Category: about me

 

It’s been a while since I did a 4 highlights round up. As always, work has been manic and planning a wedding has been gradually taking over my spare time! Only 11 days to go now though. This thought is equally terrifying and exciting.

I’m fairly sure April is going to be incredible, but March wasn’t too bad. Here are my 4 highlights from last month:

1: A farm based day out with the godsons.

Jonny and I are very lucky to have 2 super-cute godsons. One of whom is 7, the other 18 months. When they (and their equally lovely parents) visited in the middle of March we took them to a local petting farm. As much for my enjoyment as the kids as there were ridiculously gorgeous baby lambs and miniature sheep. Miniature sheep! I didn’t even realise this was a thing. My life was essentially made playing with all the teeny creatures. The cutest thing of the day, however, was the 7 year old godson buying me a surprise baby lamb toy from the gift shop. He was about to spend his own money on it before Jonny gallantly stepped in to help him out. It was definitely a really touching little moment!

2: Wedding crafting.

I spent the Easter bank holiday weekend at my parents’ house as Jonny was in Wales for his stag do. Alongside the mothership we got creative putting finishing touches to tiny bunting, vintage glassware table decorations and the flower girl dress.  I squeezed a visit in to see said flower girl (my goddaughter) during the weekend and she was a charming little delight. I think her and the smallest godson are going to steal the day come the 16th!

3: Receiving flowers

During March I received beautiful flowers from 3 different people. The mothership brought me a selection of Easter blooms, my friend Cherida came up for dinner and provided a second incredible bunch, and Ross and Sam brought me a fab belated 30th birthday bouquet. Having a house filled with flowers is always lovely. More so, when they’ve been provided by brilliant friends and family.  It’s now back to my bargain favourites of daffodils throughout the house until they’re replaced by a wedding bouquet later this month!

4: York hen do

I know this wasn’t technically March as it happened over the last weekend in February but it’s definitely up there in the good things that have happened this year. Cocktails, dinner, museum and shopping with my favourite lovely ladies was just what I hoped for. Coupled with some fantastic goodie bags organised by my chief bridesmaid, Roz. Roz also created a floral crown and managed to source a ‘bride to be’ sash that wasn’t pink and shiny. Ten out of ten for her efforts towards a ‘classy’ hen do!

Thanks for everything March, despite knowing that April is definitely about to steal your thunder!

Source

This week marks 10 years without my appendix.

If we lived in medieval times I’d definitely be dead. That’s a weird thought.

Modern medicine (whilst still having a way to go in finding cures for all the bad shit) isn’t half bad sometimes. Nor is the NHS. It’s thanks to them, alongside Lancaster Royal Infirmary, that I’m here today (dramatic.)

The story of my appendicitis isn’t a wildly exciting one, but it’s really an ode to the NHS. They are wholly brilliant. I experienced fantastic care whilst in hospital, and even got my own room at one point during my stay!

Having spent a day off university in absolute agony, vomiting copiously (fun fact: bile really is fairy fluorescent green) my university housemates returned home from lectures and decided I could probably do with a visit to the out of hours doctors. One taxi journey and some agonised screaming later and I was in a second taxi on my way to hospital; the lovely doctor already having called ahead to warn of my impending arrival.

During this taxi journey I called my mum:

“I’m on my way to hospital, they think I’ve got appendicitis.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; you’d know if you had appendicitis. It’s probably just a bad hangover or alcohol poisoning.”

Oh the faith she had in me. In my mum’s defence I spent quite a bit of university drinking heavily, so her assumptions weren’t unfounded. She has, however, yet to live it down that she didn’t believe me.

The following day, after being attached to a drip, having x-rays and generally being poked and prodded by a range of medical professionals I was informed that I had appendicitis and that they’d be operating on me later that day. An overly dramatic, tearful phone call home ensured my mum was on her way from Yorkshire to Lancashire fairly quickly.

After a little debacle (they didn’t believe I was old enough to sign my own operation consent form. Weirdos. I was 20) some visits from lovely university friends, and my first ever experience with morphine I was finally taken down to theatre.

I awoke, knickers under my pillow (carefully placed there by the nurse/surgeon?) to find that I no longer had an appendix. Which was fortunate as apparently by the time they’d got to the little bugger, it had perforated. That’s not a good thing for an appendix to do.

In my own room, attended to by amazing nurses I made a great recovery, aided by tiny shot glasses of morphine they provided to manage my pain. Under this influence I apparently made a phone call to my brother which I cannot remember at all. I think he said I was talking about dinosaurs. Go figure.

Anyway, it is thanks to the wonderful NHS that I received all this treatment without actually having to spend a penny. I really think it’s important that we support our NHS and all the genuinely brilliant people working for it. They are, quite literally, saving our arses. Cheers NHS.

Source

You know those weeks where it feels like all you’ve done is either work or housework? The ones when your to-do list keeps growing rather than shrinking no matter how much work you’re doing?

Well this week is being one of those bad boys. Half the teaching staff at school are currently off sick, which has made things all the more manic for those of us still holding on!

It got to the point this evening that I had a little self-indulgent, stressed out cry and basically got a hold of myself.

Life is too short to let work stress get to me. I’ve not been too bad at putting on a positive front this week amidst the chaos but a mammoth staff meeting this evening tipped me over the edge.

I need to make more me time. Time to blog/vent/spend some time just writing the rubbish in my head/what’s going on in my life. I like my little patch of internet and it’s been sadly neglected of late.

I’ll post soon about my lovely and wonderful hen do, which was helped along by some very lovely and very wonderful friends!

Tonight, however, is not for work. It’s for abandoning the pile of marking in favour of gin. I’m consciously turning my rubbish Thursday night around into a great Thursday night. I’m putting my big girl pants on and refusing to let work get to me anymore. Even typing that feels like a weight being lifted!

Here’s to less work stress and more gin!

Source

Today is my 30th birthday. The first birthday that actually feels like a proper grown up age.

It’s also my last birthday as  a Carville. I like that I’ve had 3 whole decades with this name, it feels nice and rounded, here’s to many more with a new name!

I’ve been thinking about turning 30 a lot recently. As a child 30 seemed ancient, I was convinced that by this age I’d be married, have a couple of kids and be working my dream job . That’s not quite how things have worked out and, do you know what, I’m OK with that.

I’m really happy with where I am in my life at the moment. Turning 30 is only going to bring good things, getting married, a hen do, holidays in Edinburgh and Italy, and that’s just for starters!

For the first time in my life I think I’m finally starting to be accepting of how I look. I actually have days now where I look in the mirror and think that I don’t look too bad. I’ve accepted that I’m always going to be on the glow-in-the-dark side of pale, I’m always going to have a face full of freckles, my hair is always going to lean towards the frizzy and unruly, and my body is never going to look like that of a supermodel. And this is fine with me. I have a brilliant partner who loves me and my ghost legs, and 5 foot 7 isn’t anything to be sniffed at, even if my legs don’t go up to my armpits!

There’s a lovely sense of relief that has come with being less hard on myself and how I look. I think that’s definitely come alongside being more mature. Not making resolutions this year has helped this too, by putting less pressure on myself to do certain things or behave a certain way I’ve found I’m actually enjoying life more too.  This seems so glaringly obvious, that it’s a bit silly it’s taken me 30 years to get to this point!

Anyway, enough rambling. I’ve got a feeling 30 is going to be a good year. Happy birthday to me!