Ten things I learned from long-haul travel with my children

Earlier this year we flew to Singapore to spend some time with my brother and his family, who moved out there at the end of 2014. This would be the biggest and most ambitious trip we'd ever undertaken as a family and that I personally had ever undertaken full stop.

I never really travelled when I was younger, bar the odd family holiday. Noel and I went to the Maldives on honeymoon and to New York for my 30th birthday so travel has featured more in recent years, and we took Cherry to Provence for a week when she was a little baby, but this was the first time we'd attempted anything like this as a family of four.

Our plan was to fly out together and stay with my brother, sister-in-law, nephew and niece. Noel would stay two weeks then fly home and Cherry, Violet and I would stay on. That meant me flying home solo with two children, which felt like an enormous undertaking particularly as I am not the most confident air traveller. I know it's pretty much the safest form of transport but I have never really got past the 'but how does it STAY IN THE AIR' thoughts and I can get quite panicky on flights, particularly during take-off and turbulence.

The trip didn't go exactly to plan by any means. It was however one of the most empowering experiences of my life and I have noticed a difference in all of us since returning home.

Here's ten things I learned along the way.

1. Know YOUR children
I'd read various 'top tips for flying with young children' ahead of the trip, but I also know my own children. Cherry and Violet are just not the kind of children who would sleep and watch TV all through a 14-hour flight, they are far too energetic and curious. We didn't go overboard with entertainment, treats, distractions and surprises as we were pretty sure the flight itself would be exciting and interesting enough for them. We planned for this and arrived very early for our outbound flight so they could soak up the atmosphere of an airport, explore, watch planes taking off and generally enjoy the new experience.

2. Expect the unexpected
About nine hours into the flight Violet began vomiting. She was sick for a couple of days then our nephew came down with it and was poorly for nearly a week, then Cherry had diarrhoea for a few days, then Noel was sick.
This put a big hold on any activities and exploring once we were in Singapore, but it did mean we got to spend plenty of time with our family and enjoy the condo and swimming pools. We managed to get out and explore later on in the trip.

3. Your children may change in ways you don't expect
Both Cherry and Violet seemed younger and more vulnerable in Singapore. They were both terrifically excited about the whole thing and Cherry in particular adored the experience of a new country. She glowed with happiness for much of it and she visibly grew in confidence, and her delight at being reunited with her beloved cousins lasted a good two weeks. Violet was far less independent than she is at home. She was only a baby when her cousins left the country and doesn't have the bond and shared history with them that Cherry has, so she was a little left out and consequently wanted far more time and attention from me.

4. The climate does make a difference
Singapore has a tropical climate and both Cherry and Violet found the humidity tiring. They slept really well, went to bed very easily and slept later than they usually do. Cherry, who is pretty responsible and independent at home, wanted help dressing, asked to go in the buggy and was less trustworthy on roads and in car parks. Violet wanted to be carried most of the time. I took the sling, but I found it hard going carrying her in the 35degree heat and intense humidity.

5. It's emotional
Quite apart from the emotions associated with being reunited with family, our big trip brought out emotions in all of us. Good ones and bad ones. In particular I felt more fearful and anxious than I usually do, and much of this was anticipation of the flight home by myself with both children. It really hung over my head a bit, even though the flight over was a resounding success bar the vomiting, and I found it hard to fully relax.

6. It's really hard work
Just two years and nine months separates Cherry and Violet's older cousin and Violet, the baby of the four. Living in an apartment with a one-year-old, two-year-old, three-year-old and four-year-old is noisy, messy, fun and seriously, seriously hard work. There wasn't much in the way of R and R for Noel and I, we managed one lunch out without the children in the entire two weeks we had together.

7. It's quite scary
I was so preoccupied by the flight home that I didn't really give much thought to how I would feel when Noel left. After he flew out I felt terrified. Even though I was staying with family, I suddenly felt completely alone and scared of this hot, strange, regimented country with patches of wildness spilling out in unexpected corners. I went to pieces for a few days and Cherry, who is highly sensitive and empathetic, picked up on my turmoil and became enormously challenging.

8. I'm pretty strong
After a dreadful couple of days of challenging behaviour from Cherry, lots of fighting between all four cousins and completely shot confidence from me, I found my mojo again. Cherry by this time was very anxious, with a newfound fear of thunderstorms and a loss of confidence in me, and I found depths of patience, tolerance and courage I didn't know I had in soothing and comforting her.

9. Some things are universal
At home, we spend as much time as possible outdoors. We do lots of trips and adventures, but we also spend lots of time outdoors closer to home - in the garden or out playing on our very quiet street and in a wooded area opposite. In Singapore the climate is such that time outdoors is pretty limited with small children unless you're at a water park. The heat is simply too fierce, the humidity too intense, and the country itself, once nothing but jungle, is very urbanised. We spent far more time indoors than we do at home, which felt quite counterintuitive. The more we got outside, to the Botanic Gardens or the jungle or any one of the amazing water parks, the more we all enjoyed ourselves. My favourite day by far was spent at Bukit Timah, a rainforest nature reserve and the highest point in Singapore.

10. Flying solo with two young children is all about your attitude
By the time our flight home came around I was more than prepared. I had had my crisis of confidence and come out the other side, and was feeling pretty unstoppable. I knew all I needed to do was focus on my children and be with them, rather than attempt to distract them with passive entertainment. The fourteen and a half hours literally flew by. Cherry, Violet and I had a lovely time. It was intense and tiring for me, as neither of them slept more than four hours and I didn't sleep at all. We read stories, talked, played games, drew pictures, went for walks around the aeroplane, and just generally enjoyed the experience.
We were sat very near a couple with a nine-month-old baby and a four-year-old, both of whom slept and watched TV for the entire flight. The couple certainly looked well-rested at Heathrow, whereas I suspect I did not, but I am pretty sure I had the better experience for having shared all of it consciously with my children.

And here's a bonus.

11. There really is no place like home. Singapore is stunning, beautifully lush and abundant, a proud and noble country with heritage and history. The flora and fauna is breathtaking and the climate is pretty hard to beat, as long as you are near a swimming pool or other water source. But there is nowhere like England and flying back across our green and pleasant land really did bring a lump to my throat.

Cherry and Violet took a while to settle back and all of us experienced far more jet lag on our return than we had over there. We had a couple of weeks of staggeringly early starts even by our early standards, before life slowly settled back to normal. Only our trip really has left a mark on all of us. We are markedly closer as a family and we have all grown in confidence.

I feel particularly enriched for the experience, with much more of a can-do attitude and sense of self-reliance. Cherry's thirst for adventure has been well and truly ignited, as has Violet's although I am not sure how much of our trip my younger daughter will remember, at such a tender age.

What's really lovely is that they enjoyed the journey as much as the destination. I love their zest for life and their delight in things that could be seen as so very ordinary and almost tedious.

Every time we spy an aeroplane in the sky I ask where they think it's going and they both instantly reply 'Singapore!' Then Cherry will look wistful and say 'Mummy, can we go back to Singapore?' and I tell her that yes, of course we will go again, and lots of other places too.

This is just the start.

Love and 100 miles

RideLondon100 has been a milestone in my vision since its inception three years ago.

I took a place for Tommy's, the baby charity, last year and began training. It was stressful and I didn't enjoy it one bit. Getting my strength and fitness back after two pregnancies and births in quick succession, getting my confidence back, and finding the time to rack up the miles felt like another chore on the list, another thing making life difficult.

So I deferred my place to 2015. As luck would have it my lovely friend Kerry Bircher from Revolution Cycling came to me with an absolutely brilliant training programme with a fantastic bunch of women, and so my fate for 2015 was sealed. I was Riding London, and Noel signed up to join me and help raise more cash for Tommy's.

Training was tough but brought huge victories for me, mastering cleats at last, the first time I rode more than 50 miles, the last long ride I did before RideLondon when I breezed down to my parents house via a roundabout route of about 55 miles barely breaking a sweat. Getting to know the amazing women I rode with every month and watching us all progress and become stronger, faster and fitter.

Perhaps because I had built the ride up so much in my head I was pretty nervous all Saturday, and on Sunday morning as Noel and I lined up with the dawn, I was excited but fearful. Fear has been a real theme for me this year, and it was there on Sunday. I was afraid for Noel, who had a stomach bug and was unsure if he could go the distance. I was afraid for myself, unsure if I could really get round the course in the time allowed. 

But courage has also been a bit of a theme for me this year. Noel led the way with great courage in even starting the ride with a stomach bug and as soon as we got going the adrenaline carried him through. And me. I have never ridden so fast - the first 20 miles absolutely flew by and we notched up half of the distance in just three hours. I think we both felt a bit apprehensive that it felt too easy, and more than once we told each other we wouldn't be able to keep up with our blistering early pace.

We didn't get the chance to find out, as my phone battery packed in and my Strava with it, and we were delayed for a very long time at Leith Hill and for shorter periods through Dorking and at Headley. By the time we were able to pick up the pace again, just outside Esher, we were pretty well rested from a slow, stop-start 30 miles or so. The final 20 miles flew by. Noel nearly vomited as we approached the Mall (gels + protein bars + stomach bug = not comfortable) but the utterly epic finish proved the best medicine of all and we finished, as we rode, strong and together. Holding hands, actually. Why not eh?

Riding 100 miles with my best friend, having raised a four-figure sum of money for an amazing charity, is hard to beat. I will not forget it in a hurry and having shared the experience with Noel makes it truly special.

I also want to say a huge THANK YOU to every single person who cheered us on. The streets of London, Dorking and Kingston were lined with noisy, enthusiastic spectators and cheering squads from all the major charities, and it made all the difference. Most of the quiet country roads were full of spectators camped out to enjoy the show, and their support really lifted all of us. It was unforgettable.

Noel pointed out it's probably the most time we've spent together without children since we first had them. I certainly can't remember feeling closer or more connected to him. Although I'm sure he could have ridden the course much faster even with an upset stomach, the fact that he stayed by my side the entire way round means more to me than I can put into words.

Our page is still open if you would like to sponsor us and help us raise even more for Tommy's.

A big small world

Cherry and I spend a lot of time talking at the moment. She loves it when I share anecdotes, thoughts and feelings from 'when I was a little girl' and it has surprised me how many of them I had all but forgotten, until now.

I have begun to notice that it is in the raising of my children that I can rediscover, and continue to discover, what I love to do.

I can grow.

Before children there was work and socialising, but it's been a long time since I had any real 'hobbies' outside of riding my bike.

When I tell Cherry what I did as a little girl it hits home just how much I used to enjoy, that I gradually let slide, for one reason or another.

How small my world became, when I thought it so large.

Now the reverse is true. My world could seem so very small, but it's bigger than it's ever been.

As I tend the garden at home, grow plants, flowers, herbs, fruit and vegetables and think about how great it all is for my children, it suddenly occurred to me how great it all is for me too.

I love gardening, I always did. I love going for long walks, the kind of walks I go for with Cherry and Violet now where we just dawdle and take our time and look at things and play with things and get absorbed in things and ask questions and think and learn.

Caring for our guinea pigs has rekindled my love of all creatures great and small, as has going out with Cherry and Violet and stopping to pet every dog and talk to his or her owner to find out all about them and spotting woodpeckers, squirrels, foxes and little robin redbreasts in the woods.

At gymnastics classes we all take turns - myself included - to vault over equipment, balance on beams, swing from the bars and tumble on crash mats.

When they paint, I paint too. I loved art as a kid and loved to draw and paint even though I knew I was 'no good' at it. Now our walls are covered in pictures painted by the children - and even some by me.

I've been thinking a lot about my identity lately. Enmeshed as it has become with my children. A small part of me feels a little bit of a letdown for becoming 'that mum' who has picked up that she is starting to live vicariously through her children.

It hit home when I looked at my Instagram feed and realised that I was sharing picture after picture of Cherry and Violet doing things that I love to do and want to do.

The much bigger part of me is glad I have noticed, but tolerant. With two such young children there was never going to be a huge amount of time and space left over for me.

But I have remembered just how much I loved - still love - to ride horses and chuck myself around on crash mats and it has occurred to me that there is no real reason why I can't do all of this too.

This time last year I was feeling reflective as I prepared for Violet to turn one. My overwhelming feeling was that I was just not ready.

I wasn't ready emotionally to leave the bittersweetness of the newborn days behind.

Now I can see what lies ahead. I can see it in glorious technicolour, moment after ordinary moment. I can see that it's not just my children who are blossoming, learning, growing.

I am too.

The power of the bike

When I pledged to ride 100 miles last August for Tommy's, the baby charity, it's safe to say I really didn't appreciate what I was signing up for.

Once I realised the enormity of the commitment I'd taken on, a 100-mile bike ride less than a year after giving birth to my second child in 20 months, I deferred my place until this year.

I honestly think had it not been for the help and support of some truly amazing women I would not be ready to line up in a few weeks time for RideLondon 100. I would have had to just drop out.

Last year I easily completed a 10k run and a 40 mile sportive with no real training. Initially I though it would be no trouble, with a couple of longer training rides, to push that distance up by another 60.

Fresh-faced after 40 miles

But what I found when I started doing longer rides was it's not just a case of keeping your legs going.

Pain sets in where I didn't expect it to - pain in my back from being hunched over the bars for such a long time, pain on my sit-bones from the abysmal saddle that finances don't allow me to replace, pain in my feet from them numbing in the cleats I have finally managed to embrace (small wild party for me!), pain in my shoulders where I hunch them when I get tired.

Negativity set into my mind, the reasons why I couldn't or shouldn't do this, the foolishness of what I was attempting when I had two children at home awaiting my attention, chiding myself for the guilt I felt for being away from them, then chiding myself for chiding myself!

Then a child's nursery rhyme (Waltzing Matilda, yesterday) would pop into my head and that would be my accompaniment for the next 30 or so miles.

It's not exactly been a cheap process either. There's been all manner of unexpected little and not-so-little costs to upgrading my riding from the occasional longer distance effort, to a serious training plan. New tyres, bits of kit, replacements for bits that wear down and fall off - the training is hard on my bike, and if I'm honest it's hard on me.

After my first group training session back in February

It's hard hauling myself out of bed at 5.50am for an hour of hill reps before Noel goes to work. It's hard devoting pretty much entire days to longer training rides when we have so much to cram into our precious weekends - family time, time to ourselves, errands, housework, the general business of everyday life as a family. It's hard on Noel the day of a long ride because I'm anxious and afraid and even though I work super-hard not to take it out on him, I'm certainly less pleasant to be around.

For all of these reasons I know had it not been for the training programme I have been taking part in, run by Revolution Cycling, I would not have been able to keep up with my training.

Going out with a group of women who are in it with me - that's the most powerful motivator. Having people to ride with when I don't feel like it, when it hurts, when I am so tired from yet another bad night with Violet that I could lie down and sleep at ANY point.

After our second group training ride, for which I dressed 'optimistically' and froze the entire way round!

Yesterday I listened to myself talking to some of my training group and everything that came out of my mouth was negative. I was finding training stressful. For various reasons I didn't complete the full distances of the last two rides and I felt ashamed about that. The 64-mile sportive a few of us took part in that was far harder than I'd anticipated, despite having done the distance before, and took forever for me to drag myself around. And so on.

And while I was moaning away, there we all were. Riding together. One member of our party with a badly cut knee from her second fall in her cleats. One who had eschewed the sportive last month in favour of an ascent of Mont Ventoux. One who was riding 100 miles that very day in the memory of her late husband, fired up by her challenge, visibly stronger and more powerful than I'd ever seen her ride before. One who could barely speak at the top of Box Hill after 55 miles on a blazing hot day, still riding.

All of us with our own stories and our own reasons for riding.

All of us determined and focused, smiling and high five-ing at the top of hills, checking in with each other regularly, sharing something and being something that was greater than the sum of its parts.

All of us truly inspiring. Including me. Me, who has learned so much about myself, about my body and my mind, about my bike, about cycling, about motivation, and honestly, about life in general through this process.

Me, who appears to have lost a stone in weight since February. Me, in cleats, after terrifying myself in them last year, finally having got over that hurdle, felt the fear and done it anyway.

Me, a full-time mother to two fully dependent children, one of whom is still breastfeeding voraciously and waking regularly at night, who still drags herself out of bed at 5.50am for those hill reps.

There I was too, smiling. And there I will be on August 2 and I will ride those 100 miles. Smiling.

That's the power of the bike.

Noel and I are riding RideLondon100 together to raise money for Tommy's, the baby charity. Please sponsor us here.

I have a second child

An awareness has been creeping up on me lately. I feel it every time I look at my journal and re-read entries and see Cherry's name on practically every page.

I sense it every time I am thinking about what to do this week, this afternoon, this evening, what to cook for tea or what stories to read at bedtime. I feel it every time I think about the future, our plans, our hopes and dreams.

Time and again when decisions are made based upon what's best for 'us', somebody isn't really being taken into account.

Violet.

Second children get many benefits out of their birth order, not least calmer, confident and more relaxed parents in most cases and the built-in companionship and entertainment of an older sibling.

But being a second child does come at a price. You are never, ever, ever the first. And often, this means you are never really the focus as your older sibling is always a step (or twenty) ahead, blazing the trail.

For the first year of Violet's life she was 'the baby' and clearly as long as her needs were met, her wants were also fulfilled. Her needs were relatively simple, as most babies are, and much of the time spent with Violet was physical time, cuddling and feeding and wiping and changing.

Now she is a toddler her physical needs are diminishing (although she still feeds like a newborn) and her emotional and social needs are coming to the forefront.

The age gap between our children is so close that there are few, if any, things Cherry can do that Violet can't. For that reason they pretty much always do the same things, and therefore the spectrum of 'things' Violet has been exposed to has naturally been limited by Cherry's tastes and preferences.

She also has a naturally sunny, open and contented personality. Simply put, Violet seems to like EVERYTHING. Cherry loves swimming but Violet is if anything even more of a water baby than her older sister. When Cherry, inspired by her older cousin, decided she wanted to start going to gymnastics, I found a class both could participate in. Although Cherry does love it, it's Violet who bounces in her seat shouting 'Yay! Dismatics!' when we are on our way to class.

In the last few weeks I have realised I must make a conscious effort to get to know my second child a bit better. I could tell you chapter and verse about her older sister - naturally I have had 20 months longer to get to know Cherry and at three and a half she is capable of grasping concepts and expressing herself in a way Violet is not. But I am falling a little into the trap of making assumptions about Violet as opposed to stepping back, observing and really getting to know her.

I don't think I am alone in finding that often I think or talk about my second child in relation to my first. Cherry is X, Violet is Y. Violet is this, but Cherry was that.

But such talk can become dangerous and drive children to occupy the only space they can find - the space that hasn't already been taken up by their older sibling or siblings.

Cherry is this and therefore Violet is that.

Siblings do, of course, heavily influence how we define ourselves and are defined as people. I myself am a second child, to a popular, intelligent, charming and well-liked brother just 15 months my senior and had I not been, I would not be the person I am now.

But I have always been emphatic in my need to be seen and heard separately to, not in relation to, my sibling.

It is imperative I offer my own second child the same courtesy - the same right.

I respect my older daughter's complex personality and I do recognise that her need for attention and affirmation is often greater than her younger sibling's. But our lives cannot simply be The Cherry Show. There is enough space to go around, Violet does not need to grow up in her sister's shadow.

What brought it home to me was the realisation that I have since last September had three mornings a week at home with my younger daughter, while Cherry is at pre-school, yet this week was the first time I have taken Violet to the playground across the road.

Sometimes we see friends, she will usually nap, then she is so happy to potter about that I can easily - as I have - spend these mornings catching up with housework, cooking, doing the odd bit of work and generally not paying her a great deal of attention.

Then before I know it our time is up and it's time to go and get Cherry. I have been with Violet the entire time yet she's had no one-on-one attention other than the time she spends breastfeeding.

As school for Cherry and preschool for Violet looms on the very distant horizon, it suddenly occurred to me I have only one more year at home full-time with my baby.

My baby, who will be two in August. My baby, who really should have been called 'Joy' as she is the living embodiment of it. My baby, who charms and wins over everybody she meets. My baby, whose speech, comprehension and physical mastery absolutely astounds me time and again. My baby, the reason I have not once at any point over the last 22 months NOT thought 'I could lie down and sleep RIGHT NOW'.

My baby. My second child. My last child. How glad I am to have this time to get to know her.

The walk to preschool

 Cherry has been going to a small Montessori preschool since last September. She goes three mornings a week, which gives our weeks together a shape and a routine.

The highlight of this is the walk to preschool. It's held in a church hall about a mile away, an easy walk down residential roads crossing one busier road, with a few good hills.

We are all early risers so getting out of the door in time is never a problem and our morning routine is predictable and fun. Cherry rides her little balance bike and I push Violet in the buggy, as although she's capable of the walk, it would be hard going getting us there in less than 90 minutes. As it is the journey can take up to 40 minutes and that suits me fine as it's just the best part of the day, by far.

We talk. We have names for each road - the straight road, the leafy road, the white flowers road, the road with the shiny stones. We observe and notice every slight difference. We discuss each difference in great detail, from the colours of the leaves to the goings-on in people's gardens.

We've passed exciting sights such as a broken down car, a toilet in somebody's garden, a cement mixer, a digger, a scratchy cat, several friendly cats, mushrooms growing up a tree stump, autumn blooms and berries, 'naked' winter trees and stoical evergreens, crocuses, snowdrops, daffodils, blossom, bluebells and now we're spoiled for choice as gardens explode into full bloom.

Sometimes there's roadworks and we have to find a different place to cross, and we talk about this in huge detail and speculate as to the reasons for the works. We watch red buses stop and pick up passengers and wonder where they might be going. We analyse the weather, ponder the chances of rain, wind, thunder, lightning, sunshine, snow and ice.

Cherry learned to read most letters in the alphabet by stopping at road signs and tracing the letters with her fingers, gradually recognising more and more of them. Sometimes we'll pass marks on the pavement or road and brainstorm as to how they got there. We talk about the seasons, identify cars (she can spot a Mini a mile off) and stop to pet passing dogs. Cherry has an excellent grasp of road safety, thanks to the amount of times we have crossed each familiar road and gone through the familiar routines of looking for cars. She tells me when it's safe to cross.

The walk is the same every day, but every day it's different. Something new will be waiting for us. Something will have changed.

I honestly think Cherry learns and absorbs more in these journeys than she does in preschool itself! (I don't mean any disrespect to preschool there, just that the rich opportunities a short walk offers really cannot be reproduced or bettered indoors) Violet joins in with our chats but mainly it's a time for Cherry and I.

I often give myself a hard time for not spending enough time one-on-one with Cherry, with Violet I obviously have the hours while Cherry is at pre-school but time alone with my older daughter is scarce. Until I thought about the walks to preschool and realised, that's our one-on-one time.

When I think about what I will miss when the inevitable happens (at the moment I'm completely in denial about Cherry and school) these little walks will be top of the list.

Thoughts on blogging lately

I have been thinking about just closing this blog down. I blog infrequently and quite erratically, I don't stick to linkys or projects, and its general existence bothers me as it feels half-assed and a very real and public reminder of my overall tendency to start things, not put in enough effort then sort of tail off and leave them unfinished.

*Exhales loudly*

I have concerns about privacy, I sort of want to write stuff and have nobody read it for fear they will take wild offence and comment saying I am a horrendous bitch BUT I also love it when people say they like what I have written or it has struck a chord with them. I worry about sharing too much, coming across as inauthentic and guarded OR messy and needy, and I worry about my daughters' privacy too.

I worry that all I do is write about and post pictures of my children and that all I am is a mother to my children. Then any time I think about what I might do outside of mothering I feel this enormous wave of certainty that at the moment this is my greatest work, and it deserves all of me for the short years in which it is so all-consuming.

I can't be the only one who has these mixed feelings about blogging (and mothering), so for now I have decided not to close it all down.

There aren't any real rules to blogging (well, none that I would pay attention to anyway) and that leaves me wide open. Which is one of the reasons I find it so hard.

I've been a writer my whole career, a journalist, an author, a copywriter and a creative. These are all very different forms of writing that require different skills, but what they do have in common is a requirement that I mask the 'me' in favour of the information, the facts or the message.

As I've been writing in this way, for money, for more than 10 years it's hard to unlearn these habits and let my own voice come through and write at length about me, me, me. The best I can do is write about my children and my feelings about being a mother but that's only a tiny part of the story.

But the blogs I love to read the most, and find the most inspiring, do exactly that. They tell the whole story. I do of course love reading about other people's children and looking at crafts, recipe ideas, photos, outfits, fitness updates, houses etc, but the posts I love the most are the personal ones, where you get an insight into the writers' real mind and real life.

That's truly inspiring. And seeing as I get so much from such bloggers, without their knowledge probably (must start commenting more) I feel I do want to give some of this back.

I read all the time, books on parenting and child development in particular but also around the wider area of personal growth. Being a parent feels to me the biggest opportunity for personal growth I have come across so far, and sometimes I feel I am raising three children, dragging parts of myself out of arrested development and into full adulthood. That seems to me to be a story worth telling even if I don't really know how to start, or how it ends.