Moments from Suburbia

Small Sprog is 12

2012-01-31T22:47:00.003Z

It was Small Sprogs birthday last week. He is a not such a small sprog now; (according to his sister) he swears like a trouper on the school bus, his upper lip has a slight shadow and he doesn't give out unconditional hugs any more (not to his mother anyway). Yet inside I know he is still the same Small Sprog; he still wants to know how many atoms are in an ant and he still imagines ridiculous scenarios at meal times - "What if a big dinosaur came down the road right now?..." -that sort of thing. Though his pre-teen self doesn't like to leave the sofa unnecessarily and all the best wishes he got on Facebook were from girls!

But I still love him as a small sprog and I still want to hug him, but that's not part of this part of the game now, hardly ever. Yet in one of his moments he will butter me up and tell me I'm the best mummy in the world; if he doesn't make guitar hero I reckon car salesman is right up his street!

I know he is not mine, he is his own person, I do not own him but I am borrowing him until he can make it in this world on his own. Sometimes it's hard.

For his birthday we took him Go Carting, it was brilliant. After that all his friends came back here and whiled away an hour shooting each other with Nerf Guns before eating their own body weight in pizza and birthday cake. As I lit the candles on the cake Tall Girl hissed at me: Don't sing! (God forbid I do something dreadful to embarrass her) However I had already checked myself before her stage directions had left her lips; he was 12 now, he certainly didn't want his mum singing 'Happy Birthday' to his friends did he?

So as I approached the table, holding the cake with the lighted candles in front of me, one of his good friends burst into song: Happy birthday to you. He wasn't embarrassed I thought, how brilliant, it's still perfectly acceptable to sing 'The Song' when you are about to be twelve years old. We all sang together, however I'm under no illusions that they may well be singing far more risky songs together in the future and I definitely won't be party to those!

Boys

2012-01-20T21:59:00.000Z

Friday night

Me: Can you take up his hot chocolate...What are they doing up there?
Tall Girl: Boy things
Me: Oh
Tall Girl: They are being boys and making funny smells.

Ewww?...Sort of sums it up then!

At last

2012-01-18T00:13:00.001Z

Yesterday I spent the day at mums. She likes to see her only child, too much sometimes.
We mooch about for the day, doing nothing inparticular - drinking tea, window shopping- though I took jobs to do too; Some sewing, and I wrapped up all Small Sprogs birthday presents ( he will be 12 next Monday. We are Go Karting on Sunday, if all goes to plan) which she didn't seem to mind.

While she was cooking dinner she started to talk about her relationship. They have been married 36 years, and I, being only a child when they met, have been with them all the way, through the ups and downs, hell and high water. That's how some of it seemed.

Yet here they are now in front of me; my step father is soon to be 81 and is as fit as the first day I met him, mum is a few years younger and has slowed noticeably in the last few years. They are laughing together and fooling about. I notice (and take note) that even at my age / their age, seeing your parents fool about is still embarrassing!

She tells me later that they have been happy for the last few years. She says it in a dreamy sort of way. Thank goodness for that! I want to say because it has been a damn long time coming, but instead I say that it's usually the other way around, people fall out of love or forget to make each other happy. Yes, she smiles like she has got it right this time... If only it hadn't taken over 30 years.

Onwards to 2012

2011-12-31T17:29:00.002Z

I'm not ever really sure that I like New Year, it's sometimes too much of a marker of time, more so than Christmas for me because that day is always awash with food and merriment, children and good things. Perhaps I have my mother to thank for that, she was the 'Memory Maker' of past Christmases and I have been blessed with may good ones and have been endowed with a 'blue print' for more ( hopefully) to come.

However new year is different. As a child in my own family it was never regarded as special and consequently I have always struggled to make it special myself, it has never been a family occasion. Over the years I have spent new year with all sorts of friends various; I feel quite envious of those who have a routine for new year. But each time it comes around I always remember exactly what I was doing last year, the year before, the one before that, the millennium, the year I this that and the othered! It's just too much of a marker...

This year we are having a quiet and civilised meal out and then coming home to look after the cat because he hates fireworks! The children are with their dad, it will be the 2nd new year I have spent without them but we shall text and Facebook, where would we be without that?!

So, as you can see, new year makes me thoughtful and ponderous. I look forward to the year to come with excitement and trepidation all at once. I have a long and growing grateful list and it is this that I shall be considering as I pass between this year and the next.

Happy New Year to all my virtual and non virtual friends, may 2012 bring good things to us all.

2011-12-28T16:37:00.000Z

So how was your Christmas?

Mine started early with a text from Tall Girl ( she was only in the next room) asking me to remove the cat from her pillow. As I entered the room, there she was, sitting bolt upright in bed eyes, like saucers staring at the cat. He was smiling (I know it was a smile because you could sense it, there was a definite upturn to the corners of his mouth) his little body curled up in a tight ball the middle of her pillow which, as far as he was concerned, was his rightful place. "When I rolled over mummy, I reached out my hand and felt his boney leg, and I thought Santa had left me a roast chicken!"
"Well, that would have been an original gift" I mused "but as it's only 1.30 in the morning do you think we could sleep now?"
I unceremoniously gathered the cat up and plonked him on her feet instead, he was a tad hurmphy but at that time in the morning what did he expect, Christmas cheer?!

Christmas eve with mum and Christmas day at home were full of fun and food and lovely things. then Ex husband turned up at 11am on Boxing Day to take the children home with him for his 'turn'.

Festive Ex was not. Small Sprog was as excited as he had been the previous days and asked dad to play various games but to no avail. Apparently Ex had had a busy morning and did not feel like playing, I was wondering if he was hung over but said nothing. Eventually Small Sprog played without daddy.

I so wanted to keep my children and play for days on end, I didn't want it to end, I wanted to carry on inside the bubble we had built for ourselves since school had finished; it was a happy and carefree bubble full of colour and light, but it wasn't to be.

And as I watched Ex and listened to him talking to Tall Girl, I remembered how everything was always about him, always.

We had a lucky escape.

It's nearly here!

2011-12-22T22:21:00.002Z

Well, it must be nearly time for the Big Day because Small Sprog is going off every few seconds! He is full of excitement and Christmas cheer, finding it hard to sleep, up at the crack of dawn, all the signs are there; it's nearly Christmas!

His sister has not really done her shopping yet! How can they be so different?

I, as is usual at this time of year, can't fit anything else in the fridge; the tree is looking a little dessicated (I have had a word with it and told it that it only has to hang on for another couple of days if possible please?) poised at a an angle not perpendicular to the floor and things keep falling off it; the cat keeps leaving little (very un-festive) parcels all about the house and between us we have probably eaten our body weight in 'Celebrations' (except the cat of course, as he can't manage the lid of the box, however if he could perhaps his 'parcels' would come out ready wrapped!). Yes, it really, nearly is Christmas!

Today the house has been full of visitors, at least that has helped with the fridge overload, who have come and gone bearing gifts and cards. So as I sit here on the verge of bedtime, I just wanted to record here for posterity and whoever is nuts enough to come here and read my ramblings, that I am grateful for it all and feel lucky and blessed to be in the here and now, with all that we have and all that we need. Christmas is a great time to take stock and be glad.

So, as I may not get here again before Christmas, I hope you all have the Christmas that you wish for and I hope it is a peaceful one too.

Merry Christmas

from

The Stranger (part 2)

2011-12-13T22:12:00.005Z

The cafe started to fill up with early lunchtime shoppers, the once chilly air became a humid fug. Who had suggested another cup? She can't remember now but the moment had been to precious to leave after just one, no matter how long they made it last. It wasn't until much later that he had confessed that he'd thought, because she'd been so long in 'the ladies',that she had absconded via a small window in there and it was with relief that he had seen her appear again. She assured him that even if she had wanted to, there was no window, just a very long queue.

She didn't want this moment to end, 2 cups of tea had lasted quite a few hours but she still had ages before she was due to be elsewhere. Three years on she can't remember who suggested the pub. It was a fair walk away from the city centre, lost down a back lane, a hidden treasure. He walked with long strides, she felt like a child by his side, trying to keep up, wanting to reach out for his hand, feeling that it would be natural to do so but it was not quite time for that yet.

Inside was hot and they stripped off layers of coats and scarves. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, her cheeks were flushed with warmth or excitement, it was hard to tell. They sat on high stools, knee to knee, close enough to sense one another but not close enough to touch. She sipped her drink; what did she have, so hard to remember now? But she can remember how she felt so alive at that moment, it had been such a long time since she had felt like this.

Eventually there was no escaping the fact that life was calling her back. They walked back to her car, with each step she wanted to turn back. They kissed goodbye clumsily, too rushed and unrehearsed in her mind, she was not prepared, had not thought ahead to the end.

She knew she had a big grin all over her face and that she was humming out loud as she climbed the stairs to level 6. It took her 3 laps in her car on level 6 to realise she was not going down to the ground but merely driving round in circles. She glanced at the camera above, how embarrassing.

It wasn't until she was close to home that the feeling came on. It was like a dark cloud circling, each road closer to home it got a little darker. In months to come, years even, the feeling would always follow her down these roads to her front door, where it was the darkest of all. But it did not last forever as she feared it would.

Now they are like all the other roads I have ever driven along, moving forwards, always to the future.

The Stranger

2011-12-08T22:18:00.002Z

It started with comments at first and then, on the profile page, there was an email address. They exchanged emails and, after a while they would chat into the late hours; in the same city but different spaces and because she didn't like to drink alone, they shared a glass together though far apart. She remembered how her fingers had passed so quickly over the keyboard in those days, earphones in, cut off from her real world. She remembered the excitement of opening her mail in the morning, and again before bed; how each and every day would start and end with him.

She fell in love more than once during those months. She fell in love with the prose and his humour, with his softness and kindness, with his thoughtfulness and the way he could make her laugh out loud. It felt like love, the excitement of it, the constant thinking of him through every waking moment; this stranger with whom she had shared so much but had never met.

One evening in November he had suggested that they meet, just for a coffee, what harm could come of it?

On Monday the 8th of December at 9.30am, in a mostly empty cafe they sat opposite each other and she fell again as she watched his long slender and slightly freckled fingers hug his coffee cup for warmth.

600

2011-12-07T15:34:00.003Z

"We've had 2 pets called Archie now haven't we?" asks Small Sprog
"Yes" I reply, only half concentrating.
"May be we should call the radiator Archie?"
(Now how did he make the leap from animal to inanimate object?)
"The radiator?" I say in a rather condescending way "No one gives their radiators names"
"Well you named your radio Nigel"
Ah, now he's got me on that one!

What names do you use for your household objects? (or am I alone on this one?!)

Sticky Position

2011-12-04T20:31:00.002Z

Last week someone backed into my car when it was parked outside work. I walked back to my car at lunchtime and there was a big dent in the bumper. My heart sank but then I noticed a note stuck to the window, the driver had left their contact details.

Everyone, including the insurance company, have told me how lucky I was that details were left. I already knew that, in fact I almost thanked the person for backing into my car because I was so grateful that they didn't just drive off! How sad it is though that leaving your details is now thought of as unusual and no longer just what anyone would do automatically?

Anyway, the insurance sorted it and I kept my no claims, for what its worth. The garage came to pick the car up and dropped it back yesterday. Just before they took it I had to empty it of all personal effects. Wow, what a whole load of cr*p there was to clear and mostly throw away. I left a stick in the back, or maybe it was under a seat and when they returned the car the man showed me around the car and there was the stick. He looked at me in a strange way, I could tell he was wondering why I carried a stick around with me. "Oh" I said, by way of explanation "It's my sons stick, he thinks he's a dog, though now we've got a cat he seems to just miaow a lot". The man looked at me; I could tell he was slightly unnerved "Just sign here madam" he said and made a hasty exit. Hey ho...

Out with the girls

2011-12-02T12:52:00.000Z

I am excited, I don't see them so much now our children are all at senior school. I light candles the night before and set about writing Christmas cards for them all. I 'Facebook' Ruth and she apparently already has her Christmas tree up, so I tell her I am taking cards to our meal out and that if she does too it might discourage the others from groaning when I produce them with a flourish!

We sit in the restaurant. They groan as predicted. I watch them all and feel slightly removed. They are bogged down with domesticity, they moan about their husbands. They have become 'middle aged'.

This is the first year that we have not all come together and thrown a Christmas party for all our children. I feel sad at the loss but they seem to be pleased not to have to spend the afternoon with their own offspring. At least we have got ourselves together I think.

We chat for hours, and perhaps predictably, I am the one who is most likely to tell a 'rude' joke or a risky story and then think perhaps I should 'modify' my behaviour. I am beginning to feel that I have moved on, I am enjoying my life, my children, my own world.

As we leave I wonder finally if this is the last time we will all get together in the last few days of November. We have thrown a children's party for 14 years and now this. Good things come to an end, perhaps I shouldn't hold on to them for so long. The page has turned, so much more to look forward to.

Window lickers

2011-11-30T20:30:00.003Z

We are driving along the road, nothing much is really going on, we are on the way home from school. Small Sprog has a noisy friend in the back of the car and I have more or less switched off to their chat until I hear him say "Don't lick the windows of the car though, they taste awful" and then, just as I am about to ask how he could possible know that, his 15 year old sister agrees with him "Yes" She says "They taste disgusting"
"There's only one way you'd know that!" I shout "Only very strange people lick the inside of car windows!"
"I didn't mean to lick them" He says "I just did it accidentally while I was asleep"

Do I look that stupid?!

Meanwhile, as I write, Small Sprogs girlfriends mother is texting me about her distraught daughter who is in tears because she thinks my son has 'dumped' her.( Do I need to remind you that they are only 11 years old?) I text back, trying to reassure her that although he is a bloke (sorry male readers), which means he has no idea about what is going on, he really has a kind heart and wouldn't upset her intentionally. I press 'send' with my fingers crossed, mostly I think I know him but sometimes I reckon there's a whole 'other side'! Her mother texts back: I did tell her that boys take about 3 months longer than girls to notice that anything's wrong!

3 months, I muse, as quick as that?...

Mr A (for Archibald) Cat

2011-11-29T22:08:00.001Z

Meet Archibald. He is adorable, at last our family is complete. He is aproximatly 13 years old and was unwanted by his last family as they had small children, which is a bit sad but their loss. He seems to be settling down well and is no trouble at all, apart from his carpet scratching habit; we may need to litter the house with those awful cat scratching posts.

Tall Girl wants to call him 'Jam' but as we've adopted him, he already has a name; Archie, a perfectly lovely name for an ageing cat. I proposed Mr. A Cat but that is not what she wants. She is excited and sends a text: I'm calling him Mr Jammy Dodger Kitty Catty...Dodger for short or for longer shortness 'Jammy Dodger'!

Longer shortness? Well that's really going to confuse him!

Nearly 3 years on; normal but different

2011-11-27T20:21:00.005Z

Late Friday afternoon and I pull onto the familiar drive, the gravel crunching under the tyres. The place looks much the same as it always was, if not just a little more jaded. As the front door opened a wonderful smell of garlic wafted out.
"Daddy says would you like a cup of tea mummy" Small sprog shouts from the kitchen.
How did we get to this point? I walk in.

Ex Husband is cooking risotto, juggling ingredients, smiling, enjoying the task. We talk, the children join in, he makes me a cup of tea, well mostly makes it; I reach into the fridge for the milk. The handle feels looser, more fragile and the inside is full of things that I have not bought and stored away, things have changed.
"Would you like to eat with us?" He says after a while
"I'm out with my girl friends at 8pm" I say "but it smells delicious, I'd love just a little"

He sets me a place at the table. Not 'my' place, he sits there now; no it is his old place, the one furthest from the kitchen that I sit at. The seat which, at the time, was his because he had very little to do with preparing meals and fetching things from the kitchen back then.

We sit down to eat. I worry momentarily that the children will find it unsettling but that didn't seem to be the case. It was a wonderful moment. Strange, very strange, like moving into an alternative universe, one that could have been, had things been different. It was happy and easy and unbelievably good. We had made it, to this place that I had hoped for. Normal but different.

After eating he clears the dishes while I chat to our children about their day at school. I found myself thinking how the tables have turned; things have changed and I quietly muse on the massive cost of getting here.

As I leave I offer to help him clear up, old habits die hard. He waves his hand dismissively saying "It really doesn't matter"

And as I go I know how important it was to say those words, for me to hear them too. All that time, all those days; it really never did matter...

The Floozy!

2011-11-14T17:08:00.001Z

Small Sprog brings his Girl Friend home. She is sweet and pretty and well mannered but goodness me is she full on?! By the time I had fed them dinner I was ready for a break; Tall Girl was at the kitchen table trying to complete homework and I just wanted some peace while I cleared up the dishes.
"Why don't you go and watch TV and I'll bring your pudding in a minute?" I asked. They agreed to go, phew!

However, 10 minutes later, when I appear at the sitting room door with 2 banana splits (and that is a fitting desert now I come to think of it) there she is, sitting as close to him as she can get with her arms all around him. Yes, can you believe it? He is sitting on the sofa wedged against the arm of the chair and she is cuddled up as close as she can get without actually sitting on him, the floozy. Good Catholic Girl indeed! They shuffle apart as I walk in to distribute pud.

Back in the kitchen I shut the door behind me giggling and explode "She's snogging him!" to Tall Girl. She looks at me disapprovingly "You'll have to go in there in a minute" I say pleadingly "And play Gooseberry for a while, I'm not having them doing that in there, he's not even 12 yet!"

And indeed he's not. He seems very nonchalant about the whole girl friend thing, it seems to have just 'happened' to him without any effort on his part. However she seems more than intense. I am slightly worried. I have a little talk to him about being careful, in more ways than one. He is now the one wearing the look of disapproval.

Update

2011-11-04T17:29:00.003Z

Only 50 days to Christmas (yes really) and Tall Girl is fifteen next week (where did all those years go?) and Small Sprog has a Girl Friend (Big Time). Homework has taken over the house, GCSE's r us. Hours have been spent visiting Ikea recently, which lets face it, is enough to make anyone reach for the gin and I don't even drink gin. And then, suddenly, the other day I had a rare moment of clarity. Yes really, fancy that, I actually felt organised, just for a moment. The feeling didn't last long but the small pleasure of the feeling remains. And no, I haven't already written all my Christmas cards, Tall Girl forbids the early onset of Christmas until after her birthday, but I have sorted out Tall Girls room. A total revamp. She loves it and so do I. Everything now has a place, I wonder how long it will stay that way?

As for Small Sprog, his Girl Friend is in Luurrve with him, I'm not sure if it is mutual, he's not letting on. Apparently she has 'I love Small Sprog' written all up her arm most days on her return form school. Or so her (very young) mum says. Over the half term break we took her out for a day trip (she's a lovely girl), after a conversation with her mother who let me know in no uncertain terms, that she was brought up a 'Good Catholic Girl'. Gosh, I thought, I had never considered Small Sprog as a candidate for corruption.... but then again!

From last weekend

2011-10-11T20:57:00.000+01:00

Friends

2011-10-07T17:49:00.000+01:00

In the car Small Sprog taunts his sister "You've got no friends!" He says. She says something suitably scathing to him and he makes a face back at her which she doesn't see.

She has large group of quite close girl friends and she has worked hard to get to where she is. She is shy and knew no one whatsoever when she started her school 3 years ago. Now though, she seems happy with her lot, she has a nice group and they have a place somewhere in the middle of the school pecking order; all is well with the world. However, there are no boys. Her little group have resorted to 'marrying' each other on Facebook just so their status doesn't say 'single'! She may be feeling she is 'on the shelf' but I am more than happy I can tell you. On the other hand though, Small Sprog is keeping his end up (if you will excuse the pun!)

I noticed him carrying around a bit of paper yesterday evening. It was a little tatty, but I noticed he was squirreling it away rather than binning it. I didn't ask him about it, just in case.

At bedtime I went into his room to say goodnight and he was all tucked up. As I pottered around sorting out his man habit of hanging clothes up on the floor, he nipped out of bed saying "I just found this in my drawer"
"What have you got?" I ask as I notice it's the bit of paper he's been carting around all evening.
"This" He says, carefully unfolding the paper.

He is smiling proudly. There, drawn in 'Manga' style, was a brilliant drawing of him in his school uniform, waving. It was the sort of wave he does which is somewhere near his shoulder shrug, the one he does when he's not sure what to do, the one that works really well for him. It was a great likeness. "That's a fab drawing" I say to him "Who drew it for you"
"Shania" He says, all proud and a little shy.
"She's a good artist, it looks just like you" I say. He's holding really tight to it, I can see there's writing on the back but I can tell he's not going to offer up that bit for inspection.

I find him some Blue Tack and he fixes it onto his wall next to the frog photos, as I wonder if it would be really out of order to read the back of it when he's gone to school tomorrow.

He plops back into bed happily. I am glad he wanted to share his picture, he looked so proud, I don't think any one's done anything nice like that for him before. "You ought to make her something" I say, thinking that he'll not like the idea. However he says "Yes, I thought I'd make her a model, but it might get squashed on the way to school"

Gosh, I thought later, Perhaps he's a bit smitten (goodness me I am using words that my mum would use!). Then I spend the rest of the evening hoping his soft little heart doesn't get broken too easily.

They know you know...

2011-10-05T20:45:00.000+01:00

I am being stalked. Really I am, or so it feels.

I click onto my Gmail and there's a reply from Tall Girl about making Sheep Cupcakes. Then I notice, along the band at the top there is a little advert that says 'Lakeland, the home of creative baking'. And do you know what? I actually click on it, just to see and there it is, all you need to make beautiful cakes, but how does Google know?

Then later, as I'm reading an email from Mum about fitting sensors to my window in the kitchen, I notice Google helpfully asking the question "Need new windows and doors?" No! I think, I do not need new bloody windows and doors, just go away and stop hassling me.

Then I send a terse email to Significant Other, with one eye on the blue advertising bar, which suddenly changes from baking to ask soothingly if I need 'Love Relationship Advise'. Ask him, I hiss to it!

Then I try to catch it out. I flick through some old emails and find one from earlier that has NHS advice on heart palpitations. Have a gander at this, I shout at the screen. And sure enough it hears me 'Business Photocopiers, call us with your requirements'

Gotcha!

Mind you, perhaps I should be doing something a little more constructive with my time?

Tall Girls In Service Day

2011-10-04T15:22:00.001+01:00

Tall Girl and I plan a shopping trip. Her school has an In Service Day and Ex Husband has Small Sprog, who hates shopping.

"Where shall we go?" I ask her when we are planning the trip, thinking about which shops she wants to visit. "Cheltenham" is her reply!
"To see Granny?"
"No! To shop"

It is not until I think about it that I realise her thinking. It is an In Service Day; what do Teen Girls do when they're not at school? They shop (well hopefully as that's the most innocuous thing they could do when they're left home alone) All her friends will be shopping, with each other, not their mothers. She has a dilemma, shopping with me means she has access to cash (little does she know) but it also means she cannot relax, she is instead on permanent look out for anyone she knows. See them first and she dives into the nearest shop, or behind the nearest rail, heaven forbid they may see her shopping with her mother, shock horror!

So I agree to take her to Cheltenham, if only for the fact that we can relax and not be peering around shop fittings every few minutes, like something out of an old spy movie.

As we drive there she talks animatedly about her forthcoming birthday. On arrival she directs me through the town the way she likes to go. All of a sudden she starts to wave and flap her arm about. "What are you doing?" I ask her suspiciously
"Oooh, I was so excited at seeing Cult" - one of her favourite shops - "That I waved at it by accident"!
By accident? And she thinks I'm embarrassing.

Innocence

2011-09-29T22:53:00.002+01:00

"And they did something that's not normal"
Tall Girl is telling me the latest gossip to hit Year 10. It is about a boy and a girl, she won't use names.
"I bet it was normal" I say
She looks a little disgusted. "They did it in her sisters bedroom, when her sister was only downstairs" Her voice is quite disapproving.
"Well they must have been quick then" I snigger
She mulls it all over. She is still surprisingly innocent at nearly 15. I am glad of that but also surprised, especially when I read some of the stuff her friends write on Facebook.
"We talked about it all day!" She carries on "It made for an interesting Maths lesson"
I looked at her and the penny dropped, that's what they were doing; the thing she thinks isn't normal. I wait for her to carry on.
"Everyone was shouting out, what do you get if you take 1 away from 70?"
I laugh, she laughs' she knows I've 'got it'.
"It is quite normal you know" I say after we stop laughing. Her brown eyes grow like saucers. "Though you wouldn't want it spread around school like that would you?" I say, thinking I may have come across as too liberal earlier and hoping she will always have the decency to be sensible about what she does with who and who she tells.

Funny isn't it, they have sex education lessons from age 9, Tall Girl still has them at near on 15, but some things they just don't teach you... And I try to remember how old I was when I let a boy put his hand up my skirt behind one of the hedges on the school field one lunchtime. I must have been around her age I guess. Thank goodness she wears trousers to school I muse.

"Seems like you had a much more interesting day than I had then" I giggle
"Yes" She says "Thank goodness Mrs. Clarke" her PHSE teacher (that's sex Ed in school speak) didn't bring in her touchy, feely box"
I look at her and then tell her another meaning for the word 'box'
"Ewwwwww"! she says, and we both burst out laughing again

Small Sprogs reveals his secret

2011-09-28T22:53:00.000+01:00

"He's told me" Says Tall Girl, who is sitting on the kitchen worktop, feet stretched out on the draining board.
"Is he in trouble?" I ask
She shakes her head.
"Well as long as he's not upset or in trouble then that's ok"

I start preparing the tea but she is looking at me, I can feel it. "It's what I guessed yesterday" She carries on.
I'm obviously supposed to prise this one out of her. After checking that he didn't have detention and a teacher was not in any way involved I said..."He has a girl friend?"
"Yes" She says "but she's horrible!"
"What do you mean, horrible?"
"Well, she's not but her cousin is; her family smoke and take drugs and she looks plastic"
I think about this last statement, does it go with 'orange', the ones that wear too much make up?
"You can't judge her like that," I reply " just because she has undesirable relatives. What's her name?"
"Well, he couldn't remember at first, but eventually he said her name was Shania"
"Oh" I say, trying not to pass comment, but wondering which social consumer type list that name would show up on.

So Small Sprog has a girl friend, and apparently I am now allowed to know this fact. However Tall Girl is worried. "She was his new best friend Dans' girl friend last week" She tells me.
"Oh"
"Small Sprog says Dan doesn't mind"
"He probably doesn't" I say to her "boys are different"

I mull this over. Small Sprog seems to have got in with a crowd of OK boys at his new school, as far as I can tell, I start to worry about him making things difficult for himself.

At bedtime I ask Small Sprog if Dan's ok with it all. I tell him that girls will come and go but that he really needs to look after his mates. He nods. "Is she pretty?" I ask.
He nods
"What's her name?"
He remembers this time!

The Photocopier Man

2011-09-22T17:25:00.000+01:00

We had a training session at work today instead of our weekly meeting. There is a new photocopier, it is deemed we need to know how to use it properly. Apart from the pure size of it, (it's a monster), there doesn't appear to be too much difference in the operating of it. We all gather round and ooh and ahh at the thing.

The man that comes to give the demonstration is obviously used to talking to gaggles of women, he is prepared, you can tell by the look of him. He starts his demo, we are all eyes, for about 15 seconds. Honestly, if we were the children in the classrooms we'd have had 'names on the board' several times as well as a letter home threatening exclusion. There are small whispered conversations between couples at the start and later full blown heckling from the back, the poor chap didn't stand a chance really but he persevered admirably.

I have to admit that once I knew the basics, I drifted off a bit. I found myself wondering what he looked like naked, and if he was any good at things other than photocopying..... I had to pull myself together pretty quickly I can tell you, I mean not only was I having inappropriate thoughts but he was no where near the realms of being anywhere near 'fit'.

By the time coffee break was over he was still only halfway through the demo. People started to wander off to do urgent jobs. In the end I asked to be excused, my brain was full, I had a class to go to and I didn't think I'd ever need to know how to erase or enlarge a margin. I mean call me a philistine, but there's always scissors and Pritt Stick if all else fails...

Monday Evening

2011-09-19T21:20:00.002+01:00

Dinner at Mums; with wine.

"She never remembers what I tell her" Step Father complains
"He never hears what I tell him" Mum moans constantly
"What did Horace say Whinny?" I want to say

Always a mistake to drink the wine on an empty stomach before the dinner.

Step father is carving the chicken, or rather disgorging it. "It must have been a cockerel" He exclaims, "I've just found his balls"

Honestly, he's over 80 now, but he really doesn't get any better.

"DENNIS!" My mother shouts, her voice full of consternation. But it is too late, the bottle is half empty and we sit giggling together like a pair of naughty children. A few 'Actress and Bishop' jokes fly through the air as does the chicken skin, directed towards their ageing Retriever, who will eat anything but particularly loves chicken and turns into a bouncing puppy the minute she sniffs it out.

After dinner we sit replete, watching TV...

"I fancy something sweet" Says Mum
"Chocolate?" Says Dad
"All gone" She says
"You've eaten it all?"
"Yes" she replies "Got it out of the way" ate the lot "so I could go on a diet"! Well it's no good having chocolate around when you're trying to diet...

Honestly, its' like a mad house here, no wonder I turned out like I did!

Puppy love

2011-09-18T18:49:00.003+01:00

I am very lucky to have moved into my new house at about the same time as my neighbours both sides. I guess that's sort of normal on a new housing complex but I've never been in the situation before and so it seemed quite novel. Anyway, over the last 6 months (yes, that long since we moved in) I have slowly got to know them.

The Piano Teacher and Wife, have just bought an adorable puppy, well a week ago in fact. The children and I have negotiated visiting rights and I am now 'hounded' more than ever to get a puppy/kitten/lizard; no guesses to who asked for the latter!

And I have to say I did have a plan to have a pet once we were settled. A cat was my preference, but Small Sprog is the sort of boy who needs a dog and I have been doing a lot of thinking as to which would be best. Needless to say, the Lizard option was a non starter with me.

However, the more I think about it the more confused I become. Dogs are portable, for when we go away at weekends, but cat's don't need to be walked everyday and no matter how many times the children enthusiastically say that they will be the ones to walk the dog, I am not fooled.

So, just when I think I've come down on the side of a canine friend, next door get Murry, the most adorable back spaniel pup. We go and have a look. He is very cute. Perhaps we can share, I start to think; perhaps not.

Over the last 7 days, or should I say nights, I am woken at least 3 times from my slumber by Murry taking a wee. Whilst his owners are out they make encouraging noises and then congratulate him on his success. But 3 times a night?! And then, when Piano Teacher gets home from work, at about 7pm, apparently he feels compelled to put on his old clothes and 'play' with Murry in the garden. It looks a hard life but at least there's two of them training Murry... until Thursday when Wife went away, leaving Piano Teacher and Puppy home alone.

So you see this weekend when I saw Piano Teacher, as he left the house for a bike ride, I wasn't at all surprised to see him looking exhausted, and he hadn't even cycled anywhere yet. "Puppy fatigue?" I asked him wryly. He nodded. He had the pallor of a father of a New Born, and I have to say I can completely understand why. Though I think their devotion is admirable, don't get me wrong.Then, later in the day I was chatting to his Mother in Law, who is a lovely lady, who commented that the puppy was getting them used to what it would be like when they had a baby. I did think afterwards that it was more likely to be a good contraceptive rather than an incentive for more broken nights but may be I'm just an old cynic?

So now I am thinking, NO. A puppy we shall not have, there's no way I'm going back to 4 hourly feeding and nappy changing (so to speak), twice was plenty thank you very much!

Rescue dog or old moggie, that's my choices now! What do you think?

Small Sprog starts Big School...

2011-09-14T21:39:00.001+01:00

Yep, my baby, at Big School for nearly 2 weeks now. How time flies, it only seems like a few days since I heard the the midwife utter those unforgettable words "Mind his ear!" to the student nurse who was cutting the cord from around his neck. He seems to have had an early talent for producing 'moments'.

So off he goes to Big School, with his Big Bag on the Big Bus. I feel so old. How did all this time just rush by?

Anyway, how's he doing I hear you chorus? Well, so far so good. I almost don't want to say it in case it jinxes him, but, apart from not wanting to go every morning, he seems fairly happy! He's only admitted to being lost once and he says he still hasn't found the toilets yet, but I guess that's to be expected.

There is just one thing that seems to be happening to him which I didn't expect. He seems to be coping admirably with it, it is to do with girls...

Small Sprog has curly hair. Not the really tight curly sort, 'the gently wave into a curl' sort, and he likes it long ish. He also has a sister, now in year 10, at the same school. She has lots of girly friends. They think he's cute. Apparently he spends a lot of time surrounded by girls running their fingers through his hair and cooing at him. What a hardship! Funnily he doesn't seem to mind.

Apparently the other day he was outside with is mates at lunchtime while Tall Girl was in the dining hall. "Your brother's outside" says one of her friends.
"Oh" She says (I think she's secretly enjoying having him at school with her) "I'll just go out and see him"
"Can we come?" the others chorused, as they chased after her down the corridor.

Tall Girl even saw him surrounded by sixth formers at the end of last week, girls obviously. Then last night a friend of mine called round, who hasn't seen him for a long time and she ran her fingers through his hair too and practically screamed "Ooh, look at his hair!" She's 47! And today another girl told him she was in love with him, and that was on the bus before he even got to school!

Tall Girl thinks he's wearing 'Chocolate Linx'!

So how is he coping? With his usual enigmatic smile and a small shrug of his shoulders. The 'Smile and Shrug Amiably' method seems to get him everywhere, and anywhere, with most people, about anything. Long may it last (fingers crossed)

Just meant to be?

2011-09-05T22:09:00.003+01:00

I went back to the Old Family Home this afternoon, the children are with their father until Wednesday and I needed to check some stuff with Tall Girl. I had come from the supermarket and was dying for a wee! Sitting on the downstairs loo I thought about how long it had been since I last sat there. Over 2 years was my conclusion. It's not often you can revisit a house so intimately once you've moved out...

Anyway, before we sat down to discuss school, Ex husband made us cups of tea and produced cake. "Banana, or lemon cake?" He pronounced. "I made the banana cake" He added. I opted for that one, it looked delicious.

We sat for quite sometime, discussing school and children; when to get dyslexic centre sessions, who to do the next assessment, Small Sprogs adventure at the weekend to see the Gorilla Trail, looking at photos, talking about the future. I guess I am lucky that we can do that, all of us together (although Small Sprog made a quick exit to play with one of the Nit Children; no point in aimless talk when there are larks to be had!)

As I drove home I realised how far we've come. I still get on with Ex husband as well as we ever did before things went wrong. It always underlines my initial feelings...that we should have just stayed 'just friends'. But then we'd not have our lovely children. May be some things are just meant to be.

Recently I have been gardening. A new house also means a band new garden. I have found designing and planting my new garden an unexpected pleasure. I even enjoy mowing the lawn. I had never done that job before. Our marriage followed 'traditional' roles. I remember Ex husband used to spend what seemed like whole summers in the garden. I was never very interested then. While he was in the garden on a Sunday morning, I often used to bake cakes. Ex husband would never have done that job either.

And now look at us. I can't get enough of being in the garden and he is baking banana cake, very delicious it was too. So how come we couldn't see though all the mundane chores and dull life we had made for ourselves before? Why were we so locked into our own worlds?

I constantly reflect. It is impossible not to, with two children to look after. Still no regrets, I love my new life. I love my freedom and my autonomy even though I know it is selfish. Maybe I was never made for married life? Yet there is always the thought that I should have made more effort to make it work. Should I? For the children's sake? We'll never know now.

A nice quiet afternoon in the Mother dept.

2011-08-17T23:32:00.002+01:00

It's not often I get to see Mum without the children, so as they're away with their Dad at the moment I thought I'd pop up for the day, she's always good for some entertainment and today was no exception.

She has a mouse, they have called it Micky, for want of a more original name I'm sure, living in a hole in the garden wall. As we sat about on the patio he made an appearance. He was very cute indeed and sat eating the seed they had provided, very obligingly, while we looked on. Then came another Micky. "Oh!" says Mum. "There's two! I hope they're both boys"

"You're hoping for gay mice?!" I mutter through my chocolate slice

"Of course!" She exclaims, "Else we might get an outbreak!"

"Well I'm sure they will have had babies at least once by now" I gloat "There's probably hundreds in that hole! And what if they get in the garage?" I carry on "I suppose you'll snap their little heads off with a mouse trap if they get in there?"

I suddenly realised I might have gone too far with that statement. We kept watching the two mice, in silence.

I just hope that the poor little things are sensible enough to come out one at a time in the future and then she can go on thinking there's only one Micky, with the occasional visit from his 'chum' over the hedge"

Later on when we were ensconced in front of the news on the TV she announced whole heartedly that she had a solution for all the rioting that's been going on. "I know what they should do to them"

"What's that then Mum?" I replied

"Cut off all their hoods, that would stop them, and stop selling hoodies in the shops too!"

If only David Cameron had asked her earlier...

Through Other People's eyes

2011-08-15T23:16:00.008+01:00

At the beginning of the school holidays I went for a walk with Mother of Four. It has been well over a year since I have seen her, may be nearly two, though once we are together it feels like only yesterday. I love having friends like that, ones that know you so well that you can pick up at any point and they know how you feel, ones that you can discuss anything with and who you can sit with for hours putting the world to rights.

She has always lived more of a chaotic life, and certainly doesn't follow many norms, but I can always rely on her to tell the truth.

As we walked along in the summer sun, all children in tow but in various groups based on age and gender dotted along the path behind us, we started to catch up with the last 12 months of family life. It was over 2 years ago now that we spent New Years Eve together, her telling me how awful her marriage was, and me listening to her whilst trudging about in the snow!

"I'm sorry I haven't been in touch" she says after we've caught up with a few months of news.
"That's OK" I reply "We all have such busy lives don't we?"
"Yes" She says " But I deliberately kept away"
"Oh" (I told you I could always rely on her to be honest) I frowned at her enquiringly, seeking an answer.
"You see, I didn't want to know about how you were doing because I was jealous"
I looked at her with incredulity, after all the drama of the last 2 years I really couldn't see what anyone could be jealous of.
"You were brave enough to do it..." She carried on "You left him, and you made a life for you and your children, you saw it through to the end. You had the courage."
"And broke up the family home" I replied "And gave the children 2 single parents to live with in turn, with little financial security, I don't think that's much to be jealous of, do you?!" (I still feel unbearably guilty and sad when I think about how I destroyed the children's family unit.)
"But you're a good example to your daughter" She exclaimed. "You were strong and refused to live a lie. I wanted all you had" She continued "But I wasn't strong enough, even though I tried"
I have to admit, I've never thought of it quite like that.

She explained that it has been only in the last few weeks that she and her husband have reconciled themselves. She feels they might survive now, she is at least speaking to him! And I look at her and wonder if staying power is good or foolish, then realise there is no one answer to any question that's worth asking.

Later on that evening I texted her: "Great day and thanks for your honesty, I really appreciate it" And I did, it helped me explain other peoples reactions. I think I wrote ages ago, how some friends keep in touch less now and how I miss them, and perhaps she has provided an alternative answer to why. So many people were completely shocked when my marriage failed. Several said it made them look to their own; were they secure? Apparently we were, from the outside, the 'perfect' couple. So perhaps that's why one or two have dropped by the wayside, not because they didn't approve of me (as I had thought) but because they didn't trust their own positions. And in a way I'd rather it was that, because disapproval is far more difficult to cope with.

At the Doctors

2011-07-27T23:41:00.003+01:00

Tall Girl is tired and run down - aren't we all? But it's been a while so I thought I should get her checked out so that she can enjoy her 6 weeks off school. I'm sure it's just the teenage stage of wanting to sleep all day and wake up in the evening. Anyway I rang the doctors just to be sure and she said to book in with the nurse for a blood test.

Poor Tall Girl is nervous of needles, she's nervous of lots of things, wasps, moths, strange men, big dogs, hospitals, the dark....you name it, she's scared of it, almost. Though she is much better now at 14 than she has ever been before. However needles are probably her Room 101. So as she came down stairs on Monday morning, the first day of the holidays, all chirpy and asking if I'd spoken to the Doctor, it was with great trepidation that I told her about the blood test.

She cried, she shouted, there was much gnashing of teeth! "I'm not having it!" She declared several times. And on it went. In the end I persuaded her to go to the appointment and talk to the nurse about it. She agreed. At least I could get her there, I thought, and perhaps the nurse could persuade her to go through with it.

So at 2.30pm we entered the surgery, Small Sprog in tow with his iPod to keep him busy. We sat in the waiting room for a short time, and just as I thought she was about to come apart at the seams we were called in.

Nurse Debbie was an angel. She was the kindest most caring nurse you could wish for. She started to reassure Tall Girl and tell her all about what would happen and showed her the needles and explained how she would do the procedure. Tall Girl warmed to the idea. A little.

All of a sudden I realised Small Sprog was very quiet. I looked across at him. He was turning green. It was the sight of the needle. "I think I'll just wait outside" He said in his best grown up voice, and off he went out into the corridor. The nurse on the other hand spent ages with Tall Girl, who was still refusing. The best we could get from her was to agree to come back in 2 days time.

When Tall Girl and I left the room we went to pick up Small Sprog. He didn't look any better.
"Are you ok?" I ask him, trying to hide a grin
"No!" He replied "I just thought I'd escape to the waiting room, but then I had to listen to 6 people discussing their diseases!"
Poor Small Sprog, escaping one graphic medical drama only to find another waiting for him in the waiting room. It's shame he has such a weak stomach, he had to be rushed home for an emergency toilet visit as soon as we left, it had upset him so much. Perhaps he has too much empathy!

As for Tall Girl, she did go through with her blood test today, though it was a bit touch and go. I won't go into details, save to say that the stress of it all made her vomit into the washing up bowl, once back home. But it's done now and that is enough of that!

Chalk and Cheese

2011-07-20T22:03:00.004+01:00

Tall Girl came home flouting all her end of year subject 'level's today. We looked at them over the dinner table. They were good; they were average, which is good considering her dyslexia (and general lack of enthusiasm!)

Small Sprog asked to be excused form the table. As he left the room he said he though he'd be hopeless at 'Big School'. "No you won't" I argued "You've done so well this year". And he has. In fact, I think he has exceeded his sisters standards at the same age. Yet he doesn't take praise easily, believe me I do try.

Yesterday Tall Girl said that she'd been discussing with her dad that when she's passed her driving test she's going to get a second hand Fiat 500. "Really?" I say to her, eyebrows raised to the sky "Then you'd better start saving up!" (She's never got any money, it burns a hole in her pocket too quickly) I suspect she thinks Daddy will buy her the car. And there's me thinking I might be able to afford a newish car myself in a few years time and that she'd be happy with my old one. Dream on on both counts!

Small Sprog on the other hand has been saving up for his car for a year or so, ever since I told him I had done so when I was his age. My first car was £500, he already has as much. Tall Girl can't save for toffee. They are so different, which is how it should be I guess, and they are developing together, in their own ways.

Oh yes, I nearly forgot, she got a certificate at prize giving too today (as, I suspect, did most children). However I wasn't there to witness it, that would have been Far Too Embarrassing apparently!

Tall Girl makes a non-political point.

2011-07-13T17:34:00.000+01:00

Small Sprog is soon to be at Tall Girls school, in less than 3 weeks time, if you discount the summer holidays. I have tried to tell her to keep her views to herself when they have been less than positive but some have slipped out.

The other day I overheard her relaying the girl pecking order, or some such.

"Well, there's The Popular Ones" I hear her explain "Then there are The Chavs, (I ask you?!) then there are The Orange Ones"

I felt I had to intervene at this point.

"The Orange Ones?" I exclaimed. We live in Bristol and have no marching around here!

"Yes, you know, the ones who wear foundation 3 shades darker than their skin colour (I think Small Sprog may have lost the thread by now) and forget to smooth it down their necks so that you can see a tide mark just under their chin"!

I nodded. Yes I knew the ones. Her observations made me laugh. As for Small Sprog, I don't suppose he understood a word of it, but then, that's just as well.

Give me strength not vomit!

2011-07-13T09:05:00.001+01:00

Small Sprog had his first day at 'Big School' yesterday. He took it in his stride and went in happily when I dropped him off in the morning. I was due to pick him up and his friend (they are the only 2 children going from his school so safety in numbers!) in the afternoon.

When I got home I decided to make some cakes for them to eat on their journey home to celebrate their first day. Recently things aren't quite turning out as expected here.

The cakes were fine, in fact they came out quite well and I set off back to school in the afternoon hoping they would enjoy them. I was looking forward to hearing their news. However I was met by a very sad Small Sprog who was feeling wretched with a headache. His friend managed 2 cakes but Small Sprog felt too ill.

It's a 30 minute journey between home and school and I could see he was quite poorly, and as he got out of the car he proceeded to vomit on his new shoes! Poor Small Sprog. At least he didn't do it in my car!

He was ill most of the evening but by 10pm had fallen asleep. I had my fingers crossed for a peaceful night when Tall Girl appeared looking less than happy. She had had a sore throat for a few days but I put it down to the excitement and shouting that went on at the concert she attended at the weekend.

"What's the matter?" I asked her, hoping for good news
"I think I've got throat cancer"! She exclaims, tearfully "Like in the picture at the dentists"
I manage to keep a smirk inside. The poor thing does always over react, such a hypochondriac. "It's just a sore throat, let me have a look". Then we performed a little dance with the spotlight in the bathroom and a magnifying mirror. "You'll have to bend your knees" I squeal, teetering on my toes and wobbling all over the place. She is as tall as me now and it's like trying to look down the neck of a giraffe. I get a glimpse of redness, maybe a spot (please don't let it be tonsillitis) I manage to assure her she doesn't have throat cancer and say that if it gets any worse we'll get the doctor to look at it.

Exhausted I slump into my bed. I felt like I'd had a full on night at A&E.

PS. To add insult to injury, when I phoned into school this morning to say Small Sprog had been sick they said I'd have to keep him off for 48 hours. It's the new rules. That means me not being able to work tomorrow and therefore losing a days pay. That's twice this month...great.

Confidence

2011-07-12T18:43:00.001+01:00

I try not to write about work but I am going to indulge this once.

It's not been a very enjoyable year as I have worked with a teacher who is very'self contained'. I have often felt undermined, or under the thumb. But this is not the reason for this post.

The end of term play is almost upon us and teachers are asking for props to be made. I often get the job, I have the reputation for being 'arty' and I do like helping with that sort of thing. The trouble is they ask for the most impossible things! And the school, like most others, is as poor as a church mouse right now (or so they claim) so the resource cupboard is empty. There's only so much you can do with old cardboard boxes brought in from the wheely bins, and Sellotape!

Anyway, last week I was asked to make a giant inhaler, the sort used for asthma, bit much much bigger. I got going with my boxes, paper and tape. It took me much longer than it should have and when it was done I didn't think much of it. However I left it upstairs in the relevant place and moved on to other things.

Towards the end of the afternoon, one of the teachers I used to work with said to me "You know that inhaler?"
"Yes" I said "I didn't make a very good job of it did I?"
"Well I was going to say it looked fantastic!" He said genuinely enough.

I felt myself beam. Silly really, over a bit of cardboard and tape. But it was more than that. It's been a rough ride at work since last September, pretty rough elsewhere in parts too, and I haven't had a 'thank you' or a 'well done' for a very long time. I hadn't realised how much confidence suffers in this situation. Just one person saying I'd done a good job, albeit ridiculous, made me feel really good for a moment.

It was a good moment.

I still have no idea what I'll be doing at work next term. What other job changes at the drop of a hat with no notice? I am hoping I will work with someone less controlling. Fingers crossed

Strawberry Sunday

2011-07-11T18:18:00.003+01:00

Strawberry picking, a wonderful summer event, followed by jam making; it satisfies the 'hunter / gatherer' in me. And it is July, you'd think it was the perfect time. So off we go to our usual patch, but no. Loads of green strawberries, loads of plants with flowers on, loads of plants that have had strawberries on previously but none to pick. How disappointing.

Then it rained! We sat in the car until it stopped playing pencil and paper games, with the children bickering in the back and me hanging my head out of the car window every few minutes to see if the rain had stopped.

It did, eventually stop, so off we ventured again. We went on the hunt for raspberries next but got waylaid in the blackberry patch instead. Now you'd think it was much too early in the season for blackberries but these are the cultivated variety and are simply huge. Covered in juice and excitedly shouting out 'Look at this one!'we compared size and flavour. Reminding the children to only pick the very black ones we greedily filled our baskets as the rain started again.

As we left the nice lady at the farm said they'd have plenty of fruit right through to September, which is just as well as we are planning another visit soon.

Meanwhile the blackberries are already made into jam, with a few left over for blackberry and apple crumble. It may not look like summer has arrived yet outside, but in my kitchen it already smells like autumn.

Friday nights in

2011-07-08T21:03:00.001+01:00

Small Sprog is dancing in the kitchen, it must be Friday night! He interprets the words of the songs with actions; not always suitable. He makes me laugh (and I need that tonight), the interpretation of the 'F' word that crops up (unsuitably) in the song is something to behold I can tell you, and not for the faint hearted.

He is light on his feet as he pogo's around the kitchen, which is undoubtedly the best place in the house to dance because of all the reflective surfaces. He watches himself, his brown curly mop of a hair-do bouncing along with the rhythm.

He brought his school report home today, it is glowing though not academic. 'Quiet and reflective' it says (if only she could see him now) 'A bright boy'. I am proud. Always proud. I want to hug him but he no longer wants hugs as he did as a small boy. He is struggling with the growing up process, too young to understand hugs are important no matter what age we are, too old to do it without thinking.

Tonight doesn't feel like a Friday night even though Small Sprog is dancing in the kitchen and I have a half full glass of red on the go. Tonight feels a little flat, though I try to keep up the spirits. Its been an emotional week, and I have come to terms with it all.

Sometimes I really wish I had a good friend to be with, someone just around the corner who would pop round in times of need. All my friends are married with kids, they live busy lives, some have moved away. Sometimes I feel isolated as life goes on around me, but hey, I'm just feeling a little delicate right now...

You don't always appreciate the mundane.

2011-07-07T21:23:00.010+01:00

When we went to mediation, nearly 18 months ago - but what seems like a different lifetime away - we discussed and agreed childcare. Ex husband wanted to work towards having the children every other week, for a whole week - a 50/50 split. At the time we discussed that, it was decided by him that this would start was once Small Sprog was settled at senior school. Christmas this year. I never thought it would happen.

At the time it seemed a lifetime away; I had this thought that once the children were settled with me, that they would want to stay, would be familiar with the routine and would not want to change it. Recently, since we have moved and become settled, in our own home at last, I have been trying to build a home that they would enjoy living in, a family home, a home for us...That was then.

Recently the prospect of sharing their care equally has been haunting me, perhaps because Small Sprog has only 2 weeks left at Junior school. I am anticipating an email from Ex H. Emails from him are the only thing that makes my heart fall now, but at least there are no more awful solicitors letters dropping through the door every five minutes any more.

What will I say if he asks to have them? I decided to ask the children what they thought about sharing their time 50/50, after all, they're old enough now to decide. I felt so confident. We were happy in our new home, we had plans, we had a routine, thought we might get a pet.

I asked Tall Girl first, would she ever want to spend a week at daddys and a week at mine? She said she would. I was shocked. Really? I asked her. She didn't even needed time to think about it. It cut me to the core. I asked Small Sprog the same question this week. He jumped at the chance. I cried a lot yesterday, but not in front of them obviously.

What more could I do for them? I asked my Mum in an email. What have I failed to do? Like a spoilt child I wanted to be the best parent, I wanted to have the homeliest home, I wanted my children around me, not only half the time. I work in a school so as to have all the time I can with them. I enjoy their company; I thought I would still be needed for at least a few more years yet. I am not ready to lose them, it seems much too soon.

Then I feel angry inside. He was such a hands off father when we all lived together, he hardly ever wanted to spend time with them and retreated to the garden during most of the summer. He often seemed to regard them as a nuisance. Tall Girl even admitted that she used to be scared of him once.

So what has happened? He seems to be the perfect father now, spends loads of time with them on his weekends and when he doesn't (because he's still in the family home) all their friends are still on the street for them to play with. They have a great time, with or without him, as it should be I guess. For them, that must still feel like their 'real' home.

However whether he wants them 50/50 now or not is irrelevant really. They both want to spend more time there, I have already lost them...

I spent some time here feeling bereft. My heart hurt. It seems so unfair that they don't remember all the things that they have done with me over all their lives. So much time spent together, but they don't seem to remember any of it.

How will I feel being a part time mum? In most ways it is all my own fault, I split the family up, it was selfish and this is my punishment. So every moment I have them now is precious, it always has been, but you don't always appreciate the mundane.

I will leave you with an excerpt from an email from my lovely Mum. No matter what happens, at least I know, while she is on this earth, that she loves me and will always be there...

It will all be fine for a while, but he won't change. He 'll begin to be the hands off father he once was, and when he starts treating them as a nuisance, I'll think it will be a different story. I shall never forget the day when we were all sitting down for a meal, you were in the kitchen and TG was sitting at the end of the table with her back to the window and asked him if she could shut the conservatory door as it was making her dinner cold and he said "NO". I could have cried for her. A few treatments like that and they will soon realise which side their bread is buttered.I do know that they have 'The Nit Children' to play with, but as they get older that won't last forever. I can't think what their Christmases will be like without your touch.

You have absolutely nothing to reproach yourself for. You have been a wonderful mother to them, and done so much for them and with them. Think of all the wonderful birthday parties you have given them all the wonderful themes you have created and fun you have given them.Oh, yes he was there but what did he contribute to it all.Will they stir the Christmas cake with him and have a wish...

Give them time, they aren't stupid, they will think it all out for themselves eventually.

I hope she's right

Today I feel sad

2011-06-21T14:09:00.003+01:00

Small Sprog has been at his dads this weekend as has his sister. He always gets dropped off here with me at 7.30am before school every other Tuesday morning (I have always thought this ridiculous when he could come home on a Monday night, anyway, that's how things go I suppose).

So this year both children were away on my birthday. Tall Girl sent a Happy Birthday text before school yesterday and posted on my Facebook page. It was enough to know she had not forgotten and had thought about me. I heard nothing from Small Sprog (despite his owning a phone, email and an illegal - age wise- Facebook page set up in cahoots with his sisters help!)

This morning when I opened the front door to him he did his usual disappearing act into the living room to watch TV. Perhaps he had forgotten that it was my birthday yesterday? However, on watching a news item about someone else's birthday he commented that it was the day after mine. There, I thought, he hasn't forgotten.

But such a great sadness came over me. He had not wished me happy birthday when he saw me today, no words, no card, no text, no small scribbled drawing, nothing. I felt empty, abandoned.

Is it wrong of me to expect an acknowledgement, no matter how small? He wouldn't have had a chance to buy anything but words cost nothing and a home-made card is treasured forever. What have I done wrong? Have I not tried to bring him up to do all these things, to make a fuss of people we love and friends we treasure? Do we not always make cards for friends, for Granny? I even still get them to make cards for their dad on his birthday (though I did not insist for Fathers day this year, the first time. But I did take them to the shop to buy him a Fathers Day gift which Tall Girl had decided on)

Is it wrong to feel so desolated? Perhaps I am being silly. He is only 11. Yet I am doubting my parenting skills even now. By now, shouldn't the whole palaver of celebrating birthdays be ingrained, isn't it all part of being a social being, being aware of others feelings? How would he feel if we all ignored his birthday?! We have traditions on birthdays, special breakfasts, a birthday banner and balloons, a cake, cards, presents for all our birthdays, all those things. Has all this not made an impression?

I had a meal with my parents last night. Later in the evening my lovely Mum gave me a food parcel to bring home. "The children will want to celebrate your birthday" She said "They'll be sad they've missed it" Inside the parcel was a homemade birthday cake complete with candles (though not the full amount!), some chocolate slices, meringues, cream and strawberries. All the ingredients for a great birthday tea.

I unpacked it all today and gazed. Such a lovely thoughtful thing that she has done for us all, but I really don't feel like celebrating anymore. A small thing, but I feel suddenly empty.

Got him!

2011-06-20T16:12:00.001+01:00

I had just laid down to sleep, well to read a little really but soon to sleep, when I saw him. Huge he was, and brown, motionless for now but soon to move around threateningly. My heart missed a beat, I stared him out but he waited there menacingly, still but not disguised.

I formulated a plan in my head. I needed to be quiet. I needed to move with the stealth that he himself had used when, earlier on, he had manoeuvred himself into his current position. The children were already asleep, I didn't want to frighten them.

I moved slowly from my bed. Anything could disturb him, and once he was on the move I was lost.

I crept downstairs, located the hoover, took the hose connection and returned upstairs with it pointing at the ready. Last time I had tried fly spray, to which it had seemed immune. I certainly wasn't trying that method again! On the landing I plugged in the Dyson, crept into my room, pointed the hose at the lampshade, pressed the 'on' button and swooosh.... Sucked the moth into the abyss! I could hear his great wings flapping, ewwww! One more blast of suction and he was done for.

Phew!

Now I'm sorry if you are fond of moths, and I know some are quite rare. I love nature myself. I will catch spiders and release them, bees and other insects too but when it comes to moths, it's them or me I can tell you. And in the past it's not always me that wins. I had a run in with one last year that was immune to fly spray. That was a Very Nasty Business...

It is my birthday today. I am a year older. I am hoping that one day I will grow out of my moth and butterfly phobia!

While you're here please help yourself to cake (mind the crumbs on the carpet, I've just moved to a new house you know!)

What are you scared of?

Small Sprog again...

2011-05-27T14:04:00.000+01:00

"Can I get out of the car through the window mum?" says Small Sprog after school. I thought for a minute. My initial response on the tip of my tongue was NO! But then I thought, why not? It wasn't going to do any harm, was it?
"Yes" I replied. His face lit up. I opened the electric windows and he was out in a trice. "Can I do it again?" He shouts "Can I get in that way, can I?"
Hum, sometimes one makes the wrong choices! What had I started?

We went to the bank and I was thinking he may have forgotten on returning to the car. Who was I trying to kid. "Can I get in through the window?" He says excitedly.
"Well, it's not possible is it?" I say "'Cause I have to open the door to put the key in to open the window in the first place, there's not point in going through the window when the doors open"
He was crestfallen. My grown up logic was totally boring.
"Hang on" I said as I opened the door and placed the key in the ignition, put down the window and shut the door again "Go on then!" In he got, pleased with himself.
"Your turn!" he squeals from the passenger seat.
I did wonder if anyone was watching the ridiculous turn of events as it unfolded, it can't possibly have made sense to a bystander. (And no, I didn't!)

At tea time he tried to gross his sister out by covering his mashed potatoes with tomato sauce. Instead of building a 'volcacno' of potato and then filling it with red hot 'lava', he had leveled it all on his plate and was zigzagging the sauce too and fro. What happened to the table rule of not playing with your food, I thought absentmindedly as I watched him? I really must try harder.
"That's enough sauce!" was about all I could muster, it was almost mesmerising watching the sauce slowly dribble onto his mash. I must have been tired, what was I thinking?
"Look!" He suddenly exclaims "A Jackson Pollock!"
"Oh Yes" We both exclaim.
"We could sell that!"
I guess Damien Hurst has done worse!

Mrs Dean

2011-05-24T15:01:00.000+01:00

‘So have you written that book yet?’ She asked, eyes wide open.

‘Ha!’ I laughed

‘Well, you have the time now’

‘Yes, but I can only write when things are in turmoil, now every thing's calmed down, I’ve lost the inspiration. Besides, life’s all a bit boring now!’

‘Boring? ‘She gave me a look.

‘I know, I know! Not boring, not boring at all’ I smile, slightly ashamed

She understands. Not boring, boring was sharing your life with someone who had lost the will to enjoy life itself. Boring was only having sex once in a ‘Blue Moon’. Boring was making dinner every night for years on end in a loveless marriage, keeping home, ironing, washing, making packed lunches....No, not boring, just stable now.

There was an acceptance, an acknowledgement between us. I watched her face, surveyed her demeanour. We had known each other for, how long? It must have been 20 years now. Goodness was it really that long since I had moved in for 2 weeks and stayed for 6 months. Was it really that long since she was fussing about having blooming polyanthus in the garden in December?

She must have been 15 years my senior, possibly more, but she didn’t look much different from the first time I’d met her, maybe a little thicker at the waist, but then who wasn’t once one had passed what used to be called ‘Middle Age’. ( What were those pills that people used to buy for the over 40’s when I was a teenager? I can remember Mum buying some to give as a ‘tongue in cheek’ present. I was innocent then, I had wondered what they were for but was vaguely aware of some sort of adult giggling, and there was the – awful - thought that they, or the giving of them, might contain some sort of sexual connotations. Heaven forbid!)

She was beautiful in an assured way, her hair the colour of golden corn, her skin pale and freckled like a child after a day on the beach. There were lines, when I looked carefully, around her eyes, the smiling sort. And her mouth, those lines that smokers get from pursing up their lips for a drag, were just beginning to appear.

She had lost two husbands in her life, both through illlness rather than carelessness. She had owned two naughty dogs, had had two beautiful children. She was now living in two homes, her own, that I had once lived in with her and the house that she shared with her lover...

More moments from suburbia...

2011-05-15T17:15:00.003+01:00

At last, the end of year 9 exams and year 6 SAT's! At least both children were suffering during the same week, or was it just me that was suffering?

"How did your French exam go?" I asked Tall Girl after the event. She's not too hot on French and uses Google Translate for her homework, but what can you do?!
"I think I did quite well" She assures me smiling.
"Really?" I say, hoping she doesn't pick up on my incredulity. "What about your written paragraph?"
"Yes" She continues "I wrote loads, and when I didn't know the French words I just wrote them in English"!
"Ah"
What else could I say?

Meanwhile Small Sprog stoically rode to school in the car every morning knowing that there was no way he could get out of his exams. "I hate SAT's" was his mantra all week. On Friday morning he was in tears before school. Not only was he still doing exams but apparently he was due to stand up in front of the whole school in assembly and speak. (This isn't on his wish list of things to look forward to, even though, at home, he is the most gregarious of all of us.) Now if this had been Tall Girl she would have wailed and fussed and there would have been much angst and gnashing of teeth about it for weeks before hand, but Small Sprog being Small Sprog uses the 'Ostritch Method' when anything scary is about to happen; he ignores it until it is almost upon him. Hence me knowing nothing of his up and coming speech until we are on the way to school.

I pass him a tissue to dry his eyes. He blows his nose, thinks for a while and then says "Must be awful being a tissue Mum"
I gave him a weary look
He throws the tissue over his shoulder and says "They must feel so discarded"

Honestly, what am I going to do with him?

2011-05-09T09:53:00.000+01:00

This morning I felt suddenly overcome by a sense of freedom and independence. It has been a long time coming but it feels soooo good.

Settling into suburbia...

2011-05-05T17:37:00.004+01:00

It's been a few weeks since we moved in now, though it doesn't seem that long as the time has been interspersed with holidays and weekends away, which were all lovely and very welcome. However, here we are, home at last; boxes unpacked, books on shelves, Small Sprog 'goggling' the TV from his favourite sofa, wet towels drying on the bedroom floor and the first stains on the new carpet. Well, to be expected I suppose and at least it wasn't me who spilled the spill.

So far I have still not caved into requests for pets various, though Tall Girl has a friend with a cat who has, inconsiderately, just given birth to several kittens that look adorable, and everyone in the world seems to be getting a new puppy at the moment; I fear a conspiracy, but as I said, nothing furry has passed the threshold. Yet. (Apart from Small Sprog, who seriously needs a hair cut)

The neighbours (we all moved in within 10 days of each other) all seem really friendly and quiet too, which is fantastic, though I'm sure they may not say the same about us, singing in the kitchen can sometimes get out of hand. The man on one side of us plays the piano, but he does it so beautifully it's a complete pleasure to hear him. (I'm not sure he would say the same of our singing) but there's the problem. 'The Man Next Door'. Well not him exactly, not 'him' at all in fact, just his name, both their names. I have this dreadful habit of forgetting as soon as I'm told a name!

I was sensible when I was introduced to the neighbours the other side, I must have been concentrating, and I came inside and wrote their names down; Paul, Maxine and Louis the dog. I wasn't so clever with the 'nextdoors' on the other side though. He introduced himself as I was leaving the house and before my car had rolled off the drive the name had gone, poof, out of my head forever! Now is it just me or is that normal? Perhaps my age is catching up with me? Though, come to think of it, I think I've always been this bad.

Anyway, yesterday as we unintentionally 'put out the bins' together he gives me a cheery 'Hello Suburbia' just like that. He can remember my name, I have no idea of his. What can I do? Suggestions below please!

So that's it so far folks. Riveting isn't it? A regular life, settled, a home of our own blah di blah. It has occurred to me, as I write, that here I am again putting bins out in unison, that there may be multiple gardening occurring on sunny weekends, that washing will flutter daintily on several washing lines on a Monday morning. From suburbia, there seems no escape!

(One day a house in the country, one day, maybe...I can always dream)

Home is where the heart is...

2011-04-21T22:21:00.002+01:00

Small Sprog looked longingly at the house. "Can't we stay Mummy?" he pleads as I carry on packing boxes. "Not really" I say, "It's not really ours to keep"

That was over a week ago.

On Monday we went back to the old house to pick up post. The place, which I have to admit did feel so much like home as soon as we'd moved in last year, was completely empty. It even smelt different.

It's almost a privilege to be able to return to the old home once you've decamped to the new. Not always possible to say your goodbyes to the inside so thoroughly.

Tall Girl went to look at her room while Small Sprog sat on the kitchen work top. She came down again "It doesn't look like home any more" She said, almost disappointed.
"The other house feels like home now" Says Small Sprog, "It's got all our things in it"
Which just goes to prove, I guess, that home is what you make it.

I'm really glad they feel they have a new home now and not just a new house. For me it all still seems a bit unreal.

Almost back to normal

2011-04-18T22:06:00.002+01:00

We've been here a whole week. It was exhausting but all that has passed now...

The last things to pack before we moved was the children's soft toys. They have always had a small selection of truly loved ones on their beds. Into the box they went, that same box that the soft toys had arrived in, just over a year ago, the one the children had written all over; 'this way up', 'live bears do not crush'.

I remembered the year before, when we were moving out of the family home. They had created the box then, chosen their toys, split them; some for Daddy's house, some for ours. It had broken my heart, toys that had settled on their beds since birth were lovingly divided, the deed was certainly significant.

This year it was only harrowing for the inhabitants of the box! Poor furry toys, all crammed into their temporary cardboard home.

However, not all the toys had made it into the box

When she was a baby, Tall Girl was quite unsettled. We tried all sorts of things to try and settle her, one of which was to buy her a soft toy to clutch; Larry, Fat Larry actually, named after the '80's group. Larry the Lamb was a hit, she loved him, so much so that she wouldn't sleep or go anywhere without him. So much so that we had to buy 2, just in case.

Anyway, Larry is still with us (luckily one for each house!) and she still swears she can't sleep without him, though he is a shadow of his former self, 14 years older and slightly bald in places, not exactly fat any more either. We have a family joke that she will wear him about her person as she goes down the aisle. She says she will wear him on a tiara!

So as I was checking all the last minute things before the removal van arrived, I walked into Tall Girls room and closed all the drawers of her bedside chest. The removal men would move as many chests as they could, contents intact. As I checked the top drawer of the chest I could see a little beige leg poking out. I opened up the drawer and there was Larry looking up at me. I smiled. She hadn't trusted the box with her treasured cargo, oh no, the box might get lost en route (though we have only moved a few streets away) but the chest would surely get there, and so, therefore, would Larry...

Tomorrow the children go to Cornwall with their Dad for a week. I will miss them dreadfully, I used to love having them all to myself for the long school holidays while their Dad was at work. Tonight he has texted her to say that he has packed all their things. I asked her if she had checked with him to make sure he'd remembered to pack 'The Other Larry'. "Oh!" she says, clutching her phone "Capitals at the ready!" and off she goes tap tap tapping with another text to her Dad.

2011-04-11T07:50:00.000+01:00

Today I am moving house. After so much waiting it seems quite unreal.

See you on the other side, internet connection permitting!

A new sort of Suburbia

2011-03-31T22:15:00.002+01:00

After over 2 years, I have reached the end of the tunnel, I think, I hope. I was not sure I'd ever make it. Today I picked up the keys to our new house. Today it is officially mine. It feels strange, almost an anticlimax, so long in the planning, yet all of a sudden it came before I was ready.

We are not moving in for 10 days yet, I can't wait to make it home. Yet we have been so happy in our rented house, it is going to be difficult to match.

A new phase. How on earth did I get here? I really don't recall.

Love (Part 3) and war

2011-03-25T23:22:00.016Z

This week I have bought curtains and lampshades for our new house. Contracts have, at last, been exchanged and we move within 4 weeks!

Along with the curtains, I bought Tall Girl a little present for her new room, some wooden letters joined together, just like the ones here, spelling out the word 'love'. She was delighted when I gave it to her.

As an aside; we have a set of gold letters that belong in the living room and say the same thing, only they are not joined so can be 'fiddled with', often spelling Olive; with the slim side of a matchbox intervening as the letter 'i'. Very funny - you know who you are...

Anyway, a little later on I picked up Small Sprog from school. The letters were still in the car. I opened the door and he jumped in, picked up the word and said 'Hey! I really like this'

'Gosh' I thought 'Maybe he really is in touch with his feminine side'

'Look' He says brandishing the word at me upside-down, holding on firmly to the capital 'L'. 'It makes a great gun'!

Shame he is a bit too young to understand the word 'Ironic'

Love (part 2) Depression

2011-03-23T23:17:00.006Z

She was in a state, shaking and trying not to cry. I take it all in, the whole scene, knowing that this is not right, not 'normal' behaviour. I tell her to take some big breaths, relax, slow down.
'But I get like this a lot now Billy'
That's what she calls me, Billy.
'I had to phone the bank the other day, they wanted some information and I couldn't find it and I got myself into such a state and started shaking and...'
She breaks down. I hate to see her like this but I've seen it before. It can start like this, I think to myself. And I hope I am wrong.

We were trying to book a holiday on line. The place she had set her heart on was not available, however her next choice was so we booked it immediately. It was all too much for her. The disappointment of loosing her first choice, (to me seemed totally out of proportion) the quickness of booking on line.

What makes it worse, my step father makes it unbearably clear, albeit with a stealthy delivery, that he would really rather stay at home. He says he wishes she had booked somewhere further east (we are talking Devon/Dorset border here rather than 'The Far East') She wishes he was more enthusiastic, they never go away together. The sadness of the situation slowly creeps under my skin, like a sort of osmosis, a passive process; I have felt it before.

Before I was married and had a family I remember her sitting on a dinning chair in my living room saying that she had nothing left to live for. There have been times when I have wanted to point out, since then, how much she would have missed; two grandchildren for a start. But when I look at her today, I do wonder whether a half life is good enough (perhaps she was right after all), whether the half life has made her this way. And while I think it, in my selfish 'only child' way, I wonder if I am seeing myself 30 years down the line. Will I be like this woman, so easily pushed off key? I recognise so many of her traits in myself. Will age make me weak and unsure, doubtful and depressed?

She sent an email this morning, I read it in the car. It made me cry, for her not myself. ...'Just a bit 'down' about the holiday...wish he was more enthusiastic.. wish we'd used my credit card so I could cancel it...I suppose I'll get used to it.. have been feeling a bit depressed lately and this seems like the last straw...' That was when I realised it was real, no one feels sad about a holiday that they have longed to book.

I have persuaded her to go to the Dr next week. Hopefully she'll get pills, they worked the last time. It takes 2 weeks before you feel any better. Yet I am convinced that to be loved and cherished would work just as well, my love is not enough, it is not that sort of love that she has been deprived of for so long. No, it is the love of a good man that could have made her life so much more full. Love and kindness. She is 77 this year.

My Mum
Unloved

There but for the Grace of God go I

Love (part 1) She loves me, She loves me not

2011-03-21T20:42:00.005Z

This is my Tall Girl, she is growing so fast and already looks about 18! Thinking about it it's less than 4 years until she actually is 18. Now that's a sobering thought.

'Why does my hair only look good on a non-school day?' She lamented this weekend, whilst admiring herself in the vanity mirror (well named) on the passenger side sun shield.

Sometimes life's just so unfair, isn't it?!

She's at that age when mood swings can vary by the minute. I can be a very much loved Mummy one minute, or the worst person in the whole world the next, sometimes it's hard to keep up, or play the part, whichever is required at the time!

But no matter how bad it gets she never swears at me, nor I her. I had never really thought about it before, I mean I would not ever expect either of these things to happen. Yet she mentioned it one day, that she was glad we were not 'that sort of family'. I am glad too, glad we don't and glad she has noticed that what we all have is much too precious to treat with indifference.

3 years and 11 days...

2011-03-15T21:59:00.005Z

...Since I started writing here.

I started my blog 3 years ago this month, after hearing Petite Anglaise interviewed on Women's Hour. The next day I wrote my first post; I became totally absorbed. It wasn't long before I spent most evenings in front of the PC. Without knowing it, I had already chosen another life

My marriage had become pretty empty anyway, worn down by bringing up 2 children, having left my career to have them and leaving my happy-go-lucky self behind with my resignation letter. Not that it was the children's fault, and I certainly wouldn't ever be without them. I could say my husband was selfish and stopped me having much of a life, he certainly restricted my aspirations, but I was guilty of letting it come to that I suppose. I was living a half life, had slipped into it almost without thought.

It wasn't long before I began to get frequent readers on my blog. The same people who came back over and over again. I read their lives, they read mine and slowly they became virtual friends. I knew more about them than my real friends, such is the nature of blogging and I very much needed their friendship. I suddenly realised how lonely I'd been in my suburban half-life. (I have met several of those bloggers in the real world since then, and it has been satisfying to find that they are the same in real life as they appear to be virtually.)

Not long after starting to write I found another blogger who lived in the same city, a man, younger than me. He blogged about ridiculously funny and blokey things, having started his blog after ending a short relationship. His blog always made me laugh. Within weeks we read each others lives every day. I would log onto the PC before taking the children to school to see if he had posted over night and his was the last blog I read before bed. My day began and ended with him.

During this time we were only communicating in the 'comments' section of our blogs. He always left a witty remark or a caring comment. Within about 3 months we emailed each other directly, about nothing in particular, yet there was a feeling, an excitement every time I opened my mail and saw his name. Within in 4 months we 'Google chatted' daily. I was addicted, to blogging, chatting and the man! I was no longer lonely. I felt as though my life was slowly beginning again, I was alive, had forgotten how it felt.

I had fallen for words alone, how easy it had been.

Almost nine months after starting my blog we arranged to meet for coffee, harmless enough between friends, or so we told ourselves. It was a strange meeting, as with other bloggers, we already knew so much about each other. It seemed like we'd known each other for a very long time, were asking each other about events and people we'd written about, yet we had never met in the real world. It was 2 weeks before Christmas. On the 2nd January, less than a month later, I told my Husband I wanted to leave him. That was 27 months ago.

My divorce came through last month. I don't blog daily any more, mostly through lack of time and I do miss writing and visiting you, my virtual friends.

It has been a long and traumatic journey which is almost over. Yet at the same time there has been a wonderful and exciting new life unfolding almost daily, one that I never thought I'd have a chance to reach for, let alone attain. I don't regret any of it, but I still find it hard to believe it all happened by a chance listening to Womans Hour in the car, on the way to visit my Mum and an unexpected and innocent meeting in the 'comments section' on my blog.

555 posts later and that blogger is, at this moment, sitting in front of me on the floor, playing with my eleven year old son. We feel like a family, both my children adore him; my oasis.

Three years and eleven days ago I had no idea what life would bring, resigned to the mundane and predictable life of being with someone who didn't love me any more. Yet for almost three years and eleven days there has been a sub plot waiting to emerge. Five Hundred and Fifty five posts later, who knows what will happen next?

The Beginning (After The End, which is below)

2011-02-24T22:20:00.003Z

I know why my wedding sits so firmly in my head as one of the best of days of my life. It is because I organised it all, I had it as I wanted it, each thing perfect and beautiful to me. And, looking back over the long years of marriage, this was probably my Swan Song. The last thing I was in control of, the last creative thing that I did before limits were put in place.

The limits were small and appeared slowly, small things one by one. My choices became narrowed, my wishes eventually ignored. All of it happening slowly over the years.

Yet I am to blame too for this loss of self.

A little more than a year after marriage I had my first child. It threw me sideways, I finished work, became home bound, stuck to the sofa with a newborn for what seemed like forever. I emerged slowly, a new creature, diminished in confidence, smaller, unsure. My world had shrunk, I was a 'kept' woman. My choices were dependent on another. Independence gone.

I have refound myself over the last year. I can have a choice, and it is all mine. I have forged through mountains of problems and climbed what seemed to be insurmountable hurdles to get here, to this point, the point where I become Ms. - such a 'loaded' title.

We, the children and I, are making plans for our new house. I can have the colours I want, I can choose how to spend the money and what to spend it on. It feels good. We have colour charts and magazines. Tall Girl and I are pawing over them, dreaming a dream that can become, to my surprise, a reality.

I have nearly made it. I wasn't sure I ever would. I wasn't sure I would be strong enough to see it through. Freedom, my own home in my own name. Back to the future in a way, for I had my own home before I was married. I gave it up without thinking then. How strange.

The End

2011-02-23T23:40:00.003Z

Another document to add to the filing cabinet, in the compartment that says 'Passports, Births, Marriages, Divorce'. It's official, The End. From the proposal on 16th July 1994 to the Absolute 16th February 2011 and all of life's little ups and downs in between. Neatness in it's ending if nothing else. The beginning of another chapter, yet, yet...

Yet I can't help looking back to all those precious moments shared. My wedding day, for years ranking the best day of my life, not for the act itself but for the joyous day spent with all my favourite friends and relatives. So long ago now, but still precious, with hundreds of snapshots stored in my brain: My step fathers speech which was embarrassing and not a highlight; the Best Man's speech which made me cry; hoovering in my wedding dress between daytime 'do' and evening (we had the reception in our enormous ground floor flat comfortably sitting 35 for lunch with the rest of the guests arriving for an evening buffet); the smell of lillys wafting through the summer afternoon; the fire-eater as entertainment at night; the inebriated friend cross-legged on the lawn communing with the stars at midnight; the last drunks to leave at 2am. Vivid as though it were only yesterday.

And births, who could forget all the emotion of those days? "Mind his ear" the midwife shouts as the student nurse cuts the cord from around Small Sprogs neck! Another snapshot, shared with another now unrelated.

So no, when the solicitor rang me today and told me my Decree Absolute had arrived on her desk last week I did not shout with glee. "How does it feel?" she asked. I could have said numb, but it took a while to realise the feeling. In a way that piece of paper made no difference at all, for the marriage was over years ago but it is still sad. Something held so precious for a while, now spent. Yet my days go on the same, nothing really has changed at all, moments always there; never can be erased by a piece of paper.

Dressed for all occasions!

2011-02-15T09:16:00.006Z

I picked Tall Girl up last Sunday from her Dads, to go to the christening. She is wearing a lovely dress which we bought together last year. She has on some suitable shoes and decent tights, she looks grown up. She has some mascara on, but not too much and her hair is straight and glossy.

We get into the car.

'You look lovely' I say as we pull out of the drive

'I've got my shorts on underneath' She exclaims

I give her and odd look and she pulls up her dress to prove it, black tights and denim shorts, with a pretty dress over the top.

'Why the shorts?' I grin

'Well you said it would be cold in church, and I though if we broke down or had and accident, it would be better to have shorts on as well'!

I guess you can never be too sure of how the day will proceed!

Ruby May

2011-02-13T21:14:00.001Z

Today at a christening, it suddenly struck me how strange life is. There is my Tall Girl with the baby on her lap, beaming and cooing to her as if she were her own. The baby's uncle sits next to me and reminisces about when he held my Tall Girl as a baby, and how her big brown eyes stared out of her small pink face in wonder at the world. And I, in turn, remember holding him at the same age, remember his birth, remember him growing up, all those years ago.

So much water under the bridge since then, so many lives touched, so many twists and turns of fate. Yet here we are, all together for this new small bundles big day, all together again. It is reassuring.

Through my life I have lost touch with lots of people, some on purpose and some with carelessness. Sometimes I search the web to find a name. Pointless of course.

Today I am grateful for my friends.

Parents Evening

2011-02-11T17:02:00.001Z

Parents evening in a state comprehensive, short hand for bun fight, never my favourite evening of the school calendar I must admit. The large sports hall is riddled with humanity of all shapes and sizes and their offspring. The teachers have 5 minute slots but everyone, seeing as they have made the effort to get there in the first place, wants their 10 penny's worth anyway and this means queues and huffing! After attending for the last three years I have become accustomed to the elbows out and everyone for themselves, dog eat dog sort of an affair. I can elbow with the rest of them if required!

As we stand next in line for the Art Teacher, I notice a couple sidle in from the left. I do my own sidle and take up my starting position for when the couple in front leave their bottom warmed seats for another queue. I can feel the woman of the couple bristle; parents evenings bring out the best in us all
'What time is your slot?' She asks nosily
'5.35' I reply.
She looks defeated (ha) 'We'll let you go first then' she concedes 'Ours is 5.40'
'Thanks' I say through gritted teeth. Bloody cheek is on the tip of my tongue.

On the way home Tall Girl pipes up 'I'm proud of you'
'Oh thanks' I say, glowing with pride.
'I'm glad you are my Mummy and Daddy is my Daddy' She goes on
'Why is that?' I ask
'Well,' she starts 'did you see some of those Mums and Dads in there?'
'What about them'
'Some of them were sooo... well, red hair, bright red, and you know...chavey and... '
She went off in a tirade. The phrase she needed was 'mutton dressed as lamb'!
'So you're proud of us because?'
'Well, you dress like a mum should'
'You mean I look my age?' I asked
'Yep'
Do you know, for one moment there I was almost flattered!

In the afternoon

2011-02-09T22:14:00.002Z

When we left court we agreed to go for coffee. It felt strange to be there together, drinking coffee and tea. I needed to be there though, together. He needed it too. We had just gone through a traumatic experience together, ships lost in a storm that had brewed for months, years even.

We drank the first cup, he texted 'The judge was a bastard' several times into his Blackberry. We went over the whole 15 minute process again and again. I needed his company, he was the only one who knew how awful the stress of waiting for an unknown 'other' to make a major decision in your life, was like.

We talked about the children, about how they drive us mad! It was so good to hear that they do the same things, we both still say the same things to them. We are united in childcare if nothing else.

I don't want to let him go. We go to the pub, and are the last to leave.

He talks. I remember how good he is at it. I catch up with all the news, of his friends and work stuff, and we keep coming back to the judge and the court. It's like we have to keep reminding ourselves that it's all over now, we got through it together, like so many other major events over the last 16 years.

We do the school run together and part company. I suddenly feel very alone. I miss him I guess. I miss the history and the easiness of it, not having to explain, the 'knowing'.

When I first met him I hoped we could just be friends, I never intended it to be more than that. Perhaps now, after all these years, that's just what we can be.

Today in court

2011-02-08T20:00:00.004Z

It took no time at all to navigate through the morning traffic to get to court this morning. I was early. Waiting is always the most painful part of a stressful situation. I sat in the car and waited, to distracted to read. Friends texted and called, the thought that people cared made me cry, how silly is that?

Getting into the court building was like entering an airport, bag searches and metal detectors, queues. The man in front of me kept fishing things from his pockets, going through the metal detector, setting it off and then emptying more things from various pieces of attire. I wondered what he didn't understand about 'emptying pockets' in the first place. Eventually he was relieved of a small pen knife which he had to leave behind the security barrier. At least being a spectator had taken my mind off the proceedings. As I ascended the marble stairs I looked back to see Husband waiting in the queue for security.

We never intended to go to court. We had done all we could to avoid it in fact. We had been brought to court today by a judge who wouldn't sign our consent order.

In September we agreed terms, not equal, but almost. I wanted it over and wasn't prepared to spend more money and time quibbling through the courts. The solicitors drew up the agreement and sent it to the judge to approve. He sent it back saying it was not a fair split, no pension rights. Twice we returned it, assuring the judge it was what we wanted. During this time, months of it, my lease was getting close to the end of it's time. It became more urgent to get a settlement.

In the court room today the judge provided no preamble. As soon as we were seated he proclaimed that he was not going to pass the order. I put my head in my hands, Husband looked pale. The judge repeated this several times, both solicitors trying to say that we were all in agreement but no, he was not here' to rubber stamp' the order we had agreed on.

I was waiting for him to speak to me. He did not. All of a sudden I could hold back no more. Don't ask me what I said, I can't remember now, but it was heartfelt, said through tears and said with conviction. We had agreed, nothing would change my mind. Whatever I said, it convinced him. He signed it, we were free. Almost.

Fifteen minutes in court, seemed like a lifetime. As we left the room the whole thing seemed very surreal. I turned to husband and we hugged. We had both suffered the stress and tension. He turns 60 next year, his pensions will ensure he can have a reasonable lifestyle while his children grow up. It is important, to us both.

'I was going to text you this morning' He said in my ear 'Parsnip' I laughed, and cried together. It was a joke, from long ago, that's the trouble with knowing the same person for a long time. We have so much history.
'You ok?' I ask
'Need a drink' he says.
Our solicitors look on amused. You'd probably not have guessed, as an outsider, that we had just ended our marriage, the decree absolute only weeks away...

THE day...

2011-02-07T16:00:00.002Z

Court tomorrow, please let it be over soon.

On the more comical side of things, apparently a lorry blew over today on the M60. Not funny in itself at all, but I did think about Tall Girl and her worry about the bus falling over in the wind. Not so silly after all. I hope she doesn't see it on the news, or I'll never get her to school in the morning.

2011-02-05T09:16:00.001Z

A windy morning, a stormy night in fact and a little wan voice calls from the top of the stairs in the gloomy half light that is just before 7am.

It is Tall Girl, it is Friday morning, and she knows I am not going to work. In her head this means she doesn't have to go to school. I need her to go to school, I can't rest in the house unless it's empty. A luxury to have an empty house. I feel selfish, for a moment. Then I pull myself together, there is nothing wrong with her and she needs to go to school.

'I can't hear you' I shout up the stairs to her. She comes down. 'What did you say?' I ask
'Is it too windy to go to school?' She whines
Too windy to go to school? I laugh, probably not the right response.
'The bus might blow over' she exclaims.
Bless, she really does hate the wind. I wonder whether to have a talk about forces, gravity and the fact that Double Decker buses are heavy at the bottom. I decided against.

She sat sulkily at the breakfast table, a well practised stance often used to make mummy's guilty in the morning for being heartless enough to insist that school was a place where you should be.

Gradually we managed to get the whole morning routine rolling slowly but surely towards the point of leaving the house.
'Don't worry' I tell her as I kiss her good bye at the door 'If it's too windy the buses won't run'
I have my fingers crosses behind my back!

Small Sprogs derision!

2011-02-03T22:21:00.003Z

I have managed to get a job done that has been bothering me for ages. It is always a relief to get things done that are haunting you, in this case my filing! I had a sort of system, it was called 'Putting all the stuff into one drawer and forgetting it'! It worked quite well in as much as I knew where everything was, it just took an age to find one piece of paper in the midst of hundreds.

Anyway I took the bull by the horns one evening and started to put neat piles on the carpet all around me. Small Sprog was watching TV and could see me from the sitting room.

After a while curiosity got the better of him. He looked about. I had more or less emptied the drawer and the piles were strewn across the landing and up the stairs. 'What are you doing?' He asked in his best disdainful voice.
'My filing' I said to him 'I'm having a tidy up'.
He surveyed the chaos. 'And how's that going for you?' He replied.
Cheeky little ******!

The last few days...

2011-02-02T22:02:00.001Z

My wonderful other half took me away for the night on Saturday. It helped my mood, we had fun. When we parted on Sunday, him for work, me for home, I travelled to see Mum. I had arranged to see her after work on Monday but thought I could call in on Sunday instead. I knew I needed a break form being busy and Monday seemed like a chance. I had emailed her with my plans on the Saturday, saying I'd pop in for and hour. It hadn't gone down well. I got an email back complaining that an hour was not enough! I went on Sunday anyway (it didn't let me off the hook), before going to meet my friend over 2 cups of tea which lasted 4 lovely hours!

My friend and I talked things over. It was good to talk.

On Monday I handed in my notice for one of my jobs. I feel I can no longer cope. I still travel the 90 miles round trip to see Mum when I finish work. She thinks it does me good to sit and do nothing at her house. In reality it adds to the stress, too much to do, not enough time. I leave her at 7.15 in order to get to my book club at 8.15. My last task of the day. I really don't feel like going but my lovely friends have arranged it on a night that I am child free, so I feel I should attend. When I finally get home it is passed 10pm. I had left the house before 8am. I am shattered and know this is all the last straw.

The stress has reached my digestive system. Over the weekend I feel sick, can't eat, and when I do it doesn't stay long in my system. I phone the Doctor again and she signs me off work. It is a relief. I have used the time to sleep these last two days, I have slept between school runs and again at night. I am hungry for sleep.

Today I found out that I have lost the house I wanted to buy. Not a surprise really.

On the plus side I have a court date now, a week today. Several months too late! Maybe soon I can get on with my life. If the spring would just get on and arrive, perhaps things would look much better!

How has your week been so far?

Just fine

2011-01-26T22:32:00.005Z

'It's muscular' the Dr reassured me after looking at my neck. Typically, at that moment, it was not as painful as it had been over the last month, so emphasising where it hurt and how it keeps me awake at night was hard and probably unconvincing.

No solution, was his diagnosis, stress related. 'Are you stressed?' He asked. I nod. He looks at me enquiringly.Over the last month I have repeated the list to myself so many times it comes out in a matter of fact way, the words tumble tonelessly from my mouth: 'My lease runs out next month and I can't afford the rent if I renew it. Another 6 months rent would be a years worth of mortgage. My nearly ex husband has the money he owes me, which would enable me to buy a house I can afford but the solicitor won't let him give it to me. Meanwhile I may loose the new house. The judge insists we go to court but I can't afford to pay the fees. My temporary job ends in 7 weeks, I hate it but need the work. I hate it so much I feel like I have lost all the fun of living.'

I look at him, tears rolling down my cheeks involuntarily. My eyes leak often and readily these days. However the list is just a list. Nothing anyone can do and repeated in my head so often it appears before me like words read from a text book.

He says nothing. They don't make pills and potions for those sorts of problems. And anyway, I bet half his clientèle have the same problems or worse, most likely much worse.

I want to scream at him, beg him, 'Sign me of work please, because I don't think I can take any more' But I know I need to keep on working, being off sick will only make my working life more intolerable on my return. And then there's my 'time off and sick record' to worry about.

No solution then. I leave the consultation room and head for the toilet to dry my eyes and compose myself, Small Sprog is in the waiting room, sitting patiently. I don't want him to see me upset. In a moment I will meet him with a smile and a 'Shall we go now?' and up he will jump and follow me out of the surgery.

And so life goes on. We go through the motions, the everyday routine, practised and guarded, no one would ever know...

These days my life is so busy I don't seem to see anyone else I can talk to and it doesn't seem right to burden friends. But sometimes the burden squashes in on me. I pick up the phone tonight to call Mum but when she answers I know she is busy by her tone. 'Not to worry' I sooth 'Just phoning up to see how you are' She tells me briefly how she is, but needs to return to her visitor. She asks how I am. 'Oh I'm just fine' I say 'Just fine'

Eleven Years

2011-01-22T18:49:00.000Z

Eleven years ago tomorrow I gave birth to the light in my life. As he came out I remember the nurse saying to the student 'Mind his ear!' as they cut the cord that was around his neck. He has been in many scrapes since then.

There was no suffering after his birth, no depression that I was so afraid would haunt me again as it had after the previous birth. He was beautiful, born with a sunny nature. I loved him, love him still. My Small Man, I love him so much it hurts sometimes.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SMALL SPROG!

Unhappy

2011-01-14T21:39:00.001Z

I know I should be writing a grateful list, and I am truly grateful for so many things, but during these last few weeks I have found that the negative thoughts have taken over. Perhaps it's the time of year, or the economic climate. Perhaps it's the sudden realisation that financially I am alone.

On New Years Eve I had too much time to think. I mentally reviewed the last two years, new year always makes me reflective. Since then I have been tearful and I can't seem to get out of it. Quite often I'm feeling under the weather, but not enough to stop. If only I could stop.

Work has been fractious, with abusive children, fighting teenagers and, in another job, a small boy who refuses to do anything that he is asked to to. I feel tired before I get to work, by the end I'm exhausted. I am forgetting things, simple things like which words to use. It's a little frightening. Normally I can cope, but not recently.

Tomorrow I am looking at a house to buy, soon I need to move but there is still no sight of the settlement. On one hand I am counting the weeks until my temporary job ends, 10 in all, and on the other by then my lease will have run out. I have no cash to buy us a home and once my temporary job finishes my working tax credits will stop until I can find more work. Finding work is becoming increasingly difficult. I need my working tax credits to afford the mortgage I want. It seems an endless circle of things just not happening in the right order. Sometimes it doesn't seem too unreasonable to ask for a break does it? Just a little, very little small one, just this once?

If the cash came through next week things might look better. But I fear, even if it did, it will not dispel the blues now.

A Small Sprogism

2011-01-12T22:28:00.000Z

Small Sprog watches his sisters teen DVDs through is fingers when kissing is involved; he really isn't impressed with all that kissing lark. However he almost got more than he bargained for when, whilst playing games on line, he clicked on a link. Hmmm, a new game he thought. He was telling me this in the car on the way to an evening event at his sisters school.
'But you'll never guess what Mummy?' He says in a most indignant way
'What?' I reply, trying to keep my eyes on the traffic.
'It wasn't a new game at all and I'm not going there again' I became a little worried, where had he 'been' in the virtual world?
'What was it then, if it wasn't a game?' I braced myself
'It was one of those ''mating''sites' He shuddered at the thought
'Mating sites?' I said with slight panic, then it suddenly dawned on me, and Tall Girl at the same time. Dating sites is what he meant, we roared with laughter at his utter disgust!
Dating not mating? Or perhaps he was right after all.

Flu Jab

2011-01-07T22:06:00.001Z

Small Sprog was due his flu jab. He hates it, hates needles, hates doctors, hates viruses, so he said. 'I'd like to kick them (viruses) in the bollocks!' he muttered as we entered the surgery. I didn't like to remind him that viruses don't have bollocks and I let him get away with the word, as no one heard, and he was under great stress!

His appointment was after school, but with a bottom clenching wait of 40 mins between one and the other. The waiting is worse than the deed itself. Not enough time to do much but certainly too much time to sit and wait. He'd have exploded had I made him do that! However as he came out of school, all sad and dejected, knowing his fate, he asked to go home to use the toilet. I asked him if he could go back into school instead of us driving home, but he shook his head.

On the way home I suddenly realised that the whole thing might be a ruse. He didn't really need the toilet, but was going to lock himself inside it again as he had done before!
'You're not going to lock yourself in the loo again are you?' I asked. He shook his head. At home he made for the downstairs loo. When he came out he announced 'It would have been no good anyway, you can unlock this one from the outside!'

I wonder when that had dawned on him?

We got to the Doctors bang on time but still had to wait. I could tell he was near tears, it was all just too much. He was still muttering to himself when the nurse appeared, all sweetness and light. She proceeded to chat, and time seemed to move very slowly. In the end I just had to say 'I'm really sorry but I think he'd really appreciate getting it over and done with!' He didn't need bedside manner, just 'jab and go'. She looked at him, and remembered the last time, the time when he was nearly sick. He was stabbed almost immediately. There. All over and done with in a second.

As we left the surgery, much brighter than when we had entered, he was still kicking viruses...

Twelfth Night

2011-01-05T21:36:00.000Z

Twelfth night and the tree was ceremoniously disposed off from the first floor French window last night! The baubles are all carefully packed away again for another year. I realised as I was taking down all the decorations that this is the second year running that I am lovingly wrapping them up and putting them into boxes, not knowing where I'll be next time they are unwrapped.

I had put off the thought of 'what next' because it was only December. Yet now that it is January and a new year, the realisation that I have 2 months left in this house becomes suddenly a bit too close for comfort. I was working to the 12th March, but realised I signed the year long lease on 5th March. Two months left, and no idea what I can do yet. Money/divorce still not through, yet I really don't want /can't afford another 6 months rent here. I am pushing the thought to the back of my mind...

Meanwhile Small Sprog is home from his Christmas holiday with his dad and Tall Girl came back tonight. As I write she is in the bath, radio on, singing full blast to herself. 'Pop music' my Mum would have called it. I remember being 14 and singing along to the radio all the time, obsessed with the 'Top 40' Chart Show. So long ago now. And here I am with my own girl trilling beautifully from the smallest room in the house. It was lovely to hear, it warmed my heart. Welcome home.

Always expect the unexpected!

2010-12-31T23:23:00.001Z

Always expect the unexpected, especially at this time of year. There is something very annoying about New Year, and it's not just the way that the TV programmes are the same every single year for eternity, though that goes some way to explaining it, no its more than that. It is expectation.

Two years ago I had a friend and her family around for a meal, but ended up walking the streets with her, close to midnight, listening to her marriage problems. I expected an uncomplicated evening with food and friendship but got very cold and missed saying Happy New Year to my children.

This year I will miss them too, they are with their dad having a party at the nit children's house. Who'd have thought my lovely children would be out partying all night at barely 14 and 10 whilst I am in bed blogging and having a virtual blog party by myself?!

I've enjoyed visiting you all tonight and leaving my best wishes. I didn't bring the lump of coal because it was making a mess of my keyboard, however I would have loved to have partied with you all and maybe had a drink or two of something nice and sparkly over at yours. However, things are never as you expect and so tonight I think I'll just toddle off and have an almost early night.

See you all next year (at least I'll wake up without a hangover in 2011!)

HAPPY 2011!

Looking back, looking forward...

2010-12-28T15:35:00.001Z

Last Christmas was not one of the best in the world, it was the culmination of a whole year of living in the same house but apart. It was hard, a strain, but it happened none the less and we all survived it. A whole year ago. I keep getting flash backs of it. My world was much smaller then and I spent a lot of time in my room. I can remember wondering, where I would be and what I would be doing at Christmas and New Year the following year, for these are our markers in time. And all of a sudden, here I am, here we are.

Are we nearly 'there' yet? Well almost, not quite but almost. The next three months will be a challenge but I have plans and I can see them more clearly now.

Two years ago, when I suddenly knew what had to be done, it seemed such a massive task. There are 2 things that I remember from back then. The first is the feeling of being immersed in my work one day therefore forgetting about the massive thing I was about to do, and then coming out of work and the whole enormity of it hitting me, almost physically, with a stomach wrenching terror. The second thing is Small Sprogs smile.

He always smiled, and I imagined how, once I started to put my plans into motion, his smile might disappear forever. I still worry about his smile...

However I have faired well so far, fingers crossed. We are very very lucky. I followed my plan, and it's worked out better than I could have imagined. And as for Small Sprog, he couldn't wait for Christmas, he bounced with excitement and he is still smiling, a lot.

My Christmas 'grateful' list

2010-12-24T09:32:00.001Z

Things I am enjoying about this time of year:

Icicles and the fun of watching them grow!

The biggest window on the advent calendar, I can still feel the excitement and anticipation of wanting to see what's inside as if I was small again.

Looking back at the good things that have happened this year.

The luxury and good fortune of pottering in the kitchen, making Christmas food that we don't really need but is fun to make.

Turkish Delight, the box of it beckoning from the side table in the sitting room! Small Sprog has some now, he is lying prostrate on the fur throw on the old sofa, Turkish Delight held high, before liking off all the icing sugar and then devouring it. Decadence indeed!

Feeling the stress of work wash slowly away.

Close friends and loved ones, spending happy times together. There's nothing like joint celebrations to bring everyone together. I loved my present wrapping evening with my girl friends, which turned into a very late night!

Watching Small Sprog on his home made sledge whizz dangerously about screaming, or is it me screaming?

Planning! There's nothing like having a project and a list!

The hope that this time of year brings, not just for what is under the tree but for the coming year ahead.

The excitement of children. My lovely children, sometimes I feel as though my heart will burst. At others I feel the normal things like 'Oh for goodness sake!'

Not being at work. Waking in the morning with out having to set the alarm.

The bliss of sitting in bed, radio on and a large cup of steaming tea on the bedside table.

Simple pleasures all. I am content and making the most of the next 48 hours before my children go away...

Merry Christmas

I know this time of year can be sometimes far from perfect, take heart in

the fact that things never stay the same forever.

May all your hopes come true.

Another email from Mum

2010-12-22T22:17:00.002Z

It has been hazardous pavement wise in Cheltenham. Mum likes to walk the dog regularly, though I'm sure the ancient animal would prefer to stay at home! Anyway, here is Mums solution to slippery, accident inducing pavements; dog walking....inside! Here is her description:

'Not walked Jassy, don't want a broken leg for Christmas so ...........don't laugh ! I put her on her lead and walk 50 circuits round the bungalow, through the lounge, down the hall, through the kitchen and into the dining room . After 25 circuits I let her out in the garden and she dutifully does a poo and a wee and then we continue on our way. She is very good. She must have some exercise or her muscle tone in her back legs will deteriorate....she has to be helped in to the car now. And it's also good for me too! ! It takes just over 20 mins! !

I screamed with laughter at the thought, and the mental picture, of them both doing circuits of the house on the inside! It's only an average sized Bungalow. Whatever next?!

It must be nearly Christmas!

2010-12-15T17:24:00.003Z

Tall Girl came home from school on the bus tonight. She has been at her Dads over the last few nights, so I was really looking forward to seeing her. She knocked on the door, rather than using her key, so I galloped down the hall, towards the door, in a rather undignified and excitable fashion! (I have to admit to being quite excited about Christmas this year) I opened the door with a big grin and saw... A grumpy Teenager!

All my hopes were dashed, words spilled out of her mouth and tears fell from her eyes. "My breathing's bad, I feel sick- I went to the nurse and she wouldn't send me home - told me to have a drink- and a net ball hit me on the head- it really hurt-and I felt all shivery - didn't eat my dinner..." etc etc etc and this is all before crossing the threshold! I sigh. My hypochondriac daughter. There was I thinking all was right with the world.

I let her in and feel her brow, no temperature. I sit her down and give her a drink and something to eat. We talk. She tells it all to me over again, but more coherently. I listen and nod. She worries a lot. She worries about worrying. These symptoms, apart from a netball landing on her head, are a regular occurrence when she is in this state of mind and the more she worries the worse the symptoms get. Even the school nurse is getting wise to her, which is thankful because I used to get a lot of calls to go and pick her up when there was nothing really wrong.

We talk about more ranging subjects. I sit a large packet of Tortilla chips beside her and she digs in. The worry subsides, the symptoms go. She is herself again, for now. I breath a sigh of relief.

She talks about spending New Year with her Dad, and how they have so much to do, he may not be able to take her to her regular physio appointment. She needs to attend her regular appointment. 'I'm really looking forward to New Year' She says, calmer now. And as I listen to these words I am telling myself that that does not mean she is not looking forward to Christmas with me. Does it? It is just words. I hope. I know that she is stressing about Christmas and how it will be different this year. She is the negative to my positive. I feel drained.

Small Sprog, on the other hand is a boy. He is not yet a teen and things seem very simple in comparison. Tonight he has a friend home from school. I have just been into the sitting room to see what they're up to. They have the bowl of 'obligatory' Christmas nuts and the implement to crack them with the carpet. All over the carpet. They are shelling them. Everywhere! I think I may need to hoover later! Is it the technicalities of nut cracking that make it such an interesting pastime for small boys or are men just obsessed with their nuts?!

Anyway, I'm off to let the cat out before he shreds the front door. Give me strength to keep it together for the festive season. Please!

Friday night is curry night!

2010-12-10T23:44:00.000Z

Friday night is curry night!

A Christmas outing with the girls. We are friends, brought together only by the fact that we gave birth within the same 2 months. That was 14 years ago.

We are diverse; medical, educational, artistic, scientific, all brought together by chance, yet women with so much in common. Our talk ranges over many subjects, children, men, work, men, holidays, men! We discuss what happens when you Google 'Thermos lunch box' and how parental controls are for kids not to protect the parents, though that would have been useful in this case! We pick up snippets of conversation from those around us. The men in the next booth are discussing 'Mankinis'! We take a look, trying to be discrete. We cannot imagine any of them owning such a garment (there are some amongst us who need a blow by blow account of what one actually is!) There is much giggling. It is good for the soul.

At about 6pm this evening the last thing I felt like doing was going out and socialising. I was all for curling up exhausted in a heap. But I made the effort and it was such a tonic.

The company of women. You can't beat it. I am raising a glass to 'The Sisterhood'. I am happy.

Happy Anniversary

2010-12-08T09:30:00.006Z

I was reminded of this post the other day. A life changing moment for me two years ago. In a way it seems like only yesterday. And it was beautiful and it is still beautiful now. How could all this have happened?

If someone had told me how I was about to change things forever, would I have believed them? Yet surely all of our life is like that? The big and the small things. Every action we take, every decision and moment, all of it amounts to the people we are and the people we are about to become.

Yet some moments are more special than others. The world still tilts and turns. I am blessed with love and kindness.

Happy Anniversary My Love

Too much, too soon?

2010-12-06T11:39:00.003Z

Too much perhaps, forgetting myself, thinking that everything was all right, that we were out of the woods. And for me it is all right, yet for Tall Girl...

"Christmas won't be the same this year" She said to me, her beautiful brown eyes filling with tears.

What could I say? No it will not be the same and thank goodness for that?! No I could not say that. Is it her teenage state of mind? I cried through vast amounts of mine! In a way I hope it is, it relieves me of the huge weight of responsibility.

I told her we will have a fine Christmas, I told her that we are forging new traditions and making happy memories that we will keep until, God willing, she grows up and no longer wants to come home for Christmas. I told her to focus on all that we have to be grateful for, there is much to consider; rather than thinking of all that has been lost.

Can she do that? Is it too big a concept for her at 14 years of age?

It's OK for me I guess. I was unhappy with the situation, my marriage, but it was their normality, their ontological security. I know that their father hates Christmas, but they don't really understand this, it has not crossed their path. When we were living as a unit I was the one making the memories, protecting them from the negative as much as I could. Perhaps it worked. They have different memories to mine.

I look at my lovely daughter, I worry about how I have changed her life, their lives, in a whirl wind. Though I am 'out of the woods' for them it is different. They still return to the family home to visit their father. For me it is over. I am glad never to cross the threshold of my old house, my old life, again. But they do it every 2 weeks. It is hard for me to understand how that effects them, no matter how much I try.

My beautiful son has written Christmas cards already and bought some very thoughtful presents, with no help from me at all. My lovely daughter has wavered in shops. No matter how I try to persuade her, she has not written one card, despite receiving several. I am hoping she has not inherited her fathers dislike of all things festive!

I will try to make our Christmas special. I am doing all the things I have always done. I hope the continuity will be a comfort and not a reminder? For me all is well. For Tall Girl? My heart hopes so.

The here and now

2010-12-04T23:07:00.001Z

Before was like mud, dull and sodden, cold and without beauty.
There was a shadow, a presence of unsaid disgruntledness.
We scooted around it, the children and me, we still sang our songs, and baked our treats, we still opened calendars and oozed excitement, yet there was always a moment when I was reminded that we were
too noisy,
too soon,
too much.

That was then.

Now it is real.
It is sharing and excitement and planning.
It is whispering gifts and hiding packages.
It is singing loudly without need for closed doors.
It is counting and longing and looking ahead.
Not just to a brighter Christmas but to a more vibrant future.
It is making the most of the moment, playing the Christmas CD too loudly and knowing no one will say it is too soon,
too noisy,
too much.

Friends

2010-12-03T22:06:00.002Z

Saying goodnight to Small Sprog tonight we chatted about friendship and what a great thing it is.
"You cannot be my friend though" He said to me
"Oh" I said a little hurt "I'd like to be"
"Well you can't be" He said "Because you're a loved one" He was so matter a fact.

I am more than content with that though, 'A Loved One'. Who could ask for more?

How long to cook the cat!

2010-12-01T22:04:00.000Z

I received an e mail from Mum this week: ''How long to cook the cat?''!

I thought and thought. Could it be a conundrum? Had I sent an email with a spelling mistake which she was pulling me up on? Did she think the stray that we feed sometimes was worth eating if it should expire? It's as skinny as a stick insect, not much to get ones teeth into should one be so inclined! Cat instead of Turkey this Christmas? Surely not. Had she, I seriously wondered, lost her marbles?

I emailed back ''I have no idea!'' Perhaps it was some sort of 'Knock Knock who's there' joke and a witty reply would follow on soon.

Later her reply did pop into my inbox:
''FIMO silly! I made a cat with Fimo, I thought you would remember how long and at what temperature it needed to be cooked''

As it happens I do remember, around 130 degrees for 30 mins. If only I could mind read too!

Harry Potter

2010-11-23T16:26:00.003Z

Small Sprog attended a Harry Potter screening at the weekend. He was delighted, and to top it all he had to go 'in character'. He likes dressing up.

A pair of specs with a wand and a scar, I thought, and that should do it. But no. Not for my Small Sprog. I made the mistake of taking him to the local dressing up shop and there he browsed the wigs. There is nothing better for dressing up, than a wig it seems, if you are a Small Sprog. He pulled out a long white wig and beard. Dumbledore. I looked at him. He was animated. I couldn't say no.

I left the shop £10 lighter with a full wig, beard and wand with sound effects! Lovely.

Saturday arrived and he prepared himself. Unfortunately the only cloak we had was red, so he was not a dead ringer for Dunmbledore, more like a festive Old Father Time! Still, he was happy with his 'look' and we all tumbled out of the house at the last minute, as usual, and into the car.

He was having trouble with the mass of material, that was his cloak, as well as his flowing wig and beard, which was almost to his knees. when the wind blew him into the car. Then he needed help with his safety belt. 'I know why girls get all stressy about their hair now' he says in his wisdom as he struggles to free himself of his white tresses.

As we proceed along the road in the car, I notice that he is looking in his lap. I hope he is OK and not wishing he had gone as Harry P. He was looking dejected and not his happy self at all.
'Look!' his sister exclaimed as she saw a cat on the other side of the road.
'I can't see a thing' He replies
'What's the matter Small Sprog?' I ask concerned as I realised he couldn't move his head. I am about to stop the car to see if he is ill.
As it happens it was a technical error!
'My beard is stuck in the safety belt'! He moans as we turn the corner.
We laughed. A lot!

Small Sprogs career plans

2010-11-21T12:46:00.003Z

I picked up a very serious Small Sprog from school one day this week,
'Mummy?'
'Yes'
'I'm going to write a book!'
'Really, what sort of book?'
'One that lasts all my life'
'A diary?'
'No, I don't know what the story will be, it will just spill-on-to-the-page as I'm writing it!'
'Gosh!' I say. I wish I could do that.
'Well I've been thinking of my future' he went on 'I thought I ought to have a back up plan, just in case'
'A back up plan?' He is only ten years old.
'Yes, in case my guitar doesn't go well'
'In case you don't make it as Guitar Hero?' I ask
'Yes' He says, earnestly.
'Always good to have a back up plan' I tell him

We get into the car.

A letter from my Mother

2010-11-19T23:10:00.000Z

My Mother has a love of people younger than herself, and that has translated over the years to her taking in students and 'paying guests'. She loves it, works hard, is worn out by it, but never says no to the company's that ring for accommodation.

They live fairly close to the Racecourse and so sometimes get booked for race weeks. She tries to be discerning. She has learnt from experience that some racegoers are more 'trouble' than others, tumbling in drunk in the early hours of the morning and tripping over the deaf old dog for instance.

So it was with trepidation that she took a last minute booking in the week. She already had one language student in the spare room with the en suite, so the race goer would have to share her bathroom. A lovely man though, she told me. But you never know someone 'till you live with them do you?

The first morning he had used all the towels in the bathroom, she told me indignantly on the phone, despite having his own clean and laundered ones in his room, AND had turned up for breakfast over an hour late. She was incensed! Here is a little of her email from last weekend, a reply to one of mine, enquiring if it was going well after the second day;

You must be joking! 10.35 he came for breakfast! and when I went into the bathroom he had not only used my flannel, but had helped himself to my shampoo and my conditioner ! And my problems didn't end there! (though I'm not sure the poor man can be held directly responsible for this, even though he was a race goer)

I wanted to go into town later, he made me late, and then having got all the way up to the Park and Ride at the race course only to find it wasn't functioning because of the races, I then drove into town. I parked in Winchcombe Street and then found I had no change when I got to the meter. Needed £2.80 I had £1.80! Then remembered I always keep £1 in a little round compartment between the front seats in the car. So...back to the car and with my bottom stuck out in the traffic I delved down to get it. The little round mat which lined the hole slipped up and down went my £1 into another small hole at the bottom and got stuck. I tried and tried to get it out but all to no avail. So off I trot into the Charity shop, they had no change but suggested Ladbrokes. So there I was in a queue with all the punters for the races! Bloody races! At least they had plenty of money!

This morning I looked at my lovely new shower cap and when I had had a wash I then removed it with my towel and flannel, the small guest towel, a spare towel and what remained of my shampoo and conditioner to our bed room. It's all safe now 'til "HE" is gone.I shall be glad when Monday is here.

PS.Dad has just taken his towel and flannel and his Hair Restorer out of the bathroom ( it's not working!)

I think she should start a Blog. Maybe I'll suggest it?

(OMG Hair Restorer, I couldn't help giggle, I had no idea he used it! * Titter*)

How it affects the children...

2010-11-18T18:09:00.000Z

Small Sprog is not so small these days, though he will always be my youngest and closest I guess, in some way. However, despite all his fun and bravado he has deep worries. Just before going to school last Friday he looked worried.
'I don't want to go to Daddys' He states. I am taken aback. He is seeing all his relatives from 'that' side of the family at the weekend and he will have fun.
'Can I stay here and go to Daddys in the morning?' He asks.

I am so tempted, I miss him when he's away, but ...

'Why don't you want to go to Daddys? I ask
'I get nightmares there'
'But you sleep in the room you have had for as long as you can remember, you are safe there'
'But I like it here' He says. I am pleased our new house feels like home, but what should I do?

I give him the biggest hug.

He reassures me that he wants to see daddy, it's just the bed times he doesn't like.

I feel I have let him down by sending him. I have always told him he must be honest and if he doesn't like any family arrangements, then we will sort it out differently. And then, there I am, sending him off to school, knowing that his Dad will pick him up and have him for the weekend.

My head tells me I have to send him. It is too last minute to change. His dad has the overnight bag, wants to see him, etc. etc.

Did I let him down? I hope not.

Poorly sick and ill!

2010-11-15T13:49:00.002Z

I know, I know, I really shouldn't be here! It's Monday and I have a job. A day off to blog? No, well not really. Just a day to recuperate, in the hope that this horrible tiredness and unwell feeling that I've had of late will go if I rest.

So where do you draw the line, between sciving and being genuinely ill? I mean, I am finding it really hard working more or less full time at the moment and I can't say that I haven't just dreamt of taking a sicky! However, I ache, I am tired and not sleeping well, the glands in my neck are swollen and I have a sore throat. My voice is slightly husky. I guess I could make some money out of that though if it continues!

One little voice in my head is telling me that if I'd gone to work today I'd be fine and would have forgotten all about my aches and ailments. The other little voice is saying that if I keep going at the same flat out rate that I seem to have been going of late, I will be more ill and will need more time off.

I have this little fear now about being ill and not being able to look after my children properly. I guess most single parents feel the same. What if I am too ill to pick them up from school, too ill to cook, too weak to...

Then the other little voice tells me not to be so dramatic. Hypochondriac. Just get on with blogging and feeling sorry for yourself.

Yours pathetically

Do you hear the voices? They are calling!

14 Today

2010-11-09T05:33:00.001Z

Happy Birthday Tall Girl, I can't believe you are so grown up.

You have grown into a beautiful woman before my eyes, in just a blink so it seems.

You are much loved.

Rant alert!

2010-11-04T21:56:00.000Z

I do try not to rant on here, and I have a self made rule NEVER to mention my job(s). However, sometimes one just has to let rip!

Perhaps I have been lucky in the past, but up to last September (in my old job, which I still do 2 days a week), when I walked into a classroom first thing in the morning, I was nearly always met with a smile and a sigh of relief. 'I'm so glad you're with me today' was usually the refrain from all the teachers that I worked with. It wasn't just me, any help in a busy classroom is nearly always a bonus, nearly always.

However this year I am with a different teacher. She checks her clock when I walk in in the morning, even though I have usually come from working with another year group and, timetabled with lessons back to back, means there is not a minute to walk between one class and the next. She gives me children to support and then undermines me by taking over half way through. 'Support so and so' she said today, which I duly did. As I leaned over to look at one boys work and ask him to check his capital letters she pushes in front of me and says 'Lets have a look at your work so and so, I think you could just take a minute to check your capital letters'. I just said that, I wanted to say, I can do my job.

She never lets me use my initiative, she never gives me anything to do that she can't watch me do. For goodness sake I'm a grown woman and I have been doing this job for 6 years now. Not that I would be doing it if I didn't need a job that gave me school hours and holidays. I used to hold down a responsible job, where I was my own boss with deadlines to meet and contractors to motivate. I am a capable person.

Yet today I feel constrained and put down. The pay is poor and the job is stressful, no preparation time, no planning time, challenging children 1:1 for hours at a time, often with no work set.

To add insult to injury, as I finish up my lunchtime art and craft group, my line manager walks into the room. I've not seen her since the holidays and was about to use the statutory pleasantry of 'Did you have a good half term?' when she barks at me 'Leave that, X (a child that needs constant 1:1 support), isn't going swimming, you need to have him all afternoon' Then she walks off!

Well thanks for that, I think to myself, hope you're having a good day too! I do not 'leave that'. The room looked like an explosion in a cardboard factory, and it is someone else's work room. How could I leave it in a mess? I do the mental equivalent of a 2 finger salute and carry on clearing up, knowing the lovely (not) teacher I work with can easily manage him for a few more minutes while she does the register.

I enjoy the company of the children I work with, even the badly behaved ones who have problems of their own poor things. It's a shame the adults can't just be a little more pleasant.

My new job, though stressful too, so far is ok. Yet the more I work in the school system, the more I despair with it.

End of rant. Bring on the weekend.

What did you do last week?

2010-11-01T18:35:00.001Z

The half term break was a welcome respite from what has been a really busy time. Having a new job, I have realised, takes up more energy and thinking than just trundling through the ins and outs of the normal routine. Added to that we have been dealing with Tall Girls injury, poor thing, fetching and carrying things for her as well as taking her to school and back. I hadn't anticipated the impact on the whole family routine. I am hoping, now that she is managing on only one crutch, that she will be able to catch the school bus this new term, as normal, which will mean Small Sprog doesn't have to sit in the car for an hour before being delivered to school! Fingers crossed.

So the break was welcome for all. We spent a fantastic long weekend in Wales and the weather was kind to us. We also cooked and carved and saw friends. Here is our week, briefly, in pictures...

We went here (Paxtons Tower)

and the beach, which always makes me happy,

and here, The National Botanic Garden of Wales, with the largest single span greenhouse in the world!

Small Sprog and his friend made these

and we all made this, our Christmas Cake full of wishes.

The week has gone so quickly and today all the tension of being back at work has filled my body again. Last week feels like a distant dream. Still, it's only 4 more days to the weekend and only 7 more weeks of school until the Christmas Holidays! I must not wish our lives away! (55 Sleeps 'till Christmas!)

The Dream

2010-10-22T12:06:00.000+01:00

The 20th October 2010. A crossroads, a major event, our court date that has taken nearly two years to materialise. Yet...

I settled out of court in the end. It was last minute and 'to the wire'. Part of me couldn't face going to court and the other half couldn't face the outcome if we went. My solicitor told me I was mad and could have got what I was entitled to had I continued to fight. But at what cost? I asked her; to her it was just another day at the office.

I may regret my decision one day, but now it is too late. I settled for less and he gets to keep his precious house. The children are overjoyed that they will not have to loose their home again. For that reason alone I have done the right thing, for now.

The outcome is, though, that I may never get on the property ladder again in my own right. I have this dream you see, of a cottage in the countryside, of roses and flowers and animals and endless sunny days. I feel the need to complete my journey to that place, yet it is such a selfish dream. Those I tangle along with have other dreams and other places to go, yet the dream is strong, and one I could not make happen in my last life. It is, perhaps, a foolish dream and one which (I have suddenly remembered) my Mother also had, when she was younger.

Every year, for as long as I can remember, my Mother has made her own Christmas cake, as did her mother before her. When I was little I used to love to watch her mix up the magical cake, the first step towards the best time of the year when you are small! And before she lovingly put the mixture, all sticky and sweet smelling, into the baking tin, I was given 'a wish and a stir'. I would hold the wooden spoon in my small hand, and with my eyes tight shut, I would stir and make a wish. A wish never to be told.

I wished the same thing year after year. I wonder if she every guessed my wish? I think not, for I wished that my Mother should eventually live the cottage that she had always wanted, and I wished so hard for roses around the door and happiness all around. I still do wish, against all odds, even now; knowing that they are as elusive as a dream is impossible. My Mother has never lived in that cottage and gave up her dream long ago, though she is lucky enough to be comfortable now in her bungalow, and that is a blessing.

So this coming week, while the children and I are on our Half Term holidays, I will mix up the Christmas cake mixture, all sweet smelling and sticky with spice and brandy and cherries and fruit. And I will pass the wooden spoon to Tall Girl and then to Small Sprog and, in turn, they will make their wish. Small Sprogs wishes are hard and true. He closes his eyes tight shut and wishes with all his might. I may never know what he wishes for, but whatever it is for both of them, they truly deserve it all.

Moving on

2010-10-12T23:13:00.002+01:00

I looked at my Tall Girl today, and she is so very tall; 14 years old next month.

I remember being 14, and all the worries and excitement of living new experiences. Everything then was very vividly indeed, life was brightly coloured and jagged with anticipation, like a Picasso painting, the world was waiting, it was all there, but nothing was quite in the right place.

And then I look at my Small Sprog, who is no longer small; in his last year of Junior School, yet still so very young to me. Sometimes I feel pity for him without meaning to. I don't want to pity him, yet he still seems so vulnerable in the big world around him.

I remember dreading telling him that his world was about to cave in around him and that everything was going to change. I had this awful image of his beautiful smile turning to tears forever. He was always such a happy child on the surface, born generous and smiling.

And then I looked at how far we have come, how far I have come. Two years ago we were living a different life, two years ago my lovely daughter was a pre-teen, we lived a boringly normal life and I was lost to myself.

Yet now I am strong, independent and free, if you ever can be truly free, especially with two demanding children. But I feel free. I have things to look forward to, a whole life to look forward to, my life and those who tangle along with me through it are all so very cherished. These days I have 'plans'! And the plans that I make, we make as a family unit, are not dismissed or put aside. I feel alive.

My Small Sprog smiles still, he has not lost the joy of living, though he has moments of distress, and he holds me tight and tells me he loves me. Always he declares he loves me more than I love him, no matter how much I protest!

My pre-teen is a fully blown teenager and full of teenage habits, yet she is strong and beautiful and has endured the last four weeks in plaster admirably and with, mostly, good humour. She is maturing.

Adjustments have taken place and a new reality exists, one that is so far from the previous reality that sometimes I have to pinch myself to see if it really is true. How did I get here? How did I make such a massive change in my life, our lives? I almost can't quite remember.

2010-09-26T13:29:00.001+01:00

Last week I had a call from Tall Girls school to say that she had dislocated her knee cap. Poor thing, it was a very traumatic experience. She kept reliving it and telling me all about it over and over again for a few days afterwards, it was the shock I think. Luckily her knee popped back in fairly quickly but the swelling was considerable and after a trip to A&E, where they put her leg into a splint and then another trip to the hospital a day later, we ended up with a set of crutches and her leg in plaster from top of thigh to ankle. Poor Tall Girl.

She was however, quite stoical about it and took it all in her stride, so to speak. In hind sight perhaps this is the ideal teenage state of being, completely unable to reach anything or do much therefore having everything done for you whilst you hang about on facebook. Do I sound a little grudging?! I am not, but it is wearing and tiring and I am appreciating how much she normally does without me really thinking about it.

It has been just over a week now, and although she is back at school, getting there is a little more complicated than normal. Usually she catches the bus from the end of the road. These last few days since her accident, she has needed a lift. Both ways. You can imagine how that works in with a full day at work, not to mention the new job which starts tomorrow! Life's sweet pattern...

So on the way to school last Friday, a 40 minute round trip down county lanes; as we were stuck in traffic getting out of Bristol, she shouts 'NO!' just as I pull into the far side lane on the duel carriage way. I have quite a shock. Is she in pain, am I about to run someone over? No it is neither of those.

I was, in fact, about to overtake her school bus, but because of the volume of traffic, I would have, had she not shouted, drawn up along side the bus in the waiting traffic by the roundabout. I pull up just short of the bus, leaving a gap between me and the car in front. I give her a look. 'Am I the most embarrassing Mother in the whole universe?' I ask. A rhetorical question, so it seemed. Well that was the topic of her last English lesson anyway. I harrumph.

I do try, I really do try NOT to embarrass my off spring, however I have realised this is an impossible task, whatever I do, including just breathing, is a total embarrassment to them both.

We negotiate the roundabout and the bus miraculously gets ahead of us again, only for us to catch it up at the next junction. If I did not pass it now, I would have to follow it all the way down the lanes to school. 'Brace yourself!' I say to her with a smirk 'we're overtaking!' It was her time to harrumph. But, unluckily for her, the traffic lights suddenly changed, and there we were, at the red light, right next to her school bus.

I sneaked a sideways glance. She was staring straight ahead. 'Oh look' I exclaim as I look past her and out of the passenger side window, 'There's Lucy! She's waving'! I gave her a big wave back. I guess that's not cool!

Tall Girls face was like thunder, she was convinced the whole bus had seen us but obviously most of the students on the bus were far too busy throwing their packed lunches about and calling each other names, to have bothered about us at all. The lights changed and we were off at high speed, me laughing my socks off and her looking very displeased!

Falling in love!

2010-09-23T18:55:00.001+01:00

I have fallen in love, he is the perfect cat, apart from his thinness, which makes him a bit boney to cuddle. We have named him Pencil, because of his thinny skinny body but sadly he is not mine. He lives across the way and his real name is Max.

His owner doesn't seem to be home much, and Pencil waits by our door for us to come home, whenever that might be. He seems truly happy and peaceful in our house, with company and attention. She says he's very old and that's why he is thin, but he seems constantly hungry! I know I shouldn't feed him, but he is hard to resist.

I have missed having a cat about the place, he is a real time waster, so calming to stoke a beautiful creature.

Influences (or Effects) part 2

2010-09-19T11:59:00.000+01:00

After writing the first part of this meme, I realised that actually these people which I am writing about have, perhaps, not really influenced my life so much as as effected it. Influenced is so much more often used and associated with a good thing, but some people just effect, whether you want them to or not...

When he called me into the bedroom I knew what he wanted, I had felt this moment coming for a long time. I was 14, the age my own daughter is soon to be. The memory is hazy, I think he called my name and I walked into the room obediently, like the child that I still was. I can't remember what I was wearing, a nightdress I think, I don't think girls wore pyjamas back then.

I remember standing by the side of his bed, the bed they shared when my mother was there, a big bed in a big room adorned with frills and lace, yellow and peach in the daytime, very grey during the dark hours. I remember him asking me to get onto the bed, I don't know how long it took me to do so or how many times he asked. In my mind I think it took a long time. In my memory I was not scared, not in a scary sort of way, I was just unsure, I knew it was wrong of him to ask me. He was the adult, the 'responsible adult' with whom I'd been left; in his care. I knew that this wasn't what children would normally be asked to do.

In my memory I sat astride him, as he had asked. In reality I hope I did not, I really hope I did not. He asked me to get into the bed with him. Into it. With him. He was lonely, he said and he wanted a cuddle.

I don't know how I managed to return back to my own bed. I can't remember if I cried, if I ran back, or walked. I do know I said NO though. That I do remember; no, I can't do that, it's not right.

Later, in my own bedroom, in my own bed, I remember him standing beside me, over me. Maybe he was weeping or maybe he was not and at some point he uttered the sentence they all use; 'Don't tell your mother, she'll make me go away and that will make her sad' Like other children before me, I agreed, tears streaming down my cheeks by now. Sometime later during that night eventually I slept, in the same house with him, alone in my room.

I agreed to say nothing because he was right, she would be sad and I loved my mother very much.

Eventually I spoke out, during a row about something quite different. I don't know to this day whether she believed me, she never did anything about it though, it was far too late for that by then anyway.

Influence or effect? It still effects my relationship with my mother, the relationship she has with my children, she has suffered, whether she knows it or not; things could have been so different.

What a week!

2010-09-10T17:57:00.005+01:00

A long time ago, it seems like a lifetime, my solicitor told me I would be eligible for Legal Aid, she was in possession of all the financial information at the time and I trusted her. She also told me that if I went to court, she would be able to get me a better financial settlement than husband had offered me. You are entitled to more, she told me. I trusted her.

This week, after many months of form filling and jumping through hoops, I received a letter from the Legal Commission. I read it several times before the words made any sense. I am not entitled to financial help. I can't afford to go to court without it.

So much time has been wasted just waiting for the cogs and wheels to turn and now, after all that, it seems I will have to settle for his offer, the one he made last year, the one which is worth less than half our joint assets, the one that means I will never manage to be able to house the children and myself in our own home. It has been a massive blow and a wake up call to reality, I tried not to cry.

And it still seems so unfair that he should be living in a pleasantly tree lined road, in a 4 bedroomed house that he owns, with a large garden. A house that will grow in value over time, has grown in value in fact and which he can sell as soon as he is divorced, yet we are and will continue to pay rent and live somewhere much less leafy. I am trying very hard not to dwell on this, it is better ignored or forgotten. Yet at the same time I am so very glad I no longer live on that leaf lined street, that I no longer walk the paths or drive the roads of that particular suburbia. My life is good and I have much to be grateful for, I am counting my blessings instead, there are no regrets.

When I rang the solicitor to tell her the financial news she sounded surprised and immediately asked for £500! Can you believe it?! I have asked her to settle out of court for me as quickly as possible, and I hope it is possible; a request that, as yet I have had no response to. My worry is that I am in a much weaker position now if he finds out I cant afford to go to court and who knows what his offer will be?

However the divorce papers are ready to roll as soon as the finances are cleared. At least it will all be over, the silver lining in the cloud, that is what I am hanging on to - an End at last..

Also on a more positive note; the job I declined in the summer, after much deliberation and worry, has just been offered to me as a temporary contract with reduced hours that I can do. The hours fit in with my permanent job, so I consider myself extremely lucky. Funny how things turn out

Influences

2010-09-04T22:15:00.005+01:00

Recently another blogger, The Eternal Worrier, wrote a series of 7 posts about people who have influenced him. I am going to take up his challenge and do the same. I'm not sure how it will go, it's just going to have to come together as I write, bare with me?

When I was 12 I had a friend who had a school girl crush on David Soul, alias Starskey, or was it Hutch? You see it never meant anything to me, all this hero worship and swooning over characters with whom I would never meet. I was more realistic in my expectations in life, I mean, how on earth would I ever get to meet a Pop Idol or a TV Star, let alone snog him; because lets face it, that was what we were all thinking about back then? But Helen was not daunted, every wall was covered with centre folds of her current muse. And she was fickle! I couldn't believe the rapidity of the turnover of posters and photographs, no sooner were they blue-tacked up on the wall, then they were ripped from their shrines and frames and replaced with a better and more appealing 'sex god'...

So, you see, my list of 7 people who have influenced me will not be about anyone you know. I have never brushed with the rich and famous (though I did catch a glimpse of Jonny Kingdom the other week if that counts?) and have never really longed to meet any stars or superstars. They may have influenced me, through popular culture as a whole, but it is my everyday influences that have made me who I am. And every time I meet someone else, the possibilities grow.

...A couple of years on and I found myself in the local park at lunchtime with Paul. I don't remember much about him as a person, I don't think it occurred to me to ask, all I knew was that he made my knees go all wobbly and his dad drove a blue Porche. I remember lying with him on the grass, ridged with anticipation of a first kiss, when he leant over and slipped his hand inside my school shirt. I could have died with embarrassed. Not because of what he was doing, but because I knew, as with all women and girls, that unless you have implants, that the flesh beneath slips sideways and diminishes! Now, I'm not sure anyone had thought of implants back then, but if they had I'm sure I'd have craved some, just to stop the awfulness of the situation happening again. I mean, where had my chest disappeared to right when I needed it?

Anyway, I'm not sure we ever kissed. I think he asked me to the cinema just to be polite, and because he was late we missed the beginning of The Deer Hunter, a film which gave me nightmares and disturbed me for years afterwards.

I have included him here, for two reasons. His best friend became a good friend of mine instead, no kissing was ever involved, just friends. I often walked home with him. I remember his mum showing me her newly decorated dining room one day in 1979. I was stunned, the walls were hung with luxurious wallpaper; navy blue with gold stars, I'd never seen anything like it before. And later, much later in my life I became an interior designer and recreated her dining room for myself in a large executive house. This was the late 80's, all was opulent and extreme, the 16 year old long gone.

Yet the real influence was how he looked. After we both left school I only spotted him once, walking through my home town, alone and aloof. I can remember now how my heart missed a beat, such a wonderful feeling when that happens, so much more powerful when you are just 16. Yet we never spoke again. Then one day I saw someone who looked just like him. I was sitting in the local Wine Bar with my best friend. If I'd not known Paul would I ever have noticed this new man? I don't think so, but because I did notice him it changed my life's path, things were never quite the same again...

A moment

2010-09-04T10:46:00.001+01:00

Visiting my mother in the summer holidays, without the children, was sublime. The sun shone, the flowers were bright and profuse in pots and borders. We had a precious commodity and lots of it, stretching endlessly into the hot afternoon; time on our hands, to talk and share, without interruption, almost.

We sat in the sun with cups of tea to exchange news.They had had visitors through the summer, a friend and her new partner and they were eager to tell me all about it.

'He was German, you know' said my Step Father who had taken an obvious dislike to the poor man. 'It's a shame The War's over' he pronounced.

I looked at him slightly puzzled

'Else I could have shot him!' he finished with a flourish, satisfied at just the thought...

At Mums

2010-08-18T21:11:00.001+01:00

The dog is getting old, we are all getting old. Walking The Dog is a very very slow business.

But it is a beautiful sunny day and we are in tremendously good spirits Mum and I. It is a happy day and I am pleased to be in her company.

We have walked about 500 yards to the nearest grass verge when the dog stops to 'do her business 'as my Granny would have said. It does a massive pile. Mum brings out the inevitable 'poo bag' to scoop it up. She ties the top with a flourish and, holding tight to the looped handle, off we go again.
'How far is the bin?' I ask her, thinking that it would be nice to have a dog but that the 'pooper scooper' bit might be a bit much, especially as the children have been out of nappies for so long!
'Just around the corner' she says with a jolly smile, as the dog plonks itself down for another go.
'More?' I say in astonishment
'Oh yes' says Mum, almost proud, 'Sometimes I get through 3 of these!' She brandishes another bag and swoops upon the steaming pile.

She has the whole thing off to a fine art, and before we know it we are off again down the road.
'Sometimes' she says ' I think more comes out than goes in!'
'Really?' Ewww
'Yes' she says 'Feel the weight of that' and she hands me the two warm bags!
'I think I can live without that experience Mum' I decline

She really is something else sometimes, but you've got to love her!

The call

2010-08-17T21:09:00.001+01:00

Maggie May was right, I did know the answer to my dilemma. The reason I'd been so worried about ringing my prospective employer, was because they may have negotiated on finishing times and if they had, then I would have had to have taken the job. In my heart of hearts I did not want it. I wanted to be sure of keeping my children. I wanted to savour the last year of Small Sprog; taking him to school in the morning, being there in the afternoon to hear his chatter, buy him an ice cream or cajole him to his extra maths lesson, depending on the day of the week.

I put off the call until Monday morning and was told that they would not negotiate. Was I still interested? No, I knew the answer straight away, I was not.

Back to the drawing board then. Time or money, which is more important to you?

Back to reality

2010-08-14T13:21:00.000+01:00

As my much-looked-forward-to holiday period comes to an end, my sleep becomes disturbed once more and thoughts of work, childcare, finance and divorce flood my mind in the small hours. I try not to look at the clock when I am restless, otherwise I count the hours that I have missed and add them mentally on to my deficit! Lying there in the early morning greyness I can hear the rain steadily falling. What I really need, I think, is a nice warm lie in the sun, I want to hear the crash of the sea and dig for shells on the shoreline. All this is brought on by knowing that my children are in Cornwall. I have checked the weather continuously this last week to see if it is dry where they are. I worry about Small Sprog on his body board and hope that he is supervised enough and warm...

Just as I departed for York I received an email from my prospective employer; I have tried to contact you at home, it says, please call me when you receive this message. I quickly email back to say I am about to drive to York and I will be back at the end of the week. Yet I could have called her then. I am putting it off. I want the job but not the hours, I want to see my children, I want it all.

On the other hand, Husband, despite threats, has not cut us off financially and has paid money into the bank. This month then, I am solvent at least. Yet the threat was very real and who knows what will be up his sleeve next. Do I want to live every month like the last one?

Ah and the good news, I suppose is that a court hearing may be due at the end of November, twenty two months from the day when I told him it was over. The solicitor says the first hearing is only 'House Keeping'. I am not holding my breath, just as well I guess, as I'd have expired long ago!

So in the twilight of morning, as I thought for the hundredth time how useful a crystal ball would be, I tried to encourage myself to make the call. Perhaps to ring at the weekend would be bad manners? Who am I trying to kid?! I have managed to forget reality for the last three weeks, now I must face it, and to be honest, why am I putting myself through this, trying to second guess what they will say? The only way to find out is to make the call.

Off again!

2010-08-09T10:04:00.003+01:00

Over two weeks into the school holidays and I am childless once more. This time I nearly cried when they left, if Mum hadn't been there too then perhaps I would have, I couldn't cry infront of her, it would have made her cry too! It has been an emotional time, there have been the most wonderful moments, mixed with job and health worries, life is never dull in suburbia.

We had a brilliant week away, a proper family holiday, it felt easy and free and we all agreed the simple pleasures were the best; we fed ducks, paddled in clear shallow streams and skimmed stones in the river. We laughed, a lot. We enjoyed each other and played silly games. We ate ice cream and sweets until our teeth ached! We were happy. I will always remember that holiday, it is the most normal and stable time that I have spent for as long as I can remember. Sometimes normal is a great relief!

The days after our return were filled with visiting various friends before they went on their holidays, the time has passed so quickly, all of it good.

But the inevitable came. After managing to spend nearly 4 weeks on the trot with my children, I had to let them go. It was harder this time. We were out of the routine of every other weekend with their dad. I will not see them now for over two weeks and by the time they return, the holidays will be nearly over.

And all the time I had with them, the whole four weeks, I wanted to say 'Isn't this good? Couldn't we just do this forever? Can't we just go on and on?' But of course they need to see their father, it's only right, yet they seemed so settled at home with me, I find myself wishing...

Anyway, today I am away to York for another week away. I am so very lucky to have a wonderful man to spend time with. We will be child free and therefore footloose! Sometimes life is so good, yet I am always greedy and want it all.

How have you spent your summer so far?