Mother's Day, Italy, cycling and dreams

You It was Mother's Day last Sunday. You were at your cousins' house for the day. Looking out of the garden room that morning at the snowdrops and the blackbird building a nest, I felt a pang of sadness that we weren't together. We spend every weekend together though and I knew that this little adventure would be good for you, and me. 

I don't want to just work, pay for things and exist but to really live each moment. It may be that we can't have fancy expensive holidays but I promise that, instead, we'll do the things that we really want to do. This summer we'll have a rustic Italian mountain adventure. We'll pack up the car and drive all the way across Europe with our closest friends taking in all of the sights and sounds along the way. We'll stop at alpine cafes. We'll cross mountain passes. We'll stay in pretty towns and we'll BBQ under the Italian mountain stars when we arrive. Real life and real places.

http://www.myfamilyandabruzzo.com/?m=1 (Auntie Lulu's blog about where we're going) 

You and Alfie will love your summer holiday together (not forgetting little Ralph)

We may not be together for every moment but I want to be one of the lead characters in your book. To inspire you to live. Which means that I should live my life, not just dream it, spending a little bit of time apart so that we can grow together in different ways. 

My adventure last weekend with the Women's Eastern Racing League

And home again

Today it's just you and me. You're chatting to yourself in the next room making up adventures for your toys to live. Make space for your own adventures too sweetie, and don't ever be scared to embark on them. They'll always be worth it. 

My beautiful little girl with a head full of dreams

You're 4!

You have changed so much in this past year. From a squishy toddler into a beautiful, caring, inquisitive and thoughtful little girl with the apparent wisdom of someone far beyond her 4 years. 4, I can't believe you're 4! Although I am painfully aware that I'll be saying, I can't believe you're 14 before I know it so here's me, capturing our lives in letters so as to cherish each stage for ever. 

We went to Cambridge today to spend your birthday money. You chose a Mr Men book, a story about a boy who befriends a whale...

 ...a marble run game...

..,and a little bag of gemstones and a yo-yo. I can't pinpoint it exactly but a combination of the city, the season, the sunshine and you made me so very happy today. 

Sitting on the wall together by the little round church in Cambridge, we ate our jelly beans

In the lift in the car park today you, as you always do, clung to my leg in case the lift light went out and you wouldn't be able to find me, in the 2ft by 2ft space! I put my hand reassuringly on the side of your face holding you close to me, as if to try and stamp my protective instinct into you, like pushing a coin into clay, leaving an imprint forever. You must remember though, no single person should ever be your everything. That's not to say "don't love," just don't forget to be there for yourself. Look after yourself. Always know how to make yourself happy. Be considerate to others and never stop caring. If you can do this I know you'll be just fine. And then so will I. 

Have fun being 4 sweetie.

“She made herself stronger by fighting with the wind.” ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

"Is that a real pyramint Mummy?"

"Do you mean pyramid? 

"No Mummy, you're saying it wrong"

"But it's called a pyramid"

"I know Mummy, that's what I said" ~ Me and you, just now watching Despicable Me

A quite ordinary Saturday

My book made me think today. About time, with you. I want to freeze the passage of time. I won't though. I cant. Instead I follow you into the future. Collecting our memories from behind you. You're in too much of a hurry to preserve the moments. And I have the benefit of years to help me appreciate why we should. When I was little I had a carved wooden box full of my important things. I still have it, somewhere. Inside, a small plastic New Zealand tiki on a familiar piece of worn, old yellow string that my daddy gave me when I was little, my mummy's silver Saint Christopher, a plastic ring which matched one that my best friend had and other sundry items. They have no monetary value but those items are laden down with my childhood feelings. So precious. Always value what matters emotionally over everything else. Cherish the little things. 

When Mummy was little (c1978)

Right now, I'm curled up on the sofa. You've climbed in a Molly sized nook with my legs curled round you and you're resting your head on them. I write, and you sit. So peaceful. If I could bottle this moment...

I'm a bit sniffly with a cold and you hugged me because you thought I was crying. "You sound sad Mummy. Don't be sad." We had a nap together. It reminded me of when you were a baby and you'd fall asleep on my chest leaving a hot sweaty patch when you woke up. I felt very close to you. 

Poorly Mummy and sleepy Molly

Your nana and grandad had some sad news today. You heard me on the phone and asked what was wrong. I had a moment to decide whether to tackle the subject of death at your tender age. I did. I explained that Nana and Grandad's friend had died. You replied, "that is very sad news Mummy. I do hope they're ok." A response befitting an adult. You never cease to amaze me. Children's coping mechanisms are much better than ours, or than we give them credit for, and I remind myself of that daily.

Today you wanted to be Jessie

See you tomorrow sweetie. I love you.

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." ~ Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh, A A Milne

Chance encounters at the park

Last night we walked to the park when I got home. This was an ordinary little trip, just you and me. We met two people there. Two ordinary, chance encounters which taught me a little bit about you and about me.

We held hands and walked down our road. You silently swapped from one side of me to the other as a dog approached. We didn't talk about it. I like to let you deal with your apprehensions slowly and in your own time. You've moved from screaming to be picked up when dogs approach to sidling round to the other side of me. That's progress!

At the park you immediately climbed up on the 'castle' and informed me that we had to escape from the witch who lived "over bere (there) in the witch house (climbing frame)" and then told me to "sit down bere Mummy and you must knit 12 hats, gloves and jumpers to keep us all (you, me and 10 imaginary friends. 10 is your 'big' number at the moment) warm and cosy in the winter. Come on Mummy, get knitting!"

After a while you eased the pressure on me to keep pretend knitting and asked if I could push you to the moon on the swings. I always pretend I am trying to push you to the moon and you always laugh your little head off. So happy. 

Then you went back into the park and tried to engage with a little boy who was wandering around on his own. I left you to it. He was a little bit older than you but a solitary thing. He didn't acknowledge you and just wandered about. Stopping to sit cross legged and throw wood chips on the ground in front of him. He stared into space. He seemed locked in his own world. Your attempts to play rolled off him like raindrops down a window. Your little face was sad. I left you to reflect for a few moments. Your head dropped and you sat at the top of the slide. In the end I walked over to you and explained that the little boy wanted some time to himself and that you shouldn't be sad about that. Then you excitedly pointed to the little boy who had wandered over to a crowd of older boys and had sat down at the edge of their group. "Look Mummy. He does have some friends after all!" You were so happy and I was delighted that, through the whole episode, you cared more about the little boy having friends than you cared about your own rejection. It hadn't really crossed my mind that you were trying to be nice to him and, because you couldn't, it had made you sad. I was too wrapped up in you to notice. Your kindness is palpable. It runs out of your every pore and makes me so so proud.

During this time a young teenage girl had arrived at the park. I left you to slide and sat on the bench. She sat down next to me. We'd seen her here before when she had played with you but we had never spoken to her, not properly. She seemed kind. I asked how she was. Her face lit up and she chatted away to me, slightly awkwardly but she wanted to talk. I remember thinking that I wouldn't have chatted to an adult so freely at her age. She told be about her family. She asked about you and she related it back to her own childhood. She told me she had never fitted in, and about the people who had helped her when she was little and about how she felt, then and now. A lot of what she said made me feel sad. She seemed sad. As we left she asked me my name. "Sorry, it's Laura" I said. "Thank you Laura. See you soon." She had said "thank you" rather than "goodbye." I had only really listened to her but I felt happy then, not sad.

You should always try to listen completely. In one moment, lives can collide. Those you meet, listen to, and touch, will become the foundation of your being. I hope, above all else, that you will always have someone to talk to. I love you sweetheart. See you tomorrow.

"A little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference." ~ Winnie the Pooh

Being your mummy...

"Mummy, I am the goodest kid you ever saw, am I Mummy?" 

I fell off a cliff in slow motion the day I met you. From that moment onwards, how I felt about you became the single, biggest uncontrollable force in my life. Every day I try hard to balance out that overwhelming emotion so as not to smother you. I constantly remind myself that I'm important, but so is your independence. I want to give you room to breathe, room to be. And, if something took me away tomorrow, I need to know that you'd be ok. 

Molly Rose High ~ October 2010

I haven't enjoyed all of the stages of helping you to be independent but something undefinable inside of me tells me that it's the right thing. As parents, that undefinable voice inside is all we really have to guide us. Leaving you to grizzle a bit when you were a baby wasn't always the most natural thing to do but it was right. You're learning to be independent and I'm here, like the bumpers at the edge of the bowling alley, for you to bounce off and then carry on in the right direction. We're doing ok. You are a content and caring child with a big imagination and an even bigger heart and I am very proud of you.

I have to leave your sad little face to go to work. Or deflect your disappointment when you realise that I am going out on my bike. The corners of your mouth switch to being dramatically down turned. It is painful, but only superficially. You don't spend the time I'm away crying yourself to sleep or pressed up against the window. You go to school, you play, you see your friends, you go swimming. I do my thing, and you do yours. I come home and we spend time together. This stuff is fundamentally important to you and to me. It helps us to be stronger people, for each other.

Us ~ Summer 2014

You called me "my pretty Mummy" in my new dress today. That made me happy. Always remember sweetheart, behind your story is mine, and behind mine is my Mummy's and behind her's is her Mummy's. It's where we all began. 

Me and my Mummy ~ 1977

I completed my first 100 mile sportive last month. I cycled further than I ever have done and the sense of achievement was huge. The best bit, for me though, was seeing you on your little chair by the side of the road at 25 miles in shouting "go Mummy!" It was just the best feeling in the world. It's easy to be your Mummy, that's nature. But to inspire you, to equip you to deal with life and to make you proud of me, that takes some work.

Sleep tight baby.

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will." ~ Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Chapter 1 - Talipes

Dear Molly,

The lady scanning me to look at you when you were 20 weeks old in my tummy checked your heart, your head, your arms, your legs and then she paused. She lingered. My heart stopped for a few seconds. It felt like hours. It's funny how time is long when you're scared. And how time flies away when you're having fun. Time is always the same I guess. Our perception just alters. She mentioned the word Talipes and she wanted someone else to look at the scan. 

The next stage was a haze. People talking, screens, words, but no sound. The volume was off. I was there but somewhere else. Holding you in my arms. Someone else checked the screen. It was Talipes. There could be complications. It could be a marker for something else. “Have a leaflet.” I have a good memory usually but I don't remember their faces. 

Earlier in my pregnancy, following some routine tests, we were told that there was a 1 in 8 chance of you having Downs Syndrome. That news is not something you can prepare for or equip yourself to deal with. I existed through it. I can't boast to have done anything else. I couldn't do anything. We had tests. We waited. Time slowed to a virtual standstill. Empty time. A void.

The tests we had in the those early days were the same tests that would have checked for complications with Talipes. Which is why we didn't have to repeat them. Those tests eventually came back and told us that you were fine, and that you were a she! I remember spontaneously and uncontrollably sobbing then, and every time I told someone the news after that, on the phone, in person, by text, I cried. Happy tears. A girl. 

Now we had to work out what Talipes was. I did what everyone advises against, but does anyway. I Googled it. I saw the word Clubfoot. That was a word I knew. But not from an informed standpoint. I had just heard it. Unless you've experienced it in some way, very few people know what it actually is. It means, when you are born, your foot points downwards and inwards. I worried about whether you'd walk. How would you cope? Was it a ’disability’? Would you need an operation? All normal worries but not to me, not now.

So over the coming weeks and months I read, I talked, I learnt. I explained it to friends and family and gradually to myself. Aside from a wonky foot, you were fine. I was lucky, and I felt it. 

 

So, on October 21st 2010 you, my beautiful Molly Rose, were born. I had my baby, finally. It may sound cliched but, I didn't even notice your foot. Your little face was just so perfect and I loved you, my tiny little girl, unconditionally.

4 weeks later and you were in your 1st cast which was changed every week for 4 weeks until your foot was in the correct position. Then just before Christmas 2010 you went into your boots and bar for 23 hours a day. 3 months later and were in them for night times only and that's the sketch until you're 5. 

I read a lot from other mummies and daddies who feel that their children suffer through this treatment and whose posts on forums are laden with pity. Sympathy and pity are not the feelings which I have chosen for dealing with this. I have tried to treat your Talipes treatment like any other part of growing up. It doesn't hurt. It enables you to walk. It's an incredible gift that we are thankful for every day. You have never had a night out of your boots and bar and have never once questioned the need to wear them. 

I feel as though your attitude towards everything you face is developing, partly, from how I deal with and respond to things and equipping you to deal with life feels like my single biggest responsibility right now.

I love you darling,

What my mother taught me...

'What my mother taught me' is a massive topic and hard to define because, clearly, our mums teach us to be who we are. To stand on our own. To care. To teach. To nurture and to love. They teach us this by doing it for us. Children learn from what we do, not what we say or what we try to be. They see what we are so we should be who we want to be and do what makes us happy. It's the best hope we have of making our children happy. That's what I think anyway.

There's a couple of things my mummy, your Nana Foster, has taught me which I will tell you about here.

One practical skill of huge importance to me is completely down to my mummy.  My passing on of that skill to you is well underway. That skill is to cook....properly. Your Nana never makes us bolognese from a jar, or a cake from a packet, or cheese sauce from a tub, or a pancake from a plastic container. I learnt how to make all these things from real ingredients, with scales, a bowl, a wooden spoon and a recipe book. 

My mummy's mummy's (my nana's, your great nana's) kitchen scales which are now mine and will be yours

It is so very important to know and understand what you're eating and to appreciate that processed 'food' is not good for you. I had a solid grounding in cooking, and you will too, for all these reasons. It will educate your mind and keep your body healthy...even the cake! 

And now the other thing. This one I attribute to your nana, not because she sat down and taught me this stuff or told me what to do, but because I recognise the same traits in her. There were no recipe books here. It comes from her soaking into me as I grew and developed through those impressionable years into who I am today. I am referring to my desire to look after people, to feed them and to care about them. I can't bear disappointment in others. I'd always rather take it away and feel it myself. It leads me to not put myself first in a lot of scenarios but it's who I am. I remember being poorly when I was little and your nana saying she'd rather she were ill than me. I know that's a natural parent thing but I learnt how to be your mummy from my mummy and for that I am eternally grateful. 

Night night my darling. I love you. 

"Fiddlesticks" & politics

You dropped something the other day and said, "oh fiddlesticks!" It sounded strange coming out of the mouth of my little three year old girl. I asked you where you heard that word. You giggled and said, "I just made it up Mummy." I'm not sure that you did but I don't need to dispute it.

Now it's Sunday and I am reading the papers in my favourite room listening to you playing with your Sylvanian Families in the lounge and doing all of their voices. It's a calming place for me. Although the news is not very calm. Let's hope the political storm brewing in Ukraine and Russia blows away as quickly as it arose. My peaceful Sunday is so at odds with what I am reading about and I wonder how you ever go from pushing a toy platypus around in the basket of your Sylvanian badger's bicycle to ordering submarines and battleships to the brink of war. 

So, as I caught up with the grave and escalating situation in Crimea, you interrupted to ask if I could help you to "put this police outfit on my baby dormouse please mummy?" 

A welcome distraction from the world's political unrest. 

We then got ready to go out. "Our feet are not the same size Mummy", you exclaimed. I replied, "no sweetie, yours are three and mine are thirty seven. You responded with, "one day when I am bigger like you, my feet will be thirty seven too. Will they Mummy?" 

"Yes baby, they will"

We had a lovely lunch with Wilbur, Monty and their gorgeous mummies. You loved being the biggest and therefore "in charge" and you also loved that the babies mummies did, indeed, love your red tights as you'd hoped they would when we chose them this morning. 

I hope you three can grow up in safe and peaceful times. Although I think we need to be realistic about the world and keep a balanced viewpoint. We must learn from our history and pay attention to others' histories. History will shape our future.

"Those who can win a war well can rarely make a good peace and those who could make a good peace would never have won the war." ~ Winston Churchill

"Oh bother", you said

I love your language. I try to encourage you to use wholesome, old fashioned words. It sounds so sweet when you say, "oh bother" when something goes wrong. Although I can't take the credit for that as it's not one I use. I approve though. It's "pardon", not "what" and "yes" not "yeah". I know you won't listen to me forever so I will continue to lead by example in the hope that you follow of your own volition. You just thanked Right Bunny for 'helping' you onto the bed (apparently) "Thank you Righty. You are a very big help to me." Your bond with that old rabbit is stronger than ever and I'm curious as to when that strength might wane. But right now it warms my heart how much you still love that inanimate, tatty old thing.  

It was my birthday today. I asked if I could do your hair in a ponytail. You said, "another time Mummy." I protested on the basis that it was my birthday and you said, "don't worry Mummy. You can do my ponytail on your next birthday." You never just say "no". It makes me happy that you always deliver your refusal with a sweetner. A common, slightly lazy, example when I object to your refusals is, "that doesn't matter if I don't do it Mummy. I still love you." Sweet, but wily.

You like to clean your teeth yourself now. You told me very excitedly tonight "when I am bigger Mummy my tooth will fall out. I will put it under my pillow and the tooth fairy will come and take it away and leave me a shiny gold coin." I wish I could write the expression and excited tone in your voice. It got higher and louder and faster and faster. You were just so pleased to be sharing this 'new' information with me and your little hands were going nineteen to the dozen as you explained what will be happening. 

I'm watching you fall asleep now, with Righty and Ted. I love you darling. Sweet dreams.

"If you can dream it, you can do it. Always remember that this whole thing was started with a dream and a mouse." ~ Walt Disney Company

I want you to grow up strong

There's a strange paradox I feel in that I want to protect you from things you don't need to worry about whilst also wanting you to help me through my difficult times. That may sound selfish. It does, I can hear it. I don't believe I am the only one who has selfish thoughts from time to time. It's nothing I'd act on. It's just a feeling. I can't control it.

When something's on my mind it should be a welcome relief that you're happy, unaware and only concerned with whether Poppy the monkey would mind if Liony borrowed her handbag for a little while. Instead of being a distraction though, your blissful ignorance increases my worry. I now also have to contend with this overwhelming desire to protect my little girl from the worries of the grown-up world. That responsibility weighs heavily on me sometimes.

So whilst I want you to tell me what decisions to make and comfort me when I'm sad, my natural and overwhelming instincts are to shield you from all the bad stuff. And that's what I do.

You've been poorly this week. 

It's like when you're ill, or dealing with your Talipes. I would always rather it was me than you. Although, I have come to realise that children deal with that stuff much better than adults do. It might sound harsh but you'll never hear me pouring out watery platitudes about how brave you are with your boots and bar (you know no different, it's not bravery) or how your latest cold or flu virus is so unfair (they go round all of the children, every year). Don't get me wrong, I worry about you constantly, that's nature. But I also know that, actually, when you're ill, you just need to be warm and safe with good food and lots of sleep. I want you to grow up resilient and strong. Not feeling as though your boots and bar are in some way punishing or that a winter virus is the end of the world. My favourite thing about this week has been your determined insistence that, "I'm not poorly. It's just a little cough Mummy. I will be better in the morning." That is how we deal with these pesky viruses! 

Tonight you said, 

"Why did you not bring me a toy home tonight Mummy?"

"I wasn't supposed to was I?"

"Yes Mummy"

"Why?"

"That's why you love me Mummy"

You still use "that's why" in place of "because". And that is (one of the many reasons) why I love you sweetheart.

"Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands." - Anne Frank

I love you a little bit more today

It sounds silly. It might be because you let me put your hair in a pony tail (you never normally do and I had to bribe you with a chocolate button). You look a bit more grown up somehow. So pretty. But more little girl than toddler.

You've been quite pensive today and asking a lot about when you were a baby. We tried to talk about before you were born. You couldn't grasp the concept. 

"But where was I then Mummy?" 

"You didn't exist then sweetheart. It was before you were born?"

"But where was I?"

"You weren't anywhere?"

"Was I all alone somewhere?"

"No baby. You were with me."

We had a big hug and decided to talk about that another time.

You've been a bit scared of things today. The cross rotten tomato in Bubbleguppies upset you this morning. I'm not sure you'll be an adrenalin junkie when you're older. You like things on an even keel. You're only 3 though. Plenty of time to develop a liking for adventure! 

Hiding from the whale in Wonderpets this afternoon

Feeding the ducks today

Mummy jumped in puddles too

Your Mummy 

We didn't do much today but your grown up hair, questions about being a baby, and fear of mean tomatoes all made me love you a tiny bit more x

A bloggers award....

This is a bloggers award which you get nominated for by other bloggers and it's a nice way of sharing blogs you like with others. All you have to do is...

+ Link back to nominator
+ Write 11 facts about yourself
+ Nominate 10 bloggers (less than 200 followers) and let them know!
+ Create 10 questions for nominees

So, my nomination comes from my ever so slightly biased friend, Louisa, but she does loves my blog and hers is fab too :) http://www.myfamilyandabruzzo.com/

I am nominating Bex Harding. Her baby boy has Talipes like my Molly and I've enjoyed reading her journey with Talipes and everything else in her life. Very honest and real. http://busybeemummybex.blogspot.co.uk/

 
11 FACTS ABOUT ME

1. I used to be an Army Cadet Force instructor

2. I was born in Margate, Kent

3. My (now very public) guilty pleasure is Made in Chelsea

4. My favourite film is Arthur Hiller's Love Story (1970) - it's the saddest story but the most beautiful film

5. My top 3 favourite places I've been to are New York, Rome and Abruzzo

6. I like painting (pictures, not walls)

7. I would love some red shoes but have never found the perfect pair. I'll keep looking.

8. I knew I was going to have a daughter (and I don't believe in all that superstitious nonsense)

9. My dream is to write a book

10. I love Yorkshire

11. Tracey Emin fascinates me and Caitlin Moran makes me laugh

Louisa's questions to me:

What would be your last supper?

Roast lamb with everything!
Who is your favourite author and why? (can't choose so, I'm cheating with 2)
Charlotte Bronte - because she wrote Jane Eyre, she gained critical acclaim against all the odds and her books have inspired me at every phase of my life

Joanne Harris - because Chocolat is so good that I feel I know Vianne and Anouk as friends. That's when a story becomes art. When you see yourself in it. 

What is your favourite painting? 

John Everett Millais' 'Ophelia'

You can spend the day in London, where do you go?
It would be summer! I'd go to the Tate Gallery, walk by the river and have lunch in the park. I have always wanted to visit the Charles Dickens Museum so I should probably do that on my imaginary trip and, as there's so much time in my imagination, I'd also look round St Paul's cathedral and have tea at The Ritz! 
If you could live anywhere in the world you wanted, where would that be?
Clearly throwing practicalities to the wind here but I would live in Paris, in an old townhouse, with window boxes full of flowers, opposite a bakery and coffee shop, with a balcony which you can see the Eiffel Tower from. Not much to ask....

Money and success, or dream job and happiness?
I am going to go for success, dream job and happiness. Can I do that? 
If you could cure/solve one thing in the world, what would that be?
Cancer
If you could be fluent in a second (or third) language, what language would you choose?
Italian
Hong Kong or Tokyo?
Hong Kong
Happiness is......

Being content with no worries

My questions:

- Where would your dream holiday be? 

- What music makes you happy?

- If you won £1m, what's the first thing you'd buy?

- And where would you live?

- If you were Prime Minister for a day, what would you change?

- What's your earliest memory?

- What's your favourite ever TV show?

- If you could turn a book into a film, which hasn't been done before, which book would you choose? 

- City or countryside?

- if you could go for coffee with anyone in the world...?