Groovy: Groovy (or, less common, “Groovie” or “Groovey”) is a slang colloquialism popular during the 1960s and 1970s. It is roughly synonymous with words such as “cool”, “excellent”, “fashionable”, or “amazing”, depending on context.
So the fantastically supportive and groovy @kateonthinice has recently started up a Monday linky all about being a groovy mum.
I’ve not felt particularly groovy of late and as all of you who read my blog are aware, some of that is due to my delightful twelve year old daughter and our tempestuous relationship. So when Kate tweeted me the link to this week’s groovy mum post I wasn’t sure I would be able to join in, as the last person I thought would think me groovy was my daughter.
However….when I asked her she said all of this…pretty much in one sentence without stopping for breath…maybe I am a bit groovy after all…
You’re in with the style and the fashion.
You can have a girly chat with me.
You’re kinda like my sister and I can talk to you about anything.
You try your best to do mother and daughter stuff.
You’re always there for me.
You go out and have a laugh, and free your mind and have some fun.
You’re not overprotective like some parents and that’s good.
You’re a laugh.
You’re not afraid to show your emotions.
You like to do girly stuff and go shopping and stuff.
You are strict, but not really strict.
When I do something wrong to talk to me about it, I’m never scared to tell you I’ve done something wrong as you’re always there for me.
You’re a good cook and you love to make cakes and cupcakes.
I know you work for the family, but you always put your family first.
You are thoughtful, you think of others and if you think they’re upset you will always get them something.
I think you’re probably the best mum out of all of my friends’ mums.
See even if I’m mean to you and stuff it doesn’t mean I don’t care.
And so, from now on, every time we fall out I’m reading this post – for it makes my heart swell with love and pride and reminds me that beneath it all, our relationship is still as strong and solid as ever.
Battle: Generally, a battle is a conceptual component in the hierarchy of combat in warfare between two or more armed forces, or combatants. A war sometimes consists of many battles. Battles generally are well defined in duration, area and force commitment.
Constant, heated battles,
Angry with me most days,
You want to shout out loud, be heard
Determined to do things your way.
You feel you’re so grown up now,
Yet you’re not quite old enough,
To do the things you’d like to do.
You’re finding it so tough.
You challenge every sentence.
You feel wronged in every way.
You get frustrated, get grumpy,
From one mood to the next you sway.
You say I make you angry,
That I’m cross all of the time.
You answer back because you,
Think you haven’t done the crime.
You’re quick to think the worst,
To think I’m constantly having a go.
You think I’m always saddened by you,
The seeds of doubt begin to sow.
Is this the beginning of teenagdom?
Is there worse to come?
Am I doing something wrong?
Am I not being a good mum?
Our bond is a very strong one,
Sometimes we’re just too close.
Too similar, we’re just the same.
She is like me the most.
We’re stubborn, always think we’re right.
Self doubt sometimes sneaks in.
Attacking the best form of defence,
Not stopping until we win.
She’s fiery, gorgeous, passionate and strong,
Confident and wild.
My gorgeous tween, my crazy girl,
My beautiful first child.
I try to stay calm when the whirlwind starts,
Hope the anger doesn’t last.
Take deep breaths and say to myself,
Don’t worry, this too shall pass.
So, it’s Thursday again, and I just wanted to start this post by saying that this week’s poem for #Prose4T could be interpreted in a number of different ways. It was not necessarily written from my perspective (although throughout different parts of my life it very easily could’ve been) but it could also have been written about me, when I was ill with PND, or by someone else completely. Thank you, as always, for reading x (Oh and next week I promise to write something more uplifting 😉 !!)
Count to 10, and Walk Away
Your words go deeper than you know,
Hurt inside deep down,
Childish words said out of anger,
Pure nastiness behind the frown.
Said to cause me so much pain,
To cut me when I’m weak,
Uncontrolled outpouring of hate,
Whenever to me you speak.
Is it because you feel so guilty,
Because you don’t know what to do,
Is it because you hate me,
Because I really feel that you do.
You never offer comfort,
Your words are never soft,
They are nasty, mean and horrible,
From across the room they waft.
Make me feel it’s my fault,
That I’m not worthy of your love,
Make me feel so horrible,
They envelop me like a glove.
You know just what to say,
Just what will hurt the most,
And you make me a shadow of my former self,
A tiny, insignificant ghost.
You don’t know when to stop,
You can’t control your voice,
It’s as if you are possessed by evil,
As if you don’t have a choice.
But it’s when the children hear you,
When they see you be so cruel,
That I feel I’ve let them down the most,
That I feel like a total fool.
They shouldn’t be around it,
Shouldn’t hear those words be said,
They should only hear words of kindness,
Only have nice things in their heads.
So please next time you hate me,
Or don’t know what to say,
Bite your tongue, keep it closed,
Count to 10, and walk away.