Monthly Archives: June 2012

A step outside time

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What an exciting day! Bear’s friend, Precious arrived at our house at 8.30 this morning and is now sound asleep in Bear’s room snuggling her cow-girl doll. Her parents are at the hospital for the birth of their brand new baby. We have done ‘normal’ things all day: had breakfast, done lots of crafting, been to the school summer fayre, played camping in the garden, had dinner, played in the bath, read bedtime stories….. How can such ordinary activities go on when something so miraculous and amazing is happening? Doesn’t time stand still for a new baby?

On these occasions, I am inevitably taken back to Bear’s birth. Each time, the memory is softened so that the traumatic bits have been peeled away a layer at a time. Maybe because I’ve told Bear about it so many times, I’m starting to believe the sanitised version myself. I guess life must have been going on outside, but I had no concept of it. I was doing something far more important. When life-changing events take place, time marches on as relentlessly as ever. You just step outside of it for a while. Anyway little treasure, I’m looking forward to meeting you for the first time and to watching you grow into yourself. Thanks for letting us be part of it!

The Icing on my Cake

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The iced biscuits are ready for the school summer fayre tomorrow and so is Bear. Mr. Invisible thinks that iced biscuits aren’t commercially viable and I’m sure he’s right. It takes ages (even though they end up looking very homemade) and they’ll sell for a song. If it was about the money, I’d donate the cost of the ingredients. But it’s so much more than that. The whole school is really buzzzzzing about the summer fayre. Today was a non-uniform day so each child could bring something for the tombola (mostly booze – it’s my kinda school!) and Bear is asking for a ‘Summer Fayre Helper’ sticker so he can help out at our stall. He’ll change his mind when he sees the side shows and the bouncy castle. I’m excited too now and if I happen to see a small fist or two clutching brightly-coloured vaguely flowery biscuits, it’ll be the icing on my cake!

Bird Necklace

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This week I will be mostly wearing …. a bird necklace.

Spending time on what to wear may come across as a bit shallow, but is it really? The image we portray makes a difference to other people’s perceptions and how we are treated. We could argue that it shouldn’t and we might have a point, but the truth is that people make up their minds very quickly (seconds rather than minutes.) The older I get, the less that bothers me but I still want to feel good about myself – for me. When Bear was a baby, my jewellery stayed in the cupboard, well away from those grippy, curious fingers.

So back to the necklace. I spent some time with my nieces earlier. One is just starting and the other just finishing university. We talk about anything, but what we’re wearing always gets a mention. The youngest liked my necklace. She said it ‘tied-up’ my outfit (a black skirt, brown top and flats.) A couple of years ago I went to the exhibition of Grace Kelly’s dresses at the V&A. I was struck by how plain they looked on the mannequins compared to the photos of them as worn by the lady herself. As well as her elegant frame, she used sunglasses, hair pieces, scarves and jewellery to accent her look. I’m often guilty of being in too much of a rush to accessorise, but when it works it can lift my whole day.

In my twenties I thought costume jewellery was for teenagers and that ladies (such as I was!!!) wore ‘real’ jewellery. I’m so glad I came to my senses.

Weightier topics tomorrow – maybe.

Show and Tell

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Bear came out of school this afternoon clutching the dreaded piece of paper. The one that says, ‘Your child has been chosen for Show and Tell this Friday.’ Whoopee! Not only does he have to choose something to talk about, we also have to remember to take whatever it is.

But then I remembered. Problem solved. It’s easy peasy this time because he recently received a letter from her Majesty the Queen. So I suggested it. ‘No mummy. I can’t take that because I have to talk about it.’ Ok, shouldn’t be too much of a problem. If I’d received a letter from the Queen, you wouldn’t be able to shut me up. ‘No mummy. The other children have to be able to ask questions.’

I could think of loads of questions to ask someone who’d received a letter from the Queen. Why did she write to you? Were you excited when you received it? What were you wearing? (Not particularly relevant but I always want to know.) Anyway, it turns out the other children can’t ask questions about a letter from the Queen.

‘So what sort of questions do they ask then?’ I said. ‘Things like, does it have a button to make it talk?’ So basically we’re limited to plastic or fur that may or may not talk. My question would more likely be, ‘Does it have a button to make it stop? No? We’re not getting one then.’

Anyway, it’s not my show and tell, so I’ll just stay out of it.

Puppy Love

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There’s nothing like the aroma of fresh puppy. Life, longing and wholeness all in one sniff. While I can’t say I’d like it as a perfume, neither can I get enough of it! This morning Dogford and I visited a friend’s nine-week-old chihuahua. The puppy wasn’t too impressed when my pooch wagged into his life and started stealing his toys. I guess it didn’t help that he was smaller Dogford’s head.

We let them settle, keeping the youngster on the floor. He might be small, but he’s a whole dog. Although I was desperate for a sniff and a cuddle, I sipped my coffee and bided my time. Before long the puppy was sniffing Dogford’s foot (about all he could reach!) and turning around to allow himself to be sniffed too.

When Dogford was that young, it was exhausting but so much fun. I can only compare it to bringing a toddler home instead of a baby. Mr. Invisible and I used to play ‘puppy tennis’, where you each sit on the floor in a different room and take turns to call the puppy by name. I cried the first time he obeyed the ‘down’ command without help, he wanted to please us so much. His favourite game is still ‘find the cow.’ The toy has changed over the years, but he still loves to seek it out. He even played patiently when Bear was a toddler and hid it in the same place every time!

Dogford hasn’t read the book that says his puppy days are over. He still turns on the bounciness when he meets a young dog and he still loves a cuddle. He’s calmer now though. He steals food less often and he doesn’t steal underpants or socks anymore. I still love the smell of him. He’s every bit the puppy that came home in my arms eight and a half years ago.

If my friend gets even half as much joy from her dog, she’s going to be very happy!

Living for Today

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This morning, I was privileged to be invited to visit Richard House Children’s Hospice in Newham. What an amazing place! What amazing people! Richard House provides care for children with life-limiting conditions and complex healthcare needs, as well as support for the whole family. The emphasis is on positive experiences and creating memories.

The purpose-built centre is light, bright and airy with beautiful gardens and outdoor planting and play areas. Apart from a few clues it looks like any other children’s playcentre, with children’s artwork on the walls, children’s sensory toys and a well-stocked playroom and sensory suite. There’s also a teenage den to give the older ones some separate space. The residential-care rooms look just like a bedroom at home (ok, a lot tidier than the bedrooms in my house but you get the idea!)

It feels wrong that parents have to experience the death of a child. It feels wrong that the innocence of siblings is shattered at such an early age in such a cruel manner. But death doesn’t discriminate against age, religion, ethnicity or gender. In the meantime, there is the best care a child can get and the precious memories that the people at Richard House work so hard to help them create. Guys, you’re incredible!

Precious Time

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A Radio 5 show made me fume this morning. After Cherie Blair’s comments last week on stay-at-home mums, they’d dutifully tracked down the public in the form of a  21-year-old woman who didn’t see that staying at home doing nothing all day could make someone a good role model. Well thanks for that, sis! Actually I don’t object to the comment. Why would she know any better? But I was disappointed that the presenter didn’t pull her up on it. The media will drag this subject forwards and backwards through the bushes until the cow’s come home, and there still won’t be a right answer because everyone’s different and everyone’s circumstances are different.

Cherie’s underlying point is worth another look though. Basically you can’t rely on your man in case he leaves, gets sick or dies. (I’m grossly para-phrasing here.) I like the idea of women being able to be independent, but I’m not sure that having a suitcase full of clean underwear and fifty pound notes is the answer. Family isn’t what it was in the 1950s. Being a stay-at-home mum isn’t what is was either. It’s about sharing responsibility and recognising that the playing field changes so what you do now doesn’t have to be right forever, it just has to be right for now. Anyway Cherie, we’re pretty privileged to be having this conversation. For most women in the world, there isn’t a choice.

I’ve been re-evaluating my situation now that my son is at school. He’s only out of the house for a few hours though, so not much has changed. It’s important to me that I’m there to collect my son from school and I’m there in the school holidays. Ok, something might happen to force me to change my tack, but I’m not going to deprive myself and my son of this precious time that we can never get back, just in case of something that might never happen.

Just like Old Times?

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Bear has gone to Grandma and Grandad’s (Mr. Invisible’s parents), so we have some time to ourselves. Just like old times! We could do exactly what we like! We could go to a gallery and actually look at the artwork. We could take a stroll along the South Bank, stop at every watering hole on the way and then go for dinner or the cinema. Or we could just have a clear out. A lovely, soul-cleansing, cathartic, thorough clear out.

A couple of months ago, our nephew Ashford moved from his room on the first floor to the attic because Grandad (my Dad) was struggling with the extra flight of stairs. We wanted Ashford to have a lovely student den up there so we moved a load of stuff from the attic into our bedroom. Somehow, we haven’t done anything about it. Disgraceful!

Mr. Invisible decided to make a start in the cellar, while I tackled ‘the pile.’ This is a way of working together to promote the utmost harmony. A few boot sale boxes, recycling crates and bin bags later, I’ve made a huge sliding tackle of a start and we’ve had just the one disagreement. (Mr. Invisible thinks I won’t use my bike again as I haven’t used it in the last 10 years. I think it is my bike, so I will decide whether I will use it again or not when I have time to make such a weighty decision!)

Before Bear was born, we had stuff but not this amount and the stuff we had, we had time to keep tidy. So I see this as a bit of a new beginning, an opportunity to get back the tiniest bit of control.

So just like old times? Never again. Our lives have changed so completely, that it’s impossible to go back even for a weekend. We will enjoy a quiet dinner and glass of something this evening and a bit of a lie-in in the morning, thankful for the time together and that Bear is making memories with Grandma and Grandad.

Olympics

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I’m finally excited about the Olympics again. I was excited in July 2005, when Dogford and I heard the announcement on the radio in our old kitchen (oh how my life has changed!) I was excited when the diggers moved in and the electricity pylons moved out. I was excited as Bear and I saw bits of Olympic Park take shape through the windows of the Docklands Light Railway. All those diggers, cement mixers and other complicated bits of machinery couldn’t have come at a better time for my young Bear.

My enthusiasm has been gradually chipped away by lots of niggly things. Firstly the sponsors. How are junk food, sweet chocolate and sugary soft-drinks supposed to ‘inspire young people through sport?’ Then there was the school-fayre fiasco, when schools and community groups were prevented from holding Olympic-themed summer fayres and fun days. I can understand that the sponsors don’t want to pay all that money for their competitors to cash in, but surely these events would foster enthusiasm for the Olympics across the nation? I’m not even going to mention the first round of ticket sales. Next up, the good people who were named as flame-bearers were asked to pay if they wanted to keep their torches. I’m actually excited about watching my friend carry the torch on the 22 July. Although I still don’t understand why it takes under 10 minutes to the Olympic Park by tube, but it’s going to take the flame 6 days to get there! I know that running is slower than the Central Line (most days), but come on!

There’s definitely a buzz now. The flags and bunting have started to go up and the final preparations are in progress. The car park at Westfield shopping centre is already closed for the duration (excellent news for our local High Street), we’ve finally been notified about road closures and lots of people have signed up to work for free just for the pleasure of making it happen. But why am I finally jumping up and down? Because our tickets arrived this morning, so Mr. Invisible, Bear and I are going to be part of it.

Food with a Face

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A couple of days ago Bear shook his head to dippy-egg for breakfast, until I pointed out that his egg had a face. Incidentally, permanent marker doesn’t come off even when boiled for five minutes! He requested dippy-egg again this morning. This time we drew ears and hair too. I secretly want to draw long hair and curls and plaits, but I know I have to settle for spiky hair, glasses and moustaches unless I do one for myself too (certainly not on a school-morning.)

We had pizza today. Bear decorates puts his own toppings on. That way, he can eat a whole pizza as big as his head. It works for stuff he has grown too, like broad beans and herbs. But why does his pizza always have a face? In these days of special dietary requirements, ‘nothing with a face’ is a common theme. Not for Bear. Now I’ve never fancied myself as an Annabel Karmel type. I’m in awe of her, I’m just more of a ‘Come on, eat it up, or you can’t be that hungry!’ type of mum. So why am I imagining ways of serving sausages and mash to look like a face with peas for hair and strips of courgette arranged as spectacles? I guess it’s because we eat for pleasure as well as survival and the way food looks is part of the package. And arranging it for himself gives him a chance to test the feel of the food as well as smell, taste and look of it. I hope he’s developing a lifelong love of food and a healthy relationship with it. I think I can feel a yoghurt and summer berries session coming on – nothing like strawbs, raspbs and bluebs for a smiley face!