Mouldygate

  When I first discovered Mumsnet I was a naive first time mum.  I’d gone through horrendous depression in pregnancy that had knocked my confidence and made me into a very timid, nervous, hesitant person.  I was alienated from my friends, alone in the house with the baby all day, scared and desperately depressed.

I remember my first tentative post on Mumsnet – and then my shock when people actually replied!  I was not treated like some brain-dead depressive, no-one said that my job of looking after my baby was worthless.  Here was a place where I could have an opinion, a point of view, and that opinion mattered!  I was taken seriously!

I owe Mumsnet a debt of gratitude for replacing my confidence, for helping me to get back on my feet and think of myself as a worthwhile person after all who has something to say.  Not only that but I found myself in a position to help others – to help those who found breastfeeding hard, to help those who were also depressed in their pregnancies but afraid to speak out.  I loved seeking advice and I loved giving it. 

That was in 2001.  Since then Mumsnet has undergone changes.  Some I disagreed with and some I thought were for the better, but I never thought the spirit of Mumsnet had changed.  Secret Santa was thought up a few years ago to help those who had been having bad years.  The community of Mumsnet still got together to help fellow Mumsnetters in need – I have been helped countless times by Mumsnetters who didn’t know me, but just wanted to do something to help.  I can’t tell you how good that feels!

For me, Mumsnet became something of an escapism from everyday life.  In life I was judged for being a mother, for choosing to stay at home, for having a Northern accent, for coming from Oldham, for the way I looked, the clothes I wore etc etc.  But on Mumsnet I was judged only for the opinions I had.  I loved to debate, to research, to discover things I didn’t know through Mumsnet.  If I had a bad day, I knew I could start a thread about it on Mumsnet and have sympathy.  If I had a problem with my mother, I knew I only had to mention her on Mumsnet and there would be people familiar with the background who would give me support.  I could laugh on Mumsnet and be laughed at, I could divulge the most embarrassing medical conditions and get sound advice.  What more could you ask from a site?

I felt so comfortable that I went to a few meet-ups.  Just local ones at first, then I was blackmailed by Custy into going to my first ever London one.  I’ve now been to two and enjoyed them thoroughly.  I loved putting faces to names and seeing if they were the same as on Mumsnet.  I made new friends.

But then the disagreements became more personal.  I can honestly say, hand on heart, that I do not have an MSN list of Mumsnetters.  I have 2 Mumsnetters on my facebook (not including custy).  I generally say everything I want to on Mumsnet.  This has caused some ill feeling amongst those who feel I have disagreed with them too strongly, or just disagreed with them for the hell of it.  For whatever reason, I found that I had made enemies.  I also discovered that custy had made many more (!) and that those people were also targeting me by association.

Narniagate happened.  A Mumsnetter who had taken a real dislike to me because I asked her on Mumsnet to stop making lesbian type comments on every thread she posted on.  She discovered that you could comment on threads that had been deleted by googling them and they wouldn’t appear in active convos.  She told a few others about it, swore them to secrecy and the rule was to say 3 bitchy things about a fellow mumsnetter.  I was her first target.  I was really upset when I found out.  Not only had she bitched about me behind my back but encouraged others to do the same!

I took a sabbatical, thought it would all be fresh and new when I got back.  And for a while it was, it became my escapism again.  But now all this Mouldygate has blown up and I admit, it really got to me.

Sure, as others have said, there are sites that are invite only, you get them on facebook.  But I know those sites are out there.  There’s an ante-natal one which you obv wouldn’t join unless you were expecting, but if you felt you fitted the criteria you could ask for membership.  They are not secret.  This one was.  Secret invites sent out, people discussed and then vetoed.  I found out that those people I had had those disagreements with, were part of it.  I had the sick feeling I had when I found out about Narniagate.

A fair criticism has been thrown at us saying that it’s not all about us.  Of course it isn’t.  I feel heartened to an extent that others have also been hurt, because it’s incredibly isolating when it’s just you.  I’ve had the snidey comments on threads around Mumsnet and know all too well that paranoid feeling of ‘Is it just me or they are actually having a go at every thing I say?’  And of course you can’t ask anyone else because then you are accused of having no sense of humour and suffering from paranoia. 

But this time real life has spilled into my little escape route.  Mumsnet is no longer a happy place for me to be.  It’s become a very confrontational place. 

People forget that we are human.  I am a mum.   I have an 8 year old daughter and a 4 year son.  I have relationship problems on and off, I worry about my kids, I worry that I’m not a good enough mother, that I’ve made all the wrong choices in life.  I worry about the bills and our jobs and what to have for tea.  I’m not some nameless entity on an internet site.  And for me this Mouldygate is the equivalent of having a secret gang of mums who whisper outside the school gates.  You can’t prove that they are whispering about you, but every now and then they look your way and snigger.  After a while that’s going to affect you.  And that is how this has affected me.

I’m sorry the members cannot understand that.  I understand and sympathise with why some are members.  A few have been kind enough to contact me and let me know why they are members – I appreciate their honesty.  There is a need for a private site where personal things can be discussed with people who know you.  These sites exist.  But the whispering that has gone on here, the denials and lies, the leaks of hurtful information – all of that is more about the playground whispering than anything else. 

I’d hate to leave Mumsnet.  But I think perhaps it has spilled over too much into real life.  It’s making me feel worse about myself than ever before.  I could never go on a meet-up now knowing that there are people who detest me, who would whisper about me, avoid me.  That’s not how I live in real life and it’s not how I want to be on the internet either.  I am no different in real life to my online persona.  In real life if that happened I would move away, I would not allow it to continue.  So I’m thinking that is what I should do here.

I’ve fucked up everything

I really have.

I had a house inspector come yesterday, because this is a rented house.  I made sure that everything was gleaming.  She went into ds’s room and the first thing she said was that we shouldn’t be putting up pictures or posters using blu-tack or sellotape as it stains the walls and we could be done for redecoration.  She said the same thing for dd’s room.  So all their drawings they do at school, the pictures they do for me, pictures they put up as part of their make-believe games, ds’s Spiderman posters, dd’s Roald Dahl pictures, all have to come down.  I got really upset, told her that I’m trying to make it into a home for them, not just someone else’s house but a home.

She apologised and suggested I get a noticeboard for them to hang their pictures on.

It was just the last straw for me. 

We had a house once, we could do what we liked to it, decorate it the way we wanted to, not worry about marking the walls or carpets because they were our walls, our carpets.  We made it into a home.  I chose to leave that place, to sacrifice that for what I perceived would be a better life for all of us.  Only 4 house moves and 5 years later we are here, in another rented house, someone else’s walls, someone else’s home.  No better than we would have been had we stayed where we were.  Worse in fact.

dd has moved schools 3 times in her 8 years of life.  She has made good friends only to have to say goodbye to them again.  What kind of life have I carved out for them both?

This isn’t our home and never will be.  We could be asked to leave at any point.  No doubt then we’ll have to move to yet another rented house, someone else’s home.  I have failed to provide stability and security for my kids.  Their rooms are not their rooms, they can’t paint the walls or hang their pictures up.  It’s just a little thing, a basic thing, but it makes a huge difference to how you feel about the house you live in.  It’s what gives a home it’s definition.

I just feel like I’ve screwed up everything I’ve tried to do.  Everything.  I took my dh away from a job he liked and now he has an unstable job that may finish at any moment.  I took him away from friends he has known all his life.  Away from the first house we ever owned that he worked so hard in.  And I’ve tried taking them all into my dream, only now it’s turned into a nightmare.  Perhaps because I was never really sure what I wanted.  Now that I’ve lost it, I can see that what I had was all I ever needed.

There’s nothing I can do to put this right.  We cannot buy a house.  We are stuck in this situation, one of my making.  It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just dh and I that had to pay the price for my mistakes, but for the children – what fault is it of theirs?  What kind of childhood do they have to look back on?  I can’t even provide them with a home ffs!

How could I have screwed up so royally?

Oh and this morning I fucked up dd just a little bit more.  I normally take both her and ds to school and if her classroom door is still closed (if we are early) then she comes with me and waits in the Reception playground whilst I drop ds off.  Which she did this morning.  I dropped him off and then I had to give a DVD back to a teacher and prepare for a social skills class.  I was halfway through the class when dd’s class TA came to get me saying that dd was very upset.

I had forgotten about her and she had been waiting for me in the Reception playground for 20mins before finally going into her class in tears.

It would be a bit funny if it wasn’t so tragic.  I feel shit, so does she.  Another example of how I fuck up everything and everyone.

 

Ok, I’ve been feeling shit.  Finally admitted to dh how I felt.  He said that he thought I’d fucked up too.  He’s unhappy here.  He’s lost his job, and now has to transfer to another branch 20miles and 45mins away.  To work for a man who is allegedly a tosser.  He says he felt better in France.

We discussed going back, but how can we?  With no jobs and that country no better off than this one in terms of the recession – we’d be competing against nationals and France, to it’s credit, will employ it’s own people first. 

Thinking that you’ve screwed up is one thing, having it confirmed by someone close to you is something else entirely.

I read about this woman from Germany who disappeared for 12 years.  She had travelled Europe before settling down in a Swiss wood in a makeshift shelter.  Funny that because I often consider doing that, just disappearing.  Right now I think everyone would be far better off if I just wasn’t here.

Actually…..

It went ok.  Dh looked dashing in his Guy Ritchie outfit – not that I fancy Guy Ritchie, he looks too much like a startled deer for my taste, dh is more rugged than that and he didn’t shave which I thought was cool.

The pub was nice, an olde worlde pub.  Waitresses were dead friendly and the food was really nice.  No ghosts but someone did nick our wine glasses when we weren’t looking so we had to ask for replacements.

All was going well until the taxi came to collect us.  I saw him disappear to the side so I finished my Guinness and whilst dh went to the loo I went towards the door – a heavy oak thing with a latch.  The latch worked fine but I couldn’t get the damn thing open, so I enlisted some lovely looking guys to help me.  We were all tugging and pulling at the door when dh arrived behind me and asked what we were doing, the taxi guy had gone out of the proper door behind the curtain – this door we were pulling on was not meant to open and we’d already pulled up half the carpet trying to open it!

So cringing with shame and with the barman suddenly realising what we were doing, I left the nice looking men to cop the blame whilst I disappeared through the real door and into the cab.

I can always pretend I was a ghost eh?

I hate sodding birthdays

  I hate birthdays, I really do.  I don’t mind other people’s birthdays, they are welcome to them, but mine I can do without.  Yes it’s about getting old, of course!  I don’t embrace my maturity or buy any of that bollocks that life begins at 30/40/50/60.  As soon as you’ve finished your twenties you’ve more-or-less had it. 

No I don’t feel better for being wiser, no I’m not any more secure, no I don’t have more money – I had bloody good fun being single in my twenties, going out with friends, getting my own place, eating and drinking as much as I liked without thinking of the consequences, not giving a stuff about a career or the future because we all lived for there and then.  I wanted it to last forever.  I saw myself travelling the globe and doing things I could only dream of.

Now I’m in my thirties, married with 2 children, living in rented accommodation, working as a TA in a primary school.

So yeah, I feel shitty every birthday that comes around.  It’s like time is prodding me and saying “Look, another year gone and you’re still not settled, you just can’t hack it can you?” 

And do you know what really pisses me off?  I have now realised that actually I’m not bad looking, I can still pull a guy, my figure’s ok, I have confidence now, I can blag my way through most things – BUT IT’S NO BLOODY USE NOW IS IT????  Where was all that when I was single and young?  I could have played the field – had fun!

But we’re going out for a meal.  Aidan’s bought this really nice outfit, he actually looks a lot like Guy Ritchie in it.  He’s got a tweed overcoat with a matching cap and a waistcoat.  So we’re going to pretend to be very posh for the evening.  The neighbours are babysitting.  I have a pub/restaurant I really like (one of the most haunted in Britain no less!) and we shall sweep into there like we do it every weekend.  Then we shall get absolutely bladdered and our Northern accents will get stronger and stronger as the night wears on until I start a fight about the bar not serving any Boddingtons and Aidan throws up on the floor.

Should be a good night then!

Custodial Issues

My daughter got one of those Fur Real cats as a present for her birthday, to make up for the fact that she couldn’t have a real one.  To be frank, it’s a bit shit, you hear this whirring noise as it’s head moves, it blinks if you look very closely and mews.  That’s it.  Anyway, she got the dog equivalent for Christmas.

Now my son has taken a shine to the cat and plays with it whenever he can.  My daughter originally said that he could have the cat – but she now informs me that she meant he could share the cat.  He has no interest in the dog, largely because it’s white with pink ribbons in it’s ears.

After much squabbling over who could hold the cat and why he treated the cat better than the dog (in which he delights kicking), I decided to draw up an agreement.  They both settled for my daughter having custodial rights for the cat every morning, and he had rights every afternoon.  I got them to sign it.

An hour later my daughter has worked out that she only gets to spend 20mins with the cat in the morning due to school, and he gets to spend 2 hours with it after school.  Therefore it was unfair.

Another agreement could not be bashed out so we’re having to take the matter to court.  My husband will preside over it as the judge.  I have had to write a case for both the defence and the prosecution.

The good thing is that my fees are going through the roof – and it prepares them, cynically, for real life!

Dead Dogs and Leg Warmers

                                                                 

My brother is crazy about dogs, his dogs.  He has trained and showed dogs, even going to Crufts, ever since he got out of the army.

He had a Weinmariner, bought to replace one that died 2 years ago – he was really cut up about that.  So the remaining dog was doted on, it slept on their bed, got it’s own sofa and all the other stuff freaky dog owners get for their dogs.

Just after Christmas it collapsed and died.  He’s devastated as you can imagine.  My sister, who has recently bought a minging mongrel herself so is now a dog expert, thought she would cheer him up.

So she went out and bought him some doggy leg-warmers.

No, not for him.

For the dog.

The dead dog.

I don’t know what was going on in her head – how the bloody hell would anyone know what was going on in her head?  Perhaps she thought it could be buried in them?  Perhaps she thought it would be cold, as it’s dead?

She told me that her own minging mongrel has leg warmers and a scarf.  Lovely.  So she thought it would be a good idea to buy my brother’s dead dog some too. 

Funnily enough it did cheer him up, because when you are presented with leg warmers for your dead dog, what else can you do but laugh?

This year I pledge that I WILL find those adoption papers that prove I’m with the wrong family!

MUMSNET – again!

Blogs are good aren’t they?  You can really write anything you like on them, pour out your feelings and everything, without it affecting anyone else!

There have been a lot of flouncers on Mumsnet.  You always get that, but what has really surprised me are the people like Cod, who have been hounded off by Mumsnetters who have taken it upon themselves to decide who can post on Mumsnet and who can’t. 

You are always going to get bitching and backstabbing – it’s a site populated by women!  The MSNers used to nark me, nice to your face but bitchy as hell about you on MSN.  Oh and those who save whole threads that have been deleted by Mumsnet, just so they can pass them round to their rubbernecker mates, have a good gossip and feed on someone else’s misery.

I hope she doesn’t mind my mentioning her here, and if she does then I’ll remove the comment, but Sophable is one Mumsnetter who I’ve had plenty of rucks with.  We never agree on anything and there have been very harsh words aimed from either side.  But once that particular debate is over, no bad feelings are carried on.  She will say if she agrees with me on something else and never feels the need to have a go on any other thread at all.  That’s one Mumsnetter I have huge respect for.  But there are others who feel the need to have a go whenever they can.  Bad feelings are carried around and comments about posters are made on entirely different threads.  When the posters complain, they are told that the sarcastic snidey comments are just made in jest and they really should get a sense of humour. 

I understand now why some posters feel the need to change their name to let their feelings rip.  Because some of the bullies on Mumsnet are popular, with lots of ‘friends’ who will rush to their aid, much like vultures on a feeding frenzy.  I’ve witnessed posters being told they are paranoid, mentally unstable, have no sense of humour – they have been laughed at and humiliated.  And no-one rushes to their defence because they are afraid of getting the same treatment, afraid of upsettting the popular bullies.

It takes me back to my schooldays.  Especially the ones who know just how to hit you where it will hurt the most.  Who know some detail about you that they are all too willing to throw into your face.

Bullies.

What’s sad is that they forget that everyone on Mumsnet is an individual.  It’s so easy to insult a Mumsnet name, it means nothing.  But behind that name is a mother, with children, who has her ups and downs in life, who has the same worries.  In fact we probably have lots in common with those bullies, children the same ages etc.  In another life, in real life perhaps, a friendship may have even been possible.  But the world of cyber anonymity makes it easier to become a bully, easier to hurt and insult so that you feel better in the real world.

Of course someone on Mumsnet may pick this blog up, share it amongst their friends on MSN, even decide to link to it from Mumsnet to prove what a bitch I am, how paranoid and mentally insecure I am.  Like that has never been done before to a good friend of mine!  But if you are reading this and recognise yourself in the above descriptions, then put that down to your own paranoia! 

I tell my daughter that bullies are to be pitied, because if they had a good and happy life they wouldn’t need to bully.  I guess that goes for any age. 

Mumsnet has many many advantages.  I’ve personally learnt lots and I’ve been helped in ways I never dreamt of, the kindness of strangers touches me still on Mumsnet.  I love it to bits and would hope that I’m never forced off by the bullies.  But with the departure of cod, you just never know do you?  It only takes one person to hold a grudge.

You know who you are ……………..

Those days that just seem too hard

We all get them.  Days when you just struggle a bit, when everything becomes a chore, when you’re tired etc.  At the moment Bea is ill, not very very ill, but under the weather.  We moved here about 4 weeks ago, the kids started their new schools 2 weeks ago, I started my job at the same time.  Everything went smoothly but now I think the general stress of change is taking it’s toll a little.

However, at times like this I think back to what was one of the hardest periods of my life and just thinking about that bucks me up a little.  I think, if I can cope with that I can cope with anything!

It was 4 years ago now.  We had sold our house, bought a caravan and were travelling around France staying in various campsites.  It was now October and we were at, we hoped, our final campsite about 45mins drive from Bordeaux.  We were being filmed at the time for a programme made by the BBC.  I had just landed a job teaching in one of the finest private high schools in Bordeaux.  Trouble is, I had a degree and an NVQ for Teaching Assistants, but I had never actually taught and knew nothing about teenagers, choosing to spend most of my time avoiding them.  So my first days at work were spent in this kind of surreal cloud where I had to pretend I knew what I was doing, in front of bemused French teenagers and a film crew following my every move. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, the Head of the English Dept went off on holiday and asked me to cover his classes.  So I was working from 9am to 4pm for a week, teaching English to kids from Yr 7 to Years 11.  Most of whom only knew basic English and I only knew basic French. 

Bearing in mind that we were still living in the caravan at this point.  I had to get up at 5.30am, trying not to wake Aidan or the kids in their little cupboard at the back of the caravan.  Catch the 6.30am bus outside the campsite, that got to the city for 7.30am and then I caught the 8am bus to the school.  Oh and even that journey was filmed.

Then one day it all just got too much.  I had been filmed all day, giving me no time to do any lesson preparation for the full day I had at the school the next day.  After filming they took us out for tea.  I took Bea to the toilets up a winding wooden staircase at the back of the restaurant, then coming down we both slipped and I remember falling the full length of the staircase trying to protect Bea from the fall.  We ended up in a heap at the bottom, both very shocked.  The whole of my right side was covered in bruises, but thankfully Bea was just shaken.

I spent the rest of that night awake, reliving the fall, worrying about tomorrow and just everything that had happened and was happening played over and over in my head like a broken record.  When I got up at 5.30am I’d had no sleep.

I got through 2 hours before I finally cracked and burst into tears in the staffroom.  I was sent home and spent the rest of the afternoon just recovering and sleeping.

I was back at work the next day.

Now when I look back and realise the huge pressure I was under, I’m surprised I didn’t crack up more.  But then we are stronger than we think.  So now, any pressure I feel is trivial to what I went through back then.  So whenever I feel it’s all too much, I just think back and smile. 

And of course I would to it all again!

What is the point of Facebook?

Like most people I have succumbed to the temptations of Facebook.  A self-advertising site where people constantly polish their egos, big themselves up in the most cringeworthy of ways, trawl “friend finder” to make themselves appear popular and my most favourite “what are you doing today?”  which is their chance to show off their witty and “zany” sides.  I most love it when people try to convince you that “I’m mad I am!  Look at me being mad and crazy!  I’m uncontrollable, unstoppable, I’m madder than an epileptic frog”. 

Now I can say this because I am one of those unfortunates.  But at least I can say that my facebook account came about entirely by accident.  Having created a facebook page for a band I know, I had to create an individual account which I left blank.  I stupidly gave a friend my password so he could manage my MobWars account and before I knew it he had kindly ‘pimped’ my facebook page.  So I unpimped it and have been unsure of what to do with it since.

I have friends.  I don’t know if they are aware of my existence but they appear on my site, their pictures changing every now and then to create a ‘witty’ and ‘artistic’ profile of themselves.  I have filled in my musical tastes and joined a couple of groups that I now never visit.  I diligently tell people what I am doing now, not that they care, they are all too busy telling everyone else what they are doing.  Now and again someone will message me or write on my wall, or on occasion, even throw a sheep at me, which I’m sure is hilarious.  But all of this I can do with my email account.  For me it’s just another way to keep me sat in front of the pc babbling on about myself.  It’s another password to remember (never use the same password as apparently people presume that you do and then hack into your email account) and finally it becomes a chore rather than a joy.  You have to find yet another witty statement about what you are doing, you have to think of another artistic and ironic photo to grace your profile, you have to return the sheep that was thrown at you and respond on other peoples walls or else they sulk.

The only benefit I can see to it is MobWars.  And that’s because I have a dark violent side that needs a quick fix and I do quite enjoy attacking random strangers.  You don’t have to pretend to be anyone, you only need to rob banks, attack people, and spend your loot on casinos.  Pointless yes, but at least it’s fun!  Whereas Facebook, well it’s just a tad American if you know what I mean.  I came across a great Glaswegen site the other day, he had put “Today I am applying Anusol to the great big shagging bunch of grapes I’ve got up my arsehole”.  Now that’s more like it!

Mob Wars

I became addicted to MobWars on Monday night.  I remember it well, a friend rang and told me to get on it right away as he was getting his arse kicked.  So I joined his “mob” on Facebook and ever since then I’ve been thinking and dreaming of new tactics, weaponry, etc.  The point is to buy loads of weapons, do loads of jobs (such as a liquor store robbery) for cash and then use the cash to either buy more weapons or invest in parts of the city that will then give you a regular income.  You need the best weaponry as people tend to attack you.  Or they do me.  Because when I first joined I thought it was fun to attack random people on my level and win.  Only now those people have gotten bigger and stronger and are wreaking their revenge!  So I spend most of my time working out how I can get more cash to arm myself better.

You also need other people in your mob as the bigger your mob, the stronger you all are.  You also have to arm your mob, so there’s no point in buying only one Assault Rifle for you, because if you get attacked by a group with only 2 members but they both have Assault Rifles and you only have one and a load of baseball bats, you’re gonna get your arse kicked!  Oh and if someone really pisses you off and you have enough money, you can put a bounty on them and someone will kill them for you.  I’ve done this!  I’ve also hospitalised loads of people!

I’m on Level 10 so far.  Lost loads of fights due to these petty people wanting revenge, but I do own 2 villas and an empty lot which give me quite a lot of income, so I’ve saving up to buy a car, then I can do a bit of drug dealing and make even more money which will buy even more weaponry so I can wreak revenge of my own!

It’s great when you’ve got PMT!  You can also punch people in the face which I like to do for no good reason other than it makes me feel better.  Violent yes, but in the nicest possible way!