A spate of Facebook messages from kind and lovely friends saying that they'd enjoyed reading this blog and enquiring as to whether I am still alive has prompted me to write a New Year's offering for 2013. (The stats are testament to the pleasure - or something - I am giving my readers, luckily only one of whom is in Greece. Anyway, huge apologies to the hundreds of thousands of you, and my mum, who have or find time to keep checking back to see if I've written anything new...)
Tomorrow we are going off to a Tunisia for a week, courtesy of my flexible friend, as I felt it essential to create some time and space for the four of us to re-connect over the holiday period and enter 2013 in better spirits than we leave 2012. As you know only too well, the last three months have been a living hell for all of us. And the Brothers. Well, something akin to that a lot of the time and simply horribly bloody miserable the rest of the time. (I do appreciate that those of you who have experienced greater pain and real hardship will not appreciate the hyperbole and exaggeration I apply to some of these descriptions.)
I am setting the bar for my expectations of the week away (note, I am not describing it as a 'holiday') low and hoping that it will at least provide a rest and a break. There will be no housework or cooking to do! I am taking a DVD player and loads of colouring, cutting and glueing etc for the kids to do. I am taking our beach tennis. Hooray! There is a gym at the hotel and apparently an inside pool but the cynic in me will not believe this until I see it. OH is refusing to let me take a fan-heater, despite the fact that the accommodation is only three star and the woman who sold us the holiday was lying through her teeth when she said it would be swimming weather in early January. Having since checked where Tunisia is on the map (oops!) and the predicted daily temperatures I think it will be mild but not hot and hopefully not wet. But could be chilly in the evenings, hence my desire for heating. I have stayed in all too many cheap Greek places off-season and found them intolerably cold.
The deal is an all-inclusive one, so we won't need to worry about the kids wanting to try everything on the menu before choosing chips to eat. I am taking hats and gloves and so on and am determined that OH and I will enjoy the sea view on the balcony after they go to bed. Having never had a family holiday I wonder how normal people manage the 'all sleeping in one room' thing? I also wonder if there will be a kettle in the room but can't muster the will to overcome the embarrassment of trying to find out. Although if I did I could ask about the heating at the same time I suppose.
Heigh ho. My pet hate is wind so I guess I should be prepared for some bluster. I hope not too much of this will be provided by OH and I, sweeping everyone in the vicinity along with us, as so often happens. We can barely tolerate each other's presence at the moment and the anger and frustration we are feeling is palpable. In fact the blunt truth is that we are behaving towards one another in an utterly unkind and unbearable way. The smallest of actions turns into a hateful exchange, even when the sub-text is an attempt to be loving. 'Why did you buy me fresh crab? Why didn't you ask me first if I want fresh crab?' You get the gist. We are both behaving like stubborn children. It feels to me as though OH is doing everything he possibly can to annoy, irritate or rile me. The bottom line is that, whatever the truth of this, I am being all too easily irritated and riled.
Gee whizz. Today this has been making me feel desperately low. Close to hurling myself from an upstairs window. I can't waste any more of my life like this. Something has to change.
Maybe what we need is the thrill of a camel racing experience in the desert? Or bartering for gold we can't pay for in the local medina? Or bracing ourselves for cold night-time swims under the stars? Anything, anything, to lift us out of ourselves, right out of our shoes and our skins and our tiny minds and bring us back down to earth in a new spirit of forgiveness and goodwill. What are the odds? Thanks to mobile technology, friends, I'll share the fruits of the trip with you.
Talk of coming back down to earth brings me back to the Brothers.
Since our bank trip which was now about six weeks ago, the Brothers and I have not been in contact. OBrother knocked on the door a few evenings later but refused to come in. He had come in readily enough when he wanted me to spend an hour filling in papwork for him! Remembering this, I shrugged quite rudely and went to get OH. I can't stand these petty displays of asserting - what? Male pride? I then changed my mind and decided that I wanted to ask him outright why he wasn't prepared to use the cheap coach ticket I had found him to get him from here to Gatwick the following Wednesday, in light of the fact that we have little money for petrol and that OH has to work a ten-hour day after getting him there for 6am. He told me it wasn't my problem and that I should mind my own business.
One of my many faults is a profound inability to let things go when I think they matter. This makes me a brilliant proof-reader and accurate copy-writer (and, at times, defender of those who need defending) but the most terrible pain in the arse on matters closer to home. I just have to have my say. Back in November, Babe and I had a convoluted 'argusation' before school about whether or not he should take his teacher literally, she having said that he should bring in 'a penny or two' for the poppy appeal. I didn't have any penny-pieces. At the end of a long, tedious and bordering on emotional exchange, he randomly asked, 'What am I demonstrating?'. The question threw me. 'The ability to argue the hind legs off a donkey?' I offered. He looked at me for quite a long time without saying anything, and then walked downstairs. He gets more and more like his dad every day. But the point of sharing this example is that I know full well from whom he has inherited said talent for determination to win in the verbal stakes.
That comment from OBrother escalated into another short-lived ding-dong in the street outside my house and sadly the very same friend who walked past witnessing ding-dong-in-the-street number one walked past at this very juncture, thus witnessing this one as well. This friend lives round the corner and came round to borrow a screwdriver one evening at a point when I was yelling very loudly to make myself heard above the sound of Euronews, for someone to bring some toilet paper upstairs (the Babes having scarpered post-throwing the one that should have been to hand into the bath I had just run for them). I am sure that she thinks I am totally bonkers. Anyway, I couldn't help but tell OBrother that I thought he was really selfish, expecting to be driven around after all OH is doing to sort his life out. OBrother told me that I need a therapist. I told him I thought he was especially selfish since he knows we don't have money to throw away. He told me OH owes him money. I expressed my extreme disbelief. He said that I have eaten at his home for 15 years and that I owe him, too. I said this is rubbish and he knows it. OH appeared and told me to come inside. Yes, tensions were still running high and I should have just SHUT UP.
The next day the applications for bank accounts that I had helped the Brothers complete arrived back from head office in London covered in pink higligher pen indicating gaps in information and a letter saying complete photocopies of their identity docs had not been supplied. If I had had the time and the inclination I would have gone back down to the branch to ask the manager what exactly the staff member who went though the applications with us is paid to do. OH then informed me that the Brothers think I sabotaged their applications on purpose. This provided me with the opportunity to shout 'the bastards!' into the air once again, for all that it achieved. They now both have current accounts and savings accounts and internet log-ins etc etc etc thanks to a different high street arms dealer who for some reason sent the letters with pins and everything else here, but the cards to our next-door neighbour. I find this amazingly inept. But I think it's even more amazing things have got this far with OH as interlocutor.
Meantime, OBrother returned to Greece a few weeks ago. I have no idea if he's coming back or not. He didn't come and say goodbye which is no surprise. OH drove him to Gatwick at 3am and then worked all day afterwards. DBrother went along to keep OH company on the way back. He has been working here and there for little money since then which has incensed him sufficiently to want to wind OH up and try to get a number to call to dob in the people who are exploiting him. OH asked me to look for one online. Since at least one of these 'outfits' know where we live, (i.e. the house across the road where DBrother was doing some plastering for cash in hand) I was vocal about not wanting this to happen, which accrued me further negative equity in terms of Brownie points.
Currently, good fortune is suggesting that the visits DBrother has made to the local Orthdox Church have paid off and he has been offered work and accommodation with a Greek Cypriot starting in January. Mr Khan has been notified of his intention to leave and my deposit has covered this month's rent. He had started turning up here with random queries that were worrying me: 'Where is your husband, I've got a problem with my wife?' etc etc and I will be more than happy for that connection to be severed, which I presume it will be. OBrother is going home over new year and his being here did not stop us from going to my folk for a day or two over Christmas. He is still not talking to me. I'm not sure if this is because he is proud or because he thinks I am not talking to him. Short-term, I pray to God that the work for the Greeks comes off so that he can start earning some proper money. Medium-term, I still don't know how to deal with my possibly unreasonable fear that if this works for him, the rest of OH's family will all be here like a shot. Longer-term, he won't have a pension and as long as he's working for Greeks - what other work would he get, not speaking the language? - he is not learning any English, which still leaves him heavily reliant on us for an awful lot. For example, booking the taxi he needs to get him to the bus station the day after tomorrow when we're away. And I want to start thinking in serious about how long I/we stay living where we are. But if we move, will we be pursued?
I usually start each New Year with a raft of resolutions. Good friends will know that I like to do a 'reflect on the past year, look forward to the next' with my family. This year I am not going to bother. I have one resolution: to start meditation classes. I have to chill and bring my stress and anger down a level. And stop shouting. I can't think of any way to achieve this beyond paying someone to help me become a more mindful and loving individual who can start 'enjoying the journey' once more. Only something that will stop me going from 0 - 10 in the anger stakes in a matter of seconds will give my relationship with OH any chance of succeeding. And if it isn't going to work, then I need to be able to deal with that by being calm and collected. My kids have witnessed so much anger and verbal aggression in their short lives. And being demonstrated by the people who love them most.
So, on that serious and possibly a bit depressing but also hopefully proactive note (!), I would like to wish you all a very happy and successful 2013. I have a feeling in my bones it's going to be a good and an exciting one for me, and one of change. Feel free to place a bet on that on my behalf, or put some money on one side to take me out for a drink if I'm wrong. I'm brave to put it in writing, don't you think?!
Friday, December 28, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
In which Mr Khan throws the brothers out
Oh dear, I am feeling quite tired and world-weary. This post isn't going to be the catalogue of excitement the title has led you to expect, I'm afraid. I am definitely lacking in joy and enthusiasm. The high point of my weekend was watching the first half of the newish Ultimate Avengers film (or whatever it's called - and heck is it a tedious watch - I had to turn it off because I just didn't care how it was going to end) and trying to decide which one of them I 'would' if I had to. Iron Man? Lovely eyes, nice physique and great intellect plus sense of humour but self-obsessed or Thor, because he's simply 'manly' and there isn't anything metaphorical to have to grapple with. I didn't come to a decision but it was verging on Iron Man because from some perspectives he would be a lovely novelty.
The low point of my weekend in case you're interested, was lifting the blind of my street-side kitchen window at half past two on Sunday morning and asking the skate-boarders who were filming themselves crashing into our gable wall (yes, you read that right) to bugger off.
The medium point, while we're at it, was deciding to decimate the ancient grape vine that has grown with such strength and rapidity over the last few years that it has obliterated all sunlight from the rear downstairs of our house, while OH took the kids out. It was one heck of a job. And I did a really naughty thing, which was to gather up all the vines, leaves etc and stuff them over our garden fence, leaving them to rot in our horrible next-door neighbour's garden. This isn't as bad as it sounds as they rent their house and do not use the garden, which is completely overgrown, to the tune of ten-foot high vegetation. I am sure they never even open their back door so this is unlikely to cause them concern and it saved me lugging the stuff to the recycling centre. But if I had any sense I would notice that an innate tendency I have to take risks, which I tend to suppress, is rearing its head.
Despite the determined tone on which I ended my last blog post, I have now booked OBrother a ticket home for the end of November. I was told he had changed his mind and that he will come back again in January, but when I saw him today - we were forced to communicate because they needed my help at the bank - he said, 'I told you I'd go if I didn't find any work.' Tempted as I was to respond, 'No, you didn't, and anyway I told you not to come because you won't find any,' I kept my mouth shut. I presume he feels this is a definitive signal that he is off, but I'm pretty sure I can't trust OH not to keep inviting them back again next year. (OBrother then started to show me bits of paper he'd printed off at the job centre this morning but I couldn't face looking at them with him. And wasn't sure why he's still looking for work if he's going and don't want to ask what will happen if he finds another few days' work somewhere - might he change his mind and stay?) It turns out he has now argued with OH about why I have booked him two items of luggage for the journey back, despite the fact that they spent literally hundreds of Euros on excess luggage at the airport in Athens and getting boxes of stuff shipped here after that. Fifteen quid per item seems like a bargain by comparison. And if you think there was subliminal suggestion going on, on my part, that he doesn't leave anything here when he goes, I hold my hands up to it. He also agreed, today, to me booking him a coach ticket to the airport, as his flight leaves at 8am on a weekday and this would cost a lot less that OH driving him there at an awful time, ahead of a working day. But OH angrily informed me this evening that if I can't change OBrother's ticket to a Saturday for him, he will be driving his brother there through the night. Insane - OH picked the day and flight himself! I guess I need to be prepared for him exhibiting more and more extreme, irrational and protective behaviour as the likelihood of his brothers going increases.
Back to today and I had asked OH to tell the brothers to meet me outside the bank at 2.15, before I went to get Babe2 from pre-school, but they hadn't listened and had gone there immediately. After waiting there for twenty minutes or so they came to hammer on my front door to find out where I was. I was in the middle of completing and organising all the required paperwork - proving that they live at our address is tricky, but I'd had a meeting with the bank manager this morning and think we'd got around it - and not very pleased to be disturbed early as it meant an entire precious day of me-time was lost between trips back and forth between school, pre-school and Lloyds TSB, because of inconvenient timings. If you're wondering why I had relented and was filling in the paperwork, it is because OH was reaching the point of desperation trying to do it himself, and get clear answers from the bank regarding the paperwork required (six visits, oh how I wish I could have been a fly on the wall and overheard the conversations) and was threatening to take a day off to sort it out, which is something we can't afford for him to do.
DBrother glowered through the process, or at least that's how it felt to me, but perhaps he was feeling embarrassed at once again being beholden to me against his will. I hope that's the last time I have to help someone who is not talking to me apply for a bank account. It must have looked suspicious to the cashier. I suppose I could have cleared the air by expressing forgiveness and offering an apology but I am red hot angry (perhaps I should watch that 'red hot' actually) at his ongoing determination to stay here against the odds. I don't think he will dare turn up at ours to live if he can't pay for the rent - surely not? - but who will end up funding his trip home? Who knows.
In fact I am continuing this blog post after a heart-stopping couple of hours. The brothers arrived on the doorstep after OH got home, apparently claiming that Mr Khan was kicking them out. Something to do with them complaining about the electricity going off during the day, but I suspect he has the hump at them cooking in the bedroom. OH went round to sort it out and I presume everything is now ok, but I was really stressing! Afraid that they would be turning up this evening with all their clobber to spend the next few weeks here. Imagine how much worse that would be than it was before, with one not speaking to me and the other being civil to my face but going at me me behind my back! Surely their dealings with Mr Khan demonstrate the tenuous thread on which they are existing here?
Which, despite the mean stuff I'm saying and the bitchy tone - you don't need to tell me that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit - is the crux of the issue. I KNOW that the brothers have no long-term future here. For so many reasons. That isn't an unkind, superior and unduly negative 'I know', it is an 'I know' that is born from a realistic and open outlook. It is an 'I know' that I communicated to them before they came, and an 'I know' that OH refused to listen to. It is an 'I know' that he trampled on, knowing what having them here might do to me, a lover of my own space and a person who lacks patience and tolerance in the face of unrealistic and un-strategic thinking:
OH spent some time with us this weekend, but not as much as I would have liked him to. He can't let the brothers just get on with stuff without getting involved himself - they have been doing some work for a friend - and it drives me nuts. He disappeared at 9am on Saturday, to take them to the bank. Then spent ages in the roof looking for tools for them, then came with us to the supermarket, and then disappeared again. (Our roof is leaking and our downstairs toilet remains unflushable.) Last evening he did not bother getting back in time to eat with us, despite having agreed the time and I'd done his favourite. (Roast lamb - what else?) There have been lots of covert phone calls, early in the morning and late at night, but if I pick up the phone it goes dead, so I have taken to picking up the receiver and saying 'Who the hell is it?' in Greek. I don't know. I feel undermined and set against. And suspect it is going to get worse, while the brothers decide what they are going to do, rather than better. I think OH will wriggle all he can to avoid coming out of this looking unreasonable himself.
Could I come up with a plan that would get us all back on side? Just while I plan when to cut and run, of course.
The low point of my weekend in case you're interested, was lifting the blind of my street-side kitchen window at half past two on Sunday morning and asking the skate-boarders who were filming themselves crashing into our gable wall (yes, you read that right) to bugger off.
The medium point, while we're at it, was deciding to decimate the ancient grape vine that has grown with such strength and rapidity over the last few years that it has obliterated all sunlight from the rear downstairs of our house, while OH took the kids out. It was one heck of a job. And I did a really naughty thing, which was to gather up all the vines, leaves etc and stuff them over our garden fence, leaving them to rot in our horrible next-door neighbour's garden. This isn't as bad as it sounds as they rent their house and do not use the garden, which is completely overgrown, to the tune of ten-foot high vegetation. I am sure they never even open their back door so this is unlikely to cause them concern and it saved me lugging the stuff to the recycling centre. But if I had any sense I would notice that an innate tendency I have to take risks, which I tend to suppress, is rearing its head.
Despite the determined tone on which I ended my last blog post, I have now booked OBrother a ticket home for the end of November. I was told he had changed his mind and that he will come back again in January, but when I saw him today - we were forced to communicate because they needed my help at the bank - he said, 'I told you I'd go if I didn't find any work.' Tempted as I was to respond, 'No, you didn't, and anyway I told you not to come because you won't find any,' I kept my mouth shut. I presume he feels this is a definitive signal that he is off, but I'm pretty sure I can't trust OH not to keep inviting them back again next year. (OBrother then started to show me bits of paper he'd printed off at the job centre this morning but I couldn't face looking at them with him. And wasn't sure why he's still looking for work if he's going and don't want to ask what will happen if he finds another few days' work somewhere - might he change his mind and stay?) It turns out he has now argued with OH about why I have booked him two items of luggage for the journey back, despite the fact that they spent literally hundreds of Euros on excess luggage at the airport in Athens and getting boxes of stuff shipped here after that. Fifteen quid per item seems like a bargain by comparison. And if you think there was subliminal suggestion going on, on my part, that he doesn't leave anything here when he goes, I hold my hands up to it. He also agreed, today, to me booking him a coach ticket to the airport, as his flight leaves at 8am on a weekday and this would cost a lot less that OH driving him there at an awful time, ahead of a working day. But OH angrily informed me this evening that if I can't change OBrother's ticket to a Saturday for him, he will be driving his brother there through the night. Insane - OH picked the day and flight himself! I guess I need to be prepared for him exhibiting more and more extreme, irrational and protective behaviour as the likelihood of his brothers going increases.
Back to today and I had asked OH to tell the brothers to meet me outside the bank at 2.15, before I went to get Babe2 from pre-school, but they hadn't listened and had gone there immediately. After waiting there for twenty minutes or so they came to hammer on my front door to find out where I was. I was in the middle of completing and organising all the required paperwork - proving that they live at our address is tricky, but I'd had a meeting with the bank manager this morning and think we'd got around it - and not very pleased to be disturbed early as it meant an entire precious day of me-time was lost between trips back and forth between school, pre-school and Lloyds TSB, because of inconvenient timings. If you're wondering why I had relented and was filling in the paperwork, it is because OH was reaching the point of desperation trying to do it himself, and get clear answers from the bank regarding the paperwork required (six visits, oh how I wish I could have been a fly on the wall and overheard the conversations) and was threatening to take a day off to sort it out, which is something we can't afford for him to do.
DBrother glowered through the process, or at least that's how it felt to me, but perhaps he was feeling embarrassed at once again being beholden to me against his will. I hope that's the last time I have to help someone who is not talking to me apply for a bank account. It must have looked suspicious to the cashier. I suppose I could have cleared the air by expressing forgiveness and offering an apology but I am red hot angry (perhaps I should watch that 'red hot' actually) at his ongoing determination to stay here against the odds. I don't think he will dare turn up at ours to live if he can't pay for the rent - surely not? - but who will end up funding his trip home? Who knows.
In fact I am continuing this blog post after a heart-stopping couple of hours. The brothers arrived on the doorstep after OH got home, apparently claiming that Mr Khan was kicking them out. Something to do with them complaining about the electricity going off during the day, but I suspect he has the hump at them cooking in the bedroom. OH went round to sort it out and I presume everything is now ok, but I was really stressing! Afraid that they would be turning up this evening with all their clobber to spend the next few weeks here. Imagine how much worse that would be than it was before, with one not speaking to me and the other being civil to my face but going at me me behind my back! Surely their dealings with Mr Khan demonstrate the tenuous thread on which they are existing here?
Which, despite the mean stuff I'm saying and the bitchy tone - you don't need to tell me that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit - is the crux of the issue. I KNOW that the brothers have no long-term future here. For so many reasons. That isn't an unkind, superior and unduly negative 'I know', it is an 'I know' that is born from a realistic and open outlook. It is an 'I know' that I communicated to them before they came, and an 'I know' that OH refused to listen to. It is an 'I know' that he trampled on, knowing what having them here might do to me, a lover of my own space and a person who lacks patience and tolerance in the face of unrealistic and un-strategic thinking:
OH spent some time with us this weekend, but not as much as I would have liked him to. He can't let the brothers just get on with stuff without getting involved himself - they have been doing some work for a friend - and it drives me nuts. He disappeared at 9am on Saturday, to take them to the bank. Then spent ages in the roof looking for tools for them, then came with us to the supermarket, and then disappeared again. (Our roof is leaking and our downstairs toilet remains unflushable.) Last evening he did not bother getting back in time to eat with us, despite having agreed the time and I'd done his favourite. (Roast lamb - what else?) There have been lots of covert phone calls, early in the morning and late at night, but if I pick up the phone it goes dead, so I have taken to picking up the receiver and saying 'Who the hell is it?' in Greek. I don't know. I feel undermined and set against. And suspect it is going to get worse, while the brothers decide what they are going to do, rather than better. I think OH will wriggle all he can to avoid coming out of this looking unreasonable himself.
Could I come up with a plan that would get us all back on side? Just while I plan when to cut and run, of course.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
In which I sneak behind enemy lines
My mum has pointed out that probably a great deal of my stress in anticipating the Brothers' arrival was down to the fact that I was expecting another two like OH to arrive. Which would have been enough to kill anybody. As it happens, they are quite different and if I'd been given the chance to make ten requests of them before they came it would have been the following, some of which have been met:
1 To take the room I found for them. They did.
2 To cook for themselves because I am a vegetarian and not up to much in the kitchen, at least where Greek food is concerned. They did, and they brought an Albanian cookery book for OH with them. (We already had it. And several Greek cookery books in English. But this was a sweet thought.)
3 To be prepared to learn English. They are very prepared and did attempt to go to lessons.
4 To understand that I don't expect us to live in one another's pockets. I believe they understand this now.
5 To pay their own way. Hum.
6 Not to moan about how awful it is here. I suspect they are freezing and hate it. But they have not moaned to me. But then they are not speaking to me.
7 To establish themselves before getting anyone else over. I think this is now unlikely.
8 Not to make too many demands in terms of time etc on OH. I think he feels he's done what he can and has exhausted his contacts. He is acting as though they are barely on his mind but I think that is in recognition of the fact that their presence has driven a huge and possibly irreparable wedge between us and that this is in large part his responsibility. I suspect he wants them gone. The proof of this pudding will be how he handles my request that they sort out a longer-term plan for the room etc before they book tickets for Athens. And how he responds to my request that they both leave together.
9 Not to ask to drive our car, uninsured. As far as I know this has not happened.
10 Not to run up a huge phone bill. Likewise.
I suggested in my last blog post that I might attempt to present the case for the Brothers' being here from their point of view. I would imagine that their thinking has developed along the following lines*:
*Translated from Greek and Albanian, some of which might reflect the opinion of only one of the brothers at any given point in time and which is entirely a figment of my imagination, but based on things they have said and my experience of their family and culture:
-- We don't have work here in Greece or in Albania so it is only reasonable that our brother who is living in England should try and help us out.
-- He is our younger brother and owes us one because we are the big boys.
-- We will find our own place to live in in England. How expensive can it be? I will not live with that hussy anyway.
-- We have lots of skills. Together with our other brother we will start our own business and make a lot of money.
-- We all live together when we are in difficulty, that's what family are for.
-- We will help them do up their house and help with the kids. I will teach them to play football.
-- I will win money on the football pools, I know all the English teams and who scores the goals.
-- It will be nice for our brother to have our help and company.
-- We will make a success of it and then help all the others, too.
-- We can cope with any weather.
-- We moved to Greece and learned Greek, we can move to England and learn English.
-- It can't be that hard, our neighbour's friend's cousin's brother has done it and it is working out fine.
-- If he (OH) has done it, then surely to God we can?
-- Fu*k me, it's freezing.
-- We are prepared to cope with any circumstances in order to prosper.
-- They drink this cat-p*ss ten times a day?
-- We will accept the help from them that we would expect to give them if the situation was reversed.
-- Sheesh she's a bitch.
-- I told you so.
-- Mad bitch! Screw loose.
-- Our brother really needs our help.
-- This is her fault. If she let us live with them until we found our feet we wouldn't be paying through the nose for this squat.
-- All we want is some work. Why is this so much to ask for? The world is an unfair place.
-- The English plundered our country's gold.
-- I want some new trainers.
-- I miss my wife and kids. Does she think we're here for the fun of it? She has everything she wants and she can't find room in her heart for us.
-- Tart.
-- This is just a question of time, we must hold fast and things will turn out ok in the end. That lovely English woman married to the Albanian who lives down the road said so.
***
Ok, ok. I know some of that was mean and discriminatory. Later in the week, I promise, I'll be fair. Today, I needed to have a laugh in order to divert my tears.
1 To take the room I found for them. They did.
2 To cook for themselves because I am a vegetarian and not up to much in the kitchen, at least where Greek food is concerned. They did, and they brought an Albanian cookery book for OH with them. (We already had it. And several Greek cookery books in English. But this was a sweet thought.)
3 To be prepared to learn English. They are very prepared and did attempt to go to lessons.
4 To understand that I don't expect us to live in one another's pockets. I believe they understand this now.
5 To pay their own way. Hum.
6 Not to moan about how awful it is here. I suspect they are freezing and hate it. But they have not moaned to me. But then they are not speaking to me.
7 To establish themselves before getting anyone else over. I think this is now unlikely.
8 Not to make too many demands in terms of time etc on OH. I think he feels he's done what he can and has exhausted his contacts. He is acting as though they are barely on his mind but I think that is in recognition of the fact that their presence has driven a huge and possibly irreparable wedge between us and that this is in large part his responsibility. I suspect he wants them gone. The proof of this pudding will be how he handles my request that they sort out a longer-term plan for the room etc before they book tickets for Athens. And how he responds to my request that they both leave together.
9 Not to ask to drive our car, uninsured. As far as I know this has not happened.
10 Not to run up a huge phone bill. Likewise.
I suggested in my last blog post that I might attempt to present the case for the Brothers' being here from their point of view. I would imagine that their thinking has developed along the following lines*:
*Translated from Greek and Albanian, some of which might reflect the opinion of only one of the brothers at any given point in time and which is entirely a figment of my imagination, but based on things they have said and my experience of their family and culture:
-- We don't have work here in Greece or in Albania so it is only reasonable that our brother who is living in England should try and help us out.
-- He is our younger brother and owes us one because we are the big boys.
-- We will find our own place to live in in England. How expensive can it be? I will not live with that hussy anyway.
-- We have lots of skills. Together with our other brother we will start our own business and make a lot of money.
-- We all live together when we are in difficulty, that's what family are for.
-- We will help them do up their house and help with the kids. I will teach them to play football.
-- I will win money on the football pools, I know all the English teams and who scores the goals.
-- It will be nice for our brother to have our help and company.
-- We will make a success of it and then help all the others, too.
-- We can cope with any weather.
-- We moved to Greece and learned Greek, we can move to England and learn English.
-- It can't be that hard, our neighbour's friend's cousin's brother has done it and it is working out fine.
-- If he (OH) has done it, then surely to God we can?
-- Fu*k me, it's freezing.
-- We are prepared to cope with any circumstances in order to prosper.
-- They drink this cat-p*ss ten times a day?
-- We will accept the help from them that we would expect to give them if the situation was reversed.
-- Sheesh she's a bitch.
-- I told you so.
-- Mad bitch! Screw loose.
-- Our brother really needs our help.
-- This is her fault. If she let us live with them until we found our feet we wouldn't be paying through the nose for this squat.
-- All we want is some work. Why is this so much to ask for? The world is an unfair place.
-- The English plundered our country's gold.
-- I want some new trainers.
-- I miss my wife and kids. Does she think we're here for the fun of it? She has everything she wants and she can't find room in her heart for us.
-- Tart.
-- This is just a question of time, we must hold fast and things will turn out ok in the end. That lovely English woman married to the Albanian who lives down the road said so.
***
Ok, ok. I know some of that was mean and discriminatory. Later in the week, I promise, I'll be fair. Today, I needed to have a laugh in order to divert my tears.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
They're going! Yes, they are! Oh no, they're not! Or are they?
No, I don't really like the mocking tone of this post title either. I know the views I am expressing are one-sided and verging on mean. But does my life feel a bit like a Punch and Judy show at the moment? Oh, yes it does!
'They're behind you!'
'Arghhh! What? Where? Oh, very funny.'
I have been wondering how many modern-day versions of traditional fairy stories I could produce from this tale, to make some moral sense of it. Or produce some learnings at least. It is so clearly heading for disaster that I am verging on feeling too embarrassed to keep on writing. I don't know what I can do to avert us from the path of destruction. And without wanting to produce a self-fulfilling prophecy, I know I am going to come out of this as the bad guy, whatever happens. I nearly slipped into Goldilocks and the three bears yesterday, over the 'who was sleeping in my bed while I was away?' fiasco. Except that the few physical parallels between myself and Goldilocks are where the similarities end, as I seem to be playing the three bears, slipping all too carelessly between parent, adult and child mode.
Actually, 'carelessly' isn't really the right word. 'Uncontrollably' would be more accurate.
Ironically, as I was writing last night's post, OH came back round here with his brothers. We'd had some family time on Saturday, and he had spent some time with them as well. On Sunday he took the kids out so that I could do housework and they also had some time together then. I played games with the boys when they got back and he crashed on the sofa. By the time he came round, they were playing really nicely upstairs for once - Babe was pretending to put Babe2 to bed and closing the door saying 'Goodnight sweetheart, I love you!' and then minutes later stomping back in and saying 'Right! you go to sleep NOW or there will be TROUBLE' - so I went and sat down next to OH in the sitting room.
'I think they are going to go,' said OH. My heart skipped a beat. 'What do you mean?' I said.
'Well, OBrother, not DBrother,' he went on. My stress levels started to rise because I wanted clarity and for him to make sense. This was important!
'OBrother has had enough,' he said. 'He doesn't want to stay here if there isn't any work. It's a waste of money and he's missing his family.'
'Hum,' I replied. Knowing that to allow the conversation to run its course I had to sound gentle and concerned and that punching the air would not be an appropriate response. Not, of course, that that was the way I wanted to respond. I am not unmoved by their situation or by their desperation. I just know that until they can speak the language, which will take a significant amount of time, they won't be able to get work easily enough to move them out of the hand to mouth situation that they themselves are finding unbearable. (They have, incidentally, now bought themselves a slow cooker which they use in the bedroom, to avoid the kitchen downstairs.)
'It isn't really that there isn't any work,' I countered. 'It's that without the language they are going to find it hard to get and stay in work.'
'Yes,' he replied. I didn't list the number of occasions before they came that I cited this as a reason not to come.
'What about DBrother?' I asked, heart in mouth.
'He will probably go back to Athens for Christmas, and then come back here again,' he said.
Good grief. 'But he speaks no English whatsoever!' I responded. 'If OBrother doesn't think he can make it work here, what hope is there for DBrother?'
'He hasn't got any reason to stay in Greece,' replied OH. 'So he wants to stay here.'
If you asked my what worst case scenario here would be it is, I suppose, that things work out by hook or by crook for the brothers and that before I know it, we have more of OH's relatives living around the corner requiring long-term translation and assistance than I have friends in the vicinity (quite a lot). My second-worst scenario would be this: that one of them goes, leaving the other alone and in more need of our help than he would be if he had the other brother living here with him, and that the one who leaves decides to spend the winter in Greece and then gets fed up and decides to come back here for the Spring and then goes back there for the Summer and then and then and then... i.e. that our lives are placed in a position of constant flux, not knowing who is coming, with whom, or when. In fact that might be a worse scenario than at least knowing who is here on a permanent basis. I realise, as I write this, that that scenario isn't really an 'if' any more. Because as long as things are bad and getting worse in Greece, then we are going to be a ship in the storm that OH's family want to hang on to. Our only option to change that would be to call their bluff completely and go off and live in a camper van in Albania or something. Hum, that's food for thought! If nothing else it would probably settle any residual indecision about whether to divorce or not pretty quickly and might therefore kill two birds with one stone.
'They want to book flights to go home for Christmas,' OH continued.
'What kind of date?' I asked.
'Whenever is cheapest,' he said.
'Well that will be near the start of December,' I explained. I've been watching Easyjet prices gradually increase over the last few weeks, and nearly booked tickets for them some time ago, in anticipation and hope of them wanting to go home for the festive season.
'Perfect,' said OH. 'I don't think they're going to get any work here before then. It's always harder getting construction work in the winter.' Don't put it to them like that! I was thinking, or they'll definitely come back in the summer and we'll have to start this whole caper all over again.
'What about the room?' I said. They need to think really carefully about whether they want to keep it or not. Will they be coming back?'
'I don't know,' said OH.
'I don't want us to be landed with a room to pay for, full of their stuff, while they decide what they're doing,' I said. 'And I'm not sure that I can deal with a huge amount of ongoing uncertainty.'
'I know,' said OH.
'I think that the responsible thing to do,' I suggested, 'Is for you to help them understand what the costs and risks of this situation now are,' I said. 'I can't see any way that DBrother will survive here without OBrother and I really don't want us to be responsible for picking up the pieces. Why don't you go and see them, check when they want to go home, and then come back here with their passports and money so that I can buy the flights?'
'Ok,' said OH.
'And please bring my bike back with you,' I said. 'And the pump.'
So, back to why it was ironic that OH turned up here with his brothers after that conversation. Ironic, because I had just finished writing up one massive ding-dong, minutes ahead of starting another.
They went into the sitting room and this time they sat near the door and did not take their shoes off, so I knew that the temporary nature of the visit was being communicated. They were looking tired and somewhat dishevelled. Once I was sure the Babes were asleep, I went in with my laptop.
We started off looking for a flight for OBrother. He picked one for Saturday 1 December. 'It leaves at 8am,' I explained, 'So you'll have to check-in by six, which means getting a night coach to the airport. Is that ok?' He said that it was.
'Is that a one-way flight?' asked OH in English. 'Yes,' I said. 'We can book January flights in January. Is he coming back?'
'I don't know. He's going to see how things go between now and then, and when he's back there,' he answered.
I can't lie, this was making me irritated. Then DBrother asked me to look for flights for him.
'When do you want to go?' I asked.
'Around the end of December,' he replied.
'We are probably going to my mum's for two days, the 24th and the 25th,' I said.
'That's fine,' he responded. 'You do what you want to do.'
The flights for the end of the month were three times what OBrother would be paying for his ticket at the start of it.
'If they are not expecting to work between now and then, why doesn't he just leave at the same time?' I asked.
'Because he has no-where to go in Athens,' said OH.
'But he has a son and a daughter there, and all your siblings!' I said.
'But he wants to be in his own place. Here.' said OH.
This was all starting to feel a bit poorly thought through. As per usual. They wanted me to book the flights.
'I can't book them without money to pay for them,' I said.
'I've got the money here,' said OBrother.
'I'll pay you back when I've been working,' said DBrother.
'But what if you don't get any more work?' I asked. And if any of you reading this think I enjoy having to be this blunt, please be assured that I was cringing. But we have run up a massive overdraft and are running on empty at the moment.
'I believe I will,' he said.
I am going to stop reporting what was said as direct speech at this juncture. The tone of the dialogue plummeted as quickly as a jar of oregano thrown from a bedroom window. I tried again to make DBrother see that he had already cost us way more than was ever agreed and that we couldn't go on like this. He got angry and overwrought and asked if I was writing everything down in the form of a bill. I reminded him that I have been out of work for a year and a half and that for years, when I was earning and before we had kids, I took money out to his parents in Albania, as well as lots of gifts, and that if money wasn't an issue I wouldn't be making it an issue. I believe that I did not insult him personally but am once again experiencing some white-out. Obviously I was wounding his pride. But in my view he is being unrealistic about his prospects and choosing not to see the impact his needs are having on my family life.
In return, he told me that he is a lot more intelligent than I am. That I am a bad woman. That he is sorry that his brother married me and that he doesn't know what to do for him. That he has met a lovely English woman who lives down the road from here and who is married to an Albanian from north Albania and who has learnt Albanian and who said she would help him to find work. That I ought to love Albania. (All these guys ever do is tell me they're Greek, by the way, and I know for a fact that they can't stand north Albanians. DBrother himself told me the week he arrived that he never intends to go back there to live which is why he sold his house there and intends to sell his plot of land.) That I should be grateful for all the help they've given me every time I've been over to Albania on holiday. (This honestly baffles me because I have always paid for everything for everyone every time I go; have always been sensitive to their limitations; have never let anyone pay for so much as a bottle of Fanta Limon and have never eaten at the same table as DBrother in all the years I have known OH.) And etcetera.
I am sure I must have countered each one of these comments with parries of my own. But I was trying to keep things quiet-ish because I did not want the boys to wake. He was shouting and angry, his blood was up. It gave me a rather unpleasant insight into what I must be like sometimes. What I was being like myself, then. I asked him to calm down and I asked him not to insult me in my own house. (Which makes me sound East-European but I was trying to find a place of common understanding.) OH had been making some gestures to try and get him to stop and then gave up, we were in full flow. Stress, anger, resentment, an inability to understand one another, a lifetime of pain - when is an argument ever really about that moment in time? When is emotion ever really fresh and not simply remembered and carried over from some previous trauma? - and, for a fragment of a second, I felt some utterly unwelcome sexual frissance pass between us. I screamed and he left.
Dear Lord.
I didn't know what to do. I was mystified by what had been exchanged and how extreme it had been. OH was sitting on the sofa, looking for all the world as though DBrother had left the house having given me handful of coupons for discounted Tesco's cutlery or a flier about a fireworks party. There was a time when he might have stormed out of the house after them but he had stayed, so I knew he was on my side, if sides must be taken.
'I just don't know where you get the energy from, to argue like that,' he said.
'How come you just let your brother insult me like that?' I asked.
'There was no stopping either of you,' he said. 'It is good that you have argued. You will make peace and things will get better.'
'I will not make peace,' I said. Remembering that at one point in the argument I had told DBrother to be very careful about what he said because I am a Scorpio and I don't forget anything, ever. (This is not entirely true.) (Well, 1% not true.)
I felt I had to look wounded. OH felt he had to say something. Horrifically, we were both clearly trying to hide the fact that we wanted to laugh. What an awful and ridiculous exchange. And tickets hadn't been bought. And I still didn't have my bicycle. And DBrother must be feeling pretty wretched too. But a line had now been crossed that changes everything.
In the interests of fairness, in my next post I might try and present things from the brothers' perspective. I may need to have a few drinks before I try. In the meantime I am clear on one thing: they both stay or they both leave. I've had enough of this crap.
'They're behind you!'
'Arghhh! What? Where? Oh, very funny.'
I have been wondering how many modern-day versions of traditional fairy stories I could produce from this tale, to make some moral sense of it. Or produce some learnings at least. It is so clearly heading for disaster that I am verging on feeling too embarrassed to keep on writing. I don't know what I can do to avert us from the path of destruction. And without wanting to produce a self-fulfilling prophecy, I know I am going to come out of this as the bad guy, whatever happens. I nearly slipped into Goldilocks and the three bears yesterday, over the 'who was sleeping in my bed while I was away?' fiasco. Except that the few physical parallels between myself and Goldilocks are where the similarities end, as I seem to be playing the three bears, slipping all too carelessly between parent, adult and child mode.
Actually, 'carelessly' isn't really the right word. 'Uncontrollably' would be more accurate.
Ironically, as I was writing last night's post, OH came back round here with his brothers. We'd had some family time on Saturday, and he had spent some time with them as well. On Sunday he took the kids out so that I could do housework and they also had some time together then. I played games with the boys when they got back and he crashed on the sofa. By the time he came round, they were playing really nicely upstairs for once - Babe was pretending to put Babe2 to bed and closing the door saying 'Goodnight sweetheart, I love you!' and then minutes later stomping back in and saying 'Right! you go to sleep NOW or there will be TROUBLE' - so I went and sat down next to OH in the sitting room.
'I think they are going to go,' said OH. My heart skipped a beat. 'What do you mean?' I said.
'Well, OBrother, not DBrother,' he went on. My stress levels started to rise because I wanted clarity and for him to make sense. This was important!
'OBrother has had enough,' he said. 'He doesn't want to stay here if there isn't any work. It's a waste of money and he's missing his family.'
'Hum,' I replied. Knowing that to allow the conversation to run its course I had to sound gentle and concerned and that punching the air would not be an appropriate response. Not, of course, that that was the way I wanted to respond. I am not unmoved by their situation or by their desperation. I just know that until they can speak the language, which will take a significant amount of time, they won't be able to get work easily enough to move them out of the hand to mouth situation that they themselves are finding unbearable. (They have, incidentally, now bought themselves a slow cooker which they use in the bedroom, to avoid the kitchen downstairs.)
'It isn't really that there isn't any work,' I countered. 'It's that without the language they are going to find it hard to get and stay in work.'
'Yes,' he replied. I didn't list the number of occasions before they came that I cited this as a reason not to come.
'What about DBrother?' I asked, heart in mouth.
'He will probably go back to Athens for Christmas, and then come back here again,' he said.
Good grief. 'But he speaks no English whatsoever!' I responded. 'If OBrother doesn't think he can make it work here, what hope is there for DBrother?'
'He hasn't got any reason to stay in Greece,' replied OH. 'So he wants to stay here.'
If you asked my what worst case scenario here would be it is, I suppose, that things work out by hook or by crook for the brothers and that before I know it, we have more of OH's relatives living around the corner requiring long-term translation and assistance than I have friends in the vicinity (quite a lot). My second-worst scenario would be this: that one of them goes, leaving the other alone and in more need of our help than he would be if he had the other brother living here with him, and that the one who leaves decides to spend the winter in Greece and then gets fed up and decides to come back here for the Spring and then goes back there for the Summer and then and then and then... i.e. that our lives are placed in a position of constant flux, not knowing who is coming, with whom, or when. In fact that might be a worse scenario than at least knowing who is here on a permanent basis. I realise, as I write this, that that scenario isn't really an 'if' any more. Because as long as things are bad and getting worse in Greece, then we are going to be a ship in the storm that OH's family want to hang on to. Our only option to change that would be to call their bluff completely and go off and live in a camper van in Albania or something. Hum, that's food for thought! If nothing else it would probably settle any residual indecision about whether to divorce or not pretty quickly and might therefore kill two birds with one stone.
'They want to book flights to go home for Christmas,' OH continued.
'What kind of date?' I asked.
'Whenever is cheapest,' he said.
'Well that will be near the start of December,' I explained. I've been watching Easyjet prices gradually increase over the last few weeks, and nearly booked tickets for them some time ago, in anticipation and hope of them wanting to go home for the festive season.
'Perfect,' said OH. 'I don't think they're going to get any work here before then. It's always harder getting construction work in the winter.' Don't put it to them like that! I was thinking, or they'll definitely come back in the summer and we'll have to start this whole caper all over again.
'What about the room?' I said. They need to think really carefully about whether they want to keep it or not. Will they be coming back?'
'I don't know,' said OH.
'I don't want us to be landed with a room to pay for, full of their stuff, while they decide what they're doing,' I said. 'And I'm not sure that I can deal with a huge amount of ongoing uncertainty.'
'I know,' said OH.
'I think that the responsible thing to do,' I suggested, 'Is for you to help them understand what the costs and risks of this situation now are,' I said. 'I can't see any way that DBrother will survive here without OBrother and I really don't want us to be responsible for picking up the pieces. Why don't you go and see them, check when they want to go home, and then come back here with their passports and money so that I can buy the flights?'
'Ok,' said OH.
'And please bring my bike back with you,' I said. 'And the pump.'
So, back to why it was ironic that OH turned up here with his brothers after that conversation. Ironic, because I had just finished writing up one massive ding-dong, minutes ahead of starting another.
They went into the sitting room and this time they sat near the door and did not take their shoes off, so I knew that the temporary nature of the visit was being communicated. They were looking tired and somewhat dishevelled. Once I was sure the Babes were asleep, I went in with my laptop.
We started off looking for a flight for OBrother. He picked one for Saturday 1 December. 'It leaves at 8am,' I explained, 'So you'll have to check-in by six, which means getting a night coach to the airport. Is that ok?' He said that it was.
'Is that a one-way flight?' asked OH in English. 'Yes,' I said. 'We can book January flights in January. Is he coming back?'
'I don't know. He's going to see how things go between now and then, and when he's back there,' he answered.
I can't lie, this was making me irritated. Then DBrother asked me to look for flights for him.
'When do you want to go?' I asked.
'Around the end of December,' he replied.
'We are probably going to my mum's for two days, the 24th and the 25th,' I said.
'That's fine,' he responded. 'You do what you want to do.'
The flights for the end of the month were three times what OBrother would be paying for his ticket at the start of it.
'If they are not expecting to work between now and then, why doesn't he just leave at the same time?' I asked.
'Because he has no-where to go in Athens,' said OH.
'But he has a son and a daughter there, and all your siblings!' I said.
'But he wants to be in his own place. Here.' said OH.
This was all starting to feel a bit poorly thought through. As per usual. They wanted me to book the flights.
'I can't book them without money to pay for them,' I said.
'I've got the money here,' said OBrother.
'I'll pay you back when I've been working,' said DBrother.
'But what if you don't get any more work?' I asked. And if any of you reading this think I enjoy having to be this blunt, please be assured that I was cringing. But we have run up a massive overdraft and are running on empty at the moment.
'I believe I will,' he said.
I am going to stop reporting what was said as direct speech at this juncture. The tone of the dialogue plummeted as quickly as a jar of oregano thrown from a bedroom window. I tried again to make DBrother see that he had already cost us way more than was ever agreed and that we couldn't go on like this. He got angry and overwrought and asked if I was writing everything down in the form of a bill. I reminded him that I have been out of work for a year and a half and that for years, when I was earning and before we had kids, I took money out to his parents in Albania, as well as lots of gifts, and that if money wasn't an issue I wouldn't be making it an issue. I believe that I did not insult him personally but am once again experiencing some white-out. Obviously I was wounding his pride. But in my view he is being unrealistic about his prospects and choosing not to see the impact his needs are having on my family life.
In return, he told me that he is a lot more intelligent than I am. That I am a bad woman. That he is sorry that his brother married me and that he doesn't know what to do for him. That he has met a lovely English woman who lives down the road from here and who is married to an Albanian from north Albania and who has learnt Albanian and who said she would help him to find work. That I ought to love Albania. (All these guys ever do is tell me they're Greek, by the way, and I know for a fact that they can't stand north Albanians. DBrother himself told me the week he arrived that he never intends to go back there to live which is why he sold his house there and intends to sell his plot of land.) That I should be grateful for all the help they've given me every time I've been over to Albania on holiday. (This honestly baffles me because I have always paid for everything for everyone every time I go; have always been sensitive to their limitations; have never let anyone pay for so much as a bottle of Fanta Limon and have never eaten at the same table as DBrother in all the years I have known OH.) And etcetera.
I am sure I must have countered each one of these comments with parries of my own. But I was trying to keep things quiet-ish because I did not want the boys to wake. He was shouting and angry, his blood was up. It gave me a rather unpleasant insight into what I must be like sometimes. What I was being like myself, then. I asked him to calm down and I asked him not to insult me in my own house. (Which makes me sound East-European but I was trying to find a place of common understanding.) OH had been making some gestures to try and get him to stop and then gave up, we were in full flow. Stress, anger, resentment, an inability to understand one another, a lifetime of pain - when is an argument ever really about that moment in time? When is emotion ever really fresh and not simply remembered and carried over from some previous trauma? - and, for a fragment of a second, I felt some utterly unwelcome sexual frissance pass between us. I screamed and he left.
Dear Lord.
I didn't know what to do. I was mystified by what had been exchanged and how extreme it had been. OH was sitting on the sofa, looking for all the world as though DBrother had left the house having given me handful of coupons for discounted Tesco's cutlery or a flier about a fireworks party. There was a time when he might have stormed out of the house after them but he had stayed, so I knew he was on my side, if sides must be taken.
'I just don't know where you get the energy from, to argue like that,' he said.
'How come you just let your brother insult me like that?' I asked.
'There was no stopping either of you,' he said. 'It is good that you have argued. You will make peace and things will get better.'
'I will not make peace,' I said. Remembering that at one point in the argument I had told DBrother to be very careful about what he said because I am a Scorpio and I don't forget anything, ever. (This is not entirely true.) (Well, 1% not true.)
I felt I had to look wounded. OH felt he had to say something. Horrifically, we were both clearly trying to hide the fact that we wanted to laugh. What an awful and ridiculous exchange. And tickets hadn't been bought. And I still didn't have my bicycle. And DBrother must be feeling pretty wretched too. But a line had now been crossed that changes everything.
In the interests of fairness, in my next post I might try and present things from the brothers' perspective. I may need to have a few drinks before I try. In the meantime I am clear on one thing: they both stay or they both leave. I've had enough of this crap.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
An Englishwoman's home is her... what?
Having been assured - tangentially so, I guess, as Babe was the recipient of the information - that the Brothers would not be at home when we got back (at about 8pm, kids tired and in need of bed, me in need of a cup of tea and OH no doubt knackered after working a twelve hour day and then driving for several hours, in case you're interested) I wasn't too pleased when we drove round the corner of our house and saw that the kitchen light was on. I sensed OH stiffen in the seat next to me (don't worry, this isn't about to get saucy) (not by a long shot) and pull up outside the house perceptibly more slowly than usual.
I think it might have been raining. I remember that OH went in first. Or maybe I did. I can't actually remember very well because within a short space of time I had well and truly flipped my lid and this seems to have left me with some memory white-out. Shame on me. And I mean that.
I do remember that the boys were really hungry and that we'd bought them some fast food near where we live, that they were being vocally desperate to get their hands on. We must have come in a bit like a hurricane, rushing to get bags out of the car in the rain and the boys yelling at the tops of their voices.
DBrother was on the sofa watching telly. All the lights were on, doors open, heating on full blast etc. To be fair, the heating can only be on or off and is set to a timer so I can't really complain about that. I'm just trying to convey what I saw and felt - rightly or wrongly - as I came in. I rushed a bursting Babe2 to the downstairs toilet and found it not fixed. I was less than delighted to notice changes in my kitchen that I had not authorised (!) - things moved, a new kettle, lots of packets of rice and pasta lined up on the worktop to keep their supplies separate from mine. I was annoyed to find bags of plaster and cement at various locations around the house, courtesy of some building work they'd been doing. I was downright angry, when I went upstairs, to discover that the Brothers had clearly been sleeping over while I was away. Toiletries they'd used around the bath and on the sink. And I felt angrier still that my house didn't smell even a tiny bit like my house any more.
All the stress and anger and anxt and upset and irritation and godknowswhatelse but it lurksinsideme and sometimes fights to get out, erupted. I can't even remember what I said. I know my eruption included the phrases 'I want my bicycle back!' and 'And my pump!' and 'I want my house keys back' and 'This doesn't even smell like my house any more!' and 'How is it that you put several loads of washing through but ignored the broken toilet next to the washing machine and you're a plumber?' and 'I want you to go' and 'This isn't fair.' I remember asking DBrother where he'd been sleeping and him replying 'back at my place', so I asked who had been sleeping in my bed and he ignored me. So then I asked where OBrother had been sleeping and Dbrother put his hands in the air and said that he didn't know, which pushed me even further. I tried to say something in Greek about brothers closing ranks but I think I said something about brothers hugging one another. I then tried to say something about how when the cat is away the mice will play - which I'm not sure even translates into Greek - but I think I actually said something about a mouse going away and the cats going away too.
In fact, who really knows how much sense I made at all? If not on a literal, linguistic level, then on an emotional level, either. I know OBrother asked 'What have we ever done to you?' and that I cried 'Nothing! But we have different ways of thinking and I just don't want to share my house with you. I've been away for nearly a week, you've had the run of the place and now I want some peace.'
At this point, OH came downstairs from the roof with two shovels - it turns out the brothers' work had ended (which means they had in fact had several days to have fixed the toilet but hey, as I've said, I don't really want to feel beholden to them anyway) and OH had managed to line them up with something for the next day but needed to explain where it was - and started shouting at me and threatened to throw me out of the house if I didn't stop. At this, Babe started crying and I did stop, in my tracks. Clearly nothing that I was feeling could be allowed to let a situation escalate that would result in his distress. OH started telling him how horrible mummy was being, and worse, and some more things started snapping into place in my head. I told OH that he must stop, and that if he said anything to our kids that would play with their minds then I would take them to my mum's. End of. We looked at each other and the argument ended, as quickly as it had started. We both knew we'd gone too far. OH finished giving DBrother his directions and the number of a taxi company to get them to work and he left, calling 'Goodnight, Sofia!' over his shoulder. I restrained myself from calling, 'My keys!?' after him and went and put Tom and Jerry on, with shaking hands, and the kids and their dad watched it together and laughed. When I put them to bed half an hour later I heard myself reassuring them that everything was going to be ok, and that things are a bit difficult right now. I think I patched things over ok.
What a mess. I felt really bad that I had behaved the way I had. But continue to feel really bloody annoyed with OH for having created this situation that has me backed into a corner and on the defensive. And surely to God OBrother might just have given us some space that evening, and not been around, after everything that has been said? I think I probably have a post brewing on the subject of anger - as in, 'what really is it that is making me angry?' - but I don't feel up to it right now. On a superficial level, I could conclude that my anger that night stemmed from the fact that my home is my castle. It is a space in which I can be me, that has my stuff in it. OH can't understand why an old wooden desk I was given when I was tiny takes pride of place in the sitting room. He can't understand why I keep ornaments that he considers to be childish or ugly. (Don't get me wrong, neither does he complain, but given the chance he would probably put posters of motorbikes around the place.) He doesn't get my sentimental attachment to stuff. And to be fair, he was born in a country with what - an emerging economy?? - where you trash new stuff on purpose just so that you can buy more new stuff. Valuing something because it's old is considered irrational behaviour.
I know from time I have spent living in other European countries that the English are particularly house-proud. We value our space in a way that is often viewed as protective or unfriendly and arrange our possessions in a way that is perceived as OTT or odd. Personally, I can't imagine a life where my prized possession would be a leather belt and the only ornament in the house taking the form of a religious icon on top of a lace doily on the telly, but there you go. Each to their own. And therein lies the clash...
I wish I could end this post saying that something had been resolved. OH and I did, in fact, temporarily sheath our swords and reach out to one another. We have been trying to restore some kind of domestic harmony. He has been making an effort to show that he wants things to work, and to stay with me. But it doesn't shake off this bloody great spectre that is lurking around the literal corner and impacting at many levels most of the frigging time. I keep thinking I hear a key in the lock and jump when the phone rings. I've been trying to get my head around Christmas and New Year and how we'll get over the festive period as a family if they're around. I don't want to keep feeling so darn guilty about not being a better, nicer person. I want a change, a break, an escape, something to look forward to. A shed load of sand I could just bury my head in and wake up a step further along my karmic incarnations. Or a step lower, if that shit happens, so that I could just get on with being a worm and enjoy it.
I think it might have been raining. I remember that OH went in first. Or maybe I did. I can't actually remember very well because within a short space of time I had well and truly flipped my lid and this seems to have left me with some memory white-out. Shame on me. And I mean that.
I do remember that the boys were really hungry and that we'd bought them some fast food near where we live, that they were being vocally desperate to get their hands on. We must have come in a bit like a hurricane, rushing to get bags out of the car in the rain and the boys yelling at the tops of their voices.
DBrother was on the sofa watching telly. All the lights were on, doors open, heating on full blast etc. To be fair, the heating can only be on or off and is set to a timer so I can't really complain about that. I'm just trying to convey what I saw and felt - rightly or wrongly - as I came in. I rushed a bursting Babe2 to the downstairs toilet and found it not fixed. I was less than delighted to notice changes in my kitchen that I had not authorised (!) - things moved, a new kettle, lots of packets of rice and pasta lined up on the worktop to keep their supplies separate from mine. I was annoyed to find bags of plaster and cement at various locations around the house, courtesy of some building work they'd been doing. I was downright angry, when I went upstairs, to discover that the Brothers had clearly been sleeping over while I was away. Toiletries they'd used around the bath and on the sink. And I felt angrier still that my house didn't smell even a tiny bit like my house any more.
All the stress and anger and anxt and upset and irritation and godknowswhatelse but it lurksinsideme and sometimes fights to get out, erupted. I can't even remember what I said. I know my eruption included the phrases 'I want my bicycle back!' and 'And my pump!' and 'I want my house keys back' and 'This doesn't even smell like my house any more!' and 'How is it that you put several loads of washing through but ignored the broken toilet next to the washing machine and you're a plumber?' and 'I want you to go' and 'This isn't fair.' I remember asking DBrother where he'd been sleeping and him replying 'back at my place', so I asked who had been sleeping in my bed and he ignored me. So then I asked where OBrother had been sleeping and Dbrother put his hands in the air and said that he didn't know, which pushed me even further. I tried to say something in Greek about brothers closing ranks but I think I said something about brothers hugging one another. I then tried to say something about how when the cat is away the mice will play - which I'm not sure even translates into Greek - but I think I actually said something about a mouse going away and the cats going away too.
In fact, who really knows how much sense I made at all? If not on a literal, linguistic level, then on an emotional level, either. I know OBrother asked 'What have we ever done to you?' and that I cried 'Nothing! But we have different ways of thinking and I just don't want to share my house with you. I've been away for nearly a week, you've had the run of the place and now I want some peace.'
At this point, OH came downstairs from the roof with two shovels - it turns out the brothers' work had ended (which means they had in fact had several days to have fixed the toilet but hey, as I've said, I don't really want to feel beholden to them anyway) and OH had managed to line them up with something for the next day but needed to explain where it was - and started shouting at me and threatened to throw me out of the house if I didn't stop. At this, Babe started crying and I did stop, in my tracks. Clearly nothing that I was feeling could be allowed to let a situation escalate that would result in his distress. OH started telling him how horrible mummy was being, and worse, and some more things started snapping into place in my head. I told OH that he must stop, and that if he said anything to our kids that would play with their minds then I would take them to my mum's. End of. We looked at each other and the argument ended, as quickly as it had started. We both knew we'd gone too far. OH finished giving DBrother his directions and the number of a taxi company to get them to work and he left, calling 'Goodnight, Sofia!' over his shoulder. I restrained myself from calling, 'My keys!?' after him and went and put Tom and Jerry on, with shaking hands, and the kids and their dad watched it together and laughed. When I put them to bed half an hour later I heard myself reassuring them that everything was going to be ok, and that things are a bit difficult right now. I think I patched things over ok.
What a mess. I felt really bad that I had behaved the way I had. But continue to feel really bloody annoyed with OH for having created this situation that has me backed into a corner and on the defensive. And surely to God OBrother might just have given us some space that evening, and not been around, after everything that has been said? I think I probably have a post brewing on the subject of anger - as in, 'what really is it that is making me angry?' - but I don't feel up to it right now. On a superficial level, I could conclude that my anger that night stemmed from the fact that my home is my castle. It is a space in which I can be me, that has my stuff in it. OH can't understand why an old wooden desk I was given when I was tiny takes pride of place in the sitting room. He can't understand why I keep ornaments that he considers to be childish or ugly. (Don't get me wrong, neither does he complain, but given the chance he would probably put posters of motorbikes around the place.) He doesn't get my sentimental attachment to stuff. And to be fair, he was born in a country with what - an emerging economy?? - where you trash new stuff on purpose just so that you can buy more new stuff. Valuing something because it's old is considered irrational behaviour.
I know from time I have spent living in other European countries that the English are particularly house-proud. We value our space in a way that is often viewed as protective or unfriendly and arrange our possessions in a way that is perceived as OTT or odd. Personally, I can't imagine a life where my prized possession would be a leather belt and the only ornament in the house taking the form of a religious icon on top of a lace doily on the telly, but there you go. Each to their own. And therein lies the clash...
I wish I could end this post saying that something had been resolved. OH and I did, in fact, temporarily sheath our swords and reach out to one another. We have been trying to restore some kind of domestic harmony. He has been making an effort to show that he wants things to work, and to stay with me. But it doesn't shake off this bloody great spectre that is lurking around the literal corner and impacting at many levels most of the frigging time. I keep thinking I hear a key in the lock and jump when the phone rings. I've been trying to get my head around Christmas and New Year and how we'll get over the festive period as a family if they're around. I don't want to keep feeling so darn guilty about not being a better, nicer person. I want a change, a break, an escape, something to look forward to. A shed load of sand I could just bury my head in and wake up a step further along my karmic incarnations. Or a step lower, if that shit happens, so that I could just get on with being a worm and enjoy it.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Bribery, corruption and Wookie cake
It's been a while since I blogged. The boys and I returned from a few days away to chaotic party planning for Babe's sixth birthday and I'm pleased to say that the day was a wonderful success. Very pleased, in fact, because I was stressed about it. I am stressed about everything at the moment really - those knots in the stomach make themselves at home all too quickly and my intentions to deal with them have not come to much.
I will probably have become an expert on kids' parties around the time I don't need to host them any more. I am definitely learning from my mistakes. Like most parents, I get hung up on wanting the boys' birthdays to be wonderful, 18 or so-hour-long experiences they will remember for ever, which creates one heck of a pressure. Just getting the time and day of the party is a headache. Do you go for the morning, so that they have something to get stuck into straight away? Or do you go for the afternoon and then spend the morning trying to be fun and engaging when you need to be making sandwiches? Do you celebrate on the day of the birthday, or wait for the weekend when both of you are around? (Babe's birthday always falls in October half-term, like mine.)
I asked his dad what he thought. He said to go ahead and have the party on Babe's birthday. So I went ahead and planned for that. The night before OH then expressed surprise that I wasn't doing it on the Saturday so that he could be there. Stressed as I was - just working out the logistics of getting everything we needed to the hall, on foot and in the rain with two boys was having me breaking out in a cold sweat - I could have burst into tears. He said he'd got the days of the week muddled up. I suspect that, as usual, he hadn't really been listening to a word I was saying when I asked him about it. (If I repeat myself then I am 'bombarding', so working out how to communicate effectively is something of a challenge. I may try writing on the walls, or putting up a whiteboard on the wall opposite the toilet. Where there is, incidentally, a photo of a statue of a meditating Buddha, which is as far as I've got towards bringing some calm back into my life. I'm not sure if it's appropriate to defecate and attempt to meditate at the same time but you've got to start somewhere...) I had presumed that OH was glad of an excuse not to get embroiled in the party thing. But should have checked. As he might have. But anyway. I was really, really sorry he wasn't there to enjoy it and to help.
Babe was such a little angel I can't believe it. Before we left for the hall with heaps of stuff, we had a 'glue in the team' pep talk, and he couldn't have done more to help if he'd tried. What a star. Babe2, on the other hand, shouted and grizzled most of the day and was extremely tiresome. And all the harder to discipline given that he was looking very cute in a miniature Darth Vader outfit.
Anyway, my learnings from previous years and consequent solutions are as follows:
1 Decorations are a waste of time because kids don't really notice them so don't bother.
2 Helium bottles cannot be relied on to have any helium in them because ASDA warehouse staff use them for entertainment in their lunch breaks and the disappointment of getting an empty one is huge. Don't bother.
3 Add some yellow food colouring to tap water and serve up in any old jug as 'space water': this is a whole lot more exciting than cartons of value apple juice.
4 Kids are generally spoilt and ungrateful. At last year's party I resorted to telling the five-year-olds who were rummaging through the prize bag and shoving the things they didn't want back in, to 'Close your eyes, pick something out and smile with delight or I'll have it back.' This year I gave them Jedi wristbands made of card with four stages of training to complete. And I gave it to them straight: 'Who is hoping for a party bag today?' Sixteen or so hands shot up. 'Right, so here's the deal...' And stage four, by the way, was for being an all-round, spectacularly well-behaved 'Super Jedi'.
5 Try and get a photo of the cake moment and forget about the rest if you have to.
6 A piñata is totally worth the slimy tiresome effort you put into making it. A death star is basically a balloon covered in black paper with white floury detail that you get whether you're trying or not. And a hellofalot easier than Thomas the tank engine.
7 Kids will generally do what they're told, so getting them to decorate their own plates is worth the three minutes breathing space it gives you. Likewise, 'Sleeping Jedi' provides a welcome break, especially when you have bribed them to the hilt to do what they're told.
8 Have a list of spare games in your pocket. The effort you put into this is worth its weight in gold, because there just is no predicting what kids will get into and what they won't.
9 Work with their imaginations and have a laugh. I didn't expect Babe or his friends to believe that the Yoda signature and claw marks on the back of the huge wooden spoon we used to destroy the death star was a genuine family heirloom, but neither did I expect them to giggle a lot about it.
10 None of the above is possible without a possie of great friends to help you out and I am truly blessed in this department, as is Babe. The round of applause the kids broke into after he'd blown his candles out was (I think!) heartfelt and genuine, and testament to the fact that we had a lovely bunch of people in the room. I doubt either of us will ever have as many friends in our lives as we do right now and I feel and appreciate this often. His sixth was the first party I've had the honour to really enjoy and that one photo (mighty thanks to the friend who took it) is worth its weight in gold.
So...
It was good to get away for a bit. And it's kind of good to be back. At least I think it will be once the party dust has settled and I've caught up with myself.
We had some country air and on our last day enjoyed one of those rare bursts of winter sunshine beside the sea in which the waves sparkle and your mood lifts, no matter how determined your subconconscious is to scupper it. I am very lucky to have parents who live in two of the most beautiful parts of the country, albeit at opposite ends of it.
The Babes had a lovely time - feeding baby goats bottles of milk, going on a fantastic spooky walk, discovering dinosaur footprints, enjoying the delights of Poole park and we have now joined the ranks who have visited Peppa Pig world, courtesy of my brother. I laughed and screamed in equal measure on the rides for eight years old and above, and may go back alone one day soon, to go on the roller coaster repeatedly as I'm sure I let go of a lot of stress that day. I might suggest to Relate that they do a discount deal with Paulton's Park or similar as I reckon it's the best therapy out there. I have been thinking a lot about whether some kind of counselling could help OH and I get onto the road to recovery - or just onto a road - but we've tried it twice before, with no success whatsoever. Our first counsellor got so involved in our arguments that she ended up joined in one and then called the day after to say she'd decided to stop counselling, and the other stopped seeing us because OH was coming out with such ridiculous stuff that he felt he couldn't help us. You could see in his face that he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
My attempts to leave home 'at home' for a few days while I was away were somewhat foiled by a series of phone calls from OH, asking how to work the washing machine and the like. Entirely as predicted, the Brothers took full advantage of my absence to get their domestic stuff done. And a message from him on my birthday, suggesting that I might like to change my heart and mind and start the next year of my life afresh. Good grief.
I was, however, forced to engage with him in order to plan our journey home, as we had too much clobber to take back on a train. This included violins for the boys from my dad; (who is a violinist and whose talent I would love some of to rub off on the boys, or failing that to at least create a viable opening for music to be a force for good in their lives) a lovely winter window box from my mum which I accepted rather ungraciously because I don't like having flowers in my garden; presents for Babe and various ornaments from previous incarnations of my life, owing to a huge clear-out that has been going on it Dorset. So we met half way, in the evening.
I was determined not to ask OH loads of questions on the way home. To avoid 'bombarding' at all costs. To change my behaviour, because I can't change his. So I was very glad when Babe asked him if the cousins were going to be at home when we got back. (Babe gets confused between whether they are uncles, cousins or brothers.) And even more glad, although I was entirely expecting that they wouldn't be, when OH confirmed that they wouldn't be. I wanted a chance to assess the havoc that had been wreaked in my absence without being scrutinised. Actually, to be honest, I just wanted to come through the front door, feel glad to be home, make a cup of tea, and 'be' for a bit.
And in the next post - avid readers! - I'll tell you whether that's what happened or not!
I will probably have become an expert on kids' parties around the time I don't need to host them any more. I am definitely learning from my mistakes. Like most parents, I get hung up on wanting the boys' birthdays to be wonderful, 18 or so-hour-long experiences they will remember for ever, which creates one heck of a pressure. Just getting the time and day of the party is a headache. Do you go for the morning, so that they have something to get stuck into straight away? Or do you go for the afternoon and then spend the morning trying to be fun and engaging when you need to be making sandwiches? Do you celebrate on the day of the birthday, or wait for the weekend when both of you are around? (Babe's birthday always falls in October half-term, like mine.)
I asked his dad what he thought. He said to go ahead and have the party on Babe's birthday. So I went ahead and planned for that. The night before OH then expressed surprise that I wasn't doing it on the Saturday so that he could be there. Stressed as I was - just working out the logistics of getting everything we needed to the hall, on foot and in the rain with two boys was having me breaking out in a cold sweat - I could have burst into tears. He said he'd got the days of the week muddled up. I suspect that, as usual, he hadn't really been listening to a word I was saying when I asked him about it. (If I repeat myself then I am 'bombarding', so working out how to communicate effectively is something of a challenge. I may try writing on the walls, or putting up a whiteboard on the wall opposite the toilet. Where there is, incidentally, a photo of a statue of a meditating Buddha, which is as far as I've got towards bringing some calm back into my life. I'm not sure if it's appropriate to defecate and attempt to meditate at the same time but you've got to start somewhere...) I had presumed that OH was glad of an excuse not to get embroiled in the party thing. But should have checked. As he might have. But anyway. I was really, really sorry he wasn't there to enjoy it and to help.
Babe was such a little angel I can't believe it. Before we left for the hall with heaps of stuff, we had a 'glue in the team' pep talk, and he couldn't have done more to help if he'd tried. What a star. Babe2, on the other hand, shouted and grizzled most of the day and was extremely tiresome. And all the harder to discipline given that he was looking very cute in a miniature Darth Vader outfit.
Anyway, my learnings from previous years and consequent solutions are as follows:
1 Decorations are a waste of time because kids don't really notice them so don't bother.
2 Helium bottles cannot be relied on to have any helium in them because ASDA warehouse staff use them for entertainment in their lunch breaks and the disappointment of getting an empty one is huge. Don't bother.
3 Add some yellow food colouring to tap water and serve up in any old jug as 'space water': this is a whole lot more exciting than cartons of value apple juice.
4 Kids are generally spoilt and ungrateful. At last year's party I resorted to telling the five-year-olds who were rummaging through the prize bag and shoving the things they didn't want back in, to 'Close your eyes, pick something out and smile with delight or I'll have it back.' This year I gave them Jedi wristbands made of card with four stages of training to complete. And I gave it to them straight: 'Who is hoping for a party bag today?' Sixteen or so hands shot up. 'Right, so here's the deal...' And stage four, by the way, was for being an all-round, spectacularly well-behaved 'Super Jedi'.
5 Try and get a photo of the cake moment and forget about the rest if you have to.
6 A piñata is totally worth the slimy tiresome effort you put into making it. A death star is basically a balloon covered in black paper with white floury detail that you get whether you're trying or not. And a hellofalot easier than Thomas the tank engine.
7 Kids will generally do what they're told, so getting them to decorate their own plates is worth the three minutes breathing space it gives you. Likewise, 'Sleeping Jedi' provides a welcome break, especially when you have bribed them to the hilt to do what they're told.
8 Have a list of spare games in your pocket. The effort you put into this is worth its weight in gold, because there just is no predicting what kids will get into and what they won't.
9 Work with their imaginations and have a laugh. I didn't expect Babe or his friends to believe that the Yoda signature and claw marks on the back of the huge wooden spoon we used to destroy the death star was a genuine family heirloom, but neither did I expect them to giggle a lot about it.
10 None of the above is possible without a possie of great friends to help you out and I am truly blessed in this department, as is Babe. The round of applause the kids broke into after he'd blown his candles out was (I think!) heartfelt and genuine, and testament to the fact that we had a lovely bunch of people in the room. I doubt either of us will ever have as many friends in our lives as we do right now and I feel and appreciate this often. His sixth was the first party I've had the honour to really enjoy and that one photo (mighty thanks to the friend who took it) is worth its weight in gold.
So...
It was good to get away for a bit. And it's kind of good to be back. At least I think it will be once the party dust has settled and I've caught up with myself.
We had some country air and on our last day enjoyed one of those rare bursts of winter sunshine beside the sea in which the waves sparkle and your mood lifts, no matter how determined your subconconscious is to scupper it. I am very lucky to have parents who live in two of the most beautiful parts of the country, albeit at opposite ends of it.
The Babes had a lovely time - feeding baby goats bottles of milk, going on a fantastic spooky walk, discovering dinosaur footprints, enjoying the delights of Poole park and we have now joined the ranks who have visited Peppa Pig world, courtesy of my brother. I laughed and screamed in equal measure on the rides for eight years old and above, and may go back alone one day soon, to go on the roller coaster repeatedly as I'm sure I let go of a lot of stress that day. I might suggest to Relate that they do a discount deal with Paulton's Park or similar as I reckon it's the best therapy out there. I have been thinking a lot about whether some kind of counselling could help OH and I get onto the road to recovery - or just onto a road - but we've tried it twice before, with no success whatsoever. Our first counsellor got so involved in our arguments that she ended up joined in one and then called the day after to say she'd decided to stop counselling, and the other stopped seeing us because OH was coming out with such ridiculous stuff that he felt he couldn't help us. You could see in his face that he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
My attempts to leave home 'at home' for a few days while I was away were somewhat foiled by a series of phone calls from OH, asking how to work the washing machine and the like. Entirely as predicted, the Brothers took full advantage of my absence to get their domestic stuff done. And a message from him on my birthday, suggesting that I might like to change my heart and mind and start the next year of my life afresh. Good grief.
I was, however, forced to engage with him in order to plan our journey home, as we had too much clobber to take back on a train. This included violins for the boys from my dad; (who is a violinist and whose talent I would love some of to rub off on the boys, or failing that to at least create a viable opening for music to be a force for good in their lives) a lovely winter window box from my mum which I accepted rather ungraciously because I don't like having flowers in my garden; presents for Babe and various ornaments from previous incarnations of my life, owing to a huge clear-out that has been going on it Dorset. So we met half way, in the evening.
I was determined not to ask OH loads of questions on the way home. To avoid 'bombarding' at all costs. To change my behaviour, because I can't change his. So I was very glad when Babe asked him if the cousins were going to be at home when we got back. (Babe gets confused between whether they are uncles, cousins or brothers.) And even more glad, although I was entirely expecting that they wouldn't be, when OH confirmed that they wouldn't be. I wanted a chance to assess the havoc that had been wreaked in my absence without being scrutinised. Actually, to be honest, I just wanted to come through the front door, feel glad to be home, make a cup of tea, and 'be' for a bit.
And in the next post - avid readers! - I'll tell you whether that's what happened or not!
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
OH and I talk. And I consider relinquishing my lightsaber
So, OH and I 'met'. I asked if we could agree some ground rules for our meeting (no shouting, no abuse, no interrupting and to listen to what each other was saying instead of lining up our next points while the other was speaking) and he said he thought that was a great idea.
Amazingly, we stuck to them. And considering that his opener was that he wants me to 'be a nice person' I think that was an amazing achievement. He also said that he doesn't want his brothers to be here and that they don't want to be here either but that this was a situation borne out of necessity. He said that he would agree to my conditions to how often they come round. And he said that he wants to stay with me. He asked if I want to stay with him and I said that I'm not sure. I explained how I am struggling to deal with what even a few more months of their demands would mean for us, let alone the possibility of this all going on for decades. He struggled to keep his cool. But he listened.
To cut a long conversation short we agreed to:
1 Write up some family ground rules with the kids - which we have done. Babe said we should call them 'the glue in the team'.
2 Have the brothers round/do something with them for some of the weekend and sometimes during the week.
3 See if we can work to both sets of ground rules for a fortnight, and then consider continuing, or a change of tack.
This lasted through Monday evening, and yesterday evening (I was out) but started to falter today when he got home from work and accused me of bombarding him the minute he got through the door. So he went off to the gym, sharpish, to escape and avoid the risk of breaking more rules.
I wasn't meaning to bombard him. But I'm going to my mum's for five days tomorrow with the kids and I had kind of hoped he'd remembered this, plus I had some questions to ask and stuff to discuss before I went, including:
1 Who broke the downstairs toilet flush when I was out last night? And could he fix it this weekend while I'm away
2 Why had the brothers refused to eat the Greek aubergine dish I had cooked when they came round last night, and instead eaten the seafood I'd told him I was planning to cook - and enjoy some of myself - today?
3 What did they want me to tell a friend who has some work lined up for them to do this weekend, but which will involve OH helping them source the materials and a ladder
4 Could he please remember to give them the receipt for the plaster he bought - I have placed it beside the bread bin - and which they used to fill the holes in their bedroom walls and which Mr Khan said he'd deduct from their rent, due today? And could we please have that money, rather than them keeping it, since we paid for it?
I felt like I needed to get my requests in fast because literally the minute OH stepped through the front door (he gets home at roughly 6.17pm most days) his mobile rang. It was, of course, OBrother and he was asking why Mr Khan had asked for their rent today. I told him to tell them that he'd asked for it because it was due today. I was feeling riled at their insensitivity - why must they call him at what they know is literally the minute he gets through the door instead of at least giving him time to come in and take his shoes off? I think that might have irritated him, too, because I understood him saying, in Albanian, 'I have just got through the door.' Really, it is like having an extra two kids to look after. If I could just keep my mouth shut for a fortnight he'll probably get to the point of telling them to piss off himself.
Heck, it is going to be very hard keeping this up for two weeks but we are trying. And at least I'm going to be away for some of it.
In the meantime I have simply got to make a priority of trying to relax and de-stress. I have got to find a way of focussing on my own priorities and letting go of all this irritation or it is going to infect me. On Monday I started, for a few minutes, to hum and feel happy and as though I was enjoying life. It caught me unawares so I paused and noticed it. I wondered if it was my birthday but no, that's next week and the reason I'm going to my mum's. (OH's father passed away on my birthday and I know that he and the brothers will want to mourn together. Mourning is really big in their culture and I quite admire the priority they make of it, but I don't want to end up banished to the dining room on my birthday.) (I told my dad not to send me flowers this year as I won't be there and don't want them thinking they are inappropriate flowers of sympathy or I don't know what.) My next feeling was one of astonished guilt that I was feeling happy, so I started to feel stressed again. And then I remembered all the reasons I'm not allowing myself to feel happy at the moment anyway - failing marriage and death by drowning to foreign relatives - and started to feel bloody miserable again. But back in my comfort zone at least. Gee whizz!
OH isn't looking very happy either. I know he's tired. I'm sure he'd stressed. And I'm sure he's missing having an intimate relationship with me because he needs bits of it more than I do. The truth is that I'm yearning to reach out to him and get back to someplace we used to inhabit together, but I feel that I have to make a point of trying to get us both to change our relationship, to rediscover a place of mutual understanding and respect. I'm afraid that if I act like nothing has been happening it will be only a matter of days before we're at one another's throats again and I can't live like that any more. Not least because of the impact it will have on our kids. To be even more truthful, to reach out to him right now would feel more like a response borne out of habit, than one that is coming from deep within and genuine. I don't know if I'm just in need of a good thawing, or if I don't have those feelings any more. I feel lost and frightened. Luckily I am by turns too busy and then too tired to think about this all day and all night.
I may or may not blog over the next few days. I am very much looking forward to a change of scene. And the certainty of making plans and choosing who to spend my time with. If my mind lingers on what is going on in my home while I'm away, or on what mess and/or level of olfactory incidence will greet me on my return, I am going to release those thoughts to the elements. I am going to run on the sand in bare feet and let the sea spray wet my hair (friends who know how much I hate getting cold and wet will be surprised by this). I am going to laugh with my children and eat prawns with my mum and go on theme park rides with my brother, whom I love. I am going to welcome the onset of my forty-second year because God knows what it will hold but I am determined to step forward with open arms and not a lightsaber. Even though I know that is what Babe has asked for, for my birthday.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
In which I consider establishing some boundaries. And finding a shrink
What joy! OH has taken the boys out for a couple of hours so that I can do some housework. This gives me a chance to get my head together and work out what I need to discuss with him - we have agreed to talk this evening.
The week ended in more turbulent emotion. On Thursday it looked as though the brothers had actually decided to look after themselves for one evening and at 8.30, having finally got the kids into bed, I went to sit down with OH in the sitting room. Surprise, surprise, at that moment his mobile rang. It was OBrother, saying that they were starving. And OH told them that they must of course come round. I lost my rag completely, saying that they were behaving like children: they're living in a house with a fully-fitted kitchen and are also in possession of the 'home-starter pack' which our local supermarket is now offering for about £6 and which OH had bought them. It consists of crockery, cutlery and cooking utensils for two. I'm pretty sure it is not intended for young couples or students - major retail outlets are always ahead of the game and clearly there is a significant market of 'new arrivals to the UK' to cater for. The brothers could, I went on, walk five minutes to the Spa and buy themselves eggs, sausages and tomatoes and cook themselves something. Ridiculous! (Of course I happen to know that DBrother intends to buy himself an oven to put in the bedroom and is not prepared to share a kitchen. Even more bloody ridiculous.)
OH saw red and we had a fiery exchange during which I presume the brothers arrived at our front door, heard us and went away again, because they didn't turn up. OH's main defense was that from Saturday he would take them to do a shop and their days of turning up here to eat every day would be over. My main argument was that they were behaving like children and that this needs nipping in the bud. They had been here one day shy of a month and eaten and cooked here every day. We did not find common ground and I ended up stomping off so we failed, once again, to spend any pleasant time together.
On Friday late afternoon I met OBrother on the cycle path as he arrived home from work (on my bike which has now had the child seat taken off it and stowed somewhere) and as we were leaving Babe's school's spooky disco. I asked how he was and said there was chicken in the fridge and that he was welcome to come round and cook. The conversation seemed fine to me, but he didn't appear. OH arrived home from work later than usual and it evolved that the brothers had been standing outside our house waiting for him. I'm not sure if they were trying to keep their distance or once again being infantile, but outside they remained. When I asked OH what was going on, he shouted that he had told them to stay away unless he was at home. And added that they know they're not welcome.
'Look,' I said, once again getting pretty distressed. 'I didn't say they can never come round, but I asked them to start cooking for themselves at their place and to give me some space. I invited them round earlier perfectly amicably (actually I don't know the Greek word for amicably but I'm giving you the gist) and to stand outside is simply insane.' I thought I'd heard someone hawking in the street shortly before OH got home which explains that, anyway.
He stormed off to the gym and took them with him to 'look around that part of town and get themselves a pizza' (they have been paid, thank God, and now have the next two month's rent in hand) and I was left putting the kids to bed, once again.
Yesterday we spent the first Saturday together in ages. It would have been nice except that OH woke up in a foul mood and made us late for the Steiner Academy consultation I wanted to go to, at the city farm. We then went for our first Aldi experience - it having been hailed by many friends - but found it an unsatisfactory experience and ended up going back to Tesco's for the things it doesn't sell, anyway. So I can't honestly say we saved much and I don't think it was worth the time we ended up spending shopping. Babe did at least get the dracula fangs he had been nagging us for and wore them all day, savagely gnashing at us at regular intervals. I'm not sure if there was a hidden message in there or not.
We all crashed out in front of the telly in the afternoon, and when OH woke up, he attempted to apologise and held out his arms to me. After the psychotic sh*t he had hurled at me all morning, I was not inclined to bend and instead asked when we could have a proper conversation, which is now lined up for this evening. The brothers came round after that - having met him at the Spa first - possibly because OH had told them I was going out. When I got back, enough chicken, rice and potatoes had been cooked to last an army a week. I can guess why. It was late, and they had left.
So, what am I going to say this evening?
The wise and lovely friend I spent yesterday evening with suggested that I had to come up with some boundaries to negotiate, that I could cope with and which would also be fair to OH. My mum - who is also wise and lovely - suggested the same thing when I called her in some distress on Friday evening.
My friend suggested that I do not obsess about the longer-term projections for this situation, but instead concentrate on coping mechanisms to get me through the short-term.
I guess these could include:
1 That the brothers eat at their place after work on weekdays. I need help with the boys between the time when OH gets home and them going to bed. We have agreed that I spend half an hour each evening with Babe, doing his reading etc, and this is a routine I want to be really disciplined about establishing and maintaining. And I can't do it with Babe2 yelling at the top of his voice the whole way through. So OH's support is required.
2 That at the weekend we have one family day, or the equivalent of. If OH wants to hook up with his brothers on the other, and the kids too, so be it. And that OH discusses the weekend with me, before making arrangements with them.
3 That if they come round on Saturday evening to eat and socialise, then they don't come round on Sunday evening as well.
4 If they will not relinquish their house keys, that they at least keep them for emergencies, and knock when they come round. And no more rifling through, and helping themselves to, our stuff.
5 OBrother returns my bike and rents one from the council, free of charge. (I will just sort this, no need to state it really)
6 Now that they are earning, they will repay what they owe us, gradually, at an agreed sum per week each. We are up to our ears in overdraft.
(I haven't forgotten that demands will be made of me in return. Not to behave like a screaming banshee going beserk will no doubt be one of them.)
I guess the conditions above would leave me coping, up to a point. It will not address the burning resentment I feel because I'm in this situation and I am going to have to find some karmic means to address this.
Neither does it address the fact that I am feeling even more emotionally frozen that I was before, and unsure as to whether I want to continue in a relationship with OH. Part of me feels that the distance that has emerged between us over this last month is the beginning of the end, and I'm not sure I want to re-enter the semblance of a relationship with him, with all this going on. Things have been said that will never be forgotten. It is clear that our relationship is fairly dis-functional, because we wouldn't be in the situation we are if it wasn't.
Also - and I promise I won't bang on about this again - our lives have now changed in a hugely significant way, and there is no going back. DBrother, I suspect, will either get cheesed off and go home, or bag himself an English girlfriend and then not be interested in spending any time with us. In the fifteen years or so of my relationship with OH that has been lived here in the UK, DBrother has made almost no attempt whatsoever to be in touch with OH. He called us once, about ten years ago, to ask if we could buy and send to Athens some medicine that his then-wife needed. And then about a year ago he started making overtures, and it was clear to me what he was angling for and why.
OBrother, on the other hand will, I'm pretty sure, end up staying here. He has always said that his game plan is to live here for a decade and then retire to his home in Albania, but once he's brought his wife and sons over, and got them places at school etc, I can't imagine that he'll leave them on their own if they've put down roots. And the boys would most likely end up wanting to stay, once they've made friends and speak the language. And even if they wanted to leave, the economic situation in Greece and Albania is unlikely to improve in our working lifetime, so how would his sons go back there to work? Despite the benchmarks I've laid down above, if his wife and sons did come to join him here, they would of course see us as their social lifeline and I how could I possibly escape that? This isn't just about me wanting to preserve my space, this is about me being forced to hang out with people I don't just have nothing in common with, but also with people I just don't like very much.
Finally, there is no escaping the number of relatives that are no doubt holding out for DBrother and OBrother to make a go of it here, so that they can come and join them. No other siblings (OH is one of eleven, nine remaining, who are all, bar one, married and have kids) expect to join them (I don't think), but there are loads of nephews and nieces who have left or are leaving or who are completing school and who will, I am sure, expect to come here too:
OBrother's two - already mentioned
DBrothers two - in their twenties, speak moderate to good English, no skills
Tsister's three - all in their twenties, struggling to keep a roof over their head in Corfu and no skills between them, some English
Vsister's one - about to do military service and whose parents have indicated that they want him to come here - moderate English
Msister's one - can probably look after herself - good English
And others...
So it seems to me that the questions I have to answer are:
1 Can I cope with the brothers being around if OH gets them to agree to the terms above, and keeps the terms himself?
2 Can I let go of residual resentment and make a fresh start?
3 Can OH and I lay down some ground rules and then set a time frame to see if we can live in peace while we give some time to seeing how the brothers' situation evolves? I could use that time to assess:
4 Do I love OH enough to stay with him, knowing that our lives together are going to be affected, most likely for a decade if not longer, by the ongoing demands of his family?
Gee. What a list of questions. Maybe OH is right, and I do need a shrink.
The week ended in more turbulent emotion. On Thursday it looked as though the brothers had actually decided to look after themselves for one evening and at 8.30, having finally got the kids into bed, I went to sit down with OH in the sitting room. Surprise, surprise, at that moment his mobile rang. It was OBrother, saying that they were starving. And OH told them that they must of course come round. I lost my rag completely, saying that they were behaving like children: they're living in a house with a fully-fitted kitchen and are also in possession of the 'home-starter pack' which our local supermarket is now offering for about £6 and which OH had bought them. It consists of crockery, cutlery and cooking utensils for two. I'm pretty sure it is not intended for young couples or students - major retail outlets are always ahead of the game and clearly there is a significant market of 'new arrivals to the UK' to cater for. The brothers could, I went on, walk five minutes to the Spa and buy themselves eggs, sausages and tomatoes and cook themselves something. Ridiculous! (Of course I happen to know that DBrother intends to buy himself an oven to put in the bedroom and is not prepared to share a kitchen. Even more bloody ridiculous.)
OH saw red and we had a fiery exchange during which I presume the brothers arrived at our front door, heard us and went away again, because they didn't turn up. OH's main defense was that from Saturday he would take them to do a shop and their days of turning up here to eat every day would be over. My main argument was that they were behaving like children and that this needs nipping in the bud. They had been here one day shy of a month and eaten and cooked here every day. We did not find common ground and I ended up stomping off so we failed, once again, to spend any pleasant time together.
On Friday late afternoon I met OBrother on the cycle path as he arrived home from work (on my bike which has now had the child seat taken off it and stowed somewhere) and as we were leaving Babe's school's spooky disco. I asked how he was and said there was chicken in the fridge and that he was welcome to come round and cook. The conversation seemed fine to me, but he didn't appear. OH arrived home from work later than usual and it evolved that the brothers had been standing outside our house waiting for him. I'm not sure if they were trying to keep their distance or once again being infantile, but outside they remained. When I asked OH what was going on, he shouted that he had told them to stay away unless he was at home. And added that they know they're not welcome.
'Look,' I said, once again getting pretty distressed. 'I didn't say they can never come round, but I asked them to start cooking for themselves at their place and to give me some space. I invited them round earlier perfectly amicably (actually I don't know the Greek word for amicably but I'm giving you the gist) and to stand outside is simply insane.' I thought I'd heard someone hawking in the street shortly before OH got home which explains that, anyway.
He stormed off to the gym and took them with him to 'look around that part of town and get themselves a pizza' (they have been paid, thank God, and now have the next two month's rent in hand) and I was left putting the kids to bed, once again.
Yesterday we spent the first Saturday together in ages. It would have been nice except that OH woke up in a foul mood and made us late for the Steiner Academy consultation I wanted to go to, at the city farm. We then went for our first Aldi experience - it having been hailed by many friends - but found it an unsatisfactory experience and ended up going back to Tesco's for the things it doesn't sell, anyway. So I can't honestly say we saved much and I don't think it was worth the time we ended up spending shopping. Babe did at least get the dracula fangs he had been nagging us for and wore them all day, savagely gnashing at us at regular intervals. I'm not sure if there was a hidden message in there or not.
We all crashed out in front of the telly in the afternoon, and when OH woke up, he attempted to apologise and held out his arms to me. After the psychotic sh*t he had hurled at me all morning, I was not inclined to bend and instead asked when we could have a proper conversation, which is now lined up for this evening. The brothers came round after that - having met him at the Spa first - possibly because OH had told them I was going out. When I got back, enough chicken, rice and potatoes had been cooked to last an army a week. I can guess why. It was late, and they had left.
So, what am I going to say this evening?
The wise and lovely friend I spent yesterday evening with suggested that I had to come up with some boundaries to negotiate, that I could cope with and which would also be fair to OH. My mum - who is also wise and lovely - suggested the same thing when I called her in some distress on Friday evening.
My friend suggested that I do not obsess about the longer-term projections for this situation, but instead concentrate on coping mechanisms to get me through the short-term.
I guess these could include:
1 That the brothers eat at their place after work on weekdays. I need help with the boys between the time when OH gets home and them going to bed. We have agreed that I spend half an hour each evening with Babe, doing his reading etc, and this is a routine I want to be really disciplined about establishing and maintaining. And I can't do it with Babe2 yelling at the top of his voice the whole way through. So OH's support is required.
2 That at the weekend we have one family day, or the equivalent of. If OH wants to hook up with his brothers on the other, and the kids too, so be it. And that OH discusses the weekend with me, before making arrangements with them.
3 That if they come round on Saturday evening to eat and socialise, then they don't come round on Sunday evening as well.
4 If they will not relinquish their house keys, that they at least keep them for emergencies, and knock when they come round. And no more rifling through, and helping themselves to, our stuff.
5 OBrother returns my bike and rents one from the council, free of charge. (I will just sort this, no need to state it really)
6 Now that they are earning, they will repay what they owe us, gradually, at an agreed sum per week each. We are up to our ears in overdraft.
(I haven't forgotten that demands will be made of me in return. Not to behave like a screaming banshee going beserk will no doubt be one of them.)
I guess the conditions above would leave me coping, up to a point. It will not address the burning resentment I feel because I'm in this situation and I am going to have to find some karmic means to address this.
Neither does it address the fact that I am feeling even more emotionally frozen that I was before, and unsure as to whether I want to continue in a relationship with OH. Part of me feels that the distance that has emerged between us over this last month is the beginning of the end, and I'm not sure I want to re-enter the semblance of a relationship with him, with all this going on. Things have been said that will never be forgotten. It is clear that our relationship is fairly dis-functional, because we wouldn't be in the situation we are if it wasn't.
Also - and I promise I won't bang on about this again - our lives have now changed in a hugely significant way, and there is no going back. DBrother, I suspect, will either get cheesed off and go home, or bag himself an English girlfriend and then not be interested in spending any time with us. In the fifteen years or so of my relationship with OH that has been lived here in the UK, DBrother has made almost no attempt whatsoever to be in touch with OH. He called us once, about ten years ago, to ask if we could buy and send to Athens some medicine that his then-wife needed. And then about a year ago he started making overtures, and it was clear to me what he was angling for and why.
OBrother, on the other hand will, I'm pretty sure, end up staying here. He has always said that his game plan is to live here for a decade and then retire to his home in Albania, but once he's brought his wife and sons over, and got them places at school etc, I can't imagine that he'll leave them on their own if they've put down roots. And the boys would most likely end up wanting to stay, once they've made friends and speak the language. And even if they wanted to leave, the economic situation in Greece and Albania is unlikely to improve in our working lifetime, so how would his sons go back there to work? Despite the benchmarks I've laid down above, if his wife and sons did come to join him here, they would of course see us as their social lifeline and I how could I possibly escape that? This isn't just about me wanting to preserve my space, this is about me being forced to hang out with people I don't just have nothing in common with, but also with people I just don't like very much.
Finally, there is no escaping the number of relatives that are no doubt holding out for DBrother and OBrother to make a go of it here, so that they can come and join them. No other siblings (OH is one of eleven, nine remaining, who are all, bar one, married and have kids) expect to join them (I don't think), but there are loads of nephews and nieces who have left or are leaving or who are completing school and who will, I am sure, expect to come here too:
OBrother's two - already mentioned
DBrothers two - in their twenties, speak moderate to good English, no skills
Tsister's three - all in their twenties, struggling to keep a roof over their head in Corfu and no skills between them, some English
Vsister's one - about to do military service and whose parents have indicated that they want him to come here - moderate English
Msister's one - can probably look after herself - good English
And others...
So it seems to me that the questions I have to answer are:
1 Can I cope with the brothers being around if OH gets them to agree to the terms above, and keeps the terms himself?
2 Can I let go of residual resentment and make a fresh start?
3 Can OH and I lay down some ground rules and then set a time frame to see if we can live in peace while we give some time to seeing how the brothers' situation evolves? I could use that time to assess:
4 Do I love OH enough to stay with him, knowing that our lives together are going to be affected, most likely for a decade if not longer, by the ongoing demands of his family?
Gee. What a list of questions. Maybe OH is right, and I do need a shrink.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Not out of the woods yet
My house stinks of white beans that are mid-way through the several hours' boiling they require. And of smelly feet. Just after OH got home this evening, and we were talking in the kitchen - facing one another, no less! - and celebrating our new-found space (and were actually in grave danger of reaching out to embrace one another) the brothers came through the front door, muddied up to the eyeballs. I had literally just said something along the lines of 'thank god we've established a new routine, because I was starting to fall apart at the seams.' Neither of us could quite believe that they were there, so we continued just standing, facing one another, trying to work out what to do or say. My mind was, if I'm honest, on all the sofa cushions and throws that I had washed yesterday afternoon.
Following our break-through conversation yesterday evening, OH went straight to OBrother and gave it to him straight: that they needed to start cooking and eating in their own place. He then came and told me that he was taking the brothers to the supermarket, to stock up. I guess he wanted to strike while the iron was hot. He looked exhausted and fifteen minutes later we'd agreed that he'd take them on Saturday instead, by which time he said he hoped they'd have earned some money and be able to pay for the shopping themselves.
I knew DBrother would be a harder nut to crack. He had become nearly hysterical on a previous occasion, after we came back from Mr Khan's together, when I'd said he'd have to bite the bullet and start using the kitchen. 'I can't, Sofia, I just can't.'
Well I'm sorry, but he's a grown man and he came here knowing it would be difficult. I shared a house with five people once before, when I was in my twenties. It was called being a student. I am now a woman in my forties and I can't do it again. Apart from anything else, I want to go bra-less in the evenings without feeling uncomfortable.
Yes of course if they were literally penniless I might re-consider, but having taken the room they are just going to have to put up with stained tiles in the kitchen and blinking well cook and eat round there as well. I can't be having them just dropping round when they feel like it. And as I said to OH yesterday, if I am going to be expected to sometimes-support, sometimes-lead on the employment, social and language problems that could last for years, then I won't find the goodwill in my heart to do so if the brothers are driving me to distraction on the home front.
DBrother also, incidentally, keeps talking about how when he opens a bank account his (grown-up) daughter is going to put money into the account and he'll then share it with me. I have told him repeatedly that I don't want or need gifts. But it does really irk me that he didn't come here with more cash in hand, seemingly expecting to doss with his brother and his wife for as long as it took, without contributing, when we have two small kids and not enough money to last each month as it is. In Greece he drives a BMW motorbike, he owns a plot of land in Albania overlooking Corfu, and he recently sold the house he owned there for enough money for me to presume he has something in the bank. I am starting to detest his round, open face, really I am. He did, today, give me a 200 Euro note to part-cover the training he did at the weekend.
When he showed up eventually yesterday evening, 'too stressed' to eat what I'd prepared but also more than happy to divvy out and then ravage the seafood with his brother, I could barely conceal my rage. Talk about an atmosphere that you can cut with a knife, I have created a whole new set of atmospheres that you'd need a veritable variety of sharp kitchen implements to deal with. So... OH dropped them off at their place after they'd eaten and when he got back promised me that he had also now discussed the new living arrangements with DBrother on the way and that DBrother himself had concurred that it was necessary. I am sure this conversation took place. The problem is that the brothers are thick-skinned, stubborn and frankly too used to having a woman to look after them to simply swap our home for their digs, just like that. So they are choosing what to respond to. Which means I am now going to have to ask OH to issue them with another ultimatum that will kick in this weekend after he takes them shopping.
Meantime, here I am, once again, in my dining room. Having made clear that I am once again royally pissed off. As it happens I have a report to write that I really should have been doing earlier today when I had the chance but decided to do housework instead. OH disappeared with DBrother on his way to the gym several hours ago and OBrother and his smelly feet are in the sitting room while the steam from the beans he is cooking permeates every scent-receptive molecule of our house.
The brothers will be turning up here again early tomorrow morning to get the bicycles, no doubt leaving a chilly breeze in their wake. At least they are working but they haven't been paid. The bloke who's giving them work is, I failed to mention in a previous post, a right notveryniceperson who owed OH hundreds of pounds for months, in the knowledge that we couldn't pay our mortgage without it, and who only produced the cash when I started legal proceedings against him. But beggars can't be choosers and we've got to take chances where we can in order to get their rent paid. Good grief.
Anyone who thought all this would be simple should, well, should have bloody well spoken to me first.
Following our break-through conversation yesterday evening, OH went straight to OBrother and gave it to him straight: that they needed to start cooking and eating in their own place. He then came and told me that he was taking the brothers to the supermarket, to stock up. I guess he wanted to strike while the iron was hot. He looked exhausted and fifteen minutes later we'd agreed that he'd take them on Saturday instead, by which time he said he hoped they'd have earned some money and be able to pay for the shopping themselves.
I knew DBrother would be a harder nut to crack. He had become nearly hysterical on a previous occasion, after we came back from Mr Khan's together, when I'd said he'd have to bite the bullet and start using the kitchen. 'I can't, Sofia, I just can't.'
Well I'm sorry, but he's a grown man and he came here knowing it would be difficult. I shared a house with five people once before, when I was in my twenties. It was called being a student. I am now a woman in my forties and I can't do it again. Apart from anything else, I want to go bra-less in the evenings without feeling uncomfortable.
Yes of course if they were literally penniless I might re-consider, but having taken the room they are just going to have to put up with stained tiles in the kitchen and blinking well cook and eat round there as well. I can't be having them just dropping round when they feel like it. And as I said to OH yesterday, if I am going to be expected to sometimes-support, sometimes-lead on the employment, social and language problems that could last for years, then I won't find the goodwill in my heart to do so if the brothers are driving me to distraction on the home front.
DBrother also, incidentally, keeps talking about how when he opens a bank account his (grown-up) daughter is going to put money into the account and he'll then share it with me. I have told him repeatedly that I don't want or need gifts. But it does really irk me that he didn't come here with more cash in hand, seemingly expecting to doss with his brother and his wife for as long as it took, without contributing, when we have two small kids and not enough money to last each month as it is. In Greece he drives a BMW motorbike, he owns a plot of land in Albania overlooking Corfu, and he recently sold the house he owned there for enough money for me to presume he has something in the bank. I am starting to detest his round, open face, really I am. He did, today, give me a 200 Euro note to part-cover the training he did at the weekend.
When he showed up eventually yesterday evening, 'too stressed' to eat what I'd prepared but also more than happy to divvy out and then ravage the seafood with his brother, I could barely conceal my rage. Talk about an atmosphere that you can cut with a knife, I have created a whole new set of atmospheres that you'd need a veritable variety of sharp kitchen implements to deal with. So... OH dropped them off at their place after they'd eaten and when he got back promised me that he had also now discussed the new living arrangements with DBrother on the way and that DBrother himself had concurred that it was necessary. I am sure this conversation took place. The problem is that the brothers are thick-skinned, stubborn and frankly too used to having a woman to look after them to simply swap our home for their digs, just like that. So they are choosing what to respond to. Which means I am now going to have to ask OH to issue them with another ultimatum that will kick in this weekend after he takes them shopping.
Meantime, here I am, once again, in my dining room. Having made clear that I am once again royally pissed off. As it happens I have a report to write that I really should have been doing earlier today when I had the chance but decided to do housework instead. OH disappeared with DBrother on his way to the gym several hours ago and OBrother and his smelly feet are in the sitting room while the steam from the beans he is cooking permeates every scent-receptive molecule of our house.
The brothers will be turning up here again early tomorrow morning to get the bicycles, no doubt leaving a chilly breeze in their wake. At least they are working but they haven't been paid. The bloke who's giving them work is, I failed to mention in a previous post, a right notveryniceperson who owed OH hundreds of pounds for months, in the knowledge that we couldn't pay our mortgage without it, and who only produced the cash when I started legal proceedings against him. But beggars can't be choosers and we've got to take chances where we can in order to get their rent paid. Good grief.
Anyone who thought all this would be simple should, well, should have bloody well spoken to me first.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Homeward bound?
My intention of the last few days has been to list the positive aspects of the situation I'm in. But once again, events have overtaken me. Which means you won't, at least, get a pitifully short entry.
This weekend, a successful trip to London was made and applications for construction industry cards (which were paid for through the nose - don't ask) sent off. OH also went to visit a bloke he's worked for before, who has several construction sites of his own, and he and the brothers did a few hours work for him on Saturday and as a result, the brothers received their first earnings. Hooray! At least I imagine that's what they thought, it must have felt significant. We haven't had the opportunity to discuss it.
Since the site is near to where our local cycle path passes the eastern outskirts of the city, they were to have cycled there yesterday afternoon to continue the job ('we' had national insurance interviews in the morning) and the hope is that he keeps them on for a while. Unfortunately, the chain came off my bicycle on the way there and by the time they had fixed it they were wet and fed up and decided to call it a day. I don't know what they think OH does on the building sites where he works when it is raining and by now they must have realised that it rains here more than it doesn't, but hey. (If you're wondering if I'm being mean and whether they've got the right togs or not, we have lent them loads of OH's stuff, and two huge cardboard boxes of clothes arrived from Athens yesterday, having been sent by courier. My heart sank when I saw them.)
I presume the brothers are there today. I was expecting them to come round and collect the bikes early this morning, and had hoisted them out of the back yard and into our downstairs corridor in preparation but they didn't turn up. OH thinks they might have taken the bus, which frankly amazes me, but here's hoping.
Possible limiting factors to their being there a while include the extent of the work available and, obviously, their English, without OH there to translate for them. In the meantime, we are also hoping that one of them at least, probably OBrother, might get to work on the site where OH is currently based. (But he needs to get a bank account first, which he can't open until we get the letter with his NI number.) The plastering work in the house over the road that has been gutted is still a 'possible'.
I really hope that they'll get enough work this week to get the next month's rent, which is due next week, in the bag, so that there is no chance of me being asked to have them back here again. Not that we have room for all their clothes now anyway. Following that, it would be great to know that they have the next couple of months after that lined up, and if possible, I would like them to pay us back what we've covered so far because we are stretched beyond belief. Well, stretched by our terms, Clearly they are more stretched.
While we're talking of being stretched, of course there are lots of different ways that one can be stretched. Despite our financial situation, It's the emotional stretching that I've been finding it hard to deal with. I know that much is clear to you! And yesterday I was stretched a little bit further than I could cope with, and I'm afraid that someone let go of one end and I pinged. I knew it was coming, but was not prepared for it. It was not nice. Not for the brothers, And not for me. I am still vibrating slightly and am possibly a bit saggier than I was before.
I had, over the weekend, realised that OH and I need most urgently to have a conversation about where all this is going, but I hadn't yet formulated what I wanted to ask for. So I was carrying on, and feeling grouchy. Not least because the boys and I barely saw OH all weekend, since he was working needlessly in the rain on Saturday, in order to get the brothers working, and because on Sunday he was carting them up to London and back.
Yesterday I had arranged to meet the brothers in the centre of town, half an hour before OBrother's interview, which was half an hour before DBrother's. I explained that I wasn't too familiar with the backstreets, but that I'd got the A-Z and the address and this plan would give us time to walk there and find it. The city where we live has a number of what you might call central areas, but they know the place where they got their keys cut which is next to a large bank, so to save getting lost or being late, we arranged to meet there. I went in early, as I had some bits to do, and wanted to get back straight afterwards as I had stuff to do relating to one of the voluntary positions I hold. (Note how in a few short weeks I have learnt to over-explain and justify every frigging thing I have to do.) They didn't want to pay for the bus, and I can't afford to pay for all of us, so I cycled and they walked.
At the appointed time, OBrother turned up. DBrother had apparently decided to come along later as his interview was later.
'But we won't have time to go and find the place and then come back and find him and then go back there again before your interview, or between the interviews!' I exclaimed. Already getting pretty hot under the collar. 'Perhaps you could call him and find out where he is?'
'Our phones are out of credit,' OBrother responded.
'Ok, well let me top you up,' I said.
'I've left the top-up card at home,' he replied.
We decided to run for it and call later from my phone, as we had already lost ten minutes. In case you think I'm being mean about the phones, here's the deal. OH bought them each a SIM card with some credit. We gave them each a phone - we had old ones lying around. After a lot of complaint and subtle and less subtle anglings for new ones (OH had told them that I have two brand new ones in unopened boxes upstairs which I intend to flog on ebay) they got them working. We said they they could make brief phone calls home from our landline now and then, but that was it. (When OBrother came over the Christmas before last, he ran up a phone bill of over £250 by making calls so we've drawn a line under this for a reason.)
After walking round in a rather large circle, which was my fault entirely, we got there slightly late and went upstairs for our interview. The woman who conducted it was friendly enough, but it was clear from the subliminal sarcasm in her responses that she was well and truly over completing applications for National Insurances numbers. Some of her responses included:
'Oh, a European passport holder! That'll be nice and easy then.'
'He's a man and he can remember the year he married, well I never!'
'Perhaps he could repeat his signature for me a couple of times? They don't look the same, he'd better copy. Don't worry, I'm not looking.'
'Any other siblings? Eleven? My God. Will they all be joining you?' I did not bother to translate this last bit, and said, "No."
She then asked for DBrother. I explained that we had to go and find him but that we'd be back asap. She seemed unsurprised and said with an ironic smile that she'd "be waiting". OBrother used my phone to call DBrother and went off to find him. Eventually they returned while I spent a pleasant enough half hour in Stamfords where I sourced a European-to-UK plug that OBrother needs to charge his video camera and use his hair clippers. He looked at it and said it was not the right one so, to avoid an argument and because I was feeling annoyed, I put it back on the shelf, despite knowing full well that it was.
When called over to her desk, DBrother shook the woman's hand warmly. I took his arm as he leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks. The light in which I see each brother changes daily, as I get to know them better, and I am getting the impression that DBrother's sensitive romantic character is a card he has played to woo many women over the years. He is in his early fifties but looks about the same age as OBrother who is in his mid forties. He has a round, open face and is not bad looking I suppose. He has a warm smile and I am certain that he would like to find an English wife. I notice the way he interacts with people and pick up on these things.
His friendliness prompted a new set of responses:
'Oh, how very polite. We have got a charming one here, haven't we?
'Now let's see, can he remember the date of his divorce as well as the date of his marriage? He can! Boom Boom.'
'I presume I'd better put your phone number down for this one as well then, shall I?'
'Great signature. Has he been practising?'
We were also, unprompted, given other titbit insights into her opinion of her job. The Pole who was 'single' over here but whom she tricked into revealing the name of his wife back home; the Romanian who said he was called 'rat' and got down on all fours miming one; another guy who, when asked how many children he had said that each wife had five and that he had two more on the way (children, not wives). And the guy who she said she put on benefits because she didn't want him breaking into people's houses and hitting them over the head if she didn't. I was really glad to leave. We were told that their applications should be simple and that they would take six weeks max, possibly less.
I needed to head off at this point, as I was aware that by the time I got home, I'd have less than an hour to get stuff done and that I did not, now, have time to drop by the place I'd been intending to. I was also massively looking forward to some time at home by myself. So they headed off to work on the bikes and I went to wait for the bus. OH called and asked where I was and I told him. He then called back twenty minutes later to say that they'd had problems with the bike chain and they'd be going back home. My balloon burst, and I said as much. So he called back five minutes after that to say that he'd asked them to give me a bit of space and that they wouldn't be at home when I got there. He also said, and really, I have been aching for him to say this and take the pressure off me, 'When I get home from work tonight, tell me what you want them to do and I'll talk to them.'
When I got home, the front door was open. The back door was also open and a wet gale was blowing through the house. One bike was in the corridor and the other had been carried through the dining room and into the back yard. The brothers were stomping around the house with their wet shoes on, despite knowing that we have a shoe-free home. One was trying to find his passport which he'd had ten minutes earlier. The other started trying to talk to me about something.
'Please,' I said. 'I've got less than an hour now to cook, clean, respond to my emails and start writing an Annual Report. I've got someone dropping in with something for me to sign and I need to talk to her about some stuff. Then I've got to go and get the kids.'
'Ok!' he said.
'It's not ok,' I said. 'Please, give me some space now to let me get on. And please close the bloody doors, the house is freezing!'
'Ok, ok!' he said. 'I'm taking the milk from the fridge to make some coffees round at our house, ok?
'No,' I said, 'That is not ok. I've got someone coming round in a minute to whom I will offer a cup of tea. You will be passing the corner shop on the way home and you can buy yourself a pint of milk for around 60p.'
'Ok, ok, don't get annoyed,' he rejoined.
'Look!' I shouted. 'I'm tired and I've had enough for today. I'm annoyed that you messed me around in town. I can't understand why you have decided not to go and work today when you are desperate for the money and you can't afford to mess other people around either. I am annoyed that you haven't produced the Euros I know you've got with you to pay for the cards you applied for in London yesterday, as agreed. I told you that we needed to change them in town and I need to get them into my bank account, fast! I didn't sleep all last night for stressing about all of this and right now, PLEASE, just leave me on my own for a bit.'
'But we are stressed, too, Sofia,' started DBrother.
I didn't want to hear it. So I started flapping my arms around like a frightened bird and literally forced him to the front door and through it. OBrother followed him. With the milk! I slammed the door behind them. And I can't remember what I did after that. But I think it involved sinking to the floor and quite a bit of shouting at the walls.
When OH arrived home, I was just heading out to the shop in the rain to get milk because the boys wanted cereal. He looked tired and fed up and annoyed that his brother hadn't gone to buy some milk for himself, given everything else we've been providing them with. By this time, would you believe, OBrother was already back and watching telly in the front room, having rejected what I had cooked in favour, it turned out, of the sea food that was in the fridge and which I had been saving for later in the week.
When I got back from the shop, OH came to find me in the kitchen. I had the feeling that OBrother was ear-wigging because the telly was on quietly for once, and perhaps he was hoping to observe OH lose it with me. Who knows. DBrother I knew would have the hump and be round to eat now OH was home.
'Here's the deal,' I said to OH. 'Before they came, you told me these guys would get a place of their own and work with you, and that the impact on me would be minimal. They've got a place, and now I need them to live in it. Most of the time, at least. I want my house keys back so that they can't keep coming in when it suits them. If they stay in this country they are going to need ongoing help with finding work and speaking the language, for YEARS. I am not going to cope with that until I have my home, my life, my house keys and my personal space back.
'And two more things,' I added:
'I presume that they will not consider bringing anyone else over here until they are established, with some money in the bank and a place that they are happy living in.
'And this is it. No-one else. I know they're all lining up to come. But this is it. Or I leave.'
Funny how what you want hits you in the face as clear as day and out of the blue.
'I agree,' he said.
This weekend, a successful trip to London was made and applications for construction industry cards (which were paid for through the nose - don't ask) sent off. OH also went to visit a bloke he's worked for before, who has several construction sites of his own, and he and the brothers did a few hours work for him on Saturday and as a result, the brothers received their first earnings. Hooray! At least I imagine that's what they thought, it must have felt significant. We haven't had the opportunity to discuss it.
Since the site is near to where our local cycle path passes the eastern outskirts of the city, they were to have cycled there yesterday afternoon to continue the job ('we' had national insurance interviews in the morning) and the hope is that he keeps them on for a while. Unfortunately, the chain came off my bicycle on the way there and by the time they had fixed it they were wet and fed up and decided to call it a day. I don't know what they think OH does on the building sites where he works when it is raining and by now they must have realised that it rains here more than it doesn't, but hey. (If you're wondering if I'm being mean and whether they've got the right togs or not, we have lent them loads of OH's stuff, and two huge cardboard boxes of clothes arrived from Athens yesterday, having been sent by courier. My heart sank when I saw them.)
I presume the brothers are there today. I was expecting them to come round and collect the bikes early this morning, and had hoisted them out of the back yard and into our downstairs corridor in preparation but they didn't turn up. OH thinks they might have taken the bus, which frankly amazes me, but here's hoping.
Possible limiting factors to their being there a while include the extent of the work available and, obviously, their English, without OH there to translate for them. In the meantime, we are also hoping that one of them at least, probably OBrother, might get to work on the site where OH is currently based. (But he needs to get a bank account first, which he can't open until we get the letter with his NI number.) The plastering work in the house over the road that has been gutted is still a 'possible'.
I really hope that they'll get enough work this week to get the next month's rent, which is due next week, in the bag, so that there is no chance of me being asked to have them back here again. Not that we have room for all their clothes now anyway. Following that, it would be great to know that they have the next couple of months after that lined up, and if possible, I would like them to pay us back what we've covered so far because we are stretched beyond belief. Well, stretched by our terms, Clearly they are more stretched.
While we're talking of being stretched, of course there are lots of different ways that one can be stretched. Despite our financial situation, It's the emotional stretching that I've been finding it hard to deal with. I know that much is clear to you! And yesterday I was stretched a little bit further than I could cope with, and I'm afraid that someone let go of one end and I pinged. I knew it was coming, but was not prepared for it. It was not nice. Not for the brothers, And not for me. I am still vibrating slightly and am possibly a bit saggier than I was before.
I had, over the weekend, realised that OH and I need most urgently to have a conversation about where all this is going, but I hadn't yet formulated what I wanted to ask for. So I was carrying on, and feeling grouchy. Not least because the boys and I barely saw OH all weekend, since he was working needlessly in the rain on Saturday, in order to get the brothers working, and because on Sunday he was carting them up to London and back.
Yesterday I had arranged to meet the brothers in the centre of town, half an hour before OBrother's interview, which was half an hour before DBrother's. I explained that I wasn't too familiar with the backstreets, but that I'd got the A-Z and the address and this plan would give us time to walk there and find it. The city where we live has a number of what you might call central areas, but they know the place where they got their keys cut which is next to a large bank, so to save getting lost or being late, we arranged to meet there. I went in early, as I had some bits to do, and wanted to get back straight afterwards as I had stuff to do relating to one of the voluntary positions I hold. (Note how in a few short weeks I have learnt to over-explain and justify every frigging thing I have to do.) They didn't want to pay for the bus, and I can't afford to pay for all of us, so I cycled and they walked.
At the appointed time, OBrother turned up. DBrother had apparently decided to come along later as his interview was later.
'But we won't have time to go and find the place and then come back and find him and then go back there again before your interview, or between the interviews!' I exclaimed. Already getting pretty hot under the collar. 'Perhaps you could call him and find out where he is?'
'Our phones are out of credit,' OBrother responded.
'Ok, well let me top you up,' I said.
'I've left the top-up card at home,' he replied.
We decided to run for it and call later from my phone, as we had already lost ten minutes. In case you think I'm being mean about the phones, here's the deal. OH bought them each a SIM card with some credit. We gave them each a phone - we had old ones lying around. After a lot of complaint and subtle and less subtle anglings for new ones (OH had told them that I have two brand new ones in unopened boxes upstairs which I intend to flog on ebay) they got them working. We said they they could make brief phone calls home from our landline now and then, but that was it. (When OBrother came over the Christmas before last, he ran up a phone bill of over £250 by making calls so we've drawn a line under this for a reason.)
After walking round in a rather large circle, which was my fault entirely, we got there slightly late and went upstairs for our interview. The woman who conducted it was friendly enough, but it was clear from the subliminal sarcasm in her responses that she was well and truly over completing applications for National Insurances numbers. Some of her responses included:
'Oh, a European passport holder! That'll be nice and easy then.'
'He's a man and he can remember the year he married, well I never!'
'Perhaps he could repeat his signature for me a couple of times? They don't look the same, he'd better copy. Don't worry, I'm not looking.'
'Any other siblings? Eleven? My God. Will they all be joining you?' I did not bother to translate this last bit, and said, "No."
She then asked for DBrother. I explained that we had to go and find him but that we'd be back asap. She seemed unsurprised and said with an ironic smile that she'd "be waiting". OBrother used my phone to call DBrother and went off to find him. Eventually they returned while I spent a pleasant enough half hour in Stamfords where I sourced a European-to-UK plug that OBrother needs to charge his video camera and use his hair clippers. He looked at it and said it was not the right one so, to avoid an argument and because I was feeling annoyed, I put it back on the shelf, despite knowing full well that it was.
When called over to her desk, DBrother shook the woman's hand warmly. I took his arm as he leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks. The light in which I see each brother changes daily, as I get to know them better, and I am getting the impression that DBrother's sensitive romantic character is a card he has played to woo many women over the years. He is in his early fifties but looks about the same age as OBrother who is in his mid forties. He has a round, open face and is not bad looking I suppose. He has a warm smile and I am certain that he would like to find an English wife. I notice the way he interacts with people and pick up on these things.
His friendliness prompted a new set of responses:
'Oh, how very polite. We have got a charming one here, haven't we?
'Now let's see, can he remember the date of his divorce as well as the date of his marriage? He can! Boom Boom.'
'I presume I'd better put your phone number down for this one as well then, shall I?'
'Great signature. Has he been practising?'
We were also, unprompted, given other titbit insights into her opinion of her job. The Pole who was 'single' over here but whom she tricked into revealing the name of his wife back home; the Romanian who said he was called 'rat' and got down on all fours miming one; another guy who, when asked how many children he had said that each wife had five and that he had two more on the way (children, not wives). And the guy who she said she put on benefits because she didn't want him breaking into people's houses and hitting them over the head if she didn't. I was really glad to leave. We were told that their applications should be simple and that they would take six weeks max, possibly less.
I needed to head off at this point, as I was aware that by the time I got home, I'd have less than an hour to get stuff done and that I did not, now, have time to drop by the place I'd been intending to. I was also massively looking forward to some time at home by myself. So they headed off to work on the bikes and I went to wait for the bus. OH called and asked where I was and I told him. He then called back twenty minutes later to say that they'd had problems with the bike chain and they'd be going back home. My balloon burst, and I said as much. So he called back five minutes after that to say that he'd asked them to give me a bit of space and that they wouldn't be at home when I got there. He also said, and really, I have been aching for him to say this and take the pressure off me, 'When I get home from work tonight, tell me what you want them to do and I'll talk to them.'
When I got home, the front door was open. The back door was also open and a wet gale was blowing through the house. One bike was in the corridor and the other had been carried through the dining room and into the back yard. The brothers were stomping around the house with their wet shoes on, despite knowing that we have a shoe-free home. One was trying to find his passport which he'd had ten minutes earlier. The other started trying to talk to me about something.
'Please,' I said. 'I've got less than an hour now to cook, clean, respond to my emails and start writing an Annual Report. I've got someone dropping in with something for me to sign and I need to talk to her about some stuff. Then I've got to go and get the kids.'
'Ok!' he said.
'It's not ok,' I said. 'Please, give me some space now to let me get on. And please close the bloody doors, the house is freezing!'
'Ok, ok!' he said. 'I'm taking the milk from the fridge to make some coffees round at our house, ok?
'No,' I said, 'That is not ok. I've got someone coming round in a minute to whom I will offer a cup of tea. You will be passing the corner shop on the way home and you can buy yourself a pint of milk for around 60p.'
'Ok, ok, don't get annoyed,' he rejoined.
'Look!' I shouted. 'I'm tired and I've had enough for today. I'm annoyed that you messed me around in town. I can't understand why you have decided not to go and work today when you are desperate for the money and you can't afford to mess other people around either. I am annoyed that you haven't produced the Euros I know you've got with you to pay for the cards you applied for in London yesterday, as agreed. I told you that we needed to change them in town and I need to get them into my bank account, fast! I didn't sleep all last night for stressing about all of this and right now, PLEASE, just leave me on my own for a bit.'
'But we are stressed, too, Sofia,' started DBrother.
I didn't want to hear it. So I started flapping my arms around like a frightened bird and literally forced him to the front door and through it. OBrother followed him. With the milk! I slammed the door behind them. And I can't remember what I did after that. But I think it involved sinking to the floor and quite a bit of shouting at the walls.
When OH arrived home, I was just heading out to the shop in the rain to get milk because the boys wanted cereal. He looked tired and fed up and annoyed that his brother hadn't gone to buy some milk for himself, given everything else we've been providing them with. By this time, would you believe, OBrother was already back and watching telly in the front room, having rejected what I had cooked in favour, it turned out, of the sea food that was in the fridge and which I had been saving for later in the week.
When I got back from the shop, OH came to find me in the kitchen. I had the feeling that OBrother was ear-wigging because the telly was on quietly for once, and perhaps he was hoping to observe OH lose it with me. Who knows. DBrother I knew would have the hump and be round to eat now OH was home.
'Here's the deal,' I said to OH. 'Before they came, you told me these guys would get a place of their own and work with you, and that the impact on me would be minimal. They've got a place, and now I need them to live in it. Most of the time, at least. I want my house keys back so that they can't keep coming in when it suits them. If they stay in this country they are going to need ongoing help with finding work and speaking the language, for YEARS. I am not going to cope with that until I have my home, my life, my house keys and my personal space back.
'And two more things,' I added:
'I presume that they will not consider bringing anyone else over here until they are established, with some money in the bank and a place that they are happy living in.
'And this is it. No-one else. I know they're all lining up to come. But this is it. Or I leave.'
Funny how what you want hits you in the face as clear as day and out of the blue.
'I agree,' he said.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Tantrums and turn-ons
I had all this funny stuff I wanted to write tonight. But as usual, events overtake me.
The brothers are clearly in a foul mood with one another. So would I be if I'd spent 24/7 with either one of them for the last three weeks. 12/7 is bad enough. DBrother is dealing with this by going for long rides on the bicycle. OBrother copes with it by sulking when DBrother is not around. They are both jockeying to be my favourite pain-in-the-arse brother-in-law. DBrother clearly thought he was at the top of the pile because he felt we were 'connecting'. Now OBrother thinks he is at the top of the pile because I complimented him on his developing English ("room, small, bed, big, no good, big problem" - I'll explain later) and because I told him that the ancient Greek meaning for his name is 'he who conquers mountains,' which he likes.
If you're wondering why I was googling the origins of his name, it's because there isn't an English version of it, that I'm aware of, and since it's a tricky name for people to repeat and remember I thought we might give him a new temporary one. I could have some mean fun with this if I wanted to, but I will probably just open our book of baby names at the boys' names beginning with 'O', dip my finger in and see what it pulls out. I'd let you know the results but I'm trying to keep this somewhat anonymous in case I get famous. (I had nearly 1500 page views last month, BTW, but that was probably mostly my mum.)
So, what's really got their goat in the last twenty-four hours is the bed situation. They are fuming because Mr Khan had a brand new double delivered today. Two weeks after he promised to bring them two singles. OBrother announced this when he turned up to cook. He said he had tried to explain to Mr Khan why it wasn't any good, using the words I listed above, which I suspect might not have impressed him very much. They keep going on about what a lying bastard Khan is, but he has given them a TV and aerial and has shown us a sky lead they can use if only they can get a sky box from somewhere. And he is hardly obliged to give them new beds.
I put it to the back of my mind until I heard DBrother go out earlier and then come storming back in about twenty minutes later. OH had just got home from work and I understood DBrother to be shouting something along the lines of how ridiculous it was and what a lying bastard Khan was, etc etc. I told OH to put the kids to bed, grabbed my coat and asked DBrother to come round there with me.
I knocked gently on Mr Khan's door and when he opened it, smiled warmly and enquired about the health of his child. He is very bad, he said, with two breaks in his leg and a break in his back. He said he himself is exhausted, taking the other one back and forth from nursery. (Another house-mate told me later that he thinks the story about the child is utter nonsense. Heigh ho.) He went on to say that his own wife is 'a bit stupid in the head' (where else would she be stupid?)(and is that why he thought we'd get on?) and that he had thought to ask my help with the child but realised that I have two children of my own. 'That's right,' I said, 'And three men as well, to look after, which is infinitely worse.' I'm not sure he understood.
I moved the conversation on to the beds. He started getting agitated and slapping his head. I am starting to wonder if this might indicate when he is straying from the truth. Anyway. I had just been up to the bedroom and it does now look like some kind of crappy furniture showroom. The two doubles are centre stage, next to one another. The new one is at least new! Khan claims that he went to speak to OBrother, to ask if he'd be in the house the next day for the beds to be delivered, and that OBrother had shown him one finger by way of a reply and said 'One bed, no two beds.' So Khan cancelled the order, and got a double instead. I think it is highly likely that OBrother did say this, having changed his mind and decided one single would now be better than two and losing the double. I can't see why Khan would go and get a new double for the fun of it. But he might have been making it up. Heck. I don't know and I don't really care. The scenario made me feel a bit like matron negotiating a squabble over tuck. We agreed that the brothers will dismantle the first, old double and put it behind their wardrobe. They will keep the new one, and the old single mattress, until he gets them a new single bed, some time next week. If he does...?
I then moved onto the shower, and engaged the young man living in the next room and who is an electrician in the conversation, and he has agreed to fix it when Khan provides the relevant bits and bobs. He is from Ivory Coast, I think, but mentioned that he has a Greek girlfriend. He seems a really nice bloke. Later, outside, he agreed that Khan is a bit of a nutter but also said that he'd let him sleep on his bedroom floor when he was desperate. He might also have a bit of tiling work for OBrother.
As regards the telly and the one channel it can currently receive, Khan agreed to send his friend's son up to have a look, next time he's round.
Finally, I made the near-fatal mistake of saying that the brothers didn't want to use the kitchen because it wasn't very clean. Khan started to get angry and shouted that he would kick them out. He pulled us in there and DBrother, oblivious to his rage - my God, he doesn't really read body language - starting doing things like rubbing his finger over the surfaces indicating bread crumbs and flour - to prove his point. In fact, someone had very recently had another go at the kitchen and I swear, I could have cooked in there myself. Between us, the man from Ivory Coast, to whom I might refer as MTenant because his name starts with that letter, and I managed to calm Khan down. I lied through my teeth and said DBrother was joking and that he wanted to cook Khan a lovely Greek meal. MTenant joked that he'd like to invite his Greek girlfriend to the meal but he was worried that with their good looks, the brothers might steal her from him. I begged Khan not to kick them out saying that quite frankly I didn't want them in my kitchen any longer and they needed to stand on their own two feet. MTenant said that he and Khan needed to teach the brothers English or they wouldn't ever be able to stand on their own two feet in this country. He called in another housemate from Pakistan, I think, and got him to volunteer to help with this. Jeepers, creepers. It felt a bit desperate and we all scrambled as soon as we could after that.
On the way home I tried to get DBrother to see that it might be a bit of a laugh if he and OBrother had a go at socialising in the house. The worst it could do would be to improve their English. But he wasn't really having it. And in response to cooking in the kitchen he just kept saying, 'I can't.'
When we got back to ours I relayed what Khan had said. OBrother accused me of trying to pin the bed fiasco on him. On the subject of the kitchen, DBrother said a load of garbled stuff to OH in Albanian but I understood the phrase 'lots of onions' and knew he was on a curry-hating, racist band-wagon. He then switched to Greek and said that, 'Up til now, we've played it your way, S,' to which I responded, 'Believe me, we're not doing anything the way I want it, but we are in my house!' He then said 'We've only been here three weeks'. 'Fair enough,' I said, 'but I don't want you cooking here every day for the next three months when you've got your own kitchen in your own place. We need to strike a balance here.' To which he retorted that he'd come to England to stay with his brother. And that we needed to work out how long he'd be welcome for. He then added that as soon as he was working, he'd eat out every day. I tried to keep calm and said that that isn't what I was asking. And he argued and said that yes, it was.
OH stood between us with a diplomatic stance and to be fair, did not side with his brothers. He pointed out to any one of us when we were becoming over-wrought or unfair and asked us to calm down and watch what we were saying. If I wasn't in such a terrible grump with him I'd have been finding it a bit of a turn-on. I think I even heard him say to DBrother at one point, 'She's right.' I also heard OBrother saying 'She's right!' a couple of times too, just to win some extra Brownie points from me, and to piss DBrother off.
But when the argument was clearly taking us no-where I flounced out saying, 'Oh, just get back to your football!' which they did. And OH cooked for them. And they ate. And then I pretended to run away from home by slamming the front door after me when I went off to get some rice crackers from the takeaway up the road. But no-one ran after me. So I ate them on my own. Two guesses where! (Still no beanbag.)
The brothers are clearly in a foul mood with one another. So would I be if I'd spent 24/7 with either one of them for the last three weeks. 12/7 is bad enough. DBrother is dealing with this by going for long rides on the bicycle. OBrother copes with it by sulking when DBrother is not around. They are both jockeying to be my favourite pain-in-the-arse brother-in-law. DBrother clearly thought he was at the top of the pile because he felt we were 'connecting'. Now OBrother thinks he is at the top of the pile because I complimented him on his developing English ("room, small, bed, big, no good, big problem" - I'll explain later) and because I told him that the ancient Greek meaning for his name is 'he who conquers mountains,' which he likes.
If you're wondering why I was googling the origins of his name, it's because there isn't an English version of it, that I'm aware of, and since it's a tricky name for people to repeat and remember I thought we might give him a new temporary one. I could have some mean fun with this if I wanted to, but I will probably just open our book of baby names at the boys' names beginning with 'O', dip my finger in and see what it pulls out. I'd let you know the results but I'm trying to keep this somewhat anonymous in case I get famous. (I had nearly 1500 page views last month, BTW, but that was probably mostly my mum.)
So, what's really got their goat in the last twenty-four hours is the bed situation. They are fuming because Mr Khan had a brand new double delivered today. Two weeks after he promised to bring them two singles. OBrother announced this when he turned up to cook. He said he had tried to explain to Mr Khan why it wasn't any good, using the words I listed above, which I suspect might not have impressed him very much. They keep going on about what a lying bastard Khan is, but he has given them a TV and aerial and has shown us a sky lead they can use if only they can get a sky box from somewhere. And he is hardly obliged to give them new beds.
I put it to the back of my mind until I heard DBrother go out earlier and then come storming back in about twenty minutes later. OH had just got home from work and I understood DBrother to be shouting something along the lines of how ridiculous it was and what a lying bastard Khan was, etc etc. I told OH to put the kids to bed, grabbed my coat and asked DBrother to come round there with me.
I knocked gently on Mr Khan's door and when he opened it, smiled warmly and enquired about the health of his child. He is very bad, he said, with two breaks in his leg and a break in his back. He said he himself is exhausted, taking the other one back and forth from nursery. (Another house-mate told me later that he thinks the story about the child is utter nonsense. Heigh ho.) He went on to say that his own wife is 'a bit stupid in the head' (where else would she be stupid?)(and is that why he thought we'd get on?) and that he had thought to ask my help with the child but realised that I have two children of my own. 'That's right,' I said, 'And three men as well, to look after, which is infinitely worse.' I'm not sure he understood.
I moved the conversation on to the beds. He started getting agitated and slapping his head. I am starting to wonder if this might indicate when he is straying from the truth. Anyway. I had just been up to the bedroom and it does now look like some kind of crappy furniture showroom. The two doubles are centre stage, next to one another. The new one is at least new! Khan claims that he went to speak to OBrother, to ask if he'd be in the house the next day for the beds to be delivered, and that OBrother had shown him one finger by way of a reply and said 'One bed, no two beds.' So Khan cancelled the order, and got a double instead. I think it is highly likely that OBrother did say this, having changed his mind and decided one single would now be better than two and losing the double. I can't see why Khan would go and get a new double for the fun of it. But he might have been making it up. Heck. I don't know and I don't really care. The scenario made me feel a bit like matron negotiating a squabble over tuck. We agreed that the brothers will dismantle the first, old double and put it behind their wardrobe. They will keep the new one, and the old single mattress, until he gets them a new single bed, some time next week. If he does...?
I then moved onto the shower, and engaged the young man living in the next room and who is an electrician in the conversation, and he has agreed to fix it when Khan provides the relevant bits and bobs. He is from Ivory Coast, I think, but mentioned that he has a Greek girlfriend. He seems a really nice bloke. Later, outside, he agreed that Khan is a bit of a nutter but also said that he'd let him sleep on his bedroom floor when he was desperate. He might also have a bit of tiling work for OBrother.
As regards the telly and the one channel it can currently receive, Khan agreed to send his friend's son up to have a look, next time he's round.
Finally, I made the near-fatal mistake of saying that the brothers didn't want to use the kitchen because it wasn't very clean. Khan started to get angry and shouted that he would kick them out. He pulled us in there and DBrother, oblivious to his rage - my God, he doesn't really read body language - starting doing things like rubbing his finger over the surfaces indicating bread crumbs and flour - to prove his point. In fact, someone had very recently had another go at the kitchen and I swear, I could have cooked in there myself. Between us, the man from Ivory Coast, to whom I might refer as MTenant because his name starts with that letter, and I managed to calm Khan down. I lied through my teeth and said DBrother was joking and that he wanted to cook Khan a lovely Greek meal. MTenant joked that he'd like to invite his Greek girlfriend to the meal but he was worried that with their good looks, the brothers might steal her from him. I begged Khan not to kick them out saying that quite frankly I didn't want them in my kitchen any longer and they needed to stand on their own two feet. MTenant said that he and Khan needed to teach the brothers English or they wouldn't ever be able to stand on their own two feet in this country. He called in another housemate from Pakistan, I think, and got him to volunteer to help with this. Jeepers, creepers. It felt a bit desperate and we all scrambled as soon as we could after that.
On the way home I tried to get DBrother to see that it might be a bit of a laugh if he and OBrother had a go at socialising in the house. The worst it could do would be to improve their English. But he wasn't really having it. And in response to cooking in the kitchen he just kept saying, 'I can't.'
When we got back to ours I relayed what Khan had said. OBrother accused me of trying to pin the bed fiasco on him. On the subject of the kitchen, DBrother said a load of garbled stuff to OH in Albanian but I understood the phrase 'lots of onions' and knew he was on a curry-hating, racist band-wagon. He then switched to Greek and said that, 'Up til now, we've played it your way, S,' to which I responded, 'Believe me, we're not doing anything the way I want it, but we are in my house!' He then said 'We've only been here three weeks'. 'Fair enough,' I said, 'but I don't want you cooking here every day for the next three months when you've got your own kitchen in your own place. We need to strike a balance here.' To which he retorted that he'd come to England to stay with his brother. And that we needed to work out how long he'd be welcome for. He then added that as soon as he was working, he'd eat out every day. I tried to keep calm and said that that isn't what I was asking. And he argued and said that yes, it was.
OH stood between us with a diplomatic stance and to be fair, did not side with his brothers. He pointed out to any one of us when we were becoming over-wrought or unfair and asked us to calm down and watch what we were saying. If I wasn't in such a terrible grump with him I'd have been finding it a bit of a turn-on. I think I even heard him say to DBrother at one point, 'She's right.' I also heard OBrother saying 'She's right!' a couple of times too, just to win some extra Brownie points from me, and to piss DBrother off.
But when the argument was clearly taking us no-where I flounced out saying, 'Oh, just get back to your football!' which they did. And OH cooked for them. And they ate. And then I pretended to run away from home by slamming the front door after me when I went off to get some rice crackers from the takeaway up the road. But no-one ran after me. So I ate them on my own. Two guesses where! (Still no beanbag.)
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