Category: Maggie McGuinness blog

Dating… with children

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness

Another blog post from a few years back. I think the advice is still good, but I’m so glad I’m retired from the dating circus! I never was any good at the trapeze. Just the thought of going on a first date now makes me shudder.

Dating… with children

Maggie McGuinness blog
This is what I look like on a date. Not!

There comes a time in a single mother’s life when she longs for someone to take her to dinner at a restaurant that doesn’t serve McChicken burgers – or McAnything, come to think of it.  Dinner… real food … with a glass of wine or two and some grown-up conversation. Is that too much to ask?

And so one ventures forth into the dating scene, which is enough of a seething swamp already, but is even more complicated when you have children as part of the package.

My friends know I’m an online dating veteran, so I was asked for advice the other day by another single mum who is thinking of following my dubious example.

“So, what do I need to know?” this sweet, innocent girl asked me, blissfully unaware of what lurks the other side of her modem.

Here, censored for general consumption, is my advice:

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Addiction #1

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness

Maggie McGuinness blog - gardening addiction

My kids complain about me being a garden-aholic. They reckon I’m completely addicted to the thrill of extreme gardening, but I think they’re exaggerating. Sure, I like to spend a few hours in the garden from time to time, but it’s just a little hobby. It started with just a few whiffs of Seasol, before I got onto the harder stuff like Dynamic Lifter, but I hardly ever inhale, okay? Anyway,I think it’s character building for my kids to wait until 9.00 pm for any hope of dinner. Just because I’ve occasionally been caught weeding by torchlight doesn’t mean I have a problem. And when I tell them I’m going outside to do a quick job or two and then stagger inside three hours later with my hair full of twigs, a caterpillar hanging off my chin and my bra full of dirt … Well, come on, doesn’t that happen to everyone?

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Death of the Hope Fairy

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness

Hope fairy 3Sometimes, I reckon that being a writer really sucks, and this is one of those times.

For years, I’ve been scribbling away on a fiction manuscript, giving it all the TLC I’d give one of my babies. I’ve cooed to it, coaxed it along, and suffered through the sleepless nights it gave me. I never gave up, even when it was stubborn and horrible and spat words back in my face like clumps of mashed pumpkin. Sometimes, I wondered why I persevered, but mainly I just loved it. I loved watching it grow and I marvelled at what it taught me. Finally, my baby took shape and grew up, and it was time to send it out into the world.

Now, as a writer, I know a few undeniable truths. I know the chances of a publisher snatching up a fiction manuscript from an unknown like me are teensy-weensy. Apparently, there’s a higher probability that I’ll be mauled to death by a rabbit. Even so, when my manuscript came of age I still lovingly dressed it up and brushed its hair with a neat side-part, and sent it off for its great adventure.

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Raindrops keep falling … in my house

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness

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We’ve been living in this house for months, now. Finally, I feel like it’s starting to come together after our many settling in ‘issues’.

One issue became apparent during this winter’s first thunderstorm, when I had just sat down on the couch, and was thinking how good it was that I’d finished unpacking and could finally relax. The rain was pelting down. “Gee, that rain’s loud,” I thought.  “Like … really loud. Oh – that would be because it’s raining in HERE!!”

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Welcome to Quirkville

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness

New home 1

Ah yes, the new house. I did say it would have its quirks, didn’t I? Well, that sure was an understatement. I’ve moved right into the middle of Quirkville.

This new home of ours is taking a little getting used to. The ‘rustic’ kitchen is distinctly barnlike, except for the bench, which is more minimalist in style. As in, there’s barely any of it. An old chimney in the kitchen expels drafts of freezing musty air. I’m sleeping in the dining room. The shower’s in a cave (makes a change from a cupboard), and what was extravagantly called the third bedroom is a cold draughty room about the size of a large wardrobe. The heating duct in that room produces as much heat as your average birthday candle, and the roof leaks. A lot. Over the last week or so, I’ve spent a goodly amount of time either up a ladder or on my hands and knees (and not in a fun way). I’ve been high on Nifti for days on end.

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Bee bubble wrap

Posted on by Maggie McGuinness

Lo2013 010AOn my moving house ‘To Do’ list is an item that says ‘Remove bee bubble wrap’.

That’s because here, in this house I have rented for six-and-a-half years, the bees come to visit every November. They check the house out, buzz around a lot and live in the walls for a while. The more intrepid explorers come inside through the old-fashioned vents in the ceiling. I don’t mind a few bees, but one day there were so many flying around my courtyard the air was thick with them – like a noisy, fuzzy fog – and I was too scared to go out the back door. I called the Bee Man that time, but by the time he turned up there wasn’t one to be found. Pesky things! The bee man said they were most likely scout bees, who wouldn’t ever set up a permanent home here. They just like to visit. I realised I could stuff bubble wrap in the old vents to stop the bees getting in, and I learned to live with their appearance quite happily.

The annual bee visit is one of the quirks of this house. So is the racket of the trains whizzing past, the cold seeping up through the floorboards from the basement, the regular cacophony from the neighbours’ cats (Oh, WHY do they congregate under my bedroom window for their love-fests?) and the fact that the shower is in a cupboard.

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