Victory

Photo credit
 

I seem to be winning.

The gaps between the sofa and the wall, and the sofa and the floor, are plugged with plumber's lagging hose (courtesy of J).

Stripe generally steers clear of the 'weakest link' corner where he could easily squeeze through our defences and cause merry havoc chewing behind the sofa.

Why does he stay away? I have Super Nanny to thank for that. Not only has she helped me through those dark, desperate toddler years (terrible twos? Bah! My own experience and a quick straw poll confirms the tantrumy-try-your-patience stage to run from approximately18 months to three and a half years), her techniques seem to work equally as well on pet rats.

As soon as Stripe goes near the illegal zone, I clap loudly (rats have sensitive hearing), say 'No!' firmly and put him in his cage for a few minutes of Time Out. Works a treat.

He also has some new chew toys in his cage and I am more vigilant when he's out playing. Although I've been finding it hard to keep an eye on him and watch Britain's Got Talent. Isn't it just compulsive viewing? Ella and I have been riveted.

My Rat Baby

Photo credit:missy
 

Stripe has been with us for four weeks now and we all love him to bits.

I wanted to upload a photo but he won't stay still long enough, and when he's sleeping he's curled up into a small ball of fur in the corner of his cage which is cute to the naked eye but doesn't make for a good photo through the cage bars.

So, here's a photo of someone else's rat who looks a lot like Stripe.

Pet rats, or fancy rats as they're often called, make brilliant pets. They don't bite, they're as intelligent as dogs (Stripe already comes when you call his name), they can be litter trained and they are very low maintenance.

Ella does her teeth in the morning with him sitting on her shoulder, chattering his teeth and squeaking contentedly

I first had a rat, Rizzo, in my early twenties. He was a baby substitute. My hormones were going wild and I was aware that my hash dealing, thrash metaller boyfriend was unsuitable father material. Rizzo was something small and cute to lavish affection on whilst waiting for my situation to become more motherhood-friendly.

Fast forward a decade or so and Stripe is probably fulfilling the same function - baby substitute (J is not too sure he ever wants his own child). Stripe also has another role - sibling substitute for Ella. She even refers to him as 'my rat brother'. Bless.

Working from home, I let Stripe have free range of the sitting room. He's great fun to watch - inquisitive and intrepid he gets into, on, under and behind everything. He's currently sliding down the neck of my guitar. Rather tunefully I might add.

Stripe didn't come out to play much last night as he was relegated to the naughty corner. J and I had discovered rat nibbles in the sofa. The NEW sofa J spent hundreds of pounds on. It nearly caused a domestic.

Apparently, there are solutions. I can put cuttlefish bones, bird blocks and mineral blocks in his cage to chew on. I can spray Johnson's anti-peck on the sofa (marketed for birds but apparently works on rats) because it tastes horrible. I can also cover the sofa with thick throws when Stripe's out so he chews on those and not the sofa.

I will try all of these things, but I know that if a rat wants to do something there's no stopping him. Man vs rat is an age-old battle. Usually man only wins by using rat poison. Obviously not an option for us.

I am a big rat fan. Despite the chewing. Stripe is affectionate and fun. He likes strokes and cuddles. I can leave him in his palatial Freddy Savic if I need to go away for a weekend and know that he's perfectly content.

Stripe is a great pet. He's even muted the ticking of my biological clock. I'm sure J will agree a nibbled sofa is a small price to pay, considering he's been let off the hook. For the moment anyway.

Logs and Dogs

Thank you for all your kind comments. You've really helped to cheer me up :-)

I knew Ali since she was about 18. Over that decade, our friendship has ebbed and flowed but always against a steady background of love and respect. It's taken me a while to feel comfortable with the fact that we were on an ebb before she died. 

No arguments, no acrimony but some conscious distance because aspects of Ali's recent lifestyle shift weren't sitting easy with me. Her changed value set rankled me a little, she wasn't fully the Ali I knew and loved, and I thought a little time and space would smooth the edges of our relationship and I could throw myself back into being a loving friend in say three or six months when she was, well, a bit less hectic.

I ignored a few of her texts and voicemails over the past few months. Ummed and Ahhed over whether to invite her to my hen night - and didn't. Left our friendship in suspended animation for a while, knowing that she's always surrounded by friends, living life to the full and was unlikely to notice my temporary retreat.

I smiled at the news that she'd met someone special and, on my return from honeymoon, thought 'I really must call her, meet her new man, spend an evening with her on her bus (where she lived) and get me a dose of her positivity and warmth.' I was starting to miss her.

You can imagine how shocked, and how guilty, I felt when she died. What a waste. Of her life and of our friendship. Wasted time, wasted opportunities. I wished I'd known, I wished I'd seized the chance to create new memories of Ali in the six months where there was just a few ignored messages and some snatched news from mutual friends.

Ali was a free spirit. More recently, she embraced the traveller lifestyle and was known for her passion for open fires and dogs (logs and dogs!!) - at one point she was looking after eleven dogs & puppies. On a bus!! She used to be a gardener and worked without gloves because she loved the feel of the soil.

She was a ball of energy. So immediate. Famed for her wide, welcoming smile and her bounciness. She had been conceived at Stonehenge, and she had a kind of magic that you don't often get to experience. 

I know in my heart that if she's around she will forgive me my embarassment, my pettiness and just remember the love. She was all about love was Ali. 

I miss her. I wish I could have shared one more moment with her.

Ali will always be an inspiration. A beacon of light and unrelenting positivity. A call to grab life by the balls and do what you want NOW because that's what she did. Always. She had a short life, but a full life. I think she herself would have recognised that as her life faded from her.

As for the rest...when someone you love dies you eventually start to wonder if they still exist. Has she stopped like a clock that can no longer be wound? Or has her vital force left and gone on to some other plane? Somehow, you think if they could they would let you know, if they could reassure you in any way they would.

Thinking this, a few days before her funeral I fell asleep thinking of Ali and reaching out to her, asking her to give me a sign. Not in the manner of someone desperate and inconsolable. I was sad, yes, but also inquisitive. Ali had Shamanic beliefs. She saw all of existence as being animated both in the here-and-now and in the forever-after. If she could let any of us know she still existed then I am sure she would throw her full self into piercing the veil.

I dreamed of Ali that night. She was there, and she was communicating with me by text message. I was so frustrated in the morning because I couldn't remember the content of her text. All I could remember was me, in my dream, saying 'Ali, that's amazing. How did you manage to text from the dead?!'. Bollox to my memory.

At Ali's funeral, my friend Sarah showed me something both banal and amazing. I am sure there's a logical explanation for this. I'm not sure I really want to find it though. I like it how it occurs for me right now.

Sarah, who is notorious for being rather scatty and very late for everything, had also recently asked Ali for a sign. In a rather more considered way than me, she had lit some candles, held some rose quartz and had a good old chat to the ether - hoping Ali might hear. 

The next day she got a message in her phone calendar (a function she has never used and is unlikely to ever do so). It was for the day of Ali's funeral, at 8am (the time Sarah had to leave to catch the train in order to get there on time) and it just said 'A'.

8: A.

Sarah hadn't put it there - she doesn't even know how to work her phone's calendar. Unfortunately, she still managed to miss the funeral (a mix up with St Peter's Church in Didcot and the one she actually needed to be at - in North Moreton). But she was there for the wake - a fabulous, emotional gathering in a field by Ali's mum's house with drums, guitars and a huge log fire. Very Ali.

It's only in the last few days that I remembered something I've known for ages. That the figure eight lying on it's side is the symbol for infinity. Make of that what you will. I'm still undecided, but a large part of me is smiling and thinking 'clever Ali. Thank you!'

Feeling Quiet

I know I've been really quite recently. I will be back on top blogging form soon I promise.

For a week and a half after our honeymoon I was going to bed as soon as I'd read Ella a bedtime story. That's about 7.30-8pm. Yes, really. Call it jet lag, call it post-marital fatigue. I call it bliss actually. However, sleeping so early leaves little time for any other activity (such as blogging).

Then, after we'd got back from an Easter camping weekend in Corfe Castle, Dorset at the excellent Woodlands campsite I got the tragic news that a beautiful friend of mine, Ali, had died in a car accident, along with her boyfriend. 

She was only 27, and the smiliest ray of sunshine I have ever known. She'll always be remembered with love - by me and her many, many loved ones. Her funeral is this weekend. I'd like to write more about her but not just yet. I haven't really felt like writing at all.

I promise I'll be back - soon. 

Keep checking...

Six Reasons Why England Rocks and Thailand Doesn't

On honeymoon I truly got to grips with how fabulous dear ole Blighty is. 

For those of you dreaming about paradisical beach destinations, I'd like to remind you of a few  
Photo: I was here, dreaming of cloudy days and decent puddings 
advantages which our own green and pleasant land has over many exotic locations - in this case, Thailand: 

1. Mosquitos are few and far between

They are bastards. I'm veggie - yes I fell off the Vegan Wagon a little while ago - and respect every animal's right to life. I gladly make an hypocritical exception for mozzies.

2. Sanitation

Drinkable tap water+flushing loos=happy campers. 

3. Weather you can walk in

No rushing back to air-con retreats between the hours of noon-4pm for us. A distinct lack of daily sweat-soaked clothes and I've-just-smoked-five-neat-hash-bongs-in-a-row type lethargy.

4. Reassuring National Figures

As a curvy lady, it's easy to be self-assured amongst a wonderful range of Brit figures - mainly pear-shaped, occassionally waif-like. The Thai National Figure is more size 6 - your average English Rose is a size 16. By our standards I'm slim (well, way off the national average anyway), by theirs I'm a heifer.

5. Friends and Family

They're all here, a walk, short drive, cheap phone call, email or text away. I love them. Those I see every week to those I see once a year. I need them all. They add colour and charm and excitement to my life. I can't take them all on holiday with me. J is everything I could wish for - but without Ella, Jules, Anton, Anna P, Sarada, Helen, Sut, Kath W etc my world would be a half-lit, muted place.

6. Decent Desserts
Going out for a meal (albeit a delicious green curry) just isn't as much of a treat without a delicious pud. Banana fritters just can't compete with creme brulee, chocolate mousse, apple crumble and custard, treacle pudding, chocolate cake...I'll stop right there as I'm salivating over my keyboard.

Of course, there's also a lot to be said for sparkling white sands, rippling azure seas and hanging out (literally in my case) in a bikini for two weeks. But if the credit crunch forces you to forgo your long haul holiday this year, take it from me - there really is no place like home.

  

The Big Day

The sun shone, my boobs looked (and I quote a friend here) “magnificent” in my dress - thus having the desired effect of detracting from my expanded waistline (which was less expanded due to the miracle of Spanx).

And no, I’m not up the duff. I’ve been a lazy, greedy piggy for a long time and two weeks in a bikini has convinced me to do something about it NOW.  Photo: Me, J, Ella & Sulis

The ceremony was short, sweet and special. The flower girls and my sister looked gorgeous. Lunch was great, and very generously paid for by the best man.

I won’t say too much about the wedding night other than J was like a man half his age and drinking champagne in the hot tub at the Angus Suite was a blissful experience which I think we should repeat on every wedding anniversary. 

We had our wedding party the following evening. I hardly spent any time with J and wished I could spend more time with my good friends but speaking to 70+ guests over five hours was challenge enough.

I surprised myself by doing an impromptu speech, and an inebriated J surprised himself by responding to cries from his friends of ‘J do a speech’ by grabbing the mic off me and saying “Yeah…ditto. I agree with everything Anna said”. A good start to married life.

My Blogging Code of Ethics

Photo Credit

Well it would seem that my last post was more inflammatory than I thought. I guess I’ll have to develop a thicker skin.

A good friend of mine guessed who the ex-wife I referred to was, and ticked her off via text for refusing to come to my wedding party. Another was upset to find our misunderstanding labelled as a ‘fall out’ and emailed to tell me so. It was the first email I read on my return from honeymoon and cast a small shadow over my homecoming.

Note that with both the friends/aquaintances I referred to I didn’t actually say anything bad about them. They are/were friends after all.

You know, when I’m writing a blog post I don’t consider who may end up reading it. I enjoy the no-holds-barred honesty and freedom of expression that is the Blogger’s prerogative. 

However, before posting a blog I do have a quick read through and check that I’ve followed my own Blogging Code of Ethics:

• Don’t write anything about any person, institution or business that I wouldn’t say to their face
  
  
• Don’t disclose the names of anyone I have written about in less-than-glowing terms
  
  
• Don’t slag off friends or aquaintances (which ties in with the first point, natch). N.B. this still gives me some leeway to have a bit of a whinge occasionally!  
  

As Anton, one of my ‘bestest buddies’, remarked “blogging about people you know, who may end up reading your blogpost, is an issue for our times. Where do you draw the line? Should you censor what you write? It’s a topical debate. You’ve just got to blog about it.” So, please join this zeitgeisty conversation and leave a comment to let me know what you think.

We are all creatures with fragile egos and faulty perceptions, craving love and positive attention. Clearly, there’s no way I can write about my life, my feelings, my gripes and my pleasures without unintentionally offending someone along the way.

Maybe I should have two blogs. I could turn this one into a Pollyanna version and create a new 'Part Mummy Part Me Uncut' version available only to strangers where I can break free from my self-imposed restrictions and dish the dirt like Dooce. It worked for her. It made her famous.

To those readers, past and present, who I accidentally offend/upset I offer my apologies, and my pledge to continue to uphold my Blogging Code of Ethics. That’s the best I can do. 

If I continue to offend/upset any of you, I respectfully suggest that you stop reading this blog.

I wonder if any of you fellow bloggers have protected your blog from being read by friends and family? If not, have you had similar situations where one of your posts has caused upset, misunderstanding, offence or had an unforeseen consequence?

Do you self-censor what you write or do you write what you want and resolve to face the music afterwards? Have you got your own Blogging Code of Ethics – and what do you think of mine? Do tell...

Pre Marital Tension

photo credit
 

Lately I've been experiencing a strange form of PMT - Pre Marital Tension.

I thought I'd been so clever - after all I'd done everything I could to avoid the syndrome. No cars, no flowers, no seating plans...all wedding preparations done and dusted in a matter of weeks not months. Surely, I would be a very calm, relaxed bride.

But I hadn't accounted for the politics.

People calling me up, upset because they weren't invited to the wedding party. They remain uninvited. A friend asking me if she and her partner could bring other friends I don't know so they have someone to talk to at the wedding (it's a wedding! Go mingle!).

I've had someone that has long since faded into the background - due to distinct lack of interest on both sides - calling me up for the first time in years 'just to say hello' when I know through mutual friends they're angling for an invitation. Their message remains on my answering machine - unanswered.

I've fallen out with someone over wedding cake (don't ask). A was-a-good-friend-now-more-of-an-aquaintance texted me yesterday to say she isn't coming because her ex-husband will be at the party (although he doesn't seem to have a problem about bumping into her, and they still text each other occassionally) and her current beau is uncomfortable about it. She's not prepared to come without her partner.

My childcare plans fell through recently due certain people getting the hump - meaning I can't get too tipsy at my wedding party because Els and Sulis (my niece) will be staying until the party ends at midnight and coming back to my house with J and me. We had hoped to have a bit of a grown-up 'after party' so that's not possible now. 

Frankly, I can't face small children with a hangover the next day (that's me with the hangover, not the small children obviously), so now I should really be watching my champagne intake at our party or -more likely- having a good time and regretting it bitterly the next morning. Though there's always that stalwart babysitter, CBeebies, to fall back on.

On top of the realisation that people are a lot weirder than I first thought, and a good deal more selfish, J and I have been niggling at one another this week. A lot.

According to my good friend Adie, she and her hubby were the same and her gay friends also recently experienced a prolonged bout of PMT with a lot of huffiness and bad temper prior to their civil partnership. 

It seems no one can escape - straight or gay, big wedding or small.

All is well now though. The day before my wedding I've finished my work, been waxed within an inch of my life and had a rare but much needed manicure.

Anna (not me, a friend with the same name) called yesterday to offer her fairy lights - along with herself and her husband to string them along the beams in the hall before the party and run anylast-minute errands for us while we're decking out the venue.

Helen is meeting me at the hall on Saturday to help make helium balloon clusters and prettify the hall. Several friends, and El's granny (known as 'Nonna' because she is too young-looking and gorgeous to be 'granny') have offered to take El home after the party to give me a chance to let my hair down and recuperate the next morning (all declined as I'll have Sulis anyway and I know that two kids can occupy themselves in the morning without adult assistance better than one!).

My friend and colleague popped over yesterday to give me a wonderful and unexpected present - a much-longed-for bread maker. This is despite the fact that we've asked people to bring a 'pot luck' dish for the buffet to save us catering costs - and not to worry about getting us a pressie.

Sarada has insisted on making a wedding cake - although I was completely unfussed about having one at first, I'm now really grateful that we will have a cake (btw she's not the person I fell out with over cake!).

Oh, and my mother has kindly given me some spending money for our honeymoon. Adie has let me know several times that she'll do anything to help, and to call me on the day if I need anything at all. Then there's Anton who paid for half of my dress as a present, Juliet who is helping me with my hair and make-up...

I'm chuffed to bits with people's kindness and help. It's eased my PMT and I'm looking forward to the wedding tomorrow, and the party on Saturday, with eagerness and a slight touch of butterflies. 

It's gonna be great.

Here Comes the Sun

Photo credit
 

Missed the sun today.

Ironically, I've been writing about Sun storage solutions instead.

Still, mustn't grumble as I'll get plenty of sunshine in Thailand. Only a few weeks left until I fly there with my new hubby.

My workload has gone ballistic. I did ask for more work. I'm very grateful to the universe/Powers that Be/The Great Mother and all her Little Pixies for answering my request.

However, next time I gaze skyward and mutter my request, I will be making it SMARTer. Paying special attention to the Timing part.

After dossing around for the best part of December and January, new contracts aplenty have been rolling in. Fabulous. Apart from the fact that they rushed towards me just before half-term, and with only a few weeks until my wedding & honeymoon.

Luckily, El loves her holiday club. And I still managed to make time to take her ice skating.

Must crack on with more fascinating insights into the world of IT storage solutions. I'm rather enjoying it actually.

I have guests coming over soon for a Nigella-inspired Mexican feast. Including homemade margarita ice cream  - made with Tequila and Cointreau.  

I think it'll be a fun night...

2 Cocks and 18 Hens

Photo credit: Chicken and a hen

I had my hen night last Friday. I am still recovering. Yes, it was that good!

Unusually, I invited two honorary male hens, or cocks as I prefer to think of them.

Even more unusually, after we had eaten at the wonderful (and very good value) Thai Corner we met up with J and his stags at Plug n Play  - where J and I had first met. Oh, and where I subsequently have enjoyed many a wild night.

Did I mention that I danced on the table in the restaurant? No? Good. I shudder now, but it seemed appropriate at the time.

After some brilliant dance music and a few interesting incidents, including a good (married) friend of mine being propositioned by a very sexy hunk of a man to come back with him and his wife (!!!), we wobbled into a taxi at about 5am.

My wonderful foresight had led me to make a blueberry pancake batter before I went out so I could rustle up breakfast for all my guests. Unfortunately, most of them had snuck off before I dragged myself out of bed - at around 5pm. I'm no good with late nights/early mornings. I have to sleep them off straight away.

El's dad was kindly looking after both El and her cousin until Sunday lunchtime, so Jules (my sis) and I had enough time to be fully compus mentis before having to switch into mummy mode.

I had the best time, but I'm glad I don't have to party that hard on a regular basis. I'm still feeling a little delicate nearly a week later.

My Credit Crunch Wedding

I'm not usually known to be frugal, but when a part-time marketing consultant/copywriter and a full-time heating engineer decide to tie the knot they have to take into account a distinct lack of funds. For J and I, you can also include a distinct lack of willing benefactors. 

A little internet resarch revealed the fact that my dream wedding - a marquee on Temple Island for 150 guests, free flowing booze, fine dining, loads of flowers etc would only be a reality for me if I robbed a bank, sold a kidney or reconciled myself to 5-10 years worth of paying off a loan. For just one day (albeit a very special one)? No way, Jose. 

Our limited resources haven't been too restrictive though. We've just had to focus more on what's really important for us. Which is: a fab honeymoon and a great party. Oh, and I expanded that criteria recently to include a Red-Carpet-Oscar-Winner-Dress. A girl has got to be a goddess on her wedding day, naturellement.

So, we're going halves on a two week honeymoon in Thailand. I'll be raiding my recently-started ISA for that one. Actually, depleting it would be a more accurate description.

My dress is a Mireia Bisbe (Spanish designer) raspberry red and was way over my budget. That is, until I bargained the Back Room Girls down by £200 and my lovely friend, Anton offered to put £250 towards it as a wedding present. Bless his cotton socks.

Did I mention my sweet, silver shoes were on sale at New Look? I spend per week more on cappucinnos than I did on them. They look great.

My lovely flower girls will be in Monsoon dresses.So pretty. Their posies are from Ebay.

My arty friend is doing my make-up, both for the ceremony and for the party. I'm eschewing the Aston Martin for my clapped out Golf.

The wedding invitations were free to do - we set up a Facebook event page and invited everyone via that. Our guests can use the page to upload photos and videos after the event. For those resisting signing up to Facebook, we just emailed them the info.

We have no official photographer, but have invited the Henley Standard photographer to come - they've agreed.

Our ceremony will be just one witness each plus Els and my niece, Sulis, at Henley Registry Office. We'll then all go to Michelin-starred The Hand In Flowers for lunch which we'll go dutch on. J and I will spend our wedding night in their Angus Suite. Our night of decadence.

As for the party. Well, the Village Hall at Nettlebed is a real find. Yes it is a Village Hall but no it isn't lacking in atmosphere. It's wood panelled and has a bar. Better still, it's only £200 to hire for the evening. Bargain.

Instead of a wedding present, we're asking friends to bring a 'pot luck' buffet dish and money to spend on themselves at the bar. Sarada, who is a wonderful cook, has offered to make the cake. I've asked for carrot cake. Not a traditional choice, but then I'm not really a traditional kinda gal.

For decorations, I'm planning on red and white helium balloon clusters - bunched together with ribbon and weighted a bit like the ones here. We'll get a kit and create them ourselves. Candleson the tables for a twinkly effect, but these ones so we don't burn the place down.

Music will either be our friends DJ-ing (one of them is happy to lend us her decks, another has some booming speakers, and at least 3 of our friends are fairly good DJs), or playlists we'll line up on J's Ipod.

Entertainment? Well, that's the best bit. 

My good friend does a Burlesque Fire Hoola-Hooping show (for festivals and corporate gigs) and she's willing to perform for free on the huge, secluded lawn at the back of the venue. We're keeping that one a secret - apart from warning friends with kids in case they want to shield the little dears from nipple tassles and suspenders - so shhh..don't tell ;-)

I also fancy getting some of these and asking guests to launch them after the Hoola-Hoop show, as a nice finale.

Total cost? Way, way, way less than the traditional wedding. With rings, excluding honeymoon, I reckon about £1,500. Good eh?

Slumdog Millionaire

I saw Slumdog Millionaire recently and loved it.

Don't be put off by the advertising, as I was initially. It isn't as schmaltzy as it looks.

Instead, it is a visual feast that reveals the colour and chaos, splendour and squalor of India. It lays bare the gritty life of slum children in Mombai, complete with a Fagin-esque exploitation of orphans, without descending into pathos or sentimentality (well, not too much).

Slumdog is about love and love of money, tenacity and karma (fate). Despite a few unnecessarily formulaic bits (of course her rich boyfriend beats her up, of course true love prevails despite the odds, of course the hero triumphs) it is a beautiful, affecting film.

Go and see it on the big screen while you can.

Wobbly Woman

Photo Credit: Ray Tomes
 

Here's a top tip for all you wannabe ice skaters:

Don't go out dancing with your friends, drink vodka and fall into bed around 2am the night before a 10:30am ice skating lesson.

It makes you rather wobbly on the ice.

At least I can walk today though. My signature dance move when jumping about to some fabulously funky, exciting, sexy Drum 'n' Bass - as I was last night at Mango's - involves a kind of open-legged squat as I rhythmically wiggle my bum to the floor and back up again. It looks better than it sounds. Very Soca style. Also, very good fun to do.

It's not such fun the day after when you're walking like a geriatric because you've pulled every muscle below your waist. A price I paid the last time I went out with Kath to a Drum 'n' Bass night.

I was fairly sensible last night though. I warmed up with some far less ambitious moves at the Iguana Bar. I forced myself to sit down a few times, which I rarely do when I love the music and don't have to drive, or need to be Children's TV presenter-chirpy (i.e. on Mummy Duty) the following morning.

The best precaution I took was capping my Vodka & Coke consumption at five or six (I wasn't actually counting). I've realised that there is a causal relationship between the frequency of my Bum-to-the-Floor moves and the amount of alcohol consumed.

Elementary, my dear Watson.

I only did a few ambitious moves last night, and mostly my bottom stayed where it should. I'm walking quite normally today and only have a few minor twinges from for my three hour aerobic session.

I was so excited to pick Ella up from school this afternoon. I haven't seen her since Tuesday morning.

Our new sofa arrived today, and we spent a good part of the evening sprawling on it and chatting. I'm looking forward to a nice, mooch-about kind of weekend with her. John has a lot of DIY to get through so it will just be us girls hanging out together. Can't wait...

Ice

Photo Credit:Neck II

A few weeks ago I had an urge to replace all the ‘should dos’ in my life with ‘want to dos’. I was so excited, practically bouncing in the seat of my car as I zipped towards Bracknell. I felt as light and sparky as a sunbeam.

My childlike mood intensified as I pulled into the car park. The sign proclaiming “Home of the Bracknell Bees”started sherbert fizzes in my solar plexus.

Bye bye boring gym. I practically skipped into reception. “Hi, I’m here for the adult beginners ice skating lesson.” I chirped “Do I need a token for the lockers?”

The receptionist looked as buoyant as a burst balloon. “Haven’t you been told? It’s cancelled this week. We called everyone last night.”
They didn’t call me. Charming. An hour and a half round trip for absolutely nothing.

“Well,” I said huffily, “they could have told me when I booked as I only called up yesterday.”

The receptionist deflected my haughty accusation with a weary, sad and extremely unexpected answer. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know until the evening. Our skating instructor died suddenly”.

I was so relieved I hadn’t launched into an affronted protest about my wasted journey. I apologised and asked if it had been a car accident. No, it hadn’t. She was fit and healthy, in the prime of her life and 25 weeks pregnant with her first child. She had been taking a lesson that day and had a headache, so had gone home to rest.

She never woke up. She died from a brain haemorrhage caused by a tumour. The doctors kept her heart beating long enough to give her baby’s lungs a chance to develop. I later found out that little Aya Jayne Soliman was born a few days later by C-section. 

I sat in my car and cried. We all take it for granted that we will reach a ripe old age and have plenty of opportunities to do all the things we want to do.

Ella, J, anyone I love could stop existing at any moment. As could I. That’s not a cloud you can live your life under, but Memento Mori situations such as these urge me on to live a life that I love NOW.

It’s so easy to miss the present and to instead be living into some nebulous future when finally I’ll be living my Perfect Life because I have more money/less wobbly bits/another child/written that novel….etc etc  

Despite the sad start, I am really enjoying my skating lessons. I had my second one on Friday and can now stop (eventually) without crashing into the barrier and I can turn in a full, graceful, albeit wobbly, circle. 

It’s so much more fun than the gym. I’m also far more likely to go ice skating at least once a week.

Bye Bye Bush

Photo credit: Giant Hedge Balls

How's this for an inspired piece of advertising?

Simple, cheeky copy combined with a perfect media placement.

I just love it!

My To Dos Are Getting Done

Photo Credit:  My Neverending to do list

 

I submitted my first ever tax return today. I am soooo relieved.

In an attempt to squash my boredom and frustration, I tackled the dreaded task in small chunks. I dedicated an hour or two a day to doing a whole year's accounts AND my tax return. It's taken me just over a week. 

Doing it in little bits was obviously a good tactic, although I suffered a few dark moments wrestling with the overwhelming urge to call up the HMRC and tell them to FCUK.

But, despite the occasional hissy fits, (a perfectly acceptable way of venting when you work from home all by your lonesome) I have to admit that I enjoyed it.

Well, not 'it' as such, more the doing of it. How very Zen. 

I've realised that the To Dos I work hard to avoid are often more heinous in their contemplation than they are in reality. And the sense of achievement when an ageing To Do becomes an It's Finally Done is a far more accessible high to the modern woman than the endorphin rush you could get from scaling Everest, getting your kids to tidy their room or losing six pounds in two weeks.

Now that I have shaken that particular monster off my back, a whole cornucopia of decrepit To Dos are spilling their sorry little selves onto my kitchen chalkboard. This time, they're getting ticked off. One by one.

The difference is I'm keeping them small. My big ambitions and grandiose dreams are broken into bite-sized chunks. Here are the current ones, courtesy of my chalkboard:

1. Cleaning: Hoover bedrooms this week, mop kitchen floor tomorrow, put clothes away today (was 'make house look like a normal person's all the time').

2. Work: Write an inspiring self-promoting email to send to prospective clients by Friday (was 'get two new clients by end of Feb').

3. Health: Go for a walk with Ella and friends on Saturday (was 'fit into that dress by my hen night').

Q. How do you eat an elephant?

A. One little bite at a time

O is for Orange, and N is for...

Photo credit:Lisbon Knickers

Note to self: MUST learn the NATO Phonetic Alphabet to appear more businesslike.

My own make-it-up-on-the-spot version isn't working quite as well as it usually does.

Spelling out my surname on the phone today revealed an unexpected gem:

"...T for tortoise, O for orange and N for, um, N for Knickers." 

Tut tut. Me a copywriter and all. Thank God I was speaking to BT and not a client.

Touching Base (It's Been Taxing)

Photo credit:Symic
 

Just touching base to let you know that I have battled my resistance to all things numerical. Yes, I am finally doing my first set of accounts.

Urgh.

More a words than a numbers kinda gal, I haven't really kept any accounts to speak of since I started freelancing last September. Which makes it rather tricky to do my tax return. No, not tricky...

BORING.

So, I have just chucked all my receipts away (only those for the small stuff) which has saved me hours, if not days, of being a spreadsheet slave.

I figured it isn't really worth the £100 off my tax bill. I'd rather keep my forehead wrinkle-free thanks. How many stamps do I actually buy, for godsake?

My head is whirling with a year's worth of rent-and-utlitiles-divided-by-number-of-rooms-in-my-house-then-estimate-percentage-of-use-for-business-seeing-as-its-my-lounge-as-well-as-my-office-plus-50%-of-mobile-bills-the-same-with-landline-but-remember-to-omit-the-line-rental...I could go on.

So, because I am otherwise engaged you may never get to know how fabulous my weekend was.

You may not find out about our trip to the Science Museum where Els played with my Spanish friend's kids and their French-speaking cousin. Where I discovered the tag-game 'It' is a pan-European phenomenon.

You may even miss out on what I discovered when I took part in my friend's pre-pilot run-through of her Birth Trauma Recovery Workshop. The trial workshop where I learnt NLP tools that can magic away any unhappy memory or unwanted feeling...including cravings for food/booze/ciggies.

I wouldn't be so mean. I will definitely post about that soon. Promise. I just need to placate HMRC first. I hope you don't mind.

My Girl's Got Heart

Photo Credit: cameosteph

Yesterday, Ella and I were settled on the sofa sharing a fleece blanket. 

She had just finished playing with her virtual Pony on her Dad's Nintendo DS (which she has negotiated part shares in). I was slipping into the salty sea air of Coastliners (you haven't read Joanne Harris? Do). 

A soft silence snuggled around us.

After a few minutes, Ella mused "I wonder what I was born for, Mummy".

I put my book down and met her intense gaze. "I don't know, love. What do you think you were born for?"

I watched her purse her lips and frown a little as she searched for a reply. "Well, Mummy I think that it is up to you".

Amazed at this profundity I exclaimed, "Oh, sweetie that's so clever of you! Yes, I think it is completely up to you to choose what you are born for. 

"You can decide who you want to be, what you want to do, what you want your life to be about..." I could feel myself go into Babble Mode, so excited was I at the prospect of having co-created a mini philosopher. Such wise words from a five year old!

"No, Mummy. I mean I think it's up to you to decide what I was born for".

"I don't think so, sweetie. I think it's up to you. I really wouldn't want that responsibility. But thanks anyway."

This morning, I watched Ella have breakfast and felt one of those random feelings of parental joy that grip you sweetly when you least expect them.

She's such a sweet, kind girl. I feel so lucky to be her mother sometimes. Lots of times. Not during whining or moaning times though.

I felt compelled to tell Ella why I love her - I mean why apart from the biological imperative to do so. It's too easy to keep wrapping it all up in a nondescript "I love you". So I told her.

"Did you know, Els, that I think you are clever and kind. You're pretty, you're cute and I feel really lucky to be your mummy." She looked up briefly, smiled and went back to eating her raisin bagel.

"You're so loving and you're so easy to love" I added.

Ella dropped her bagel and locked eyes with me. Hers were as wide as her smile. "Mummy!" she exclaimed in a 'Eureka!' tone, "that's what I was born for".

Do you know, I think that's what I was born for too. Giving love and getting it has always been my main drive. For me, being loving and being loved are the greatest pleasures in life.

I always wondered what my life purpose is.

Thanks, Ella.

I'm back

Photo Credit: bringing sexy back

I well and truly logged off over the Christmas period. I rarely even checked my emails. I had lots of downtime and it was lovely, if a little fraught at times (well, Christmas always is, isn't it?).

Els had a lovely time with her dad and his girlfriend. We spoke on Christmas day, and were reunited three days later.

Having been with Daddy for five days, it took her a while to settle back in with me. Her plaintive lament, "I really miss Daddy and Karen. I want to be with Daddy and Karen!" was on a loop for a good few days. A little hard for me, but deep down I knew she would start to enjoy being with me and J soon. 

I've now got her for a whole week which is fantastic. Her dad & Karen are in the Lake District on holiday (brrr! It's cold enough here!). It's a good feeling when El and I have unbroken time together. Nice and relaxed. Her dad and I usually have Ella for two days each, taking it in turns in the week and then doing alternate weekends. 

It's good to have a full-time mum experience again.  I become more in tune with her and stop trying so hard to please her. We get in the groove together - flow into a steady rhythm that is natural and comforting. My life feels more solid than usual.  

New Year's Eve was fun. We visited my sister in the New Forest and took the kids to a house party. It was quite a laidback affair as most people there had brought their kids/babies/bumps. 

It was the first time I have seen in the New Year with Els, and it was really exciting doing the countdown together, letting off party poppers and then watching fireworks in the garden.

Ella and Sulis (my niece) were surprisingly good-natured the next day, despite such a late night. I managed to buy a little hangover nursing time for the grownups by putting Wall-E on after the kids' breakfast.

When do children start waking late in the morning after a late night? Obviously by the time they're teens, but I wonder if I will get to enjoy the odd 'party night' with Ella followed by a mutual lie-in before then. Let me know what you think...