3 years and 11 days...

...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.

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. 


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)

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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...

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.

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!

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...

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

'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

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

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

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

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

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!

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...

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

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

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!

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!

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.

Too much, too soon?

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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...

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!

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

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!

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?

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

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

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.

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!

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.