A Scare and a Thing So Incredibly Rare

We are home today  -- largely due to a misunderstanding on my part.   We are all recovering from a nasty virus that has lasted a good fortnight.  The remnants of it seem to be retreating but unfortunately are doing so via small explosions from our bottoms!  How nice....

My little one obviously had one such explosion whilst he slept.  To my horror this morning on getting him up,  I stood looking at what I thought was a patch on blood on his sheet.  Whilst he did his usual morning bouncing routine my brain was racking itself with thoughts of what could be wrong and what should I do.  I only know that blood from bottoms is not good news.

Ultimately we had a chat and agreed to take the day off school and visit the doctor.  Imagine my relief then when on further examining the suspect patch prior to throwing the whole thing in the washing machine I discovered a red pepper skin - nothing more sinister!  Thank god -- still it is too late to get to work on time now and even so I think sending a little to school with a loose bum is probably not in the good parenting manual anyway.  So home we shall stay today.

Didn't blog at the weekend because I had to prepare for a night out on Saturday.  Obviously this took all day because I had to tidy the house for the babysitter coming.  We had dinner out, followed by a viewing of "The Woman in Black" at the cinema complex in town.  Doesn't get much more rare and exciting for us these days.

The film was big on scare factor and from first impression somewhat short on plot.  I didn't think I thought much of it.  However, I have found myself mulling on it since - there are unanswered questions and my mind is desperate to fill in the pieces.  Unfortunately I am also lumbered with a great visual memory and the face of the woman in black keeps returning to haunt me.  Literally whilst I was riding home last night in the dark past woodland.  You'd think I'd have grown out of scaring myself at my age - but no!

I have two further excursions into the lives of the sociable to look forward to in the coming week.   Saturday will see me tapping my converse to the melodies of Matt Cardle.  Whilst Monday will hopefully have me clutching my sides at Dara O'Brien.  I'm writing this because it is a thing so incredibly rare.

Lent Intent

Well, Lent has started and for the first time in many years I am minded to mark it.  

To this effect I signed up for early Sunday morning yoga classes for the duration.   I figure this to be a good combination of sacrifice and praxis.  I forego my, frankly essential and  much anticipated Sunday lie-in to engage my body and nourish my soul.  It is both an act of relinquishing and an act of undertaking.  Hoorah!

I'm really looking forward to it. I have buy in from my hub, who will in turn get to watch the footie on a Sunday afternoon, while I overcompensate by donning  a knights costume and wielding a sword in Narnia play with the boy.

But it isn't the whole story.  The driver in this, is not the yoga -- not really.

No, the prime motivator is the fact that I want to stop drinking wine on a Saturday night, and if I have to rise early on Sunday to exercise there will be less inclination to do this.

There -- said it -- now PHEW!!!

I don't even habitually drink a lot.  Half of a bottle of wine shared with my hub to mark a Friday and Saturday night isn't that excessive I feel. It's just, lately I've found myself looking forward to it a bit too much.  What's more I've been throwing a casual G & T into the mix and this, dear reader, has started to scare me.

If it were just me, or just me and hub, I would quite honestly not be giving this a second thought. I'm not endangering myself particularly or anyone else, or doing any harm, so what?

But it isn't just me any more.

My own parents were problem drinkers.
I know from experience that the impact of this on a child, of any age, is profoundly painful. Even now, at 45 I can't fully examine these feelings without fear that the walls will cave in.  Some day I hope I will be able to from a safe place.

For now, it is enough however, to ensure my son never, ever,  has to confront this particular issue.

I'm using  Lent therefore, to break a habit that isn't currently harmful, but that has future potential to harm.  Because make no mistake, a self-harming parent harms their child by default.  The more the child loves the parent, the worse it is.

Of the several achievements of which I am proud in my life, becoming  a mother is without question the most sublime.  Writing this, I realise that there was a long time when I thought and feared it wouldn't happen and now with the benefit of hindsight I know what I would have been missing.

Every day, I'm reminded of the privilege that it is to parent and I want to be the best mummy that I can possibly be.  

That's all!

Early to Rise - What a Surprise!

Saturday 5.40 am -- "Can we get up now?"

"No, wait till 6 o'clock"

"When’s that?"

"Soon." 

90 seconds elapses.

"Is it 6 o'clock yet?"

Most of my days start like this.  It’s fine in the week because we need to get up and get out early anyway.  Saturdays are harder.  To be honest, the sooner I give in and rouse myself to get downstairs and mainline coffee the better mood I start the day in.  If I stay in bed and try to argue about the time I just end up in a foul mood and certainly no more rested.

I remember doing this to my parents.  I guess its common with early risers and our lad probably gets it from me in the first place. What goes around comes around.

It makes for long and very full on days though and so by 6.30 pm I’m done in.

However, as I lay beside my little miracle just now, as he fell gently into sleep I fell to musing.

A long day yes, but we painted. We bounced on the trampoline.  We went to a local farm and mooched among the rare-breed pigs and cows. We made chickpea curry and apple tart together.

Golden days really.  Who knows what tomorrow will bring?  For today, however, I am thankful for them. Days to be cherished – I’m definitely feeling the glass half full thing this evening. 

Mind you, as I type mine is half empty of gin and tonic, and no doubt that’s helping J

The Minutiae of Day to Day Life

What did we do today?  Well, we got up at 5.50 :(((((

Fortunately we could slob out in front of Night at the Museum 2 and I could snooze a bit.  My little man is on the mend but still not right.

The pattern for half term has been: get up and bounce around for several hours, appear totally normal.  Mid afternoon get temperature through the roof, slump,  fall asleep.  Wake up about 6 pm and  bounce around for several hours, get temperature through the roof, slump, fall asleep.

It's not been an easy week, and to think I was so looking forward to the break from the school run.

What did I achieve then today?  We went to town on the bus, had a Pret a Manger salad for lunch and visited the toy shop.  My little one chose a beautiful chariot with horses and an ancient Egyptian figurine as I had promised a gift  to make up for his rubbish week.   So we had a good chat about Ancient Egypt, pyramids and Pharaohs, and how they wrote by "drawing pictures".

Came home, prepared some canvases together, ready to do some paintings for Dad's birthday which is two weeks away.

Made flapjacks.

Put DVD on.  We are currently at the slump, fall asleep..... stage of the day.  Shortly we will be into wake up and bounce around and on it goes.

I've taken a bit of time out to read some blogs this week.  I am amazed by the variety of writing on such a wide range of subjects, so many fab bloggers with so much to say on so many interesting topics.

I started to feel slightly self-conscious.  But then I reminded myself that the 2 blogs I regularly followed before they ceased publication were really about the minutiae of day to day lives.  I like a little peek into other people's daily stuff. Just nosey I guess.  But who knows maybe others will feel the same about me.....

It certainly feels like therapy.

Every Cloud and All That

Having nursed my little one through horrid flu type thing for the last 6 days I have finally succumbed to it myself.  It's a horror of banging head, hurty throat, swollen glands, runny nose and achey body.  No wonder my boy was grumpy.

He is on the mend and likely to be bouncing around the house tomorrow demanding

Mummy let's do some cooking;
Mummy let's do some painting;
Mummy you be Susan (of Narnia fame)

I will do my best, no doubt dosed to the hilt with hot lemon and paracetamol. It's our day together of half-term, how typical!

On the upside, we have over the last week discovered the phenomenon that is Nanny McPhee - wonderful, feel good films.  I'm told by my friend that the Nurse Matilda books on which the character is based are even better. Every cloud and all that....

Pillar of the Community

 Kate on thin ice asked for 90 bloggers to contribute 90 words about "an important woman in their lives" in support  of Breakthrough for Breast Cancer.   

I wanted to do this, and so I started to think about all the wonderful women in my life.  There is absolutely no shortage. The real difficulty lay in deciding which amazing woman to choose.  My short list comprised : my lovely mum, my beloved sister, my 2 oldest friends, my dearest local friend, my amazing auntie, my mother in law, my sister in law, my niece, my fantastic child minder.  

Without a single one of the women on this list my life would have been so very different in so many ways and I'm taking the opportunity to say a quiet "thank you, to you all - you mean the world to me". 

This post was on my mind on Friday as I sat in the waiting room of my local surgery with my little one who was suffering temperature and tummy ache - the usual childlike ills.  As we were called in, I suddenly knew who to write about. 

I can’t tell her the difference she’s made to me. It would overstep a boundary. Alice, my GP, is after all, only doing her job.  But year after year, despite having two children to raise, she has been a role model, confidante, a source of strength and humour. The woman I have trusted to help me through some of the toughest trials I’ve faced and also some of the most embarrassing and ridiculous. 90 words by no means cuts the mustard - I am so grateful that she has been there. 

Art Attack

My child is inventive and artistic.  He seems to learn by representing the world as he sees it with his own particular slant.  Whether this be by impersonating the Lion King or painting an endless stream of wild animals.  It is a pleasure and a privilege to be party to this.   

From our point of view - his mum and dad it is something of a revelation.  I've done my share of am dram in the past and enjoyed swanning round a stage pontificating in character.  My hub, as it turns out, is a really good representational artist.  He will tell you otherwise, brushing aside his ease with a pencil and the subject of his eye.  However, the fact remains that he holds this particular skill and my son has obviously inherited it. 

All this creative activity has encouraged me to dabble in areas previously untried.  I have never attempted to draw or paint as an adult.  Permission to do so was withdrawn by my art teacher who told me "you can't do it" aged 11. Of course I thought she was right, having grown up to respect the views of my elders. 

Anyway, lately I've been trying.  I'm not good at it.  But I do love it. Blank canvas, images from imagination, beautiful colour replacing white.  The result? Well it's endeavour, if not art. 

I just had an idea and tried sketching it out.  My hub was good naturedly teasing.  The consequence was instant withdrawal into my shell, feeling very silly.  It is amazing that I can recall the voice of that bag after thirty four years.  That I can recall the art room, and where I was sitting in it.  The smell of the powder paint, the dirty bench at which I was working. The physical sense of confidence shrinking in my gut. 

I thought I probably won't try again then. 

Except that I will - I retreated to the shower kinda licking my wound and wondered to myself how much a person could accomplish who was suddenly uninhibited from all the voices internal and external who say "you can't do it".   The answer of course, is a lot more than a person who never tries.    

I recall a quote, not sure from whom, but I don't think it will matter if I try to reproduce it roughly. 

It goes like this: "If a voice inside you tells you that you cannot paint, by all means paint and that voice will be silenced".

I probably cannot paint. But I will anyway, so yah boo sucks Miss Richardson.....

Michael Knows Everything

On the way to school this morning.  

"Mummy do you know Michael really does know everything"

"Hmm, well I always think if someone says that, they probably don't really.  I don't know everything and I'm quite old, Michael is only 5"

"No, he had his birthday so he's six.  Anyway I like listening and I think he really does know lots of things"

Very good.  The child in question is indeed something of a know-it-all. As previously mentioned, this is a trait common to the age group, and some seem more deeply entrenched than others.

I guess I'm facing the first of many situations where my precious child is told one thing by one of his peers and another by me. He prefers Michael's strain of the facts at the moment.  At the moment it doesn't matter, but I guess it will increasingly as he gets older.   I want him to trust me and my judgement.  However he will only be able to really do that if he is able to think freely for himself.

I have a feeling part of the development of free thinking (if it is ever possible)  is having time and space to mull things over in your head. I love it when he says to me "Mummy I'm thinking....."  As long he keeps doing that, he'll be alright.

Someone Else's Blog

http://lefteyerighteye.wordpress.com/2012/01/26/three-faces-of-feminism-louise-mensch-laurie-penny-and-jodie-marsh/


So I read this.  It's really good and stands entirely on its own.   It articulates beautifully the unease that I talked about in my first post.  I can't better it.   This is the kind of piece that I envisaged myself writing.  Except I don't.  I'm capable of it and yet the anger that these issues arouse in me is so disruptive that for the most part I cannot at the moment. 

Sunday? No Snowday...

HOOrah!!  Says it all really.

15 cm depth of beautiful, sparkly, powdery (but not too), white crystals fell from the sky whilst we slept.  We woke to a glistening blanket this morning.  And the sky was blue.  And the sun was shining.  It was wondrous.

We donned wellies, picked up our sledge and off we went to enjoy it.  Playing in the snow with a 5 year old is very special.  There's a little hill near where we live around which the locals gathered with their various sliding boards to enjoy the occasion.

We sledged for a while and then hit the local coffee shop for cake and hot chocolate before heading home to build a snow man in the garden.

May I never, never, never get too old to enjoy the snow.  I guess one day I might worry about falling, but may it be a long long long way off.

That's all.....

Motivator for Feb 2013

This post is a memo to me.  Do NOT skive off or skip yoga classes henceforth!

I've had a yoga practice of sorts for 8 years now.  Starting strongly with loads of enthusiasm and not much strength or flexibility when I was 37.  I practised 4-5 times a week for about 18 months.  I slowed down when I first got pregnant and then picked up again following a miscarriage.  This continued for another couple of years until I finally held on to a pregnancy and started pregnancy yoga and then baby yoga for a bit when my boy finally arrived.

I have intermittently attended classes since his birth.  A 6 month-ish stint at early morning Ashtanga practice before I started back to work again.  The odd class here and there.  But mainly it has been home practice on a fairly erratic basis.

Since the end of summer last year however, we (as a family) have found 3 slots per week for me to attend my classes.  This is a big step forward and it means I get access to four and half hours per week of led yoga and a real opportunity to build a significant practice again.  I have the chance to progress rather than simply maintain.  

Last Saturday however, I found myself reluctant to go.  I was too snugly and enjoying being in the house too much.  I missed a further session this week again --  though that was largely due to monstrous cramps (or that's what I told myself).  

So when I had that feeling again this morning I ignored it and went.  I'm so glad.  Great practice, great vibe and I got good tips on a new approach to Hare post which usually gives me trouble.  

And this is the point - I don't think I've ever had a class where I've not learned something new.  It is always worth going - even if I really don't feel like it.  I will always be a slightly changed person after.

Thinking back, 8 years ago I couldn't hold a downward facing dog for more than 5 seconds.  Nowadays I love this pose and can stay for a long time.  

I'm currently struggling with hip openers and spinal twists. It would be good to revisit this page in a year's time and see where I am with it all.

A motivator for Feb 2013.

Boast Fest

Today I collected three 5 year old boys from school.  Very excited, boisterous and LOUD.  Managed to get them home without hindrance.

Passed two mummies with very young babies in beautiful new travel systems on the way.
 "Ssssh" said one to the boys.  Fairly good naturedly but still with the definite "don't you wake my baby" undertone.

I sympathise, I remember well the endless walking trying to get a young baby to sleep and then the tenterhooks whilst you wait for it to wake and starting yelling again.

But I'm out the other side now - although it doesn't always feel that way.  My little gang tore down the road, shouting, yelling, pretend fighting and laughing.  Into the house demanding popcorn. This age is characterised by  constant one up-manship.  I've got this, I can do this, it's my turn first, I'm bigger, better, stronger than you.   I don't know one of my son's friends who doesn't do this to some extent.  My little one is still trying to figure out how to handle it.  He tends to alternate between trying his own luck in the boast fest and just disintegrating into tears - that's not fair boo hoo!   It can be quite hard to listen to. But I can see it for what it is -- just children finding their way.

It's fascinating though to see glimmers of their genuine individual talents at this age. I'm not into pigeon-holing children but I can see glimpses of the skills they will bring naturally to the world if encouraged to develop them.

 It being Friday night, and now the friends have thankfully done home,  we are settling in for a bit of DVD watching and analysis.   My son is sketching "teddy rosebell" from the film "Night at the Museum" and I am once again marvelling at the wonderful artist he is.  His drawing is meticulous in detail and so much better a job than I can do even now (with some 40 years between us).

Unfortunately as I watch in admiration his little perfectionist streak asserts itself and he throws down his pencil in disgust.

"I can't do the head - that's rubbish!  Waaah"

So young and yet so exacting.

Still it's Friday - nearly clocking off time for me!  Is it wine o'clock yet? I've earned it - honest!