What you missed in September

When we lived in Zambia I used to write a letter home every month summarising what we had done and experienced. Given the last month's blog-void and life-rollercoaster I thought it was time for a quick revival.

Dear blog,

The last month has rolled past with barely a moment to catch our collective breaths. It turns out that working part-time, two mornings a week, can take up so much of your life that there is no time for blogging. This is not good, but it is exacerbated by the extra hours I've had to work in order to sort one particular client's accounts out. I'd rather not.

September 2012 has brought about one of those moments when you know you are getting older, moving on to the next phase in life. My first-born, son and eldest child (one person!) has started secondary school. He's taken the change completely in his stride. His mother was much more of a mess, worrying about her baby amongst all the big kids. Still - there is nothing quite like distraction (see paragraph 1!) to take one's mind off the big life-changes. I have dutifully taken photos in the front garden of the boy drowned by blazer and trousers that are a couple of inches too long.

His aunt commented on his hair ("he's going to love that photo when he's older!") ... which leads us into the other life-changing event of the month: haircuts. My son's mop was in desperate need of a trim and so, in a moment of despair that I would ever drag him to the hairdressers, I set up shop at home. (This means I sat him on a chair in front of the mirror in my bedroom and attacked him with the scissors.) He wants long hair, but the natural curls prevent it lying beautifully and it grows into a ball of chaos. Now I've cut it to be something approximating smart.

If his hair was a trauma it was nothing compared to my daughter's. She too wanted long hair and over the last year or two it has steadily grown down to shoulder length. When washed and heavily conditioned it looked beautiful, but every morning there were horrific knots which resulted in screaming and agony as I tried to brush it. I kept telling her the only solution was to shut up or cut it short. Astonishingly, she decided one day to cut it. Not believing her I left it 48 hours before sitting her in my (bedroom) hair salon. With many a deep breath I cut her a short bob - probably 15cm of hair falling to the floor. She looks so much more grown up, and best of all there are no morning tantrums any more!

Other childish events? I tried to organise a sleepover for my son's birthday party (in advance of his December birthday) and failed. I am planning my daughter's 10th birthday party, which is causing me marginally less stress...so far... I've also been to-and-fro to hospital appointments for her incontinence issues and met up with teachers, classroom assistants and speech & language therapists.

Perhaps the biggest time consumer has also consumed the most money. After three years the lease on our car has expired. If my husband didn't work such long hours he might have got round to ordering a new lease car through work but, as it became apparent that wasn't going to happen in a reasonable timescale, I decided that we'd have to bite the bullet and buy a new one. So we have - or at least it is ordered. I have to reassure myself that it is a great offer, a good deal, and we haven't been sucked in by the car salesman.

To add to the financial stress my husband has decided to invest in a trailer tent. Long-term this will be fantastic. Already the children are planning our holidays in Holland and France (Modern Languages week at school has set my daughter's imagination rolling!) but I have never driven a car with a trailer on. Lots more deep breaths and telling myself that it will all be ok! I'm praying for a glorious hot, sunny summer in the UK next year!

Both car and tent took up weekends of family time and hours of analysis (Can we justify the expense? Is this the right way forward? Will my son's 6ft tall rugby-playing friends squeeze in the car in 3 years' time?) but I am hopeful that we have made good decisions for the family as a whole.

Throw in some grandparents visiting, church responsibilities, orchestra practices, swimming lessons, dentist appointments and puppy training and you've jammed September about as full as is technically possible whilst still allowing time to sleep. Well, doze lightly.

Roll on October. After all, it must be quieter. Mustn't it?

xx

The wisdom of age

This weekend I had the delight of celebrating my father's 80th birthday. When I stop and think about it, that is a very long time.

About six months ago he moved to the same town that my sister lives in. He lives in a spacious 1-bed bungalow. The garden is a fraction of the size of his previous house. He is now a 10 minute walk into town with all the amenities he could ask for, and that 10 minutes walks past the doctors and dentists and even a cottage hospital. Previously, he has to catch a bus the three miles to the local shops, particularly after the village post office was shut down. He has lost about a stone in weight (needed!) and is looking much fitter and healthier for the move. At the time of the move I was less certain that this was a good thing - all I seemed to experience was stress!

So this weekend we celebrated the move and the passing years. It was wonderful to catch up with Dad's side of the family and various friends that he (and, by default, my sister and I) have known for many years. I think every single one commented on how healthy my father looked. He loved the party, chatting with everyone. Given his deafness, I'm not sure how easy that can have been!

Yes, the party on Saturday was good. But better still was his actual birthday on Sunday.

It poured with rain all day. But his choice of how to spend the day was to have a drive up through Wharfedale, where he spent much of his childhood and where we spent all my childhood holidays. It is probably 25 years since I last went to the top end of the dale, but it brought back many memories for me. How much more so my father! He pointed out houses where people lived ("...probably still do, if they're still alive," he would comment) and told tales of the places we passed. Much of the journey seemed to be a mock pub crawl, with his comments on how good, or bad, each was. I think it is a testament to my upbringing that they were all very familiar to me too!

After an amazing [pub] lunch (I shall probably never need to eat again!) he directed me back along the other side of the valley, wending and winding our way along single track roads.
"This is where I learnt to ride a bike," he said down one gentle slope.
"Oh, that's new!" he said of some newly planted trees. This amused me, given he hadn't been for many years and you would expect much to change in that time!
"Shortly you'll come to a big bend to the right, but you want to go straight on." How did he remember that? I would have sworn I'd never been on that piece of road in my life - possibly no-one else had either!
Still, we travelled on, through ford and flood, to return by a back-road to my sister's house.

Eighty years - yes, but memories don't fade, particularly not from land that has been such a part of your life, from early years during the war, through to holidays with family. The hills have been climbed, the ox-bow lake formed and lost, the local fairs attended, the pubs drained dry. It was a delight to give my father such pleasure from a simple drive into beautiful countryside. I only wish his parents had thought eighty years ago about what the weather would be like this weekend, as the only improvement would have been some sunshine!

If you need a job done...

... do it yourself. This is what motherhood really means now.

Before Easter, in a moment of forward planning, I booked a babysitter for tonight.

Last weekend I pointed out to my husband that he might like some time alone with his children to go shopping. "Uh?" he says.

Last night I suggested to him that I took the dog for a walk round the block before going to bed. "Why?" he asks. "Don't you need the paper, scissors and tape before tomorrow?" I reply.

This morning I elbowed him viciously in the ribs. "Don't you need to get the children up before you go to work?" To be fair, they weren't too happy with this pre-7am wakening!

Finally, before my husband left to catch the train, the decision was made to go out for dinner tonight...though I am left with the job of finding a restaurant and booking a table.

My birthday presents were two saucepans ("with lids," as my daughter keenly pointed out), a whisk and some kitchen scales. I guess I know my place! 

The Coco Pops effect

We have a family tradition that when it is your birthday, you can choose a new breakfast cereal to have.

This doesn't sound like much of a treat, I know, but it truly is something to look forward to. The rest of the year we eat Weetabix. Or Cornflakes, Rice Crispies, Muesli or Bran Flakes. Nothing very exciting; high in fibre and (most importantly) low in chocolate and sugar.

Once a year, we each get to choose Choco Hoops or Frosties or Coco Pops or Crunchy Nut or... blimey, I'm almost salivating at the thought!

So imagine the scene when my daughter came downstairs (late!) for breakfast and discovered an empty box. It had been her birthday: her choice. "What's happened to all the-?" she whined.

My son stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. We all knew the guilty culprit. Before I could say anything he said, "I'll go and sit at the bottom of the stairs."

And he did!

Now that's the most effective parental discipline I've had for a long time!

An ulterior motive?

Last night I picked up the book my husband - the doctor - gave me for my birthday.

So much for that by Lionel Shriver (most famous for the Orange Prize winner We need to talk about Kevin, which I loved in a scary, lots of sleepless nights kind of fashion) has been sitting by the bedside for several months and I finally thought I had enough time to read it. It is quite thick (531 pages - I've just checked) so it isn't necessarily a light read for the beach.

I read the back cover. It mentions Africa, retiring to Tanzania. Interesting, I think.

It revolves around the question: how much is one life worth? Interesting, I think.

The Literary Review states: "British readers will close this excellent novel feeling grateful for the NHS."

Ah. So that's why my husband thought I should read it...

Sing along now!

Happy birthday to me!

Happy birthday to me!

Happy birthday to me-ee...

Happy birthday to me!!

And now life begins again...

Photo credit: www.weirdthings.org.uk

10

Today my eldest baby is ten years old. Happy Birthday, my wonderful child. I can hardly believe it is truly ten years since those long hours at the hospital, the time has passed so quickly. I have enjoyed every second. Well, if you excuse the chicken pox, malaria, sicknesses, tantrums, pooey nappies and whining. Almost every second.

In honour of the momentous occasion, here are ten things in celebration of his life.

1. At birth, the first thing he did was bite the paediatrician's finger (not his father!)
2. He loves his teddy. And his little sister, but probably in that order.
3. He could read before he went to school, and has never struggled academically since.
4. Every time we have moved house he has been very brave and managed to make friends easily.
5. He is immensely patient with his sister. And his mother, come to think of it.
6. He doesn't give up ... particularly if it involves a game or activity on the Wii or DS ...
7. His hair is beginning to make him look like Dougal from The Magic Roundabout (but he loves it).
8. This year he was assessed as 'gifted and talented' at sport! (Seriously questioning his parenthood now!)
9. He is very funny, and is learning to tolerate his parents' teasing of him.
10. He resents having his birthday on one of the shortest days of the year. (I anticipate him emigrating to the southern hemisphere as soon as he gets the chance!)

Overall, he is a most beautiful, loving child and I am delighted to know him, and even more proud to say that he is My Son.

Happy 10th Birthday. Next present when you hit three digits?!

Mum x

True love never runs smooth

Last weekend we had my son's birthday party.

He's nine. He requested a LaserQuest party, having gone once with the church youth group and had a great time. By having twelve children there they had the place to themselves. Of course, he invited fourteen, expecting some to be unable to come - but they all could! So much for my father's theory that 20% of people can't attend when invited!

I know - all this is pretty routine stuff. What is unusual, for a nine-year-old boy, is that he invited girls. Of his own volition.

And all five of them came!

Girls are, of course, different to boys. Like me, they are all perfectly behaved and quiet and unassuming (ahem!)

They got picked last for the teams (grrrr) but thankfully each team won one game each (phew!) Then, when eating afterwards I can categorically state that not one of the girls started eating the polystyrene tub the food came in; none of them put plastic bands in their mouths to look like toothless aliens; and I'm sure they felt quite justified in throwing back the ketchup covered paper that was hurled their way. [I love boys' parties...]

One asked me, "Are all boys' parties like this?" Felt obliged to be honest.

My son, of course, got teased for inviting girls. He took it well - just slightly pink. He was sat next to one of the girls, J, which didn't help matters. And of course various other boy/girl mixes were touted as being boyfriend/girlfriend, to the amusement of those with the loudest voices and greatest need to be macho...

It is quite a scary thought that I have all this - and more - to come! Aged nine, I can laugh it off, but in only a few years it will be serious. Then hormones will rage through the house. No boy will be good enough for my daughter, and I will worry about my son's choice of girl. I'll have to trust them on dates, enjoy the extended family company and - worst of all - recognise that I will be second in their lives! Oh, the joys of parenthood - the drip, drip, drip of letting go.

So, imagine my delight when an email comes through from J's older sister:

I've found out that J really likes you. Would you go out with her? (If you dont know what that means, just reply!!)

I show it to Son.

"But we're just friends!" he says.

And I smile, because he means it. And he understands that P's sister is winding her up as much as him.

And he smiles.

'Cos it's lovely to be loved. Even a little bit.

And even when you're not. Not really.

It's good to have friends.

The best days...

... are when ...

- it snows, but you don't have to go out in it (except to make snowmen).

- your children say 'thank you' without prompting.

- someone in the family volunteers to do the washing-up.

- there is peace and quiet, but not because the children are glued to a screen.

- we celebrate together as a family.

I'm having a good day!

Today my son is 9 years old - where did time fly? He has loved his birthday, full of delight with his presents and has, for the large part, played happily with his sister. I have had all the grandparents to stay overnight and the extra hands do make light work!

The Christmas to-do list is still miles long, but today is a day to celebrate and relax. I still have to decorate the birthday cake but otherwise there is just an endless call for cups of tea. And the odd snowball fight.

Tomorrow is time enough to be festive. Tomorrow we'll begin Christmas. Today, we party!

Birthday party!

This week we celebrated my husband's birthday - not yet a big round number (the big party is next year!) but nevertheless an important day for the family.

So (it being the school holidays) the children had a lie-in and I gratefully received a cup of tea in bed, as he left for the 7.30am train. I did figure that there was a bit of making-up to do!

We had arranged that I would bring the children into town and meet him after work, then we'd all go out for dinner. Pizza Express did us very well, though I'm not sure the rest of the diners were so happy. Our game of I Spy did become quite raucous (SCNT, says my son - Security Camera Number Two) but the best bit was giving my husband his presents.

We started with the cards in the post, a couple of 'it's on its way...' messages.

Then there were a couple of card games I'd bought when in London (an easy present, that I knew he'd like).

Then there was my somewhat double-edged gift: a couple of library books. I did tell him they were only a present for the next three weeks... but he's already finished one and is halfway through the second. They are about narrowboats and canal travel, which may yet be the source of his retirement entertainment. Would he enjoy buying a wreck and doing it up? Or are we just fuelling a mid-life crisis?

Finally, there was the present from my children to him. I pass it to my son, to pass to my husband and what happens?

My son starts to open the present!

On realising that we had all gone quiet and were looking at him, he did notice his mistake and pass it on. Poor lad: feels it is still a long time until his birthday, I guess!

Anniversary

I had a somewhat maudlin moment on Friday when sat at the dinner table with my beloved children.  

"Do you know what day it is tomorrow?" I ask.

"Saturday," they chorus.  Correct, of course.  Note to self: I must learn to use the word date.  

"Yes, Saturday the 22nd.  Do you know what's special about that?"

Lengthy pause for thought.  

"It's one month until my birthday!" No1 child declares with glee.  More truth.

"Yes, but what about tomorrow.  Whose birthday is it then?"

Well, we go around the houses but eventually realise that it is Grampa's.  And that we need to get a card and sign it and send it.

None of this is can be described as maudlin, I agree, but all the time I am thinking Today's the 21st.  Today it is twenty-one years since my mother died.  Can't you see today is what is really important?

But of course, it isn't.  Not to them, who have never met her; not to my friends, most of whom don't know she's even dead; not to the vast majority of the world for whom the day is the same as the one before, and the one after.  

I think of telling them, but their love of the living Grampa and the excitement of an imminent birthday mean I cannot dampen their joyful spirits.  I hold my tongue, chastise myself for being selfishly morose, kiss the little darlings and clear up the mess left from dinner as we rush on to other activities.  

Presumably that's the way Mum would want it too.

Family birthdays

First blog travels: a trip to York to celebrate my nephew's second birthday.  We missed his first by being in Africa but my sister decided he'd most like to spend the day with his cousins. Mother knows best and - judging by No1 child's desire to sit next to him in Pizza Express - she was probably right.

It turns out that the first 10 minutes are spent distributing presents.  My father brought presents for his grandchildren whilst on holiday in Ireland a couple of weeks ago.  My sister brought some Turkish Delight back from a holiday in Crete (I thought the Greek/Turkish relationship was acrimonious: clearly not when it comes to sweets).  I distributed gifts for my father (birthday coming up), my nephew (principal guest of honour!) and my brother-in-law (birthday last week).  I was rather shocked to be given presents myself.  My birthday last weekend had been singularly uneventful, overwhelmed by loads of washing after a week's holiday and a five-year-old's birthday party, so I'd completely forgotten that my family might remember.  

No2 child managed to knock an entire glass of Fanta onto the floor, shattering into a million pieces. It's always her! She has an innate capacity to be a bit clumsy, falling, knocking things over.  Then she looks both horrified and so cute that we all melt and forgive her. Again. Broad grin returns and she's back to her bubbly self and quite prone to repeating the experience.

Still, birthdays mean the book collection is growing.  I now have a tale of murder in Florence, a book about how to write a book, a book about miracles of faith and another about how to be a praying wife.  So I'm reading Nigel Slater's "Toast" and vicariously reliving bits of my childhood.

Travels were totally uneventful.  We did end the day with an hour in the National Railway Museum.  Complete heaven for No1 child.  He walked into the Great Hall and said 'Wow!' as he was faced with dozens of huge steam trains.  We wandered around, marvelling at these extraordinary machines ... then tried to dodge the gift shop, where he found more ways for me to drift towards poverty.  "We're travelling by train," I try to pacify him with.  I ought to know better.