1. you're sick honey, it's time for a time out.

Nobody tells you life is easy. We hear it from quite early on. Usually around the time you make your GCSE choices in highschool. I like to imagine a scenario where my father sits me down and explains to me that life from now on will involve careful planning and making lot's of good choices whilst my mum cooks us a lovely family dinner in the background. I imagine him lovingly patting me on the shoulder whilst telling me how proud he is of me so far. Of course this wasn't how it was at all for me. My dad didn't even live/work in the same country as me growing up and our relationship was strained at best back then. My mum however was and still is amazing. But unfortunately we'd just lost my nan and this wasn't just like losing someone who you happened to see a few times a year or on occasional weekends. Mum and I had lived with my nan my whole life and she was, in my eyes, a second mother. The last thing I cared about was making good choices. It was too painful to even imagine a day without her, let alone an entire future.

I messed up in school. I had been expelled by 15 and I never really had any sense of regret or understanding of those consequences. Maybe even now I don't fully understand. It's something that's always causing chaos in my life. The inability to make a good choice. The impulsivity to always however make a bad one. And this bad habit of mine has slowly, at almost 27, caught up with me. I got through bad choice after bad choice with the attitude of "It's ok, everything will work out. There's always a way around it". But then I hit a brick wall. Tens of thousands of pounds of debt, a repossessed house and lot's of other mistakes along the way has finally resulted in a stalemate. No, everything is not going to be ok. Currently, things couldn't actually be worse. The stress of these bad choices has at last cast me in shadows and I truly see no way out. My ability to work my way out of a bad situation into a semi-better one has been worn out. Now I am back sleeping in my childhood bedroom, unable to even function as an adult, let a lone a mother or wife.

Somewhat of an intervention was called recently when my husband returned from work and I lay sobbing in a duvet in pyjamas I'd worn for 3 days straight. I'd ended our marriage. He told me he was worried. Asked me what was going on. I told him I couldn't cope anymore. I couldn't pretend. I couldn't take care of myself. I didn't want to fight it anymore.  Was it the stress of the children? The fact we had a nest of rats living in our downstairs bathroom? The bailiffs chasing me for years of debt? Was it the stress of years of unhappiness eating away at the core of my soul or the fact I'd been battling chronic illnesses for the last few years with no solution? A doctor was called as was my mum and the decision was made. I was sick, mentally and physically and the solution was that I needed some space to figure things out.

Already consumed by the guilt I felt for pretty much every thing I had or hadn't done in life, there was more to add. The acceptance that I truly wasn't a good mum anymore. I'd failed completely. My children could not go another day witnessing the vacant zombie mother they'd been so unfortunately blessed with. So that was that. A bag had been packed and I moved back in with my mother until I was able to get the professional help I now needed and still need.

Why is it that I had to go down this route? Why couldn't I be like all the other mums I know? They make it look so easy. You see the occasional Facebook breakdown but you know it's not the same as the turmoil you are facing more days than not. It has never been the children that were the hard part. Sometimes, just simply lifting my head off my pillow is difficult enough. 

Thoughts race through my mind so fast I can't decipher them. Make tea, let the dog out, go to the toilet. But which order? Already I'm faced with the inability to make a decision. I'll boil the kettle first. But then I forget what I'm doing and sometimes I just stand there at the bottom of the stairs doing nothing.

Sitting down with mum whilst she enjoys a glass of wine we discuss my 'issues'. She wants to know what hurdles I'm facing and why I can't seem to jump them. It all boils down to one thing I don't understand or really have a name for. Sensory overload. I can hear the humming of a lamp. The dripping of a tap. The dog licking his paws at the other end of the house. I can smell the slightest scent. Silly little noises that nobody else seems to notice. They interrupt my thoughts and they're loud. Everything is muddled up. Colours are not correct anymore. I failed my eye exam and was told I had became colour blind in my adult life which is almost impossible for a female. I can't get dressed because I can't stand to feel the texture of my clothes against my skin. I am so highly sensitive to food, alcohol, people's feelings and well... just about everything. It's drains me to the point of absolute fatigue.

Good old mother gets onto google.

"Perhaps you're autistic?" she suggests, then reels off a list of things that match me to a T.

I actually laugh because the idea is ridiculous. I don't have any special gifts. I socialise well despite my unwillingness to want to on the inside. 

"It can't be, you'd have known when I was a child," I tell her. And so she reels off a list of things that I did/didn't do as a child that could possibly in the smallest way possible be related to autism.

It isn't unusual for an adult to become diagnosed later in life but I looked at the website and I didn't match the crucial criteria. So we ruled autism out. Then we came across ADHD & ADD. And everything. made. sense. It was definitely possible that this was what I was dealing with. It explained everything and just reading article after article, symptom list after symptom list, I finally had some clarity. There may just be a reason for my inability to be a responsible grown up afterall.

Prelude to the messiest confession of a mother incomplete

Dear poor, unfortunate person who may be about to read this unusually long and confusing confession,

There comes a point when you sit down on the sofa and cry. You cry a lot because everything inside has ultimately came to the point of eruption. Not the pretty sort, like fireworks or an orgasm. More like the ugly sort which leaves a trail of destruction. Like a volcano, but that's such a cliche and I would prefer not to use it because I hope I'm more imaginative than that. I guess though, I'm not.

You cry so much that it hurts your chest and your throat is sore and you're on the brink of going unconscious because your poor body cannot handle the emotional pain that comes with this uncontrollable urge to just let go. You haven't had a terrible life. Quite the opposite to be honest. You have everything society has led you to believe you want and you even have a some-what bright future ahead. But there is no denying it. You're dead inside.

The school walk. I look like everyone else. My hair's usually an unkempt bun sat wonky on the top of my head but I'm still a normal mum with normal kids wearing normal clothes doing a normal school pick up. Other mums say hello and I smile and say hello too and then we natter about something to do with children or housework or how it's been such a long time since we'd had a break from the domestic lifestyle we feel confirms our identity. But we laugh it off together. It's ok really. We are driven by our roles as mothers and wives. As women with responsibilities. We are women with a purpose; the idealistic upbringing of our children. The bell rings and then we collect our children from their classrooms. My child is filthy. Somehow muddy with scuffed shoes. With snot smeared across his cheek and his lunch gathered under his fingernails. My other child looks somewhat cleaner but her hair resembles a bird's nest. It's such a mess. There's a moment where I question what the other parents might be saying. Surely they can see how untidy my children are. I'm failing. I'm not a good mum. "Look at the state of you, what have you been doing today?" you say loudly enough for other parents to hear. And that's good because now they know it's not because I sent them this way. Now I'm not the one responsible. I'm still a good mum. I welcome my children more appropriately now. I tell them how happy I am to see them and they are happy too! They're so happy to be finished for the day and to see me, their mum looking normal. Not like how they might have seen me last night when they came down for a drink and I was sobbing into a pillow with mascara streaming down my cheeks.  I kiss them and take their grubby hands and queue with the other families as they wait to exit the playground.

The kids are screaming and frantic and buzzing and so full of life. Other mums are talking and I hear some telling off their children and then there's the toddlers complaining for food or running off.

The cars are in some sort of traffic jam waiting for parents and children to cross the road on their way out of the school. It's so loud. So horribly loud. But I'm still smiling because everybody else is. We have our children now. Life is complete again. Life was meaningless for the 6 hours they were away from home. That's how it's suppose to feel.  But for some, that just isn't so. For some, something is still missing.

spring cleaning 101 (more like 10.0)

Nothing beats that feeling when you realise it's 4pm and the sun is still shining! Hello Spring, you've been missed... terribly.

Goodbye winter bugs, cold mornings, icy pavements and fattening snacks curled up on the sofa. I think I hibernated so well this past winter that I may have made an indentation of my arse into the sofa.

I welcome the ease that comes with going about my day in the warmer, sunnier weather. There's just something about it that makes you feel alive.  No more stale smelling blankets or thick wooly socks that suffocate your toes.

Oh yes, I'm ready for springtime. And along with springtime comes that thing that you should be doing. Spring. Cleaning.

Okay, okay, put the yellow marigolds back in the cleaning basket! The rules have changed. Forget everything you think you know and follow my basic spring cleaning essential tips.

(P.S .... It's not really a 101 on spring cleaning. It's more like a 10.0)

If you're like me and my household, two weeks by a posh pool in the Maldives is never. going. to. happen. We'd be lucky if we managed to fandango a week in Spain.

But what could be more fun than piling everyone into the car and taking the old family caravan 5 minutes down the road to an empty field?  Not much, let me tell you.  

So your first job is to get that vacation booked asap. Organised peeps have already got this covered. It's already booked and their passports are in date too. But ours aren't. In fact, we don't even have passports anymore. We lost them. 

So, if you're vacationing 'Williamson' style, you're doing the caravan holiday and you're going to love it because it's a change of scenery. And at least it beats washing the windows.

Forget clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Anything lost in there has been long forgotten. 

YOU DON'T NEED WHATEVER IT IS. 

You do need some downtime though and with the sun shining you need a good excuse to be out in the garden (no, put down the garden gloves). 

So pick up a new book - something exciting - because escapism is by far better than tackling the spiders under the stairs.

I'd like to list some clever reference to the guy who discovered space, though Google gave me more than the one option, but needless to say someone DID discover it. 

Don't assume nothing good comes from staring into space. We are creative souls and our ideas don't just come from no-where. It's during our lazy day-dreaming periods that we figure things out. We evaluate life without even knowing we're doing so. 

So before you sort out all of your laundry, spend a good ten minutes of "wasteful" staring at nothing time. You might surprise yourself. Or you might fall asleep out of boredom but either way some self-reflection never hurt anyone. Well, sometimes it does, but it's worth a shot anyway.

I know there's dust behind the curtains but it's okay because instead of wasting time cleaning it, you can just leave the house instead. It's not a permanent solution of course but getting some fresh air, perhaps even a tan in the nice Spring sun is definitely better than spending an afternoon dusting.

Leash little Arthur or pick up Gramps and spend some quality time out of the house. Every day if you want to. If you're feeling particularly strong about avoiding the dust at home, why not pack a tent and camp for the night. Pup would love that! The kids too.

Voila... Dust free (for a little while).

This can benefit you in two ways. 

Spring decorating? Pfft... Taken care of! Set those kiddies loose with some paint and a paint brush and you'll have yourself a one-of-a-kind designer decor job.  

Secondly, it's so much fun. Don't be afraid to get involved. It's the opposite of cleaning, I get that. But digging deeper into your artistic side is somewhat cleansing for the mind. So embrace that messy play and be creative with those kids of yours.

Been stressing about how messy the house is? How the kids bedroom look like a bomb's gone off? Pop to a local (preferably free) museum and see how people really used to live. It was tough. We take our lives now for granted. 

You might see what a real gone-off bomb looks like too and feel 110% better about your own home.

Education trumps housework and there's nothing wrong with taking a moment to think about how lucky you are. Sod the cobwebs.

No kids, no other half, no jobs. You need this. The space and time alone will be like a luxury vacation, for one. 

But the real goal here is the less people at home, the less housework there'll be to do. Hand the kids over to someone you trust for the weekend and send the hubster off on a fishing trip... Or to a concert... Or just anywhere away from the house he'll agree to.

Put those feet up. Today we're working on re-gaining blood flow to the brain and nobody's coming home until at least tomorrow.

This works a little like reverse psychology. See, everybody thinks they know that when you have a party you're suppose to clean the whole entire house. It's what couples do. They clean every inch of the house just so a load of people can come and mess it all up again.

This time, skip the pre-cleaning. As long as you're serving alcohol and party snacks, your guests are happy.

Moments before the party is due to end, have a little sob in the kitchen. When your friends come rushing to your aid, you can tell them how upset you are that nobody has helped to clean up afterwards and you've spent weeks planning this for them all.

Hopefully you invited your OCD friend. We all have one (note: I do not take OCD lightly, being a sufferer myself - although I do have a different form of the illness) because she will lead the clean-up crusade.

If you pulled off the strop well enough, everyone of your guests will have pitched in and helped tidy and clean up. Result? You partied and got the housework done.

When you realise that following all of the above only leads to the gradual decline of the state of your home, it's time to pull the sick card.

"Oh honey, I'm so feverish. Please can you just put the wash load on? Oh, and the dinner needs to be cooked but I'm just so....weak."

Loving husband obliges. Loving husband is the key to getting things back in order. What? It's okay. He doesn't mind. He's not so bad at the washing up.

Hopefully when you re-emerge healthier and over your sickness the house will be all sparkly clean and you can reward hubby later.

So we reach number ten and this one works as a spring clean avoidance as well as maybe even some spring cleaning inspiration.

Virtual world online gaming sites like Second Life get a lot of stick for causing corruption and are often mistaken as dating sites. But the reality is that some of them, such as Second Life, are incredible platforms to be creative.

Now, I'm not saying you should go and get a second life at all. But if you're like me and money's tight and you long to indulge in interior design and home-proudness, there's nothing wrong with using a platform such as a virtual world to explore your creative side.

With Second Life, you can buy a cheap plot of virtual land and either build or buy your dream home. There are hundreds of thousands of options! Take caution though, a second life should never replace your first. Of course there's The Sims too, but your options are limited.

You may even find that after replicating your idea of a perfect home you will feel inspired enough to re-create this in your real life house.

So there you have it. My tips for spring cleaning. If you're looking for more traditional tips, there's always Pinterest *winks*

Happy Spring!

the whys and reasons for starting yet another blog

There's certain expectations involved when you're a Mrs (or a Mr) and so you try to shape yourself to what society says you should be.

I should be washing the bed sheets. Yes, I know. But one more cup of tea first, Okay? And yes, I should fill my house with the comforting smell of a slow cooking stew. And perhaps I should be washing up the dishes. And then I best make sure I'm clean, tidy and shaven before my ever loving partner in life returns home from that tedious place most people call work.

But there comes a point when you wake up in the morning and you ask yourself - "Why must I be and do and act out all of these things and tasks and chores?"

Because that's what is expected.  It's not because the world will end if heaven forbid you rebel and decide you're going to prance around the house singing and dancing to Aretha Franklin on full blast (yes, in your pyjama shorts with unkempt hair - it wouldn't be the same any other way) until the joyful time of collecting the kids from school comes around.

I'm a keen blog reader. I love reading those blogs... You know the ones where they get at least 60 comments per post and they've reviewed an endless array of make-up or posted a tutorial on how to revamp your laundry room so it looks super fresh when really all it does is make you pity your self because you know your washing machine is in a tight space in the kitchen.  That kitchen where the paint is chipping off and there's oil spills and fat plastered to the wall.

Living up to the realisation that you are not that domesticated goddess you're suppose to be has consequences.  The blogging world is full of these admirable women who make life look so sunshiny and when you compare your lousy self to them you can't help but beat yourself up for not being better.

So I introduce my latest blog. A blog that highlights the reality of life for the less than organised mothers, wives and creatives. The ones who go to the shop in their slippers and have an endless to-do list and mucky faced children.

I'm not just Mum. I'm Leanne *smiles*.