Jigsaws – a new addition

Something lovely happened in our world two weeks ago, and I have been dying to say it out loud ever since.

My sister had a baby!

It has been like a huge secret that I have been bursting to share, and I can feel a ridiculous grin spread across my face as I type because it really is the best thing that has happened to our family in quite sometime.  Nowadays the prevalence of social media means that you have to be careful when getting excited about someone else’s news, and of course it has not been my news to ‘tell’ really so I have kept quiet (well as quiet as is possible for me).

When I first read Lisa Lynch’s blog Alright Tit.com there was a point where she found out that she was to be an auntie to her brother’s baby entitled Auntie Gobby.  This little moment of happiness, of hope, she fixated on and she clung to with everything that she had.  I now understand all of her feelings, because all of a sudden we have something positive to focus on – something that matters so much more than any of the small things.  My mum is a proud granny, my sister and I are humming with excitement, the children are excited to teach the new addition to the family all of their naughty ways.  For months the children have tried to guess whether it would be a boy or a girl, Noah wanting it to be a boy as we are girl heavy on our side of the family.  Isla willing it to be a girl, and choosing a very traditional name Emily, which I knew my sister and her husband would never opt for.  We went to great lengths to explain to them that it did not matter whether it was a boy or a girl because the most important thing was that the baby was healthy, this of course fell on deaf ears, because the boy wanted ‘team boy’ and the girl ‘team girl’ in the most obvious child like way.

Well she is a girl, and a very perfect one at that.  She has dark hair like my sister’s girls but lighter skin like Noah.  She has a look of my niece when she was a baby, but at the same time she has a look of her very own.

It is difficult for me to explain my feelings about my new niece other than to say that there are certain times in your life that fit together like a jigsaw.  Ashani Lye is one of the missing pieces of my jigsaw, I haven’t even met her yet (which is hurting my heart) but she has fit right in just where she belongs.  She is a miracle baby in more ways than one, and there is no doubt in my mind that she will continue to be very special indeed.

Isn’t life funny? one minute you are rushing around, never quite taking stock of the important things, and the next minute something so wonderful happens that forces you to stop and realise that the privilege of life is a wonderful thing.  I suppose that is just the way it is, and I more than anyone should know that.  A lot of the time my jigsaw is at the confusing strewn all over the floor stage and some of the time I stare around at it and think ‘where the hell do I even begin?’. Sometimes though, just sometimes, everything seems to fit into place.

The new addition to the family has brought things into sharp focus for me.  A few years ago when we were considering the possibilities of IVF treatment before my chemotherapy began, I had a very different view.  We had decided not to have anymore children.  We had concluded that we were more than satisfied with our ‘lot’ in life.  We had two healthy children and as we sat in the consultation room we decided that we would leave things up to nature from now on.  We were well aware of the side effects of chemotherapy, and yet do you know what?  It was still an incredibly difficult pill to swallow for me personally (you would have to ask my husband how he felt about it all).  Even though we knew we were lucky, and even though we decided to put my health first – the reality of someone telling you that you will not be having anymore children and the decision being taken out of your hands is as unfair as life gets I think.  So much so, that when good friends of ours announced they were expecting again I burst into tears, completely irrationally of course because I was so happy for them, but I felt selfishly sad for something that maybe could have been.  Having said all this I am left with more than my hands full, and in reality a third child would have left us squarely outnumbered I am sure.

The past few weeks both myself and my sister have worried so much for our younger sibling as we know only too well that being a mum is hard.  On the day(s) she was in labour I had a fleeting conversation with my cousin, stating out loud that I wished I could have gone through it for her.  Of course I couldn’t, but the want to protect someone you care about from going through unimaginable pain is a real one.  Everyday we are dying to ‘help’ or impart knowledge from our own experiences, but she doesn’t really need that, all she really needs is sleep… and perhaps a hot shower.

And so I will continue to grin at my little darling niece.  The baby who makes me smile a ridiculous grin each time I see her.  The baby who cheers my whole day up in her little combat onesie, and the day dreaming thoughts of finally having my cuddles with her.  She makes me forget about things that have been, and look towards the nicer things to come.

A little reminder that life goes on, one of the final pieces of my jigsaw for sure.

 

To Jay and Paul, thank you for making us all smile (and sorry in advance for anything her cousins teach her in the future)

Source Art: Yolande Sanchez and Disney image from Pinterest, Alexazdesign Etsy.

 

Turning back the clock

My girls starts school next week.  My little pride and joy.  In truth, I am trying not to think about it too much, but then the thoughts keep creeping back into my mind somehow.  My overriding thoughts are ones that I cannot dispel and there is one wish in particular that I know can never come true.

I wish I could turn the clock back.

Just for a moment. If only.

If only I could, but I know I cannot. I know deep down that it is a silly thing to say and I have never been one to regret or look back over my life (too much anyway).  I just can’t help but wonder if perhaps I could have done things differently.  Perhaps I would have been checked out earlier?  If I had only fought that overriding sense of anxiety, would it have all turned out differently?  Would I have caught ‘it’ sooner?  And if I had, would it have meant less treatment? A treatment that stopped me spending precious time with my children.  A treatment that stopped me taking them to and from school and nursery.  A treatment that kept me in bed even when I fought to get up in time – just to remind them to have a lovely day.

What if?

There is no point to wishing and what ifs, and yet if I ever do let my mind wander I wonder what could have been.  I cannot help it. Perhaps it is a normal way of thinking for people who have experienced illness, or perhaps I shouldn’t look back at all?

Next week is not about me, it is about my little girl.  All of the guilt, the nerves, the excitement and the worry belong to me and I will lock it up and hide it somewhere that she cannot see.  It is the end of an era but also the beginning of a new one and a new chapter in our lives.  All of her nerves and uncertainty will be calmed by myself and her daddy the best way we know how.

I have realised that the overriding feeling I have right now, in this moment, is one of pride. A great sense of pride in my daughter, in the little girl that she has become and the young lady that she is growing up to be.

Of course we have spoken about school, what it means, what will happen in a vain attempt as parents to fend off any of the ‘unknowns’ and uncertainties.  Careful not to talk about it too much or introduce worry or fear, but just enough to acknowledge that it is happening.  To her and to me. In one such conversation recently I complemented her saying what a ‘big girl’ she now is and she told me that she doesn’t want to be a big girl, she wants to be a baby (out of the mouths of babes I thought).

And so as next week draws near and I attempt to label new uniforms and check all is as it should be, I have welcomed the sense of pride as it is one which I am very lucky to have.  Things could have been very different for us, and perhaps they still could be.

Aren’t I the lucky one to be able to feel her nerves ?

Aren’t I the lucky one who tells her that it is ok to cry if she needs to?

Aren’t I the lucky one to have taken her shoe shopping for her first school shoes?

Aren’t I the lucky one to hold her hand as she walks through the school gates for the very first time?

There is no doubt in my mind that she will soar through school once she has settled in.  It is just that the settling in part is a very real hurdle that needs to be overcome.  My girl is bright and happy and articulate.  Her personality shines out of her once she is sure and only then will you ever catch a glimpse of her eyes sparkling.  Until then there will be the odd tear no doubt (for us both), and her fingers will be placed firmly in her mouth as she secretly wishes she had her special blanket.  I know that she will look hopefully for her brother in the playground, for a familiar face.  She may spend weeks in her bubble until the teacher manages to reassure her, and only then will she shyly answer to her name.

One thing is for sure though, that she can be absolutely certain of in the coming weeks of change.  I will be there, or her daddy, waiting for her at the end of the day with hopeful eyes and arms outstretched.

Aren’t I the lucky one to be able to stand at those school gates waiting for my girl?

September 2016

Art by Yolande Sanchez

Sandy toes & Salty kisses – no such thing as perfect

This year the summer has come around oh so quickly.  In the blink of an eye my girl finished nursery for the very last time, and my boy said goodbye to his Year One days with glee (I note here that his keenness for school is beginning to evaporate).

This time last year I recall making a promise with myself to take as much of the summer off with the children as possible, so as not to miss a single minute of them growing up.  And much though I would love to have done the same this year – it just is not as realistic as it seems.  The beginning of the holidays saw a summer sports camp for three days while I had to sit at work wondering how each child was doing.  I knew they would be enjoying themselves, running around a cricket field all day in the fresh air and making new friends, but nevertheless my girl seemed to be the smallest one there.  I am glad that I trusted my instincts because they did have a lovely time and it helped me to loosen the apron strings just a little too.

Two weeks sped past, and soon we were on count down to our little seaside holiday. I think it is fair to say that the children whipped themselves up into a frenzy before we went.  Counting down the number of ‘sleeps’ and asking all of the details of the planned trip. It was so sweet to see them both so excited as they tried to remember all of the things that we had done in previous years.  I think this is perhaps my most favourite thing about having children, the excitement that is injected into everything you do that almost seems infectious at times (and makes you excited aswell).

For the first time I was organised, and I mean the ‘mum’ kind of organised that I always expect myself to be but never quite reach.  I spent an entire day packing, ironing and thinking ahead to the things we may need. For once I was ahead of the game, and the usual morning chaos that ensues upon leaving did not happen this year.

As always we found ourselves at the mercy of the Great British weather yet it didn’t dampen our enthusiasm.  We spent a day on the beach with friends, strolled down the sea front with family at the nearby town, and ate fish n chips and too many icecreams.

We hilariously tried to fly a kite as is our little tradition, and we failed miserably due to the wind being too strong.

We had tantrums and tears about broken cricket bats and dropped icecreams, and the sand got into places it really shouldn’t have.

It was not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, in fact it is fair to say that at times we all fell out in one way or another (the children about who got into the car first, the grown ups about who forgot the all important suncream).

Overall though, I realised that I was truly happy.

Trying to sit on a picnic blanket that was being blown away for five minutes before being called to get up by one of the children.

Laughing at my little girl squealing as the waves chased her back to the beach & making everyone go on the odd walk to take in the sea air.  I slowly began to understand that ‘perfect’ is not always how you picture it, and that the high standards I seem to have in my head don’t always apply.  I started to relax and let things go, all the things that really don’t matter in the grand scheme of things…

In the evenings we let the children stay up later and we went to watch the shows put on at the holiday resort (this was their most favourite part, but not necessarily an easy thing for grown ups).  We had wine and gave in to the pleas for sweeties.  There was a pantomime and a circus show, and a fair few discos.  There were noisy arcade games that no one ever wins at.

Up every morning at the crack of dawn I realised that we would never get that coveted ‘lie in’ no matter how late we let the children stay up for.  And I suppose the day that we actually do get that lie in will be the day that they are beginning to grow up, as the teenage years come closer.

More than anything I was thankful for the energy.

Last year we had the very same holiday, at the very same place and I have to admit I found it hard.  I could not get through a day, and the days at the beach took another full day to recover from.  The children were younger I suppose, and I was in a very different place too.

This year though, there were sandy toes and salty kisses.

This year I got to explain what the different plants and birds were along our walks.  This year I had to reassure my son that the shape out in the sea was not, in fact, a shark.  This year I taught the children how to catch the dandelion fairies dancing around our caravan and to make a wish when you set them free.

My perfect it seems, isn’t perfect at all.  My perfect is actually being in the picture (on my hands & knees making the all important sand castle) and being there with a giant warm towel after jumping those waves.

 

Poem by Erin Hanson

My Complicated Gorgeous Niece

In my purse tucked away in the pockets somewhere is a small Polaroid picture of a little girl who stole my heart, from the very moment she made her entrance into the world.  Anyone who has a niece will know that there is a special bond, almost difficult to explain, the moment you are handed a baby who may as well be your own.  Freya Ysobella was the most beautiful baby girl and stirred up many emotions in me that I have since experienced with my own children.

As my first niece (I have two) I have  watched her grow into a beautiful young lady who very much knows her own mind.  She is bright and intelligent, sensitive and very clever.  She has a good heart and is very passionate about what she deems to be right and wrong.  Indeed her younger sister and my own daughter are all ‘cut from the same cloth’ and they are spirited to say the least.

Over the years there have been ups and downs – most noteably the day we took her to the park and pushed her on a big swing, of which she promptly fell off.  We then took her to the sweet shop to try to bribe her silence.  Her silence could not be bought.  As she grew up she found her love of dance, regularly twirling down supermarket isles and singing the words to her favourite songs.

She also loves politics or rather social behaviour, and I am not sure how someone so young can be so aware of the elements of our society, our rules and human rights but she is.  She always tells us that one day she will be the Prime Minister of our country.  I do not doubt this for a single second.  She is determined, very determined, but in a Martin Luther King sort of way which may not necessarily suit the current climate of politics and party ‘values’ that we all know.  I truly hope she does go down this path because I need to believe that the next generation will bring with them a new honesty and integrity to our country.  More than anything I hope that she does not have her spirit knocked out of her because it is so refreshing to see.

Last year I faced the most difficult conversation that I have ever had with her.  She knew something was wrong, she sensed it, and we had to tell her.  I wondered to myself – how on earth do I tell someone so young who depends on me so much that I am very ill?  So I wrote her a card and bought a small keyring, and reassured her that I would be alright when I in fact had no idea that I would be.  I felt like I was shattering her childhood and her innocence all in one go, but the reality of life meant that honesty was the only way.  Without a shadow of a doubt it was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.  At the time it felt like the younger the person was, the harder it was to tell them – and so we hugged and she was brave, and I willed myself not to cry.

A year on, and she has changed beyond recognition.  She is leggy and tall (now my height).  She shares adult conversation and attempts to teach me things about technology and teenagers, neither of which I am ready for.  As all teenagers seem to do she regularly disappears into her room craving space and time to grow into herself.  A once quiet girl now clashes with her mum with a cheek and opinion that I know awaits me too when my own reach teenage years.

We recently took her to a concert and she came along as one of the girls. She wore a leather jacket and jeans and a t- shirt with a touch of makeup and she just looked stunning.  It almost panics me to see how fast she is maturing and the pressure of guiding her along the right path is always on my mind.  I needn’t worry though because it is quite evident that she has her head screwed on the right way.  She is sensible (for the most part) and I know that part of growing up will mean letting her go to find her own way, and to make her own mistakes.

It always makes me smile when she asks my opinion or permission because she is met by exactly the same response her own mother would give her, and I remind her that her mother and I are sisters and so essentially the same person (much to her frustration).  She has two other Aunties too who are just like me and she is a lucky, lucky girl.

As her Auntie, I hope that I will be there for her as her shoulder to cry on when her heart is broken for the very first time.  I hope I get to see her on the day she gets her exam results or even on the day that she graduates.  I would love to help her settle into her first home or even have tears in my eyes as she walks down the aisle one day.  I would love to be there for all of those things, so much so that I almost dare not say it out loud, in case it should never come true.

My complicated gorgeous niece is without doubt one of the things I am the most proud of in my life, and I did not even make her myself – but I might as well have.

 

To my Freya Belle, love you x

(p.s Lauren you are doing a fantastic job)

 

 

A Yorkshire Rose

Something happened in our community this afternoon that has shocked us all.  Something so barbaric and full of hatred that it has made us all stop and think, truly think about how we live our lives.

Jo Cox, a local mum and wife was brutally murdered while carrying out her job as a local MP.  As an MP she was tireless in her campaign of values that she believed in, both internationally on the Syrian crisis and locally in recognising the true values of our community.  As she travelled around her community she noted the closeness and harmony of all race and religions throughout Yorkshire and that really is the greatest testament that anyone could ever tell.

I am not a political person, but I know kindness and honesty when I see it.  And yet as the hours go by after the news of this event reached me, I cannot seem to get this out of my mind – it has been playing over and over ever since I heard the news.  Jo was a Yorkshire lass through and through it seems (I did not know her) and she was going about her daily job, as we all do.  She was not murdered for any reason, just some deluded individual who wanted to make her a reason for his own hatred- and that is the saddest thing of all.

In my eyes, Jo was a mother first and foremost, and a wife. Tonight her babies will be going off to sleep without her for the very first time.  How cruel and unfair life can be.  That thought made me string out bedtime for that little bit longer tonight, and cast my eyes over my own children, taking everything in about them for as long as I could.

What world am I bringing them up in?  Should I be fearful of the hatred that we seem to have in certain sections of our society?  Any questions that came to mind were answered with a statement made by Jo’s husband Brendan,

“I and Jo’s friends and family are going to work every moment of our lives to love and nurture our kids and to fight against the hate that killed Jo.  Jo believed in a better world and she fought for it everyday of her life with an energy, and a zest for life that would exhaust most people.”

“She would have wanted two things above all else to happen now, one that our precious children are bathed in love and two, that we all unite to fight against the hatred that killed her.”

When I read that I thought to myself – bloody hell I would be so proud if my husband had made a statement with such powerful words of determination.  What a way to honour somebody you love than to promise to take care of the two things she loved the most in the world.  Not only that, but to add a defiant rejection of hatred, surely must teach us all a lesson?

Hate doesn’t have a creed, race or religion, it is poisonous.

There have been many times over the past year when I have wondered what important life lessons I would like to teach my own children and I think Jo’s husband just summed up what every parent in Yorkshire, or indeed the country is probably thinking this evening.

Teach our own children tolerance of all race and religion and stand up to the fear brought about by such terrible acts.  There will no doubt be plenty of aspersions and comments cast over the next few days with a view to denote blame, but I believe that it is important that we all come together after such a terrible day, as it has no place here.

Perhaps my children will never remember this day as they innocently carry on with their own little lives of school and nursery – but they certainly will grow up in the very same city as Jo’s children will.   I hope that one day no matter what they all become, that they emulate the love and kindness taught to them and learn to stand up against the things in the world that look to do them harm.

From one local mum to another I am giving a nod to that special lady and the legacy that she has undoubtedly left behind.  I know that her family will be as proud of her as we all are in Leeds – a true Yorkshire Rose.

My condolences to Jo’s family this evening.

Birthdays, hospital and one big smile

My boy walked me to hospital this week.

I say this not because it started out as anything special, in fact I suppose it was rather normal.  Just another appointment, a check up that had been timed quite awkwardly in line with the school run and there was no other option than to take him with me.  As we walked along and I held his hand I realised that I felt different somehow.  Different to all of the other times that I had made that same walk over the past few months – this time I felt stronger.

It had been a funny old week.

The highs of the Race for Life, the emotion, and the overwhelming pride, all rounded right back to a fairly normal ‘run of the mill’ week.  The old familiarity of the school and work routine began in earnest once more.  The fact that my boy woke me first thing the day after the race and said that he wished that we could do it all again made me smile – albeit a tired smile. “It might take a while for me to recover from that one, but I would love to do it again – maybe next year you could run it with me?”

Don’t get me wrong I was fully expecting the slow start to the week, I knew that I had overdone it but I did not care.  All of a sudden the end of the week seemed far off with a hospital appointment looming, followed by a birthday.  I knew that the first thing to deal with would be that appointment with the boy in tow.

With all the rushing after school we had forgotten his water bottle and so our first job upon our arrival was to buy some water from the gift shop.  As I was choosing his drink, he eyed the chocolate stand and looked sheepishly at me asking if he could have his favourite bar. “Please mummy?” he asked, unsure of what my answer might be. I agreed as I realised that this time we had together, although not ideal, was a rarity for both of us.  We don’t often have the luxury of spending time together just the two of us and so I also bought him a magazine to try to keep him occupied.

We wandered to the waiting room, hand in hand and he chatted away asking me questions and telling me about his day at school.  The room was full and it soon became apparent that they were running very late.  I instantly began to regret taking my six year old into a situation where he would have to sit still for well over an hour. He read his magazine telling me in great detail about each player, then he sorted out his football cards that had come free with it.  After a while, I suggested that he go over to look at the fish in the tall fish tank on the other side of the room.  He stood there for a long time counting them and making faces at me through the glass which made me laugh.  Eventually he returned and we sat drawing in the notebook from my handbag.  Adamant that we needed to remember which level we had parked on he drew our car with the number on it and then he went on to draw the weather and our favourite thing… a rainbow.

Just then, right there in that moment, I had a swell of pride.

I realised that I am so proud of him and the boy he is growing up to be.  He flashed me a giant smile as he chomped on his chocolate bar as he continued with his drawing and chattering.  In his own little way he was managing to distract me and I found myself focusing my attention on him, and not the rest of the room.  Before I knew it the appointment was over and it left me wondering why I had not ever taken him with me before?  On that day he was my comfort.  Of course I know why I had never taken him before, because I have tried to shield him from the realities of hospital and illness wherever I can.  Perhaps he is becoming old enough to understand now I thought to myself as we walked back to our car.  Of course we found it straight away, thanks to his perfect memory (another thing that I cannot always claim to have).

The next day was to be my birthday.  In the waiting room we had drawn a birthday cake, and Noah pointed out that he could not fit anymore candles on it (!) I am not a typical birthday person, but I played along to the children’s excitement as they almost burst trying not to tell me of their surprises and plans.  This year, more than most I am mindful that birthdays and family celebrations are something to be treasured.  Instead of not wanting to get older, I am thankful that I reached another birthday and I am grateful to be lucky enough to share it with those who care about me. Age is a privilege.

The next day was the morning of my birthday, and Noah woke me as always at 6.30am with a giant grin.  I won’t ever forget that afternoon with my boy, I wonder if he will?

‘Do not regret growing older, it is a privilege denied to many’ ~ Mark Twain

 

 

 

Pre-school Days & Charlie O’Neil

I have never been a naturally crafty mum. I have never really been a baking kind of mum.  Really I am more of a mum who finds herself ‘winging it’ on a daily basis.

Don’t get me wrong I can bake but not to Great British Bake Off standards, and I can draw but not quite to both my sister’s standards.  It is far more likely that ‘good ideas’ to keep children entertained just come to me in a moment of madness like making a den with a bed sheet, or setting out a spontaneous picnic of sorts.

Of course, the school place acceptance came along all too quickly.  All of a sudden in the blink of an eye my girl is going to school with her brother in September, and although I was prepared for it this time around, what I was not prepared for was the realisation.

One morning, just last week the nursery and school run was in full swing and my daughter did her usual ‘beginning of the week’ hiding behind my legs and declaring that she did not want to go the nursery.  Why she does this I do not know?  She loves nursery, she loves her teachers and she has plenty of friends.  In the car I explained to her that she really only had ten weeks left, and then it dawned on me as those words left my lips that she really only had a few weeks left of her preschool days.

My baby is going to big school.

I think it is especially poignant for me because she really is my last child.  We had the choice of having anymore children taken away from us last year.  Although I have made my peace with it and I am truly grateful for all that I have, to know that there will be no more babygrows or ‘first shoes’ or milky cuddles, is a difficult thing for any mum to come to terms with.

I recognise that this is a lovely time, a time that I certainly will treasure for the rest of my days.  These are the days that we get to spend together, just us two, at our own pace and enjoying our own company as mother and daughter.  More often than not our days outside of nursery involve Isla telling me what she would like to do for the day, such as the day she declared she wanted to bake buns with me, or visit the nice park with the library or even go to a well known coffee shop for a blueberry muffin.

I want to remember all the lovely things that she tells me in her non-stop chatter..

Such as the lady who volunteers at her nursery who brings lovely surprises like a ‘pass the parcel’ with a present inside for each and every child.

Or her love of her teacher Katy who regularly gives her cuddles and reassurance when I am not there.

Or Charlie O’Neil, the boy who has stolen her heart much to her brother’s delight in teasing her about this – regularly.  She loves Charlie O’Neil, and he is her one of her favourite boys along with Sebby and a few others who remind her of her brother.

She also loves her twins Kara & Lexi who play with her like siblings – she loves to climb trees with Kara and make up games with Lexi when she can.

More than all of these things she loves her special blanket that she holds onto for dear life when she is tired or uncertain.

She loves going to her grandma’s house (and often insists on it) because she knows that she will get a special gingerbread man, and that she will get to play with all of my childhood toys there for hours on end.

She loves playing at her Aunty’s house with her cousin Lois who indulges her love of make-believe games, and she even loves cuddles from her big cousin Freya (even though she protests at the all too blatant show of affection).

As I tried to sneak out of the door one sunny afternoon for a walk on my own, she asked me if she could come too.  Of course I said yes because I know that she wants to do everything with me if she can. And so we walked hand in hand together along the street, talking about this and about that.  She had an old phone that she had brought out with her and she pretended to take pictures along the way.  As she did I wished that she was taking real pictures for us to remember such a special time together.

It was a long walk and it was hot, luckily enough there was a wall for her to walk along just as her little legs began to tire.  When we reached the park we had a swing on the swings and as we left she took my hand and began kissing the back of it.  Eventually after another walk along the next wall I lifted her off and as I did I cuddled her and whispered in her ear that I loved her,

and she whispered it back.

A truly perfect moment.

 

 

 

The thing about Isla Mary..

Fridays have become synonymous as mother and daughter days in our house.  I have the beginning and end of each week off work, and more often than not, the beginning of the week starts with all of the obligatory chores that need to be done to keep everything ‘ticking over’ nicely.  As the week draws to an end (along with my energy) I tend to let things sort themselves out.  There is no plan, the day just happens the way it happens.

I can tell Isla looks forward to spending the day with me and I am finding more and more as she gets older that I look forward to spending quality time with her too.  I think it is really sweet how she chatters away in the back of the car to me, telling me about this or that and asking me very random questions as a I attempt to concentrate on driving, like – ‘Mum, does bean rhyme with cream?’ – ‘Urm, yes darling it does’.

When I look at my little girl many things spring to mind.  Usually I hear her before I see her in the mornings singing a little song and smiling her big wide smile.  Sometimes she is grumpy and hides her head back under the covers just like her daddy does when I go in to wake her.  I think she is more like her daddy than she will ever know.

And yet it is a rarity that we get some real quality time together, usually because there are so many other things going on.  Just recently we have been able to wave off her brother as he goes to his football training on a Friday evening as we run a warm bath and hop into our jammies.  We snuggle up on the sofa to watch a movie because it is what we like to do when no-one else is around.  The choice of movie is invariably Disney and one particular evening she chose Disney’s Brave.  Brave is the story of a Scottish Princess with wild curly hair, who clashes with her mother as she refuses to conform to the way she is supposed to be.  As we watch the movie her little eyes get brighter and brighter and I know why (other than the fact she turns her mother into a bear).

Isla Mary is a free spirit. 

She knows very much what she likes and what she does not like.  She has always watched the other Disney Princess films, and although she likes the adventures, her favourite characters are often the best friends or the animals who have a bit more about them.  There have been countless incidents of her pulling faces at people she doesn’t like the look of, or point blank refusing to use her manners when we are out and about, or singing at the top of her voice (much to my teenage niece’s embarrassment) in fact, there are more incidents than I would care to mention.

The truth is though, that I admire all this about her (not the rudeness, obviously) but the single mindedness and the spirit.  She may be small, but she is truly fearless and she often lets me know that as she insists on doing everything herself.  ‘Mummy, I can do it mine own self’ is a remark that I hear numerous times a day as I attempt to help her.  And you know what? she can do it herself, and if she can’t she teaches herself to much to my amazement as I am reminded that I should not ever underestimate her.

Some days I honestly find myself wondering how I am ever going to guide this young lady into adulthood.  Some days I wish I could ask other mums what they would do, because I am sure that I don’t always react in the way that I should do in order to get the best out of her.  The thing is that I know that I am the person that she aspires to be – that in itself is quite some burden, as I don’t always know what to do in a given situation.  Sometimes when she hurts herself, but doesn’t want others to know that she is hurt, she runs and hides so that nobody can see her tears.  Sometimes she puts her two middle fingers in her mouth when she is unsure and uncertain about something (I used to suck my thumb too), and I can almost read her eyes as she weighs up a situation.

I truly hope that we don’t clash too much as she gets older, but it is inevitable I think.  For now though I have decided to spend as much time as I possibly can with her.  I hug her when she is sad or angry, I scold her when she is rude and I explain to her why we use manners wherever I can.  Only this morning she broke her Frozen locket that is very similar to my own necklace and she was heartbroken.  Of course we can mend the chain, and she will be happy that she has something once again that is just like her best friend’s.

The thing about Isla Mary is, well, that she is just like me…

 

 

 

 

A Dream Come True

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If you knew Noah Geoffrey Matthews like I know Noah Geoffrey Matthews then you would know that he is very special indeed.

Of course I would say that as his mummy, but I truly believe that there is something special inside of this little boy.  A little sparkle inside of him that you sometimes catch a glimpse of in his smile.

I never knew how he would be when he made his arrival into the world, six years ago to the day in fact.  He was such a tiny little thing, only 5lbs 11oz with a full head of hair and giant blue eyes.

If you knew Noah Geoffrey Matthews like I know Noah Geoffrey Matthews you would be very lucky indeed.

He is shy, yet outgoing.  He is sensitive, yet bold.  He is easygoing, yet passionate about the things that he loves.  All of these things make him very difficult to parent because in an instant he can switch from one to the other.

He likes everything in its place.  He likes to know what is coming next.  Surprises or an upset in routine only serve to worry him because something inside him means that he needs to know.

So just recently we wondered what to get this little boy for his 6th birthday to make all of his dreams come true?

He never asks for much a football kit or some football stickers.. the theme invariably follows a football theme.  His daddy and his uncles decided to try to get him tickets to see his favourite team play.  Not just any team but Liverpool FC at their home stadium, Anfield.

If you knew Noah Geoffrey Matthews, he would tell you that Liverpool are the best team in the world.  His eyes would light up as he told you this and that about each match and who they are to play next.

Even at his young age they have made him cheer and sing and laugh and cry – he truly loves the team that he supports just like his daddy.  Every night he asks for a made up story, and most evenings I hear his dad tell him a tale of a little boy who went to Anfield road to watch his favourite players – sometimes he even plays with them too and scores the winning goal.

And so, on the morning of his birthday he opened a small pile of presents and finally opened a very special birthday card with a special note in it.

Dear Noah,

On Sunday you will be going to watch Liverpool vs Stoke at Anfield..

lots of love,

Daddy & Mummy xxx

The look of delight on his face and the disbelief was worth every single penny.  You can’t buy happiness (although these tickets did cost a lot of money) but the experience and the memories will stay with him forever, and that in itself is priceless.

In a way I wish that I was going along too – just to see the look on his little face and experience it all with him.  I wish I could hold his hand and feel the nerves and excitement as the noise of the stadium hit him.

This experience is an important ‘father son’ moment though, and even I can see that.  My husband has loved that club since he was a little boy and it is only right that they should go together.  It’s almost like a rite of passage in a way.

As a mum it is such a privilege to watch your children grow up and have things that they truly love to do.  Of course Noah loves other things too.  He loves numbers and counting, he loves eating, and above all he loves his family.

He told me the other day that when he grows up he never wants to leave home and he wants to live with us forever.  I am sure he will change his tune as he grows older, but for now it is nice to see how much of a ‘home-bird’ he is.

If you knew Noah Geoffrey Matthews like I know Noah Geoffrey Matthews, you would know that he has a heart of gold and this will always be so I am sure.

I know that we should have called him Stanley as we intended to, after the great footballing legend Stanley Matthews and then the visit to Anfield would be all the more fitting (my husband wouldn’t let me).

Happy Birthday Noah Geoffrey (Stanley) Matthews. The boy who changed my life forever with his cheeky smile and kind heart.

 

 

 

The True Meaning of Friendship

When my mum was growing up she met two friends.

Well actually no, that is not true, she met three friends Auntie Beverley, Auntie Mary and Uncle Dave.  She met them way back when in yester year, when they were all studying to become nurses.  They had the best of times and the best of laughs and they became the very best of friends.  Of course they are not really our Aunties and Uncle in blood but they might as well be related, because somehow along the way they have become family.

True friendship lasts a lifetime.

When my mum had my sister she was a young single mum, and my Auntie Mary and Auntie Beverley gave her all the support that she needed as her best friends, and then some.  We would always go to visit and we played for hours with their children Sara, Katy, Matt and Jade who we grew up with us like siblings.  Over the years we have all shared the lovely memories of Bonfire nights and New Year’s Eve, we have shared great sadness when Uncle Dave passed away, and great happiness when his grandson was born not long afterwards.  The next generation of grandchildren now play together and will be lifelong friends too, that I am absolutely sure of.

Over the past year I have really had a think about what friendship is.  Do we really need to qualify it for it to be true?

I would have said that I was so lucky to meet the best set of girls at University that are my own lifelong friends.  I am finding recently that each time they announce a new engagement or pregnancy I feel all puffed up and proud, I get teary, and overwhelmed that they are finally finding the happiness that they deserve.

And yet some things have surprised me too over the past year.  There was I, thinking that I knew most things, thinking that I had seen it all, and then the tidal wave of cancer hit and it changed everything that I knew to be true. I have made friends in the most unlikely of places it seems.

Perhaps it is just me?  Perhaps I have made friendships in spite of it all, or because of it all.

I have made new friends. Those who I have never met (I never thought this to be possible) and yet it seems that it is possible to be a kind of modern day ‘pen friend’ with people I have discovered.  Sarah, Allie and Rosemary have kept me smiling for months now and through some very difficult days.  I have made friends over the past year that I know will be friends for life, despite having known them for only a short time.

As a mum, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain friendship with others, no matter how much you feel about them. Everyday seems to be filled with long lists of things that need to be done and the reality is that picking up the phone for a short conversation is unlikely, along with grabbing something to eat or going to the toilet.  The job of a mum is a busy one, and the days just all seem roll into one.

True friends don’t need to see each other to know that they are there

– like stars I suppose.

And the thing that I love about friendship, is that it seems to be passed down through the generations.  I consider myself to be trustworthy and loyal and I hope that as my own children grow up they too develop these traits.  No doubt it will be hard to watch them make and break friendships over the years, but I am sure that they will settle into the same happiness that we have found.  I really hope that I will be there to be the ‘shoulder to cry on’ for the days that do not go quite ‘to plan’ or even on the day that their heart is broken for the first time.

All these hopes  and wishes I have  for my own children – not knowing if they will ever come true.

More than anything, it seems that our siblings are our best friends (and cousins in my case).  I come from a family of three girls and my husband, a family of three boys.  Our brothers and sisters are our very best friends.  The ones who drive us crazy in an instant, annoy us like only a sibling can and yet they will still be there when the chips are down.

After a few weeks of illness (the chickenpox, and therefore serious lack of sleep) I can honestly say that my heart melted when I woke up one morning and checked in on the children, only to find them in bed together cuddled up and asleep.

They are, and always will be the very best of friends and if I give them nothing else in life I know that I gave them that.