Well new year is here and gone. I have just read an interesting fact in the paper. January is the most popular month for divorce! Apparently after all the spare “quality” time spent together couples start to kill each other. They have their share of drink, in-laws and each other to do them a lifetime. Thanks to my job our time has been divided this Christmas and New Year so we have not had that problem, that’s not to say we have not had the odd disagreement.

The big 40 has been enlightenment. I have just realized after nearly 12 years of marriage that “quality time” means a completely different thing to men and women. Women see quality time as time spent expressing their dreams, hopes, emotions, and a time to capture and look back on. A time to laugh and never forget. For men it’s about football, golf, time with their family and friends or even the lollipop woman if it means no hassle. Its time spent without complications, without being reminded of all the jobs they have or have not done.

At last I have found the answer so I have made my new years resolution to concentrate on the little things that make me happy. Someone texed me this new year 2008..Is at the door..Remember, life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, and kiss slowly, love truly laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that made you smile. I hope I can do it all.

It still makes me wonder about the animals that pick a partner for life like elephants or swans. I have never seen any of these animals burst their britches with laughter.!

However now that I am 40 I am sure I will mature in many ways. As I walked through town on my lunch break I saw two beautiful young girls in thigh length boots, sparkly jeans and a body to die for. As they turned to look at me I realized they were no more than children. Its scary how God has given them a body like that at 14 when I as a mature woman of 40 would be much more apt at handling it. Instead he has instilled in me these useless words of wisdom, which I pass onto you……

Well Christmas is over and I’ve celebrated my fortieth and New Year all in one week. I have to say a week is not long enough to fit it all in. It was a true delight to see the childrens faces on Christmas morning. They opened every present as if it was their only one and played together throughout the day like a dream. My daughter even commented that she felt sad that after leaving all the presents Santa might not have one to open himself. I had a brilliant idea of sprinkling icing sugar all over the carpet with massive footprints where santa had been and am still paying the price trying to wash it off the carpet.

My presents were perfect, no DIY tools, no computer gadgets or golf clubs just girly presents for me. My birthday was also fantastic and other than the people I love completely over whelming me with beautiful thoughtful gifts, they gave me their quality time which is the best gift of all. Friends and family never cease to amaze me with their efforts, I could never thank them enough.

In saying this, the festive season is a stressful time. Amid all the drink and Christmas cheer it is had to please people all of the time. I was leaving work with people too ill to eat and joining people who were looking forward to the New Year when they could stop eating. I was spending time with people grieving before getting ready to party, it’s hard to put life into perspective at times.

My mum was looking forward to spending time with my sister, three brothers, their partners and children but after the third day in the festive season I could hear the exhaustion in her voice and I knew she would celebrate their departure as eagerly as their arrival. Life and people are unpredictable, I read somewhere, you spend your life with children never wanting them to leave you, as teenagers you look forward to the day they leave and as adults, if you’ve done your job well you can’t get rid of them. Instead of downsizing the house you need a bigger one. I hope my life goes full circle and I’m as tortured when my kids grow up as my parents are with us.

Christmas is a wonderful time, full of surprises and excitement. That’s what I’ve always thought. Personally I cannot wait and I secretly plan for it months ahead. I plan the fairy lights, candles parties and meeting up with friends. I imagine the childrens’ faces when they wake on Christmas morning and on Christmas Eve I feel that nervous excitement I had as a child. I think my most treasured memory is of my son when he was two, waking up to the sight of a toy garage with twenty cars. He actually hyperventilated he was so ecstatic. I thought as they got older things would get better and better but my biggest downer this year was when I suggested to my better half that we should shop for presents together. I thought we could walk through the town, which would be decorated beautifully with lights and trees, listening to Christmas music. He gave me that look, the look that says “bloody hell Eileen, Christmas is five weeks two days and three hours away, I’ve only just recovered from Halloween! It involves me spending lots more money - how can I get excited over a month away? I really don’t want to think about it until the night before, and have you never heard of internet shopping?” I just knew that kind of look so well.

My five year old daughter has spent a few nights waking up at five in the morning as she has not been very well. After a dose of neurofen and plenty of fluids she was wide awake and talking about the events so far in her short life. She informed me she wasn’t sure there was a Santa as she had heard a girl at school say she had seen her parents leave the presents in her bedroom one Christmas. I was quite disappointed and informed her that no parents could afford all of the presents at Christmas. She reassured me that they would get a lot of help from friends and relatives. I replied that I had actually been fortunate enough to see Santa as a child. She looked at me in disbelief “you told me he didn’t come until all the children was asleep”. I decided to reinforce my belief and asked her not to tell her eight year old brother, who still believes he has a tuft of Rudolph’s hair, which was snagged on our window latch last year.

It takes all the joy out of looking for presents if the belief is gone. But my son is still a believer and has decided that he is going to write to Santa and tell him that after receiving an X-Box 360 for his birthday, his life is now complete and he doesn’t really need anything else!

My fatal mistake last Xmas was agreeing with my better half to set a limit for spending on each other’s presents. Unfortunately, for the first time in a long time, not only was he listening, but he heard what I had said. So as I opened my scarf and gloves, smart price t-shirt and bath bombs I couldn’t believe he actually had the cheek to stick to the plan! How insensitive! If he reads this blog I am categorically saying that I will not feel at all guilty if he goes over the top and I would like to reassure him that I am not materialistic, but if money talks, I am worth it. No woman needs a diamond but looking good has a price….

    I have always thought honesty is the best policy with children. There are of course those magical white lies about Santa, fairies and leprechans (but there is still a small part of me that secretly still believes in all that). It is no worse than adults believing in extra terrestrial beings. When you stop believing in fairy tales you lose a certain magic, so being able to live it all again through your children allows you to regain all the excitement you thought you had lost. When the children were younger, I dressed all my explanations with a bit of fantasy, but at the ages of seven and five with their growing level of education and awareness, it’s getting more difficult.

I was always accused at school of lacking reality in my stories. I think the nuns called it being “AIREY FAIRY”. I’ll never grow out of it and I’ll always remember running around a tree in Scotland (dubbed “the Fairy Tree”) with two great friends and our children shouting “I do believe in fairies” as a special moment in my adult life.

    The factual reality stuff has hit me over the last few weeks. My daughter wanted to know where babies came from. I told her, as I had her brother of a similar age that when a girl was born she had a little egg and a man had a seed. When they married the seed fertilised the egg and a beautiful baby started to grow. Unlike her brother the questions didn’t stop there. She corrected me in no uncertain terms, telling me that a couple did not need to get married to have children. Next door had two beautiful children before they got married, she said. I explained that when a couple loved each other (I really think she is too young to bring in the lust, raw passion thing) they can have beautiful children together. Then came the obvious, “does it hurt?” well yes but then a beautiful baby appears-“do you bleed?” - a little, but then you see a beautiful baby appears. “Where does the baby come out?” With my clear medical knowledge, I explained that some babies come out of their mummy’s private bottom and some babies are born by caesarian section and come out of their mummy’s tummy. This was obviously not the best way to answer her questions. Each morning as I woke her from her deep sleep she informed me that she hadn’t slept a wink worrying about this “baby thing”. Then came the inevitable. “How does the seed get into my body?” When she saw the puzzled look on my face she said “oh no, I don’t have to swallow it!”. I decided enough was enough for a five year old and left her nanny to explain it as she must have done a better job with me.

    The facts with my son came when he asked me what exactly I did in my job. I explained that I treated people with cancer. ”What is cancer?” I proceeded to get two dishcloths both different shapes and sizes. I explained that one was a good cell and one was a cancerous cell. As one dishcloth destroyed the other, I explained that this is how a cancerous cell acts until it causes a horrible growth. His little eyes widened “cool!” In the words of Kahil Giban, “you may give them your love, but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts”.

    I have always thought honesty is the best policy with children. There are of course those magical white lies about Santa, fairies and leprechans (but there is still a small part of me that secretly still believes in all that). It is no worse than adults believing in extra terrestrial beings. When you stop believing in fairy tales you lose a certain magic, so being able to live it all again through your children allows you to regain all the excitement you thought you had lost. When the children were younger, I dressed all my explanations with a bit of fantasy, but at the ages of seven and five with their growing level of education and awareness, it’s getting more difficult.

I was always accused at school of lacking reality in my stories. I think the nuns called it being “AIREY FAIRY”. I’ll never grow out of it and I’ll always remember running around a tree in Scotland (dubbed “the Fairy Tree”) with two great friends and our children shouting “I do believe in fairies” as a special moment in my adult life.

    The factual reality stuff has hit me over the last few weeks. My daughter wanted to know where babies came from. I told her, as I had her brother of a similar age that when a girl was born she had a little egg and a man had a seed. When they married the seed fertilised the egg and a beautiful baby started to grow. Unlike her brother the questions didn’t stop there. She corrected me in no uncertain terms, telling me that a couple did not need to get married to have children. Next door had two beautiful children before they got married, she said. I explained that when a couple loved each other (I really think she is too young to bring in the lust, raw passion thing) they can have beautiful children together. Then came the obvious, “does it hurt?” well yes but then a beautiful baby appears-“do you bleed?” - a little, but then you see a beautiful baby appears. “Where does the baby come out?” With my clear medical knowledge, I explained that some babies come out of their mummy’s private bottom and some babies are born by caesarian section and come out of their mummy’s tummy. This was obviously not the best way to answer her questions. Each morning as I woke her from her deep sleep she informed me that she hadn’t slept a wink worrying about this “baby thing”. Then came the inevitable. “How does the seed get into my body?” When she saw the puzzled look on my face she said “oh no, I don’t have to swallow it!”. I decided enough was enough for a five year old and left her nanny to explain it as she must have done a better job with me.

    The facts with my son came when he asked me what exactly I did in my job. I explained that I treated people with cancer. ”What is cancer?” I proceeded to get two dishcloths both different shapes and sizes. I explained that one was a good cell and one was a cancerous cell. As one dishcloth destroyed the other, I explained that this is how a cancerous cell acts until it causes a horrible growth. His little eyes widened “cool!” In the words of Kahil Giban, “you may give them your love, but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts”.

    I have always thought honesty is the best policy with children. There are of course those magical white lies about Santa, fairies and leprechans (but there is still a small part of me that secretly still believes in all that). It is no worse than adults believing in extra terrestrial beings. When you stop believing in fairy tales you lose a certain magic, so being able to live it all again through your children allows you to regain all the excitement you thought you had lost. When the children were younger, I dressed all my explanations with a bit of fantasy, but at the ages of seven and five with their growing level of education and awareness, it’s getting more difficult.

I was always accused at school of lacking reality in my stories. I think the nuns called it being “AIREY FAIRY”. I’ll never grow out of it and I’ll always remember running around a tree in Scotland (dubbed “the Fairy Tree”) with two great friends and our children shouting “I do believe in fairies” as a special moment in my adult life.

    The factual reality stuff has hit me over the last few weeks. My daughter wanted to know where babies came from. I told her, as I had her brother of a similar age that when a girl was born she had a little egg and a man had a seed. When they married the seed fertilised the egg and a beautiful baby started to grow. Unlike her brother the questions didn’t stop there. She corrected me in no uncertain terms, telling me that a couple did not need to get married to have children. Next door had two beautiful children before they got married, she said. I explained that when a couple loved each other (I really think she is too young to bring in the lust, raw passion thing) they can have beautiful children together. Then came the obvious, “does it hurt?” well yes but then a beautiful baby appears-“do you bleed?” - a little, but then you see a beautiful baby appears. “Where does the baby come out?” With my clear medical knowledge, I explained that some babies come out of their mummy’s private bottom and some babies are born by caesarian section and come out of their mummy’s tummy. This was obviously not the best way to answer her questions. Each morning as I woke her from her deep sleep she informed me that she hadn’t slept a wink worrying about this “baby thing”. Then came the inevitable. “How does the seed get into my body?” When she saw the puzzled look on my face she said “oh no, I don’t have to swallow it!”. I decided enough was enough for a five year old and left her nanny to explain it as she must have done a better job with me.

    The facts with my son came when he asked me what exactly I did in my job. I explained that I treated people with cancer. ”What is cancer?” I proceeded to get two dishcloths both different shapes and sizes. I explained that one was a good cell and one was a cancerous cell. As one dishcloth destroyed the other, I explained that this is how a cancerous cell acts until it causes a horrible growth. His little eyes widened “cool!” In the words of Kahil Giban, “you may give them your love, but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts”.

I've just come back from leaving my mum to the airport after she had been for a visit. I think generally the week went smoothly. I am not saying my mother and hubby don’t get on but it is true to say in the past there has been a certain atmosphere. I think it’s probably the old age mother in law syndrome.

The week started with my mother and I going to mass. My mum could be described as a professional churchgoer. Prayer is definitely a big part of her life. She says she prays to be a better person, and then goes to confession to redeem herself for all the things she said about people after church and hence the pattern continues. She was a bit shocked to see that I was not planning to go to communion. Instead of pretending she hadn’t noticed, I had an interrogation at the back of the church into the whys and wherefores of not receiving the body of Christ. Had I killed someone? Commited some illegal act that led me to sitting at the back of the church. No amount of reassurance that I just didn’t feel like it worked. She had reached her own conclusion that I just didn’t feel worthy. The look of disappointment in her eyes was enough to carry me up to the altar with gritted teeth, (hardly the way God would have wanted it)!

Then there was my mother’s advice on my poor diet. She could run Holland and Barret out of business with her cabinets of vitamin supplements and her knowledge (rightly or wrongly) of health. I remember a GP friend of my brother's kindly telling her that she should stop before she killed someone with all her advice but in all her wisdom she still informs all who know her how to avoid prostate cancer, keep their hair shiny, nails strong and avoid all sorts of ailments. In turn I now have a cabinet full of multivitamins, vitamin B, omega fish oil, evening primrose and a bottle of multicoloured whatever to prevent mood swings. I think Ill give them a try!

My mother is one of those people who feels good doing things for others. I don’t know if this stems from a need to be needed but whatever it is it works. This week the phone was on hotline with my three brothers and sister phoning on an hourly basis to check on her welfare. My father on the other hand, being a creature of habit phoned every night at 10pm on the dot. He filled the week running to funerals. Funerals in Ireland used to be a drinking session where they keep the body in the house for a few days and all their friends visit around the clock. Now as a mark of “respect” they do most of their drinking in a hotel and call it a celebration of life. My father appears to have celebrated life to the full this week!

The children loved having their nanny over this week and listening to made up stories like only a nanny can. My granny used to do the same with us and I marvelled how life goes around in circles. No one quite loves you like your parents and it was lovely to be looked after again. She has made me feel twenty years younger and as I kissed her goodbye I hoped I had not appeared irritable or intolerant at times. Sometimes you cannot put into words what a mother does for you and I felt hollow driving home without her.

I was shocked to find a battery-operated device on my bed when I got home that mum had left as a parting gift. I wondered what on earth she might have been thinking of on her spending spree. A tiny thought of Ann Summers entered my mind despite the religious background but to my relief it was some sort of contraction to make my skin look younger but only after exfoliating three layers of it. My hubby on the other hand lost twenty years this week when we bought my son an Xbox 360. How much simpler life would be if I were a man. Maybe in the next few weeks, with all the vitamins, barley water and health advice I will inherit some of the youthful eager enthusiasm that only a mother can have!

This weekend found me in the role of Godmother at my friends christening. I went on my own because my better half was on call and being on my own at a function like that was a whole new awakening. It allowed me as to (as well as feeling like a spare part) look at couples and people in a whole new light. I began to people watch like I did when I was single. I looked at the expressions in the faces of couple to see if they were compatible and truly happy with each other.

I think (maybe I’m wrong) you can put females into boxes. There are the woman who, are truly happy, no matter who they are with, they are just happy to be alive and satisfied with their lot. These women have been born with the happy gene. Then there are the martyrs who take on everyone else’s children, their problems and worries and would do anything for anyone. They spend their lives full of resentment at not being appreciated for all they do. Their whole life is one big sacrifice. They are the goal setters; the chameleons that fit into any social circle just to better themselves. They, I suppose, are the survivors.

I did not know whom I admired or resented the most or what box I fitted into. I hadn’t seen most of these people in ten years. I had gone to the daughters christening of a true friend who reassuringly had not changed. She was a great mother, warm, honest, loving and I guess just had the qualities you cant bottle. It made me appreciate my true friends. I thought about the circle of friends I meet with when I go to Ireland. They were all so different with the same aim of making the most out of life. One of the girls was always ready to make light of any situation. On the last trip back from a night out she spotted a lad urinating in the street. When he saw her look of disapproval he grunted that she should be careful not to tread on it, to which she quickly replied that she had rubbed sudacreme on bigger that morning. One of the girls spends her night scrutinising everyone and questioning how they can afford their current life style. There is of course my oldest and wisest friend who enriches everyone’s life by just being in it. I guess I could tick a little of all these boxes, but when I find the right one for me, I hope it’s a big one!