Month: September 2021

Believe it or not, I’m actually quite shy. Mmmaybe shy’s the wrong word. When I’m faced with groups of people I don’t know — be it on social media or in real time, I tend to sit back, clam up and analyse my environment before I participate in chatter. Then once I’ve warmed up, my shield disintegrates and I’m sociable me. So, for someone who has mostly only been within the realms of Facebook, embarking on my Twitter voyage was unnerving to say the least. I was going public.

I have Facebook and Instagram but that’s within the comfort zone of familiarity. I know my followers. My private photos remain private (yes I know your stuff is never truly private on social media as far as the government, MI5, KGB, Google and any other powerhouse there is out there goes, BUT — and the but is nearly as big as mine) Jo Public can’t see my life. Where was I before I went off on a tangent? Ah yes, my Twitter experience. I was, and in many ways still am, a rookie. However, when I tentatively entered the circle of the writing and Twitter community, I wasn’t expecting it to take me into its bosom and show me just how great it is to be part of likeminded people. I have formed some great friendships and it varies between supporting each other during our writing projects, technical meltdowns (I’m rubbish with techy issues) to offering kindness when we’re struggling, personally.

There’s also banter and a lot of laughter, conveyed through the power of word (as in writing not Microsoft) , gifs and images. Your day can be lifted when you feel bleugh just by a simple message. I’m lucky, because I know there are a lot of negative folk and trolls out there. Although I’ve experienced it personally, I’ve managed to deal with them…again, thanks to the advice of a fellow Twitter friend. I’ve learned so much from the community and they’ve shown kindness. When I thanked one of my Twitter friends, she replied ‘we’re all in the same trenches, so we help each other out.’

So, in a volatile society that we’re living in, ironically, I’ve found peace on social media. Who’d have thought heh? Obviously not me. I am truly grateful to each and every one of those who probably don’t realise what a prop they have been at times and I honestly don’t think I’d have gotten through my manuscript without their help. To make me laugh is tonic to my gin, and more often than not, these people do exactly that. I guess what I’m saying in all of this waffle, is that social media can work amazingly well, if used properly and respectfully.

Right, I’m off for a well earned cuppa and a little chocolate as I wait for my kids to return from after school detention. That pre ‘back to school talk’ lasted all of three days. Aaaanyway, I’m off.

Take care,

Eva x

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…BACK TO SCHOOL No three words are more beautiful than those. Even if Jake Gyllenhaal told me ‘I love you’, I’d be happy but not as happy as when I hear ‘back to school’. Tomorrow I shall watch them trudging up the road towards school and rejoice as they return to detentions, discipline and lots of study.

I love my kids, I do. However, when they’re in the same room/building as each other, all hell breaks loose. Granted my eldest lives and works away from the family nest, but I still have a 15 and 12 year old to contend with. Moving to the coast has been the best decision. They’re feral and living life as kids did in the 70s and 80s. However, when they’re both home and brooding in their respective bedrooms, it’s as if there’s an evil force that drip feeds bad thoughts into their hormonal fuelled heads; ‘do it, do it now’ and one deems it necessary to break the peace by turning into the agitator. It’s then that the screams and abuse starts, usually spurred by my 12 year old boy provoking his 15 year old sister. It’s often like a scene from The Exorcist. I expect to find her head spinning, Regan MacNeil style. True. I get scared at times. Also true. My neighbours must also get scared at times…I’m almost certain the Pastor living peacefully next door prays with his family and congregation for my lot:

The smart mouth retorts, the catty comments and of course the photographic evidence taken during hostile moments (which adds petrol to a smouldering fire) between them, then reels me into the crossfire. I often feel like the third wheel in all of this, attempting to write/work and be a good mum/mediator/peace finder. It’s like standing precariously on the precipice of a cliff, trying to find the right balance, which inevitably goes wrong. I do try, honest. I try my hardest to zone out and to have an objective point of view, averting a ‘It’s because I’m the youngest/middle child’ outburst spewing out at me as if their position in the pecking order is my fault (which technically it is I suppose). See what I mean? I can’t win. Then, they push and push and push until I go bat shit crazy and sound like a trap queen. They bring out my inner gangster (or gangsta/G if I want to sound cool…which I’m not. I’m mum aka Muggins).

I’m grateful that I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to have three kids, I am, truly. They’re smart, strong willed and bloody funny. Conversely, they are exemplary examples of young adults when we go out. When people approach me and comment on what well mannered, intelligent and confident kids they are, I feel that for every potential ulcer and migraine I get, that it’s been worth it. I’m proud to say I’m their mum.

Will I miss them when they go back to school tomorrow? Erm no. You thought I was getting soft, didn’t you? I’m proud of them but I’m not mad either.

So, back to school tomorrow. I have given them the ‘work hard lecture’ but more importantly, I’ve told them to try not to get detentions or into pointless spats that results in beef with other kids. I don’t want to don my Supermum cloak for a while.

Take care, Eva x

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