Saturday May 2nd 2015

I haven't written to you in a while. We've been busy. Life is busy.

It's May 2015 and there is a general election next week. People will vote for who they want to lead our country. It won't mean anything to you at the moment but it will. You will learn about politics and I hope that you will care. Listen to everyone's views. And I mean really listen. Don't close your mind too soon. Form your opinions based on what your heart and mind are telling you. There are a lot of simple theories out there. The truth is often more complex and harder to understand. You should try. Your life will be richer for it.

Today it was just us. We had pancakes for breakfast, watched Mary Poppins, baked a cake & practiced on your bike. You are most content at home. It is definitely where your heart is. Your safe place. I was like you at your age. I remember it clearly. I loved my home too. I remember only glimpses of the house that was my home when I was four. Like the glimpses of your home that I took today....

 Over the garden gate

Our spring wisteria

At the park whilst you play

Watching Mary Poppins

Learning to ride

You've just informed me that the wind is changing and Mary Poppins has to go now. It's also time for your bath. 

I'll see you tomorrow sweetheart. I love you.

You and Ted

"Winds in the east, mist coming in. Like somethin' is brewin' and bout to begin. Can't put me finger on what lies in store. But I fear what's to happen's all happened before." ~ Bert, Mary Poppins 

Homeward bound

We got stuck in traffic on the way home today. Despite my best efforts on the car game front you fell asleep in your little chair with Right Bunny pushed up against your cheek.

Sitting on that road, with you in the back, I felt nostalgic. Heading back. Is home this way, or that? 

The A11 is the road in and out of Norfolk. It's been my route on holiday as a very little girl. And the route we came home again on. The road I took when we left Norfolk. The road I travel back down to see our friends and family. And the road that brings them to me. It is just a road but it's more than a road, to me. It takes me 'home' to my house. And it takes me back 'home' to my memories. 

This view has been the backdrop to so many of my journeys.

When I first made my journeys down this road, I didn't have you. Now you come too. I watched you in my mirror today, gazing out at the same views I have gazed at since I was your age. Norfolk is already staking it's claim over part of your being, as it has to mine. Your cousins are there, nanas, grandads, aunties, uncles and some of our very closest friends. "Your park from when you were little Mummy" is somewhere you ask to go to often. I carry this place in my words and actions and hopes and fears. It's engrained in me. Somewhere that means so much to me won't fail to be important to you. It just can't. 

We listened to this on the way home tonight. Sleep tight sweetie. 

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again. It's so far and out of sight" ~ Carole King, Home Again (1971)

At three and a half...

So, you're three and a half. You regularly tell me that waiting to be four is boring. A lot is due to happen then. "When I'm four you won't have to sit with me at bedtime Mummy." I think it seems such a long way away to you that you could promise me the moon because the chances of ever getting there are remote. I'm not sure what you imagine will be waiting for you in the magical land of being four but you're looking forward to it such a lot. 

Matching hair clips 

At three and a half you've spent your half term learning to swim and I have spent your half term crying with pride. I don't know why we cry when we're happy but we do. I do. Sometimes you get confused which tears are which. These ones have been happy tears. My baby girl, who was scared to walk over leaves, is jumping in the swimming pool. I can't help but well up, watching you try so very hard and looking so little and vulnerable in your swimming costume, hat and goggles. Like Christina Ricci in Mermaids.

I have watched you as you have visibly pushed past your apprehensions and you have told us that you are very proud of yourself. As you should be.

In case you don't live here when you read this, at three and a half you live in your "Brinkley house" which you are very attached to. "Mummy, I know now that holidays are not moving and we will live on holiday only for a little while. Then we come home. Right Mummy?" When I was little I was attached to houses too. I remember crying uncontrollably at the prospect of moving house and feeling like my world was collapsing around me. As you get older you'll realise that you can make new homes. But I get it sweetie, it's not just bricks and mortar is it. 

High Street, Brinkley, Cambridgeshire, May 2014

We've spent the day with Alfie and Ralph today and you've only just stopped crying after they had to leave. You just adore Alfie who has grown into the most polite, thoughtful and kind little boy. And Ralph's affectionate nature has not waned. A hug from those, just about still pudgy, baby arms is quite hard to beat. You three will be friends forever. I'm sure of it.

"I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string." ~ L M Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

Dear Molly, you'll grow up wanting to leave and, when you grow upyou'll want to go back

Today I went back to Cringleford, and I took you. This is where my childhood was and I was proud to show you to my village and my village to you. This place is entrenched in my soul. Not for any spectacular reason or because I'm eulogising about it where it's not due but because I grew into who I am today right there, in that normal little village. 

I felt like I was on a film set there today. Whilst pointing out to you what used to be our doctors' surgery, "for when you were poorly Mummy?" an elderly lady on a bench who I hadn't noticed turned to us and said, "hello sunshine" to you and asked me, "did you grow up here dear?" It felt poignant. I'm not sure why. 

We spent a couple of hours at, "your park from when you were small Mummy" and I felt right back at home. The trees, the air, the houses, so familiar. I wanted to wrap you into that feeling so that this wasn't a strange place to you. You ran around playing and proclaiming that "I love it here Mummy, it's lovely. I love your park from when you were small." That made me happy.

I sat on the hill watching you playing in the same little playhouse I used to sit in and resisted the urge to interrupt your chatter and play. I heard you serving fake tea to make-believe tea party goers and telling 'everyone' where they should be sitting. I think children need solitude sometimes and I try not to forget that and smother you with my ideas of how you should play. When you were ready you called me over to put you in the swing and push you "really, really high."

I have this wish, desire, belief that it's right, whatever you choose to call it to try and help you to understand your roots, where you came from and who you are. I hope that being somewhere that was such a big part of me will help that process.

I had a lovely morning with you and my park and you have been talking about "Mummy's park from when she was small" all afternoon so I hope it was more than just a trip to the swings for you. I have lots more places to show you but we've got plenty of time.

Thank you for today. I love you. Mummy x