So, a fellow blogger and I were contacted last week by The Times magazine and were asked to write an article about wellness.
Hers started like this:
7.45am – I wake up having had, on average, seven hours and forty one minutes’ sleep – I have analysed my sleep over the past few years and I know this is the perfect amount for me. I turn on the near-infrared light at the end of my bed and sit there for seven minutes meditating, to focus my mind for the day ahead.
I take shots of probiotics and Quinton Isotonic, a supplement that comes from plankton and contains enzymes that help me stay hydrated, and a glass of water.
Mine, on the other hand…
5.37am – I start the morning filled to the brim with anxiety about the day ahead. I’ve had approximately five hours sleep. I blame this partially on the fact that I was playing on my children’s Nintendo Switch until midnight. The down side is that my eyelids feel like they have 20kg weights attached to them but the upside is that I have over 50 Pokemons in my bag and my Pikachu is at level 34 and almost undefeatable. I could go back to sleep as my alarm isn’t set to buzz until 6.15am but my head is already organising and reorganising my day: have I planned my lessons? Yes. Have I marked my books? Yes. Have I ironed the school uniforms? Yes. Did I pack my daughter’s PE bag before coming to bed last night? No. Sh*t, but I did bag myself a rare Pokemon instead so swings and roundabouts and all that. I pull my arm out from underneath my son; it is numb because he has laid on it all night, so my somewhat stealthy operation has failed before it has even begun as my arm is flopping around like Magikarp out of water. My son will wake and demand his morning kale Fruitshoot and wake the house. I sit in the darkness on the edge of the bed praying that I will one day win the lottery (that I don’t play) before early mornings get ups are the death of me.
I quietly nip downstairs where I take my daily dose of thyroxine, a tablet that is supposed to help my thyroid work properly because having children f*cked it up. Silently creeping back upstairs, I step on a plastic Plankton from SpongeBob, cry out and wake the house.
8am – Take a shower using natural products, as the chemicals found in shampoo and shower gel can be toxic. Weigh myself and use a litmus test to measure my urine pH levels.
6:23am – Take a shower in the company of 6547 Mashums and Smashers. Wash myself using a half empty Mr Matey and a unicorn sponge from B&M. I worry that the chemicals in my hair are now toxic due to the fact that it hasn’t been washed since a week last Tuesday. Residing myself to the fact that it won’t be washed again today, and feeling confident that perhaps in my hair lies the cure for an underactive thyroid, I climb out, get dried and weigh myself. This is usually followed by crying, swearing or hopping back on the loo in the hope for a poo in order to lose a couple of pounds.
8.20 – I turn on my HumanCharger, a device that looks like an iPod with an ear piece that shines a light into my ear to give me energy, and make my bullet-proof coffee, using a table-spoon of coconut oil, some chaga mushroom powder – a little bit of potassium, colostrum and collagen. I use a low-mycotoxins, toxic chemicals produced by moulds.
While I am having my coffee, I fill out a spreadsheet on my computer inputting my weight, my urine pH, my hydration and how well I’ve slept. I then sync my Oura tracking ring, a sleeping and activity tracking device that I wear all day., with my phone and look at the data on how well I’ve slept and how much deep and REM sleep I’ve had. I get dressed and stand on the balcony in my flat, which clears my mind. I then feed my mind by reading for 20 minutes.
6:30 – I turn on every charger in the house because I have forgotten to charge tablets and phones the previous evening. In order to look more human than zombie for work, my children need some form of entertainment whilst I apply three layers of foundation and concealer. Unfortunately, and I’m ashamed to say, that the entertainment comes in the form of You Tube where my little ones watch other families acting out scenes from various retro films you used to love. I watch in awe at mums and dads acting out scenes from Ghostbusters – all with special effects and costumes – and all I can think is ‘Where do they find the time?’, ‘What the hell am I doing so wrong?’ and ‘I wonder if I can buy that Slimer on Amazon.’ My husband brings toast up stairs for the children to eat in bed; they attend Breakfast Club at school each morning so technically I’m paying for them to sit in a chair and watch other kids eat their breakfast. My morning rant falls on deaf ears so I grab discarded crusts where I can and know that if there is a little Lurpak left on the crusts then it’s going to be a good day. I haven’t had a drink of water in three days and my first cup of tea of the day will be at 11:05 during breaktime at school. I wonder briefly if my insides look like a prune.
When it’s time to get dressed, I ask my children politely to grab their outfits for the day. Often I am ignored so this is followed by begging, pleading, shouting and the confiscation of all technology. I am then labelled the Worst Mum in the World but at least the cherubs are dressed. Me, however, I’m still in my dressing gown. I meander into my room and contemplate a life where I could stay in my dressing gown all day and yet still have a respectable career. Could I teach ‘Romeo and Juliet’ to my Year 10s via Skype, for example? Yes, I think so. I feed my mind for 20 minutes with unachievable goals and unattainable wishes. Then I realise I am running late. Sh*t.
9.15am – I leave the flat and fist bump the concierge. I’ve fist bumped him every morning for the four years I’ve lived in that flat. I like to make people smile and feel valued… I stopped reading the article here as I no longer believed the person writing it was a real human being.
7.30am – I drop my children at Breakfast Club and on my way out through the school gates, I spot another mother – a kindred spirit. We fist-bump each other and as we pass, I notice she is wearing pyjamas under her coat and Ugg style boots. Perhaps she has mastered how to have a respectable career whilst staying in her dressing gown all day. Perchance the dream really is attainable and I find myself both envious and in awe of her.
The definition of ‘well-being’ is ‘the state of being comfortable, happy and healthy’ and despite all of the above, I am. Who wants to drink coffee made out of some weird mushroom anyway?
**Please note that I wasn’t asked to write an article for The Time magazine, but my guess is that you have figured that out by now.**