Hullaballoo

Five rhythms dance was wonderfully nutty and bohemian, trailing round a room in leggings, floaty skirt and a headscarf with other like minded souls dancing away just as the fancy took us. Amazing, but nutty. After 4 hours of continuous movement with only fruit, nuts and seeds as sustenance, I felt I was in an altered state, in a good way. The experience of release and relaxation has stayed with me, and so I will return. Going to the class inspired me to read about Edwardian Bohemians and how experimental they were. My favourite chapter was a debate on whether or not children should be clean, tidy and presentable. Well apparently, not necessarily as long as they are happy and free. Can't wait to experiment on the boys when they return from their hols. It reminded me of a slogan I was on a bag, "no one remembers a woman who behaves well."

It's my birthday tomorrow and, after much jaw gnashing and convention crushing, I have plumped for a non birthday. Presents, cards and cake are totally banned, in favour of lunch with friends, plucking and preening, a walk by the river and an evening with the lovely Schmetterling, who is flying over from Germany tomorrow. I might express my feelings of happiness about my turning 38 in the form of dance, but that will be the limit. Quite liberating really. And when the boys return on Saturday, like the queen, I will celebrate my official birthday with them.

Yesterday, I picked up my favourite takeaway skinny latte from my favourite cafe, before reading about Bohemian mothering in the park. "It's hot," the guy warned. I looked at him incredulously and smiled widely. "It's a good job you told me cos I was just away to pour it all over my head and see what happened." He got my humour and we shared a giggle.

Had one of my famous hullaba pregnant breakfasts this morning of guacamole, beetroot, honey, yoghurt, nuts and mungbat juice. I danced around the kitchen to amazing radio (amazingradio.co.uk). It's a station which only plays music by new artists, and the public can download the tracks, with the musicians getting to keep 70% of the proceeds. You type in the name of a band you like and the songs influenced by them appear. Good eh? There were a couple of good tracks, then the lyrics of one of them make me chortle a bit into my pitta bread;

"Pass me the wine, I wanna get drunk
I miss shouting at you
It's no fun screaming on my own"

Okay, no issues there then....

Moving swiftly on, my energy rose and I cut down a pair of jeans to make new trendy denim shorts to go with my purple leggings. I love them, I feel like a dancer, even though I have in no way the body of a dancer. I am a traditional, curvy, strong legged celt and after yesterday's sample of contact improvisation dance, I am less bendy than I thought. Below is an Italian Utube lego verson.
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Today, I am trying out a 5 rhythms dance workshop, which sounds less intense. Contact impro was 3 hours of rolling around with clothed strangers, trying to make meaningful phsical, non-sexual contact. I lived in horror of accidentally kissing someone or worse falling over and hanging onto their dangly bits to regain my balance. The jam session afterwards was musiked (new word) by two solemn german musicians on a double bass and a violin, wailing and hissing into the microphone and occasionally moving round the room with finger bells. Now I am experimental and open minded, but I did wonder what the hell I was doing there after a while.

After a year on the market, my former matrimonial home is now sold, and at a very good price. It's been hard to write about because I don't feel the anticipated excitement and relief, just emptiness after a long hard struggle with buyers who imposed ludicrous clauses and offered way under the odds, because they could. It's the end of an era and in six weeks the boys will have a another big change, when they have to move house with their dad. Despite my numbness, I am off to celebrate with my oldest friend, then it's on to a dance and contact improvisation workshop for some creative fun.

This week, I have noticed my anxiety about swine flu rise, along with many others. I put it into perspective, when I nearly got run over crossing the road and decided that I was more likely to die from something like that than from swine flu. It's a tricky balance though, between being properly prepared and ridiculously paranoid.

I have said goodbye to my therapist of 5 years and my supervisor of 6 years, as my personal journey takes me in new and enticing directions. It's hard to leave the known, the comfy, the easy but now I need more challenge and depth.

On Thursday I took the boys to the beach on the train. What seemed like a romantic idea, went steadily downhill, as their attention span got less and less and I ran out of ways of occupying them on the train. YS has now learned not to ask the skin headed guard who had 50% tattoos on his body why he had them and I have just got over the nervous twitch in my right eye which came on before we managed to reach the beach.

Bobo is away for the whole weekend and the boys are going on holiday with their dad. Two weeks of full on activity have now come to a complete halt and it is a real shock to my system. The other night, I huddled in a doorway with 4 other people during a thunder storm and enjoyed the cameraderie of looking out at the extreme weather and taking shelter together. I felt a bit sad when we had to leave.

Yes, I am still alive and haven't been swallowed whole by a furry animal pictured in the enticing headgear in the previous post.

We have been on a family holiday to stay with Bobo's kind and lovely family in Guildford. The boys spent 3 days getting on famously with their new cousins and spending their time springing between the trampoline, the computer and the paddling pool. After that, we had 4 excellent days in Brighton, where we met up with Miss Tickle (our fabbo blog chum) for a meal and managed to keep the boys pacified with drawing for hours.

School holidays are intense, and so I am falling asleep before the boys, collapsing dribbling on a pillow by 8.30pm while they trail around asking why mummy isn't reading a story. Most days are fine, and I have only sometimes had to resort to the use of earplugs and an eye mask to indicate that I am engaged.