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

A new year begins

The other day I read an old post from when you had just turned three. I can't quite believe that are now six. Six whole years old. To me, you are the most brilliant, caring and wonderful six year old. You cherish everything and I never want that to stop. School, family, friends, home, learning, adventures, music and stories. 

Whilst I had a coffee the other day, you decided to read a book filled with paintings. Well, you looked at the pictures. You said that one picture you looked at made you think of somewhere really calm. Where the day goes slowly and no one needs to rush.Then you got to one which made you feel lonely, tired and empty. "It kind of makes me feel invisible Mummy." I could listen to your chatter for hours. Your six year old thoughts are so mesmerising to me.

There is a lot being written at the moment about kids being kids, toys being toys, and gender stereotypes being outlawed. I want to see us really letting kids be kids. I have an overwhelming desire for us all to stop intervening. You should pick your own toys, pink or blue, dinosaur or princess. I want, more than anything, to just let you be. Sometimes I want to shout out loud for people to give you some space. I don't because interaction with other people is important and, well, it would be rude! I am also very aware that my need for peace is not yours. It is just a very strong instinct in me. I am most relaxed when you have the space to exist at your own pace and in your own way. 

I want you to relish in a nature documentary as much as in an episode of Paw Patrol. To watch Harry Potter, Star Wars, The Sound of Music and Frozen. To visit art galleries and antique shops as well as toy shops and funfairs. I just want you to see, hear, smell and feel all that the world has to offer and not just a wrapped up, glitzy version of what grown-ups think is entertainment for you. It is a fine balance. I type this as we finish watching Minions together on a rainy day.

We spend the last day of 2016 in London together. A lot of people say that 2016 was a really bad year. There is a lot going on in the world right now and you'll learn about it soon enough. I just want you to always remember to not to be scared, to be proud, to care about people and to give everything to what you believe in. Gently change the world by giving everything that you can in your little corner and through positivity and hope. There isn't enough of that stuff and you, my little girl, are brimming with it. 

At six years old you mean the absolute world to me. I love every fibre of your being and can't bear the thought of you being disappointed or being scared and alone. But I do know that you will feel these things. It will shape you as a person, a brilliant and wonderful person. I will keep giving you as many experiences as I can. That is what I feel that my job is right now and I will never tire of your expectant little six year old face asking me, "where are we going to go next Mummy?" I can trace the outline of my heart and soul in your face. You embody all of my hopes and dreams and I just can't wait to see where you take them. 

Happy new year my darling little girl. Let's go and make some more memories.

"For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice" - T. S. Elliot

Mummy, Molly and our stories

It is world book day today so I am writing to you about my books, your books, our stories. Books matter to me and I want them to matter to you.

Me & you tonight, before your bedtime story

My childhood memories are the books which had an impact on me. I want you to have books which do that for you. Mine were The Enchanted Wood, Shadow the Sheepdog, About Teddy Robinson, Anne of Green Gables, The Lion the Witch & the Wardrobe, Little Women and The Secret Garden. I can still picture the places that I built in my mind where these stories took place. I do hope you'll enjoy them one day too. 

Mummy when she was about your age

You have, slightly obsessively on my part, had a story read to you every single night since you were just a few weeks old. You didn't understand what I was reading back then but words, sentences, expression, voices, characters & imaginary goings on in far away lands all helped to shape my childhood and I want them to shape yours too.

When we read we are forced into someone else's world, perspective, fears & dreams. We can build up what that looks like and how it feels in our own imaginations. Developing your imagination is as important as learning to spell and learning to count. Being able to see through someone else's eyes or to walk in their shoes are things we must all do. This learning starts with understanding how Mr Big feels when no one will be his friend because he's so big. 

Or caring because the Yeti is sad when the little bird flies away for the winter.  

Or sharing in the little boy's joy when he finally catches a star of his very own

Last time we read How to Catch a Star (Oliver Jeffers) you said, "I wish I had a really big ladder so that I can get a real star all of my very own Mummy." Every child should hear this story, like every child should try to catch a star.

Never stop reading baby, and never stop dreaming.

Sleep tight.

"The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it." ~ Peter Pan (J M Barrie)