My Dad

When I was very small, my dad’s side of the bed was furthest from the door, but if I had a nightmare, I would creep around to his side to climb in. I don’t know if it was because he was so tired from a physical job, or a softer touch than mum, or what, but he always let me in. He was my safe space.

When I was a bit bigger, (and health and safety wasn’t an issue like it is now) he would sometimes take us in turns to work with him. He’s a carpenter, so we’d be on building sites and in houses making things. One stretch, probably a summer holidays, I went with him a few days in a row. There was a kind site manager who would bring around jam doughnuts at lunchtime, and we’d eat them and get sugary faces. We’d sit together where we (he) had been working, with packed lunches and the very special treat that was the doughnuts. I don’t know who that kind manager was – we just called him the Jammy Dodger man.

When I was 8, he baptised me at the church I attended until I left home, and where they still attend now. The water wasn’t particularly warm and my dress was damp from a friend’s baptism the day before, but he held me tightly and I was safe.
Around the same age, my mum liked to have figurines on the mantelpiece. One day, I knocked one down and the head cracked off. I told Dad, and he found glue and we fixed it together. She noticed immediately of course, and I still got into trouble, but I clearly remember him not being angry and calmly helping me.

When I was 11 I was due to take entrance exams for secondary schools. Dad was the one to take me, and I had two in one day. He dropped me into the first one, and waited. I came out afterwards stressed and incredibly worried about the next one. We got in the car and he gently asked me if I was ready for the next one. I wasn’t, and so he let me skip it. We went to the shop instead and he bought me treats for doing the first one, and the other one was never mentioned again.

When I was a teenager, things were classically more tense, but Dad (and Mum) were always happy to join in the fun. He taught me basic car maintenance, very basic carpentry, and when he was building the extension to our house, he taught me how to lay bricks. There’s a good-sized section of wall that I built, and somewhere behind the stuff in the garage there are bricks with our names on, though they might have faded by now.

During that same building project, I tripped and fell, gashing a leg. I was 14 or 15, and Dad scooped me up and carried me inside, like I was 3 and had fallen off my bike. I remember crying with my head against his shoulder, Mum had a quick look and we went off to hospital. Nothing was broken but I have a sizeable scar. I don’t really remember the fall or the pain specifically, I just remember Dad gently carrying me in.

When I was 16 and started dating boys, he did not seem to be a fan. He took time not to come across too much of an I-Will-Kill-You dad, but I knew he could (and would) bring it out if I needed him to!

When I was almost 20, he took me to that same church, and walked me down the aisle. I remember sitting in the car on the way there and talking, he had packed chocolate and bottles of water, and gave me last-minute tips and so much love I’m surprised it didn’t leak out of the windows. He also organised my own personal Secret Service for when I arrived – some of my friends in dark suits and glasses with earpieces – who opened the car for me and gave me a good laugh in a nervous moment. We didn’t link arms (my dress was too big and poofy!), we held hands instead as he gave me away.

Since then he has never been more than a phone call away and is my go to when I need to fix something, or jump-start the car and can’t remember how to attach the cables, and he calls me at least every Sunday night to catch up. He is the most wonderful Grampa to my boys and their cousins, He helped teach me to drive twice, once at 17 and once again at 27. He gives me directions for driving even if I say the Sat Nav will get me there. He will tell me jokes he’s been sent or about funny videos he sees on Facebook. He still tells me about his work, and I still find it interesting. He tells me the goings on at their church and will make people say hello to me if they’re at his house when I call.

He is still me hero, my rescuer, my safe space.

Dad, I love you forever. Happy Father’s Day!

Your Tomboy,

Tink x

Ten

Ten. My wonderful, kind, lovely, maddening, firstie is ten. How can it be that we’ve been at this whole mother-son thing for a decade?

My darling boy, let us see what Ten years makes.

Ten is Football. This one was a surprise, you are tall, and coordination doesn’t exactly come naturally, and you tend to gravitate towards tech. But you love football and football practise, and you work hard at it. Your first present request this year was goalie gloves (which we got for you), a football (which arrived in the mail, addressed to you, from Grandma and Grampa. Very exciting), and a football shirt (Thank you Grandma and Grandad).

Ten is Technology. Your favourite at school is computing and coding. I don’t understand a word of it (I have fallen behind you already), but you do, and every parents evening we are told that you excel at it and help others. It scares me a little, because I am not ready for this pre-teeny interest in tech and computers and the internet and all the stuff that that entails (but oh gosh do I have to stay ahead on this one).

Ten is Silliness. Ten is you learning the boundaries of how much silly is fun and how much silly will drive me crazy. You walk the line, alternately frustrating and hilarious in spades. You pun with the best of them, you’re quick at it too, quick to laugh, even at yourself, but you’re (mostly, you’re only a human ten year old boy) careful not to make fun at someone else’s expense. Which brings us to…

Ten is Kind and Gentle. Oh my goodness, do you know how to be kind. You are the first to check if someone is ok, particularly when I shout ouch (regularly. Your lack of coordination is clearly inherited), and you are always first to try and distract an upset younger brother. You held that chick for Henry when he wasn’t ready, and kept trying to help him. You tell me you love me, randomly and often, and also not randomly. You see when I am getting frustrated, and you tell me then. You see when I am tired, and you tell me again. You wont hug me at school anymore (I understand) but at home you do, and you ask for them. I love it, and I love you for it.

Ten is Bacon Sandwiches for birthday breakfast, thanks to your Dad. I was panicking about my exam (and mornings are not my strong point), so we sat together quietly at the table, eating our bacon sandwiches, me with ketchup and you with barbeque sauce (to you bbq sauce is life) and I thought, HOW are you ten? how have you become so much, when I made you from scratch what feels like not so long ago? And we smiled at each other, finished our breakfast, and carried on the day.

Ten is also a donut stack cake, again courtesy of your Dad, as mishaps meant I was in A&E with Henry (he’s fine), but you understood, and ate donuts, and stayed up a little late, and planned your birthday sleepover.

So Happy Birthday Mr Ten, you clever, funny, wonderful, kind boy. You will always be my firstie, no matter how big you get. We must be doing something right.

I love you,

Mummy x

 

Mother’s Day 2018

My Mother is an amazing woman. Yes, everyone says it on Mother’s day, so let me give you some truth – Mum and I have had an extreme rollercoaster of emotions to get to me knowing what a boss she is. I got a lot of my qualities (good and, er, less good) from her – her love of music, punny jokes, water in general and the beach in particular. A determination devolving into stubbornness. A need to prove myself. Above all else, a fierce love for ‘my people’.

Headstrong and stubborn, I was by all accounts a difficult child who went on to be a fairly horrendous teenager for a while there. Mum and I had some intense times. We had difficulty understanding each other, which was slightly ridiculous as the answer was clearly in that we were so alike. Here’s the thing though – I always knew she loved me. I knew that she was in my corner, ready to fight for me in any way necessary. She would take down any opponent however she could, and here’s a story of when I really realised it.

When I was 15, I was having a particularly awful time at school dealing with some people who, for whatever reasons, did not like me. One day I snapped, lied to the office staff about an appointment, walked out of school and went home. Mum was working at the time, and wasn’t due to be home for hours. I planned to wait it out, hide away from the world for the day, and start again tomorrow. I didn’t have to tell her I played hooky. It wasn’t the first time (oops, sorry mum, pretty sure you didn’t know that), and I’d dust myself off and could try again. Except I didn’t, and I couldn’t. As I walked in the door to our house I found I had reached the end of my rope, and I needed someone to take over. The remarkable part is that, as I picked up the phone and dialed her office number, I wasn’t even slightly afraid. I needed my mother, and I knew that she would be there for me. Trouble would be coming, but I knew it wouldn’t be from her (or Dad, I might add).

I told her everything, through sobs, and after a little comfort, she immediately got on the phone to the school and read them the riot act. Side note: Having been on the receiving end of said riot act, I can confirm that it is formidable and kind of like that feeling you get when you open a hot oven or get off a plane in a hot country. You will be blasted.

She sorted everything out, and less than two weeks later I would be attending a different school, who had previously refused me entry but suddenly catchment areas were no longer an issue, and I was in. She had done it all for me. I didn’t have to talk to anyone about it, no one (other than a few key staff members) at the old or new schools knew the reason I’d be moving, I would be able to tell my own version of the story and become myself however I pleased. Now, this part of the story is wonderful. The happy ending, but it’s not the only part. The next morning was a school day. I had hoped I’d be allowed to stay home, for a day at least, to avoid the situation,  the people, and the pain. That is not what happened, school move arrangements were still being put in place and I needed to attend where I was until they were. I was gently told to get up, to get dressed and ready. I did, with the occasional tears of worry and fear sliding down my cheeks. I would not be allowed to skip out, that was not the way the world works. I had been given a pass on my afternoon of truancy, that had been my time to wallow and now I would have to fortify and get on with it.

As we got ready to leave, she slipped a token into my hand. It was a small red wooden heart. She told me that she would be thinking of me, and that she loved me, and that when it got hard (when, not if – smart woman), I could put my hand in my pocket, hold that heart, and know that she loved me. I made it through those last 10 days or so, knowing the unstoppable force behind me. More importantly, she taught me that I could get up and carry on. That I could go back to a horrific situation, take charge of my part of it, hold my head up, and move on. It was not as bad as I’d thought, and I think had I not gone, my first few days at my new school would have been more difficult. After all, how hard can a new school be when you’ve spent the last 10 days facing the people who ridiculed you to the point of running away?

Going that day was difficult, but it wasn’t until I had my own children that I learned how hard it must have been for her, knowing that I was scared and encouraging me to do it anyway. She never let it show, but I bet that day was just as hard for her as it was for me.

I watched Wonder Woman last night and there’s a line where Hippolyta says to Antiope, “You will train her harder than any Amazon before her. Five times harder, ten times harder. Until she is better than even you.” My Mum is Hippolyta. Not only does she command a horde of warrior women (I’m one of 6 sisters), but yes, she pushes us. She trained us hard, she helped make us who we are, and continues to help us whenever and however she can.(Does this make me Wonder Woman? I’m good with that.)

We get along far better than we used to, and she is one of my biggest supporters. After each of the boys were born she came to stay and help me adjust. When I decided to go back to school she was excited and supportive, and regularly asks how my work is going. I can confide in her, and she gives me kind advice and love without judgement, and the tellings-off are much fewer, farther between, gentler and (mostly) necessary 😉 And when it gets late and we’re together, the laughter is loud, long, and usually hard enough to bring on tears.

Yes. My mum is amazing. Formidable, wonderful, warrior woman queen.

So Mum,

typed from my fat fingers and said from my chickenlips (in jokes for another day) but most of all from my heart,

I love you x

Crazy, Hilarious, Lovely Boy

This guy. Dudes. He is hilarious. The stuff he comes out with is just ridiculous.

The faces are even better.

 So, whole he is at the infuriating stage of three year old independence, I have been extra vigilant at looking for the bright spots, where his brain just churns out the entertaining and bizarre.

This smile is almost as big as the one he gives to Mrs Scott. Mrs Scott lives on our street and works at the boys’ school. She’s about 70, and works at lunchtime. We see her almost everyday, as she’s headed into school and we’re coming out from Sam’s morning session. It used to be that he’d give a shy smile and maybe say hello if he wasn’t too tired or feeling grumpy. Now as soon as he sees her he grins like a maniac and runs to give her a hug, and she loves it. At Christmas we took her a little gift and he ran straight into her house and found a toy, so he’s clearly at ease around her!

The other day we were getting in the car on the way to pick up Rich from the train station, and our next door neighbours were also coming out at the same time. Now, we know them just about enough to say hello and smile and take in packages for them. They have a little girl Ethan’s age who they like to chat to when we’re all out. Anyway, Sam sticks his head out of his still open door while I was putting Henry in and shouts “Excuse me!” at them while they are saying goodbye to a friend. Of course they didn’t respond, assuming he was talking to me. So again, “Excuse me!” This time Chris (the dad) turns around and smiles. “We’re going to get my daddy and then we’re going to get dinner at Ikea! Bye!” then pulled his head back in. This is probably the longest conversation any of us have had with each other.

Later on the way home, Rich and I were talking and he couldn’t hear the nursery rhyme CD. After we laughed about something he did a large huffing sigh and said “Calm down guys!” which is quite clearly a phrase he has plucked from my own mouth.

This kind of thing is a normal sight in our house.

He’s also taken a slight laziness when it comes to stairs. If he’s particularly tired he’ll stand at the bottom and say “Help! it’s too high!” despite having been able to climb the stairs for at least 2 and a half years. The last few days he’s started to mimic things. Then he’ll say “I’m not copying you mummy!” just in case it makes me cross. He cracks me up. Yesterday and today it’s been “excuse me!” as Rich leaves for work as I said it yesterday. And he knows when he’s being funny, the little monkey. And then at dinner time yesterday he was saying “Wowcher!” before every bite.

  He has an absolute adoration of dogs. If he sees one in front of us he will run to catch up with it. It started with just stroking them, and has now progressed to him full on wrapping his arms around their bellies and giving them a hug. We’re trying to teach him to ask first, but he just gets so excited! There’s a fluffy little dog that is sometimes outside school that’s as full of beans as he is, and one day it jumped up at Sam and knocked him on his butt. He thought it was hilarious and now tries to repeat it whenever we see it!

He absolutely adores trains. We went to the train museum in York recently and he nearly exploded with pure joy. There’s not many people who wouldn’t smile at that face, just look at the happiness. Any kind of upset can be solved with trains.

He’s a funny little weirdo, and we all adore him. Besides, I’m pretty sure he gets the weird bits from me!

These Boys

These boys. They are so much fun, so much of the time. There are also the days where they end up in the bath at 3pm because I just can’t take the fighting anymore, and they LOVE the bath. Also, as  an aside, why is it that they can be playing brilliantly together, but the second I step in the shower and apply shampoo, the blood curdling screams start?

 This picture was from one of those days. See how they’re totally fine, and not ripping each other to pieces? The magic of the bath, my friend.

So far today is shaping up to not be one of those days, thankfully. Aside from when I was in the shower, that’s pretty much a daily occurance.  They’ve played with batman, they’ve tipped the lego all over the floor. They had jigsaw books out. They asked to watch Cinderella, and gave up on it. They asked to watch Tarzan, which got a little more attention. What can I say, princesses don’t really cut it for them. Of course, this is how they chose to watch it:

 Hey, I never said they were normal. They love each other fiercely though. If one of them gets hurt (and it’s not been caused by the other) then the other one will run over to see that they’re ok. The fighting is accompanied by many hugs and kisses in this house. And oh, the hugs these boys give. full of love, yet also like they’re trying to squeeze the life out of you. And they’re my boys. As frustrating as they can be at times, there is far more than enough good to outweigh that.

I found this while uploading photos, and couldn’t not add it, because it’s cute and makes me laugh.

                                

He did fall properly asleep in the end, with my hand holding his head up. 

I’m trying to let the frustration go as much as I can, because they’re growing so fast. Ethan is almost 5, and getting to be a big boy. And Sam is 2 and a half, and no longer my baby. I want them to remember a mum who was fun, not one who was shouting all the time. One who had time to play and let them make a mess and who didn’t always respond with “in a minute.” Speaking of which, we’re going outside to play. I love these boys.

Mother’s Day

I had a lovely one this year 🙂

Some of my most favourite chocolates, that I keep forgetting exist because they don’t sell them in many places, which Rich remembered I like, without prompting 😉

Two lovely cards from Ethan (left, made at school) and Sam (right, made in nursery at church, with what I suspect to be a fairly large amount of help!)

A certificate from Ethan that he did at school, and did all the writing himself. Ok, so the date doesn’t make a huge amount of sense, but I don’t care! He has only recently discovered a desire to read and write and learn, and I love it.

Some lovely flowers chosen by the boys including this pink gerbera, also one of my favourite things.

The two loveliest parts of the day though were at church. First Ethan got up with the primary children to sing. He was first up, and it didn’t look like it was going to go well at first when another little boy gave him a shove and a kick and he started to cry. So I started to mouth the words at him with a (slightly maniacal) grin to get him smiling. After a while he recovered and made me cry by belting out the words to ‘every star is different’. Then later he and Sam went up together to bring me a flower and held hands very cutely, which is especially lovely when they do it in public 😉

After church I made camp on the couch and was made a delicious dinner and generally spoiled until bedtime!

I am incredibly grateful to the mothers in my life, starting of course with my own. She’s a strong woman with incredible faith and a wonderful sense of fun, and I love her dearly.

I’m also grateful for Richard’s mum, who brought him up to be a wonderful man. He is respectful, hard working, and just generally brilliant.

And then there’s me. I feel the responsibility heavily with these (soon to be 3) boys. I have to bring them up with love and respect, faith and happiness. They deserve the best, as do their future families. We’re trying 🙂

Robots and Spaceships and Aliens oh my!

It’s been a while! So, what have I been up to. I made another baby quilt, this one for my lovely friend Harriet’s teeny weeny new boy, the very gorgeous William.

Isn’t he scrummy? Also how gorgeous is this picture. You can completely see the total adoration, and it still doesn’t quite capture it. That house is bursting with love.

Here’s the blanket – I’m very pleased with this one, the fabric was such a good find, boys are difficult to shop for!

 The two materials came as a set too, perfect for a matching front and back piece. There was also a third pattern, like the front with the squares, but the pattern was much larger and so would have been great for a big blanket, but not a baby one. I’m very fussy about fabric. Even though the blankets are (so far) all for babies, I don’t like picking a fabric that’s too babyish, as my way, the babies don’t out grow the patterns too quickly! My boys each have one, Ethan’s was made by his auntie Sheri, and has dinosaur patterns, and Sam’s was made by my mum and has animals and palm trees and stuff.

Last weekend we took Ethan for a treat day – I read an article recently about how sometimes we can get so caught up on telling off our kids, that they don’t hear as many I love yous, and recommended treat days where the child gets to make the decisions and you get to just have a good time with them. I’m making it sound hippyish, but that’s basically the gist, and really, it’s about quality time together, with the focus on one child (the article recommended taking the child out without siblings if possible). It’s supposed to also help ‘reset’ the child’s behaviour and your responses to it, sort of a clean slate.

 So Ethan chose Sundown Adventureland, a children’s theme park about an hour away. We’ve been before with school so he was very excited to go, and asked if Daddy and Sam could come too, and off we went.

 First came the Santa ride. It’s open all year round and Rich was very excited, as he is a massive Christmas lover. The boys were excited too, and we went on it twice. There are actually two Santa rides there, but the second one only opens at the beginning of November. The boys were not impressed.

 Santa’s sleigh crossing the moon! The whole park is (dated) animatronics, so it all moves.

 Santa’s map. I’m not sure he’s getting the best time with this route.

 

 On the tractor ride, and apparently not impressed with my photography skills.

 Getting onto the Robin Hood ride. There aren’t any pictures of the ride in progress as I was too gobsmacked by the animatronics. At one point you’re practically flashed by Maid Marion!

Attempting to release King Arthur’s sword. There were lots of other rides and play areas, but I’m terrible in that I always forget to take pictures and end up with random insights to the day 🙂

So here’s the skinny – I’d definitely recommend it, it was perfect for the kids, the rides were not in the slightest scary or fast, and it’s not too expensive. £11 for adults and kids, and under 2’s are free. There are 2 indoor play areas with food available, again, fairly cheap, and really good. Best of all, once you’re in, the only things you pay for are food (although you can bring your own) and the gift shop, assuming you want to stop there. That too is reasonable.

All in all it was a brilliant day, we had loads of fun, there was no tellings off from us, and his behaviour was brilliant, with no whining, which recently had become pretty epic. A win I think!

Next time – an update Sam’s Loki jacket for Halloween, it’s going well so far!