The Father-Daughter Thing...

It was recently pointed out to me by Adrian that I am all but a little girl deep down inside.

I need constant strokes, I need to be to be praised and if I don't get either of these things, I quickly gravitate towards a sharp decline.

It all stems from the relationship I had with my father as a little girl.

I was studious and rather serious little girl who loved to escape into a land of make-believe. Short in the self-confidence stakes, I made up for it by working hard at school in a desperate attempt to make my Dad proud of me.

My Dad. He was to me the most wonderful man that could possibly have ever walked the earth. Everything he said was somehow gilded with brilliance, I adored him. It seemed my raison d'etre was to make him proud of me or perhaps in retrospect, to hear him tell me how proud of me he was.

There's a line in the film Dirty Dancing where Baby talks about every girl wanting to meet a man who made her feel as special as her Dad did. For me that was never going to be possible because no man would ever do that. He was the most unique and special of men; he was my Dad.

Of course it wasn't until I got into my thirties that I realised that cracking a half-way decent gag would get you through most trials in life. Being studious was rather hard-going compared to piling on the lip gloss and propelling yourself into the middle of the room as the life-and-soul...

But some things stay with you. The need to impress, the need to have someone pat you on the head and tell you how brilliant, how creative, how funny you are.

In my marriages I was never made to feel that special because it became a competition all to quickly. I was projecting myself as the capable independent woman, they were busy at being the alpha male. I was screaming "look at me! See how capable and fabulous I am! Love me more because of it!" Not what your typical alpha male is hoping for; it's hard to bring anything to the table that a would-be Superwoman might be even vaguely interested in.

See how this happens? The little shy girl who only wanted her daddy's attention became so driven that she managed to become the one thing men don't want if they are absolutely honest; a woman who doesn't "need" them.

In many ways I have to thank him, my Dad. How else would I have coped all these years?

Bizarrely my Mum worries herself to sleep at night that life will eventually get the better of me unless a man steps in to save the day. She seriously underestimates the effect a constant desire for paternal approval has on a girl in the long-term.

Today I see my Dad for who he is; a man with faults like the rest of us, but a rather remarkable person all the same.

He is older, greyer and he tires easily, but that never stops him from loading his petrol-driven lawnmower into the back of his car on the hottest of days and driving round to cut my rather substantial lawn. He asks with remarkable regularity how my business is performing, have I "got much on"? And my son looks at him with the same adoring gaze that I had all those years ago.

You can't beat the father-daughter thing; it's unbreakable.

Mars and Venus??

Who has read 'Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus'?

OK, let me rephrase that; who has read it and suddenly thought "Eureka! Now my relationship will be sooo much easier, now that I understand how to relate to him/her?"

Well, I read it, I understand it, I accept it, and I am now seriously considering giving up altogether on the opposite sex! How can I alter the habits of a lifetime (needing to communicate, needing some form of reassurance, etc) to take account of how a man might be feeling, going through, etc?

How can that work? Is it Venusians who need to change (see how readily I adopt the lingo....) or do the Martians need to climb down from their stubborn steeds and do a bit of meeting on the half-way line?

My Martian is a dyed-in-the-wool, "take me as you find me" kinda guy; you've got to love his consistency (well......maybe not) and I honestly think he can't, shan't, won't change, even if he wanted to. Caving is what he does, it's an inherent part of the man.

I, on the other hand, vivacious, bubbly and ready to explore the furthest reaches of this adventure called life, to seize it by the scruff of it's elusive neck and wring every last drop of experience until there is no more, find his current state of being........well, alien. And totally Martian-like.

Maybe there is something in it after all.

Are we programmed to make to the same mistakes in our relationships, or does one need to back down for the other to be happy?

relationships

Just when you thought...

...something happens to suggest you were wrong, right?

Now I'm usually one positive, "up and at 'em" kind of girl, but lately I've been wondering if my life really is a merry-go-round, full of incidents but recurring ones, the type that give you a feeling of deja-vu?

No point in sugaring the pill here, chaps; I'm talking relationships. Those of the man-woman variety, those that look very nice on the packet but you can never get them to look like that in real life...

Following my recent Berkshire-Lincolnshire shift (from the former to the latter) I met a local man who rather surprisingly, ticked all my boxes and a few more. I say surprisingly because I never thought meeting a man of business, of my age (ish), with experience of children and who had been out of a prior marriage (and over it) for some time would be easy here- I have to say it was well nigh impossible in Berkshire, and that was with a higher head count per square mile.

He (let's call him Duz....I initially called him Big after Big in Sex and the City- no imagination....Duz is short for Duzi, which is Polish for big- there, still no imagination) is all these things and more, has an air of assured confidence about him with a touch of gravitas and presence. Very nice, and all without asking for it- I felt like I had stumbled across 6 numbers on a Saturday night.

So, it's going swimmingly well, save for the fact that.......I cannot just let things happen in their own time. I seem to want everything now, I want his unequivocal declaration of his undying love for me signed in blood along with our place in the history books reserved as the happiest couple that ever lived. But not always....hereby hangs the issue:

• When we are together, I need no such assurance. I am just happy.
• I am also happy shortly after we've parted.
• A day or two later I'm looking for problems..."why has he not called....." etc, etc
• Anytime after that I've convinced myself he is a waste of time and I should do myself a favour and get out now.

Which is a problem only if he is not attentive. I really hate admitting all this because it makes me sound needy and clingy, two labels I have tried to avoid my whole life.

So, do I weather the storm and hope that I can hold my tongue long enough for him to see all he needs to see before making a firm offer to commit? Or do I bow out?? I'm reasonably sure that men and women are such different creatures that it would be futile to think that I'm going to find all I'm looking for in the shape of just one man, so maybe I just need to be the one who commits. The one who commits to trying to do things differently this time, to taking some time out, to slow the pace down a bit.

Just when you thought you were ready to stand down, you realise actually you need to step up, and up to the mark this time.

Scrambling, Not Climbing....

Can I be the only woman of a certain age who goes out into the world, full of excitement at the possibilities lurking round every corner, only to feel an abject failure following my attempts to turn my life into something that looks vaguely normal, something that my parents will approve of?

Being the single mother of a four year old brings a level of responsibility, duty and scheduled phone calls from the father (sadly) to periodically shout at each other; it is the best and the hardest of jobs. Ben (said four year old) is a flawless diamond in an array of paste jewellery; his laughter and his incessant questions never cease, he is, unwittingly, my rock.

I remain steadfast in the knowledge that I will get back on top, it is merely taking longer than I anticipated and it is throwing me a few curved balls I'd not expected. It is showing me that there are two types of men- the ones who cannot fathom their own feelings, that unknowingly have deep-rooted issues that colour their everyday existence and that say everything is fine with such conviction that they too think it is true........and the ones who are gay.

So, in an attempt to get back on top I occasionally loose my footing and scramble to get there, rather than maintain an altogether more dignified pose as I ascend to the peak.

"Rambling, not scrambling" I can hear you mutter. And you'd be right. The reason for my malaise is lack of sleep, a list of unsatisfactory attempts at relationships and a lack of money (yes- the last one shows lack of depth and fibre.....but I am what I am and I like my pedicures and lip gloss ;-) ).

I am about to lay myself bare, to launch my history into cyberspace for judgement and to gratefully accept any morsels of advice or observation that will help me make sense of it all.

The unparalleled Carrie Bradshaw commented "“Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate"; maybe my mistakes are my paradox- excruciatingly painful and embarrassing, and yet comforting in that I was brave enough to pick myself up after making them.

People say "you only get one life". Seriously, how many would any sane person want?!