside my front door, complete with plant to go in it, but it hasn’t yet made the journey from my Mum’s house back to mine so I am not holding my breath about it getting put up in the foreseeable future. I’ve also managed to buy the glass shelf for my bathroom which I first looked at and considered buying 2 years ago. But I haven’t found the motivation to put the shelf up…

Actually, that’s not completely true. It’s not the motivation which is missing. It’s my Dad.

This is the house we built, and I don’t know how to go on building it without him here. I want to. I want to achieve everything we talked about, and make my little home the home we both knew it could be. But he isn’t here to do it with me, and instead  find myself aimlessly starring at wall plugs wishing I could check with him that I have picked up the right one. So I put it back in the box, and put my glass shelf on one side to be looked at another day when I can find someone to help me.  But I never get to finding that day or contacting that person.

I love my little house and I want to finish it. But I am also scared to. S is looking at houses, he will be moving out in a few months time, but all of the houses he is looking at are being assessed not just for his needs right now, but for renting potential for when we move in together properly in a few years time. I know this should excite me, but when we talk about it I also realise that that means I have a few years left in my little house and then I have to leave it…. and I don’t want to.

What I want is to take my little house, pick it up and move it to somewhere where I can stretch it out a bit and give it bigger rooms. Maybe fit in another bedroom and a bigger kitchen. A dining room would be nice, and I would love to have my own private garden where I can put the bins where I want without having to worry about how my neighbours will put their bins out. I would also give myself a drive and a front garden…. I’m not after Buckingham Palace but it would be nice to have a little more room.

But to get more room I have to leave.

I know, I know, I can hear you all telling me off as I type this “this is a long way in the distance” and “you never know what the future holds” … and you are right, but I do know that that future does not hold any new memories about my Dad and I hate that.

Every since I was a child I have tried to put off stuff I don’t like. I would stay up to the early hours, pretending that if I didn’t fall asleep tomorrow couldn’t come whenever I was apprehensive about something, and I still do that as an adult sometimes. I want to finish my house and have it clean and tidy, without tools hanging around. But doing that, without Dad is something I am not looking forward to and so I am putting it off until tomorrow, but then, just as I did when I was a child and would wake up stressed and shattered, I am waking up the next day regretting my actions, or lack there of.

An unusual Naturelle Cosmetics Royal Coffee Scrub review

So as promised here is my Naturelle Cosmetics Royal Coffee Scrub review, however as I am still on my slow, slightly broken old lap top I am going to do this review without any pictures… I just don’t think my laptop will survive, so instead I would like you all to close your eyes, ok maybe don’t actually close your eyes as that would make the whole reading of the blog post a little tricky, but let’s pretend that you are closing your eyes so that you can imagine the picture I will attempt to paint with my words and hopefully by the end of this blog post you too will be assured of two things:

  1. The scrub is pretty awesome. It will have you inviting everyone you know to stroke you and, as if that isn’t weird enough, you will feel so strokeably soft that when there is no one else around you will find you end up stroking yourself.
  2. It will become abundantly obvious why I blog rather than attempt to do any proper writing. Apologise to anyone who classes blogging as proper writing, I would not refer to myself as a writer, in fact I barely consider myself good enough to be a blogger but I digress.

As I have previously mentioned a couple of times I do love this product, and I will be going out an spending my own money on it once I have used up all of the free bag I was sent. The bag that it comes in looks like a bag you would buy coffee ground in, I am hoping that is intentional. And this particular product has a brilliantly blue label on it, with white zigzags which take up the top quarter of the label and a 100% organic ingredients stamp on it, which I love.

In my opinion, the label on the back of the packaging is a little lacking for my liking. I would have appreciated some guidance as to how to use the product – I know, it’s a body scrub so it should be quite simple, but the first time I used it was just before I met S’s parents for the first time and so I applied a handful to my arm and freaked out as my arm turned a lovely coffee colour. Being one to slightly over-react I was convinced that this colour would mean that I was tanned slightly and I was convinced I would be meeting the parents for the first time whilst modelling the apparent worst fake tan known to man. However as luck would have it this was not the case and the scrub and the colouring washed straight off. I don’t know about you, but I am a little bit of a rule follower, and for something like this I could have done with a little guidance as to how much I should be using. Do I need a pea sized amount or is it one pack per scrubbing? Also, and again this could just be a me thing, but I would have liked to know if I was ok to put my wet hand into the bag or should I be attempting to sprinkle the scrub onto my hand? I will admit I did try the sprinkling and it did not work so I reverted to sticking in my whole hand and I am pleased to say the mixture has not gone clumpy, which was my fear.

The whole sprinkling fiasco, also raises another story to tell you. The stuff is a bugger to clean up. I last used the scrub a fortnight ago, and yet some is still on the side of my bath which isn’t washing away. I know, tomorrow, when I actually find time to clean the bathroom, still haven’t fully sorted out a workable schedule with mum that leaves me time to clean my house, the scrub will wash away. It’s not like it permanently marks or anything like that, but this scrub is definitely something to use when you have time to pamper yourself fully and then clean the bathroom post pampering or live with stuff on the side for a while.

The other comment I would make about this is the smell. When I first opened it my entire bathroom stunk of the scrub (coffee and tea tree mix) for a good few weeks, however it was left out on the side so I don’t know if this would have been so pungent had I put it in the cupboard and closed the top down. The smell isn’t unpleasant in the slightest but you are aware that you have a packet of this stuff open.

I’m not sure what else to tell you really. I have very much kept this product as a treat and have only used it a couple of times. But I am so impressed with it that I think my friends will be getting a bag of the scrub for Christmas as I genuinely think it is fab and I really think you should treat yourself and try some too!

*Disclaimer: I was sent a packet of the Naturelle Cosmetics Royal Coffee Scrub for free for the purpose of the review, however this has no way affected my opinion of the product nor my ability to badly describe it on a lap top that I am convinced will break if I upload any photos… which gets me thinking, if anyone is looking for a lap top to review….

Also see lovely pictures here and do let me know in the comments how close your mental image was to the actual packaging.

Did you miss me?

Well, I have so much to tell you I don’t know where to start. It been 22 days since I left “proper” work and started caring for my Mum full time and despite some bumps in the road I can hand on heart tell you this is the best thing I ever did. I am sleeping, I am actually getting into bed at 11pm and getting a full 8 hours sleep most nights. Of course this is helped slightly by the fact that on a number of nights I am not getting into bed alone.

S got the job near me and has sot of moved in. I say sort of as actually it’s only 3 nights a week, and it’s only until he finds a house of his own up this way, but still eek! Also, this sort of move in has meant that I have had to meet his folks. Quite rightly, they didn’t like the idea of him moving in with a complete stranger. They are lovely and despite a few set backs the first time I went to meet them – am I the only person who stupidly decides to try new products for the very first time just before a big important event?! – they think I am lovely and keep inviting me down to see them. Which is pretty awesome. I also met his siblings, who apparently also approve which is something of a record as apparently before me they have hated every single girlfriend S has ever introduced them to. So I am claiming this as a massive win.

I’m also desperately trying to think of what else I have to tell you… I know I had more stuff, but being completely honest this is the first Saturday night I have had off in about a month and I am currently starting my second glass of wine, and I am yet to make dinner. As it is a lovely night, I have put Poppy in the garden which means I can plug in my old, horrendously slow laptop without fear she will chew through the cable. She did this to S, and as he is a little bit of a techy geek, the type of laptop he uses has charger cables which cost £80 to replace. I will admit when he first told me I felt awful and considered buying a replacement, but then when I thought about it I realised that a. I had pre-warned him that she chews cable and so him choosing to have her out and the cable on the floor was his own stupid mistake and b. he is very lucky he did not electrocute my rabbit, and so I went from wondering how to apologise to him to thinking about how he would apologise to me.

S has been lovely and built me a new computer, so that I can continue with my blogging now I am no longer at work. Being honest a lot of my blog posts were written on my lunch breaks, and so until that is up and running I don’t know how sporadic my updates will be. I do know that there will be a review post coming up soon, do you remember the awesome vegan face cream I was sent a while back? (link here for reference) Well the lovely people at Naturelle Cosmetics sent me some body scrub to review (spoiler alert: it’s amazing!) which I know I must do, but as adding those two links has caused my lap top to throw a bit of a hissy I am not yet brave enough to try adding photos as well as links… which might explain the random header image. I took a two glasses of wine inspired random pick of pictures I had already got in the “back end” of the blog.

Anyway, I really should go and make a start on tea. I hope you are all well? Let me know what’s going on with you in the comments, and I promise as soon as I can I will be back. In the meantime, know I am thinking about you often and sending nothing but good wishes

Speak soon XXX


I failed at adulting

That’s the thought I can’t get out of my head. The stick which I use to beat myself. The notion that I couldn’t cut it in the “real” world and I am running to my Mum to bail me out, and no matter how many times people tell me I am being ridiculous, that the plan to give up work and become a full-time carer to my mother is a brave thing to do, I can’t stop feeling like I have failed. I entered the working world and I couldn’t cut it.

I can remember my Dad telling me time and time again how people are more than their jobs, that a job title didn’t matter and that so long as I was happy that’s all that matters.  But I can’t help but feel that society says different and the fact that I will no longer work 9 – 5.30 five days a week means that I am a failure. It’s ridiculous. I have always spend said “I don’t live to work, I work to live” but now that I am about to do that, spend my days taking my Mum for days out or shopping and spending time being a ‘lady what lunches’ the voices in my head won’t be quieted.

I worry what people who don’t know me will think. I know I am being ridiculous. My friends, family and S have all been ridiculously supportive but I worry about what S’s friend and family will think.  Ok, my job hasn’t been what I envisaged for a long time but at least I could tell everyone I “worked in marketing” even if the reality was somewhat different. Now, what do I say when I am asked?

I’m scared I am making the biggest mistake of my life, one there is no way back from. Mum and I have talked vaguely about finances but all she says is “I won’t see you struggle” and while I know she won’t that doesn’t answer the question I have of what my life will look like in 6 months’ time. I also worry I am underestimating how hard this will be. Right now I only see the positives. If I want to spend a weekend with S, then I will spend the week days either side of that with Mum meaning I needn’t feel guilty that I am not with her when I am busy with S. I see a summer where I can bring her to my house and spend time working in my garden. I might finally get the planters sorted I have been planning for the last 2 years but life keeps getting in the way of.  I see summer days when I can take a break for a few hours and go for a cycle ride because the sun is shining. I see days out with Mum, running errands together, making memories.

If that’s how it works out then I will be living a dream, or as close to a dream as you can get.

So why can’t I shake the notion I am a failure?

I’ve been struggling, and too ashamed to admit it.

I handed in my notice at work. Being honest it has been a long time coming, around about New Year I realised I couldn’t go on as I was. I was constantly tired, had no time for me and had genuinely thought, more than once, that a potential way out would be death. I was drowning and fast. I felt constantly guilty, was having to book to see friends months in advance and despite declaring at least once a week I was going home to clean I never actually found the time to do it and instead had reverted to not letting people into my house, unless unavoidable, and keeping the curtains closed so the neighbours wouldn’t see the mess.

Of course, I kept this to myself. Well, there wasn’t really anyone to tell.

Occasionally I would have people round, but all that happened was the crap would get hidden in drawers or bulk piled into the bottom of wardrobes. The state of my house, the house that Dad and I had worked so hard on, was getting out of hand. All I saw was projects not finished, items not dusted, floors not vacuumed.  I know I should have done it, but when you are walking out of your front door at half 8 and walking back in gone midnight, well the motivation just isn’t there.

I was very aware I was neglecting my home and myself, but what choice did I have? Poppy was also being horrendously neglected. She was having to survive on about an hour’s companionship a day, which is not enough, and as I replaced the time I could spend with her to treats to at least help alleviate the boredom she got fat.

I was constantly tired but unable to sleep. I felt constantly guilty. Time spent with S or with friends was time not spent with Mum, time spent hanging out at Mum’s was another day of Poppy alone at my house. My diary was full, every hour not at work accounted for, and despite me promising myself that this was the year I put myself first, cheating myself of time doing what I wanted and enjoyed was the only way to fit everyone else in.

Although I wasn’t depressed, I could feel myself slipping towards it. I was aware of little things I was, or rather wasn’t, doing which harked back to when things were really crap before. I was going weeks without cleaning my hair, the sniff test was being used on clothing found on the floor and even cooking, which used to bring me such great pleasure, was reduced to whatever I could cook quickly in one pan.

Then Mum made a throwaway comment about paying me instead of her carers and a plan was formulated. I am a mixture of excited and terrified.