I am struck by how very much I want to start blogging just as soon as I have ten million other more important things to do. Two of last week's ten million things included:
1 Being ill - well not, obviously, that I have any control over this but it renders attempts to write impossible. Which meant lying on the sofa sweating and shivering by turns, recovery possibly impeded by mounting stress as I tried to write in my head and remember what I would want to say just as soon as I could get back to the keyboard.
2 Starting my job search, and I have/had (oops, one nearly now missed) two or three applications to get in. Let's call that two, then. Or three, I've just seen another 'possible'. Hum. As you see, I am not taking this eversoseriously. Possibly because I can only do part-time and because we have been talking of re-locating which creates a somewhat surreal and unreal air over attempts to find employment. But I am shifting from my position of 'we will manage by hook or by crook til Babe2 starts school in September' to 'somehow I've got to pay off that holiday in Tunisia and raise some cash to fix the roof and go on another holiday and actually I want to be back at work now more than I want time on my hands at home while Babe2 is at pre-school'. The advantage of this change in perspective is that a somewhat casual desire to find work takes some of the pressure off feeling that my next job has to be an amazing and career- propelling move. Although that would be nice. Meantime, anything that enables me to pocket any money at all over the next few months would do. Quite how we will cover school holidays and the like once Babe2 is at school and I simply have to find a proper job, I have no idea. I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
I suspect I have some rude awakening to do. I am clearly not going to land on my feet in any old job, just because I want one, am I? In fact, since starting this blog post five minutes ago I have had a rejection from Job One. But it was through an agency and I had barely bothered to update my CV, let alone tweak it to match the requirements of the job I was applying for. Which was in Bournemouth anyway. Oh me, oh my, I have to serious-up.
Job Two was (I say, 'was' because I am now blatantly not going to apply for it) with something that kind of matches a lot of my skill-set but with a health/pharmaceuticals provider. Bottom line, I do not give a shit about health or pharmaceuticals. At this point in my life at least. And one of my perennial problems, that I guess I have to shake off, is a need to really really really give a shit about what I do or otherwise I get depressed by it. Which is why I stayed with my last employer for so long. I really really really care about issues relating to global poverty. I wish I could shake myself up a bit and not be so choosy but I know how I have felt having made previous wrong career moves. I left one publishing job with a major women and girl's charity some years ago now for a job that had me jetting off to meetings in Spain all the time but because the new job had me working with publishers, authors and books for the Spanish education market that I didn't, well, give a shit about, suffice to say that I didn't survive in the job very long. I wasn't got rid of, don't get me wrong. In fact my manager started to cry when I handed my notice in. But I was bored out of my tiny mind and could not go on. How very middle-class white of me.
Ho hum. I have this excited feeling that things are going to turn out just tickety-boo, that the right job is out there and things are going to be ok. You are possibly thinking that I need to wake up and smell the coffee. I am determined to push thoughts that I will never be paid to do a decent day's work again out of my mind and be positive and optimistic. I do wish that I could be paid to do the voluntary work I do!
Anyway, snow has provided the latest disruption. It was predictably exciting on Friday of last week. Well, for those of us who have ski-wear in the roof and do not have too worry too much about heating bills or where the next hot meal is going to come from, I guess. (Not that OH gets paid if the site he's on closes because of bad weather conditions and it's closed again today which is going to make an already-overdrawn month into a very difficult one. ) But this talk of hot meals and work and the like takes me on to the subject of DBrother.
I felt both sorry for him but also vindicated when OH reported back that the work with the Greeks and accommodation they were going to provide for DBrother, starting last weekend, had fallen through. Vindicated because DBrother had told OH how shocked the Greeks (by 'Greeks' I am referring to the congregation at our local Orthodox Church) were that we are not putting him up any longer and that we had not found him work. At least I hadn't promised to and then changed my mind! It did make me wonder what had gone wrong and whether DBrother had just way too optimistically presumed it was going to come off. It had sounded highly unlikely to me - a legal job with a contract and accommodation thrown in. But with a Cypriot who had a liver problem and needs someone reliable which I presume DBrother would be... It seemed manna from heaven - not speaking English, DBrother needs to work for someone who speaks Greek and those options are clearly limited over here.
What on earth is he going to do now? He is simply determined to stay here, it seems. I was impressed that he got himself off to Athens and back via the coach to Gatwick, despite losing his return ticket and having to buy another. I had totally expected OH to get a phone-call from Gatwick on Saturday evening, asking him to go and pick DBrother up. But no! (Turned out DBrother hadn't taken his English phone with him which could explain that. But he does seem determined to demonstrate his desire for independence.) The thing is, what that trip 'home' (I'm not sure where he thinks home is any more) does now mean is that DBrother has, arguably and somewhat prematurely once more spent the last of his money and has only a tiny bit left to buy food, let alone enough to pay the rent which is now due on Thursday. And having handed in his notice to Mr Khan anyway, the last month there has been financed by my £300 deposit which I am looking less and less likely to see again.
Hells bells. I have been sitting tight. I know from a couple of the ridiculous suggestions that OH made in desperation before Christmas, 'DBrother could live with us and do our house up' and 'OK, so he could live in the roof and convert it at the same time,' that DBrother has been repeatedly asking OH to let him come and live with us. At least I presume he has, despite the fact that he is still not speaking to me.
Predictably, this weekend OH did formally - and angrily, because he does not know how to approach the subject with me - ask if DBrother can move back in. I resisted the temptation to say 'over my dead body' and 'you promised me it would never come to this' and 'only if he kisses my ar*e repeatedly first'. But I do feel completely cornered and angry. OH promised me that if his brothers come over here, he will find them work and accommodation and it will not impact on me. The goalposts have in fact, as you know, changed incessantly and I still don't see any way that DBrother is going to move on from a very basic and scarcely-managing hand-to-mouth existence without speaking the language. He got a day's work last week back on the site OH had found him some work on before Christmas and having hailed a taxi in the street he had to call OH at work to speak to the taxi driver and explain where he needed to go. For crying out loud!
He would also have had work today, but having texted the foreman for DBrother last night, OH did not notice the text sent in reply at 6.30 this morning saying that yes, he wanted DBrother there today. Having been sent home from his own job because the site was too snowy to work on, I then noticed this text on OH's phone at about 11am. OH called DBrother to tell him but he lies in 'til midday and did not therefore answer the phone, so OH went off to wake him up and drive him to work. Because it is too icy to cycle and DBrother has punctured one of the bicycle tyres anyway. They came back two hours later because they hadn't been able to find the site manager, and DBrother wasn't sure what he wanted him to do on the site. Finish what he had started the week before, I would have presumed, but... What a load of boring drivel! But you get the gist - it's like dealing with Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee. How long should we be prepared to cope with this for?
When I heard that Khan wants DBrother out I immediately pursued a message on our local email group that said a woman nearby has a room available for a month from the end of Jan. It would cost £270, a bit cheaper than Khan's. And presumably has a cleaner kitchen that DBrother might actually be prepared to use so that he can stop eating at the church/IKEA. She is then having her house converted into two flats but could keep him on for an extra couple of months at a reduced rate, if he's prepared to rough it a bit. I have said that I think he would be, and that he has skills she may be able to make use of in exchange.
There is a chance that I could pursuade Khan to keep DBrother on til the end of the month. And if DBrother gets some days work here and there he might have £270 by the start of Feb. But what if he doesn't have the money? We sure as hell don't. Would it be completely wrong of me to refuse to have him here? What choice will I have, where else will he go?
Believe me, I don't want to be ungenerous or unkind and have been asking myself repeatedly if I could cope with the scenario of him living with us for a limited period of time. When I asked OH how long he would need to be here, he said 'while he gets on his feet'. I said that I needed a time limit and he said 'maybe two months'. Am I a complete and utter bitch for knowing I do not have the will or the temperament to cope with this? Reasons I feel I cannot include:
*How long would limited be? OH plucked this time-scale out of thin air. If he has no work in two months' time, what would happen next?
*I know there is no point trying to agree goal posts.
*How would I get him out when I had had enough? Which may be less than two months anyway.
*We would have no privacy
*He would have our bedroom
*His would be another bottom needing to use our toilet
*He'd be cooking and watching Jeremy Kyle all day, as before, when not working
*He'd be in the sitting room all evening lying on the sofa as before with smelly feet and expecting to watch the football and horror films
*I would have no personal space whatsoever
*It's the wrong time of year to start turning the house into a building site and I just can't cope with the thought, I am DIY-ed out from years of OH balls'-ups
*All it would do would perpetuate his staying in the UK in a situation that is not likely to improve for him until he either finds a girlfriend or learns enough English to be able to take on a proper job
*I don't like him
*I do not feel comfortable around him.
*I hate losing and I said I would never have him back here again. Gah. Gah. Gah.
Reasons that I should say yes include:
*It would make OH happy (I say 'happy' - he has in fact confessed to me that he would pay his brother to go back to Athens but he wants the decision to be his, not ours)
*It is the right thing to do
Oh my life. All the above aside, his thick-skinned determination/desperation is causing us a whole load of stress that we don't need. And while on the one hand yes, he is desperate, on the other I think I would be moved by all this if he wasn't also an unrealistic and fairly choosy so-and-so who instead of saving his money or re-pay us, chose to nip back to Athens for a holiday last month. Where he has yet to sell his BMW motorbike. Although that is of course none of my business.
How do I cut through this crap and decide what the right thing is to do?
Monday, January 21, 2013
Friday, December 28, 2012
Resurrections and resolutions
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?!
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?!
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!
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