Mayday - 2019

I haven’t written to you for a while. I do it when I feel it. Sometimes it’s not there, and then it returns, on a breeze, willing me to put down our memories for the future. To write is to fulfil the requirement, and then I blow it away again, like a dandelion seed head.

So, you’re 8 years old. I’ve just been to watch you dance around the Maypole for the Mayday celebrations at your school. I will treasure these memories. You’ll be grown up before I know it and I can feel it coming. I don’t fear it, as such. I just feel it. The passing of time once happened way up in the stratosphere. It happened without me noticing. Like wispy white clouds blowing away in a blue sky. Now I feel it all around me like a paper thin silk veil blowing and draping over my body as I walk. It touches my face, my arms, my body and my legs. It’s soft and gentle, not heavy, just there to lightly remind me.

You have seemed older recently. You are moving from young child to older girl so seamlessly and effortlessly that I barely notice. But if I stop for a moment, and pay attention to your chatter, I notice that it has changed. You ask if I am ok a lot. You tell me about your learning at school. You tell me what’s happened that day on the playground and who has been kind and who hasn’t. You still want to write, to paint and to draw. You talk about creation. You ponder on the big questions. You talk kindly about everyone and you care so much. You put other people’s needs before yours and you care about those with less than you. You adore your cat, Penny, with everything you have and I will be forever grateful for that funny and impulsive day when we looked at each other and said “shall we get a cat?”

You playing 'rock paper scissors' with Penny

You read everything and you devour books with such joy, especially Tom Gates books. You also love Lord of the Rings and Minecraft. I never tried to steer you, and never will, but, somehow, I knew that you wouldn’t be a princess and unicorn kind of girl.

Tonight you asked if you and Annie could be sisters. I said it wouldnt be possible because a Mummy needs 9 months to grow a baby and you and Annie only have a month between you. You thought for a moment and responded with, “Mummy, tapir babies take 13 months to grow in their Mummies’ tummies!”

You still love babies and you talk incessantly about having your own one day. It was Easter a couple of weeks ago. We discussed that the Easter bunny is actually Mummy. You were grateful that you knew the truth because, apparently, if I’d never told you, you would have waitied for him when you had your own children and they wouldn’t have got any eggs! Oliver did your Easter egg hunt this year and he was much better than any rabbit anyway.

I’ve just tucked you into bed. I read The Royal Rabbits of London for your bedtime story. I’ve read to you every night that I could, since you were born and we still do our “moon and back million times” routine and sing “You are my sunshine.” You are changing every day before my very eyes, but you hold tightly to our funny little ways and traditions and that is one of the many reasons that I love you with every fibre of my being. See you in the morning sweetie x

“And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge.” 
- Galadriel: The Fellowship of the Ring, The Lord of the Rings

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

Dear Molly, you asked me once, "who is Auntie Choof?"

We had this sensible thought when you and your cousins came along that we'd drop all the silly family nicknames. I think they seemed even sillier when we tried to comprehend explaining them to the next generation.

Despite our best efforts they've crept back in, as deep engrained family traditions tend to because they've carved a furrow for us all to live in. I've actually come to believe that that furrow is where we belong. It's there for a reason.  

So, in answer to your question, when Cameron and Erica refer to "Auntie Choof" they are talking about your Mummy. I am Choof to many of our close friends and family. And your Uncle Peter is a pelican and  Auntie Amanda is a panda and Daddy is an eagle and sometimes I call Auntie Lulu, Bart and Grandad calls Cameron, the Pontipine and therefore, Erica, his little sisiter, is the Pinette (a female Pontipine). Your Grandad Foster initiated a lot of this with his animalisation of everyone to amuse us as children...and adults! 'Choof' came from school for me though. I just think that my lack of reticence to accept it as a name came from our family environment. It's no big deal. They're only nicknames. Just things which attach to our personae. Sometimes forever, sometimes until another name evolves. Some people use them and some people don't and they are just part of us. Who we are. Our family.

Auntie Amanda(the Panda)'s photograph of you and Cameron walking in Brinkley this weekend

I love being Choof. I love it because it is a natural evolution of different terms of endearment used by my friends and family since I was at school. When people use it today it means, to me, an acceptance of something which on the surface is superficial and silly but which is completely part of who I am. Not that it matters if people don't use it. Nor have I sought to influence who does and who doesn't. It's just happened. Or not. 

My friend (Auntie Lulu) sent me an e-mail yesterday because she hadn't seen me in a while. It made me smile for all the reasons mentioned above.....and, of course, because it made a beautiful reference to you, my little curly haired shadow.

"Missing - The lesser spotted Choof.  Very small of frame with a big fringe and eyes.  Can be tempted out with black coffee and cake.  Possibly kidnapped by turbo training fanatics.  Usually found with a wee companion with equally big eyes and a mop of golden curls."

Silly, but lovely. A bit like us :) 

My little shadow, my mini Choof (I could look at this picture for hours. There is something about your forlorn little face and your little hand on my leg. People may call me Choof but, first and foremost, I am Mummy and I'll always be just behind you baby, in case you need me.

So, my little Molly Mootle, there you have it. One day I can elaborate a little about why we are who we are in our funny little world but, for now, we just are.... 

I love you enormous amounts, as ever. Mummy x

"A little nonsense now and then, is cherished by the wisest men." ~ Roald Dahl