Fake it

I am no good when I’m tired.
Lack of sleep, I’ve come to understand, leaves me with little patience, feeling distant and often battling a confidence crisis about something or other. The way I deal with this is not ideal; not in my busy life. I tend to shy away, shut down and almost ignore what’s going on around me. Doubting my abilities. Doubting my choices. Just doubting.
As I selfishly allow my husband to deal with the carnage of 4 dependable children around me, I admire his ability to do so with little sleep himself. The kids pop in and out of my ‘bubble’ where I actively snatch quick kisses upon my request (to which they always oblige-bless them) as a means to silently apologise to them for my absence and lack of active mothering for this short period of time. They have no idea that I’m whispering an internal ‘sorry’ to their souls.
Today I am tired. Today I learned that this has actually earned its own acronym (according to NHS guidelines).
Today I am TATT: Tired all the time!

Wing it

A rare splash of colour, to reflect my thinking today. (I am of course still wearing black & white!)
This was the aftermath of an A level piece of Contemporary Dance I directed and co-choreographed with my ex-students. It’s powder paint. These beautiful colours clashed and danced with them in the final movement piece. The audience were left with this image of stunning colour; an everlasting imprint of the spectacular they just witnessed on stage. If you look closely you can see marks made by fingers and toes.
Of course this part was mainly improvised. Such a spectacular (and messy) piece could only really be captured once.
Spontaneity works best with me. I sometimes suffer with the mum guilt that parenting brings; I often envy other mums who manage to take a trip out to the zoo or to the farm, and I’ll secretly beat myself up about why I haven’t attempted to take an outing on the weekend.  I rarely plan or make solid commitments when it comes to arranged activities. I have come to realise that I am best not to set myself up for failure. (Because the guilt is ten times worse when you promise a date and then for some reason or another it doesn’t happen!) So when we do take a trip to the park or to the seaside, these are often a quick spontaneous on-the-spot decisions. I have to plan it in my head before I reveal it to the kids. I find it works well this way. No preconceptions. No disappointments. Just excited, grateful and happy children.
Improvisation works best with me. It may not be everybody’s way. But it’s mine. And I’m happy with that!

Push it

Let’s talk about our little ones and their achievements. I am so so proud of my number 1. This was when she got a Gold medal in her Regional Trampolining competition. This was the first time she has competed with a new routine, and I don’t mind saying... she smashed it!
It got me thinking; thinking about how nervous she was (how nervous I was!) but how elated and proud she was that she medalled. She had just turned 7 and this is her third consecutive year of competing against others in her age bracket. She first competed aged just 5.
I’ve never wanted to be a ‘pushy parent’ and like to think that I am not. I always encourage her to train but to foremost, have fun. I am emotional and well up at competitions; I’m nervous, anxious, excited and proud all at once. I’m full of support, confidence boosting, smiles and congratulations; and not just for her, but for all of her squad members. I love how they support each other. It is truly beautiful to witness these little people encouraging their team mates. The last thing I ever want to do is put pressure on my little girl. As a teacher it’s in my nature to instill positive thinking, offer motivational advice, boost egos and provide reassurance. As a mum it’s my job to do the same, which I do; but I can’t help myself giving a few kind (stern) words like ‘practice your routine’.
Does that make me pushy? Or just a mum who wants her little girl to do the best she can?

Treasure it

Before I became a Teacher, Before I practiced as a Performance Artist; I studied at University. I finished with a First class BA(hons) Fine Art degree.
I think myself lucky; for when my fellow students and I were studying, the university decided to change the way in which it delivered the courses, and we, as pupils, were able to chose our pathways. Stay on the Art & Design degree that we had chosen, or specialise in another option; in a more focused practice. For me, this was a golden opportunity to forget all the modules I came to realise I was just no good at, and focus on my preferred practice of the Alternative Arts. This included Performance Art, and shaped the person I became.
What I did enjoy about my first year, which was the year to really find my feet, my strengths and of course my weaknesses, was the life drawing classes. It is an essential part of any artistic study, and is taught all over the world. Studying the human form is just fascinating. (Once you’ve gotten over the giggles!) This is a picture of one of the studies I did. One of my preferred mediums, this is marked in acrylic paint. This particular piece was part of a 10 minute challenge. We had to squirt the paint directly onto the canvas and make marks to scribe and depict the life model. The final 5 minutes allowed us to focus on a body part of our choice in finer detail. You’ll see here that the hand resembles more of a formed piece of anatomy.
The perfectionist in me hated working in this way. Messy, unpredictable, uncontrolled, under pressure; especially as the paint squirts were randomly administered; colours and all.
Today I got my portfolio down from the loft. To show the children some of Mummy’s work from some 20 years ago. Devastation soon hit me as I realised that almost all of the paper and canvases had been spoiled through damp and mould. I sobbed in front of my kids, I couldn’t help it. The tears flowed as I weighed up the extent of the damage, and in my anger and upset, I set out the bin the lot!
The children could see my distress; and could tell how much this old work meant to me. They quickly fetched some A4 paper and felt tips and tried to copy my work in a bid to ‘reproduce’ it for me.
What kind little souls.
At the same time my friend called me. She practically shouted at me to tell me NOT to rid of my work. That I’d regret it. That I could never bring it back. That there was a reason I’d held onto these pieces for over 20 years. She convinced me to reconsider.
I rescued 3 items from the bin, and looked long and hard at the pile I had planned to throw out too. I spent the next hour or two trimming cardboard and canvases. Wiping away spores with diluted bleach, rescuing little watercolour pencil drawings I had been so proud of, and drying out papers by the fire. We took a trip to the shops and bought me a new portfolio. And this evening I am feeling ever so thankful for that phone call. I nearly took a trip to the tip.
The moral of this story. If you are anything like me, its not just the decorations you are storing away for another year. You are probably having a good old clear out; donating old toys in an attempt to store away the new ones. Anyone who knows me knows I love a ruthless de-clutter. But just remember and reflect before you disregard sentimental items. Some things you can replace, some things you can never get back.
The good old motto, New Year, New me has been bounced back and fourth of late. That’s all well and good. But never forget the ‘Old’ you. That old you, made you who you are today!

Fix it

It seems ironic that the only break I’ve had from motherhood since the summer holidays began, has been when I’m asleep (who am I kidding... I’m still on call for midnight toilet trips and feeding duties!) or right now where I’m laying flat in a hospital bed; Doctors orders.
I am recovering from a diagnostic EP study and supposed Ablation. SVT is a heart condition I was apparently born with but only presented itself in adolescence and then some 20 years later whilst carrying my last 2 children. Episodes of extremely rapid heart palpitations which can last for up to an hour are manageable (if you stay calm) but not entirety pleasant!
My last episode was back in December 2018 when I was 8 months pregnant with Number 4. A few consultant appointments later and it was decided I should come to Papworth for the procedure. I was awake for the duration, and opted for no sedation as it would affect my breast milk. (I really couldn’t be bothered to ‘pump & dump on this day!)
Anyway, mid-surgery, one of the doctors explained to me that although they had been trying to locate where in my heart this ‘defect’ is, they were having trouble stimulating my heart enough to sustain a rapid heart beat. The plan was to be able to burn the area, create scar tissue and therefore make the improper electrical activity behave itself! Over an hour of impromptu heart thuds and missed beats later they decided not to perform the ablation.
When I saw my surgeon some months back, today was sold to me as ‘an interesting day out’. it should be thought of it this way, rather than the impending perception of doom we tend to feel when having any planned procedure, knowing we will be a patient, or having to pack a hospital bag.
It was indeed interesting. I was completely calm and focused, albeit slightly freaked out that my heart was being controlled by computers (strange feeling). But most of all I was in awe of the medical team that looked after me. Being in theatre, completely coherent, gave me a real insight into how incredibly lucky we are to have our NHS. Not to mention how much it must have cost for my minor op.
Today was an interesting day.

Work it

This is not my picture. I cannot take the credit for such stunning postures, phenomenal strength and powerful stance. This is an image from a dance called Faultline. Choreographed by Shobana Jeyasingh and executed by her dance company. The piece was first performed in 2007 and explores Shobana’s awareness of public anxiety around young Asians – particularly men – and our fears of terrorism.
This piece was on my GCSE Dance syllabus and I chose to study it with my students. It was one of my all time favourites to analyse theoretically and perform parts of, practically.
In my early teaching days, Contemporary Dance really was my passion. My students used to tease me for being so passionate sometimes. The perfectionist in me would instill performance discipline and make sure the movements reflected the choreographers true intentions. I’d study at home, in my free periods, after school in the empty studio to perfect my practical delivery and ensure the students were delivered great lessons.
I miss this. I miss dedicating hours and hours of time to something I not only enjoyed, but felt incredible enthusiasm for.
As my 11 month old grabbed my phone this evening, she somehow managed to hit the ‘music list’ and the soundtrack to this piece began to play. I didn’t even realise I had it in my music library but I must have it from when I taught these lessons. Memories suddenly came flooding back, as did the passion, the thirst, the goosebumps, the enjoyment. It’s never left me. And I’m sat here feeling incredibly nostalgic, proud, and if I admit it, a little sad. I shed a silent tear for the person I was, the hungry career girl; the fighter. The girl without a care in the world.
Once a teacher always a teacher. The goosebumps reminded me of that! When my babies are grown, you’ll see me again. I fought for too long to quit. For now, I have the most rewarding job teaching my little ones the way of this world.
Never forget who you are, or what made you, YOU!

Create it

12 Facts About Me...
1. I turned 40 this year (OMG I mean last year)
2. I quit a 15 year career in teaching Performing Arts to try out full time #mumlife
3. I own two small businesses. One is a dance school for children. The other is designing and making personalised candles.
4. I had my tongue pierced at 19 years old! (You can see it in the picture!) That’s over 20 years I’ve had metal in my mouth!
5. I met my husband in Ayia Napa, Cyprus. I was on a working holiday. He was visiting friends & family. We went back and lived there for over 6 months the following year and worked in the Gas club. He was a DJ, I ran a bar!
6. That’s the reason for my blog name Greek at the Knees. My husband is Greek Cypriot. So now I have little Greeks at my knees!
7. I can write backwards, with fluency and speed (the type you need to translate using a mirror)
8. My hair colour is all natural. I haven’t coloured it since I was 21.
9. I had 3 children, 3 and under (what was I thinking) I now have 4 girls.
10. I just asked my husband to state an interesting fact about me... he said.... Err.... that is all!
11. I used to work for Pineapple. I was an area manager for the retail side of the business. I met quite a few famous people at the dance studios in Covent Garden.
12. I can hypnotise you.... No seriously.... I can!
13. I clearly cannot count so here is one more for luck! - Life on stage is my passion. I’ve directed lots of theatre and am a bit of a techie too (I love lights!)
I’ll direct a show again soon.... watch this space!

Build it

When you become a mum, life just changes doesn’t it. You get sucked into the morning-to-night monotony and management of life with kids. Your day revolves around the ‘school day’ clock. Pick ups and drop offs become priority and dictate your daily calendar. That window of time in between allows you a glimpse of freedom, where you chose wisely whether to have a quick cuppa or to conquer the world!
Gone are the days where you can simply be selfish. Choose what time you wake, or go to bed. Make a meal for just yourself (and without having to clean the floor afterwards).
This is me. Fresh out of uni with a ‘First class’ BA Honours Degree in Alternative Arts, I was practicing independently and as part of touring exhibitions commissioned by various companies. I travelled all around Great Britain performing in this suit.
Sarah Berry I was known by back then. Sometimes known and nicknamed as ‘circle girl’. The intriguing woman who rarely spoke, but who brought curiosity all around her, usually in a public domain; where vulnerability for most is at its peak, but for me, it became my platform, my stage. The public were my audience, and my goal was to prove that powerful theatre can be created anywhere.
My weapon of choice was mostly a piece of chalk. But sometimes it was just me...and my silence.
My bio. “Although my work differs in content they all address the same issues. My intent lies in the tension of the relationship between the performer and the viewer, and the potential for shifts in power that one can hold over the other.
I create controlled scenarios where I am both observer and observed and my interaction with the public becomes the core element of my work”
This is a picture that was taken for a magazine article, at the time was nominated for ‘best new talent’ and finalised as one of ‘6 of the best’ for a campaign that celebrated up and coming new Artists in the Eastern region.
I recently showed my children this picture and of course they recognised me straight away. What struck me most, was that I hardly recognised me. In appearance I am the same (albeit 20 years older) but in reality, this part of my life seemed so long ago. So long in fact, that it’s hardly ever spoken about nowadays. It’s safe to say, I’d almost forgotten.
Funny that, how becoming a mum almost makes you ‘reborn’ yourself. I bet not many people know this about me. About this part of my life. Yet, it was hugely significant, and actually still is.
The moral of this story:
Next time you talk to one of your mum friends, If there is time, have deep conversation. Make an effort to ask questions and learn about who they were before you met them at the school gates. You may think you know someone really well, just because you see them twice a day, everyday. But I’m guessing that if that other Mum has forgotten things about who she was before she had children, then you sure as hell won’t know her that well either! Remember they were someone, just as you were. We are so busy all sharing this beautiful new chapter, shaping the futures for our little ones, that sometimes we forget who we were. That person helped us be who we are today!

Love it

My husband and I met in the club capital (at the time) Ayia Napa, Cyprus.
My best friend and I were on our first and only girly holiday together, celebrating our 21st birthdays in style. 2 whole weeks of sleepless nights and dancing’til dawn. On the plane home I remember thinking... this isn’t it. I’m going back! And I did. On my own; 3 weeks later. I made friends out there on our holiday and had sorted a place to stay for a couple of days. Within 2 days I had secured a more permanent residence and found myself a job as a PR for a busy bar in the ‘square’.
Some time into my stay, a friend of my flat-mates flew out to see him. Little did I know that this was the boy that would be my future husband! We shared our first kiss in the Gas club, and we spent some time together before he left the island.
3 days later I landed in London, having worked every night for a couple of months; eating, sleeping, raving & repeating!
I had partied all night, travelled through the early hours & slept... none!
I went straight to my friends salon to fix my then ginger hair (it was a vibrant red before I sun soaked it for a couple of months). Whilst in the chair, the boy called, and asked if he could see me. He drove a 150 mile round trip to pick me up and take me back to London for a romantic meal.
That evening we were flicking through tele text (yes I am showing my age) and we found last minute flights back to Cyprus; leaving in just a few hours. So, in true ‘you only live once style’ we booked them! And then set off back to my hometown to collect my suitcase. The same suitcase that was still packed and unopened from when I dumped it in the doorway that morning. I introduced him to my dad (you can imagine how that went down!) and announced that I was off, back to Cyprus for another week, with a man my parents had just met!
The rest, as they say, is history!
We married 10 years ago. We have 4 beautiful children, and 2 places we call home. A little bit of us will always belong in Cyprus.
I will never forget my Fathers final words during his speech at our Wedding. He summed us up with the most thoughtful sentence, “Who says holiday romances don’t last” 

Tired of it

Is this it? Is this what I have become.
Is this my purpose now? And if I chose this life... shouldn’t I be enjoying it? Today I feel defeated.
I have given up trying to break up the squabbles. I am tired of the tale-telling.
I am actively aware of my attempts to just zone out, switch off and just let them get on with it. To try to enjoy ten minutes peace in my Netflix noise instead (until I have to wipe another bum of course).
I am mindful of this more frequent habitual behaviour. I am becoming more of a temporary introvert; in a desperate bid to detach from what’s going on around me. If only for a few minutes.
I’ve lost all power. To control. To discipline. To promote positive behaviour.
I’m done with politely asking my to children to help me. In a way that sees me overly praising them for finishing their tea and bringing their plates to the sink. I’m done with asking them to stop, or to do more. Sometimes I ask 3 or 4 times. Sometimes I resort to begging or bribery. Just to assist in picking up toys; clearing away their crafting creations; quit the bickering.
I run around chasing my tail. Spinning the plates and dropping the juggling balls; trying to accomplish too many things at once. Some days I have it all in hand. Some days I honestly feel like I don’t. The list is endless. The daily management of a household of 6. The daily management of 4 children on my own as the husband earns a living.
I envy him. I used to be that.
School holidays are actually a bit of a stressful time for me. The pressure of people asking what plans I have for half term. I battle with the realisation and the risk of judgement when I say ‘none’.  The truth is, the trials and tribulations of the hectic monotony which is daily life, being dictated by school runs, picks ups and drops off, after school clubs and bedtime routines, for all of us, during mid-term break; stops! Just for a few days. So why the hell do I feel like such a failure for taking this opportunity to just stop too? I deliberately don’t want to do much. I mean, should I feel the need to stimulate my children for every second of the day? Should I have planned a trip to the farm, or zoo? (Or both-like she did with her children; evidenced in those Instagram posts; the perfect pictures and catchy captions)

Sometimes the constant demands just become too much. I understand that children need their mothers. I know I am their everything. But does that mean I have to give up everything for them?
Slave, springs to mind. A run-around for four needy kids who rarely ask, but whom expect for me to do almost everything for them; yesterday! And if I don’t hear them the first time. They shout and shout. Louder and louder.
Have I created this. Did I have too many? Do they scream and shout because that’s the only way they can get my attention? Do they spend their time constantly feeling the need to compete with their siblings? Do I spend enough time with each of them individually? Probably not. Do they resent me for never ‘having the time’ and instead, binning them off with silly tasks and snacks so I can find five minutes to think.
There seems to be no respect for me today. Their attitudes are testing. Their communication questionable. I find myself sounding exactly like my own mother did when I was a child. “I’d never have spoken to my mum like this; you wait till you have children”.
I guess this reminded me that sometimes I was testing too. Aren’t all kids?
It got the better of me today.
Tomorrow I’ll be back in the game. 

Brave it

There are probably many people you have come across in your life, people that have helped you in some way and probably unknowingly,

Some time ago, almost 4 years now, I visited a quaint little tea shop in Colchester. It was one of the first times I had ventured out alone with my three children. A 3 year old, a 2 year old and a newborn. I’d been anxious, overwhelmed, and didn’t feel very brave about going out on my own with three very small and needy children. I’d say, after the birth of Number 3, I lost my way a bit. My confidence went out of the window, my self-assurance low.
I visited this cafe, along with my brood. As we sat and ordered lunch, I felt nervous about feeding the baby as well as the other two. The kiddies were so excited. They realised too that this was the first time we had been out to lunch for a while.
We were treated like royalty. The owner brought us crayons and colouring to keep the older two occupied. She helped me with the pushchair and to shield me as I breastfed the baby. And despite me feeling the sting of the tears forming; she didn’t bat an eyelid when my number 2 spilled her apple juice all over the table, floor and of course herself. After lunch we stayed for a little longer. We sat and played tea parties, and ‘pretend’ in the cupboard under the stairs. And she even brought me extra tea as I nursed the baby.
This day has stuck with me. She didn’t know me, but offered the most kindest heart and help; even though she didn’t know it. and even if I didn’t really know I needed it too!
Anyone who knows me, know I don’t display photos and pictures around the house; there is but one exception. I now have a frame at the top of my stairs, and in it are 3 pictures that were taken from that day. They are a reminder of the wonderful time we had; and more importantly, the day I realised that it wasn’t all so bad.

Light at the end of the tunnel…
As a family of six, we haven’t really been out much at all during lockdown. I’ve often battled with my decisions to stay at home rather than venture out for regular visits and social distance outings. I’ve watched others taking their children out for woodland walks and wonderful adventures.
Being able to do this safely with four young children on my own felt a little overwhelming, and so we opted for the house activities, homeschooling and garden living.
We fell into the comforts of our own home, enjoyed the bubble and lack of rigid routine. I have been thankful for sibling company, even if they have squabbled, they have entertained each other; bonded even more and played together well.
We have had a few evenings out; beach walks and bike rides on the fields. We dipped our toes in the sea, climbed trees, rolled down huge hills and discovered caves in the castle! And all the while, we have waited patiently to be able to visit our holiday home, where, by now, we would have spent almost every weekend and the school holidays in.
Next weekend we get to go back and begin our summer adventures in our beloved home-from-home.
But, I have appreciated home-life.
I’ve learnt to love the house we live in. It has kept us safe, well, and allowed us to rest and recharge. (Even if I have cleaned it a hundred times a day)

This is a picture the girls took at Framlingham Castle. One of our few, but fantastic adventures; where we spent the evening searching for ‘The Queen’ and her princesses, and avoiding the dragons in the dungeons.