The Pretty Good Life

A little blip along the way

2011-08-26T18:14:00.000+01:00

I have just got back from hospital an there is so much to say - I am going to rant first and then go back to tell you about my really positive experience of the hospital an Cesarean later. First I need to let off steam! I am sitting hear with cracked nipples and engorged breasts because I was not listened to until I registered on their system and then I was bullied into taking extreme action.

Beanie was born and was perfect! Despite being a Cesarean within 35 minutes of birth he had latched on perfectly and the transition from bump to bond was seamless. The downside to the Cesarean was that I know that he was not ready to be born and the vital body signals had not been fired. I remember the pattern with the Pickle - she latched on perfectly after birth but she would suck constantly and leave the breast furious, with angry tears. One night when she refused to settle a nursery nurse checked her out an saw the tell tale sign of urates (tiny salmon coloured crystals) and suggested that she was dehydrated as my milk had not come in and I should top up the breast feeding with a little formula. I tried expressing a little milk and sure enough there was nothing there - so the next 24 hours I breastfed and topped up with formula until my milk came in. It was hideous seeing her in thay way and despite wanting to avoid formula it seemed a reasonable price to pay to restore her good health. The Pickle then went from strength to strength and breastfed happily from there on in an I never saw her in such distress again.

Needless to say I remembered this vividly as dehydrating my daughter was distressing to say the least. I could tell that I was going down the same path with Beanie. My breasts seem to know no half measures, they are barren then they miraculously gush! I flagged this up to the midwife and we gave him 5ml of formula then she dismissed further top ups as unwise - writing it up in my notes as a bad idea of mine. At the same time Beanie started to do rather spectacular mucus pukes, not little delicate possets but full on vomits. The midwife actually congratulated me saying that as a c-section baby it was great to see him bring up all the mucus that he could not expel while in the course of a natural delivery. I was changing him and his sheets continuously. Then to a final blow to the little Bean the sun came up over the building adjacent and started to bake our room.

I did not really think much about the overall impact of these factors as I had expressed my concerns and the professionals had allayed my fears. Anyway, at this stage my milk came in so I knew that Beanie would soon be as right as rain. All the focus seemed to be on me an my blood pressure the was slowly coming back down. Finally, on day four I was well enough to be released! hooray! One last formality was to weigh the Bean and I could be back home - simple? That was where the nightmare began!

He had lost 12% of his birth weight and that set off all the alarm bells! I was a bad Mum - Beanie had to be assessed at the specialist unit with blood tests and all sorts of prodding and poking. He was both mildly jaundiced and dehydrated - erm, what had I been saying? That was just the start of the journey and the nursery nurses were delighted to be in control - as I was obviously failling.

The remedial routine was specific and it made Gina Ford look mild:
- breastfeed for no longer than 15 minutes (it was never explained why any longer would be detrimental)
- top up with 40ml expressed milk - as bottle fed milk feeds the mouth further back than breast milk so is better for babies. (later this particular fact was contradicted by everybody as being just daft)
- change him and play with him for the rest of the hour - but not over the hour that started with the 15mins of breastfeeding.
- put him down in the cot for exactly three hours for sleep. Any form of contact: cuddles etc will disrupt the benefits of the pure rest required. (This seemed at odds with all the posters they had advocating skin to skin contact and 'kangaroo' care.)

Just to prove that she was human and in touch she talked about her sister, having given birth six weeks previously. When I started to cry (it was on the notorious 3rd day after birth, when hormones would unsettle a cart horse) she explained how her sister was often in tears 'not that she has post natal depression or anything.' Is she so sure? I got the impression that she was saying that because her sister was not the kind of person to get post natal depression. Either way I was concerned that a professional dismissed so casually a condition that effects around 10% of mothers who have recently given birth and is still often subject to stigma.

Anyway I expressed 30ml in no time then prepared to start the regime. I breastfed (I forgot to set the stop watch) bottle fed the expressed milk, played and changed ready for the enforced sleep. Needless to say Beanie was not impressed and started to howl - so eventually to calm him down I fed him a little more and had a little more play. As a three day old baby I did not want to ruin the bond that I had forged with him on the basis of a concept that seemed a little extreme based on just his weight loss. A new Nursery Nurse had taken over and she came in to ~~insult~~ consult me, and say that she would be ~~spying on~~ looking after me, after an hour of rest in his crib he had woken, was ready for a feed and starting to let rip. The nurse was adamant that in order to help Beanie I must follow the routine, but that I could not breastfeed until I had the next lot of expressed milk on stand by.

Hold on, I had been running myself ragged getting into their routine - in little over an hour I had expressed my first batch and breastfed but not started to stock up supplies of milk for future use. The atmosphere was somewhere between glacial and police state. It was clear they felt I had failed and they were doing their best to save my baby. To make it clear she pressed her views home saying "You should have planned properly in advance" letting me know that it was my failure that was the issue. This condemnation was being played out to the strains of Beanie's hungry cries.The Hubster had taken Pickle for a walk and so it was left to my Mum to hold Beanie while I was trying to reason with the nurse and for her to offer fierce moral support.

Then the Doctor came in - and so did the rationale. With the words "there seems to have been a misunderstanding" my life started to take shape again. Gone were the proscriptive rules - and clarity was restored. Beanie needed feeding at least every 4 hours - the 4 hour gap just allows Mums some time to recover and sleep through the night and not get ground down and ill. Each feed period should be topped up by expressed milk just so we could guarantee that Beanie was getting the quantity. Apart from that there were no hard and fast rules.

Come shift change who should appear but the lovely Margaret who had been so amazing with the Pickle. I told her our story and she decided to help again. To give me the maximum sleep she woke me up at feed time during the night with bringing the last lot of expressed milk, then later when ready picked up the next lot milk for the fridge before letting me sleep again. She then suggested that she could weigh the Bean secretly before her shift ended - and if the weight gain was significant she would get me discharged that day. I felt that I was feeding up a veal calf - relentlessly forcing milk into the mouth of a newborn. I wanted Beanie well and at home where I could listen to his needs and respond to him rather than waiting for him to hit or miss standardised targets. Don't get me wrong, I respect the Doctors and think that everybody at the hospital were genuinely doing their best for both me and Beanie and that most of them were well informed and professional - just there is (as the saying goes) no place like home!

By the next morning Beanie had put on 200g and was less then 10% under his birth weight - and ready to leave the hospital for the first time. Home sweet home!

The most important thing is that Beanie is well and was never in danger. As a Mum the wellfare of my children is paramount and any personal discomfort is irrelevant compared with the importance of their health. I am cross that my concerns were ignored until they suddenly they registered on a measurement that they accepted and then I was made to feel at fault. i was given contradictory advice, and had I not queried it I am concerned as to the impact it would have had. I was left with excruciatingly painful cracked nipples from the expressing and the temporary enforced catch up milk production left me with painful cannon ball boobs that looked more pneumatic Babewatch than human as they stretched to accommodate the extra milk. But three days on I can feed without screeching in pain, Beanie is eating his fill and his nappies indicate all is well. I predict a happy future!

But I wanted a home birth...

2011-08-17T18:44:00.001+01:00

I'm a natural kind of a girl - much as I love aesthetic form and function (well, handbags, shoes and Space NK) my philosophy is more trees and skies than pounds, dollars and conformity. When I was pregnant with the Pickle I had visions of a hypnobirthing home birth - and then I got pre-eclampsia and my body started to pack up and my choices became limited and to secure the health of me and the Pickle I had to have an emergency Cesarean.

This time around I was hoping to avoid the medical interventions. I was healthy and avoided stress and everything seemed to be going so well. The consultant gave me a reprieve and rather than the Cesarean at 40 weeks as threatened she was happy for me to try for a natural birth up to 42 weeks.

I am really aware that I have free will and can challenge the medical opinions and have a say in my treatment. I have spent much time unpacking some of their statements that initially could have cowed me into submission "Beyond the age of 40 the statistics of having a stillborn child are hugely increased if you go beyond term" or "After 42 weeks the risk of still birth is doubled". These quotes will send a chill down the spine of any Mum - but analyse the data and you can read that general in the UK, the risk of stillbirth is about 1 per 3000 pregnancies at 39 weeks, 4 per 3000 at 42 weeks and 8 per 3000 at 43 weeks - which while significant is the figures are not paranoia inducing.

However, despite my long held wish for a natural birth I am preparing for an elective Cesarean tomorrow. I have analysed the statistics, I am aware of my age, my history of pre-eclampsia and the fact I now have issues with rising blood pressure and the fact that it took us 5 years to conceive and then only with the assistance of clomed and a hormone jab. Already I have a miracle baby living in my womb, I am his Mum and I think that on balance at 41 weeks and 6 days that Cesarean is our collective best option for a positive outcome.

Rationally I know that I am doing the right thing, but I still have emotional reservations. I feel a failure that despite two attempts I can not deliver in the way that evolution intended; does that make me less of a woman - a failure. Will my milk come in and will we bond? Cesarean Mums are much more likely to suffer from post natal depression. After five years of focused attention suddenly the Pickle will not only have to share me with a brother but I will be sleep deprived and recovering from a major operation that will have cut through many layers of fundamental muscles. You see, I have a few issues over this course of action. I could refute each of my problems one by one - I know that they are not rational or I have put in place wonderful remedies, but I need to acknowledge these things so that I can move on.

I have also had many angels! I went into my final ECG monitoring today and had a long chat with the midwife. She did a final attempt at a Stretch and Sweep but my cervix was not just closed but almost welded close - unlikely that without the section we would have any movement fast. Forget the sweep though, this midwife was everything you could hope for. She, herself, had ended up having a Cesarean for each of her two children, and talked of the emotional impact, saying how rarely it is acknowledged. She talked about giving myself time to grieve for the changing course of my delivery and methods for dealing with post natal depression.

As I was wondering out of the hospital and I saw the head of the unit going into work, still off duty, and I stopped to say how amazing I found her team; regardless of being off duty we stopped and chatted and she gave me loads of advice on how to benefit from the Hubster's private health insurance (despite being firmly in the NHS, and yes I do love the NHS).

My second angel was, naturally, the Pickle. When I got back from the hospital she had made me a card. "To Mummy and Beanie Love Pickle. I hope when Beanie is born it does not hurt. ...I am am a little fairy I like to sing." That got the tears going! We then went upstairs and packed my hospital bags together, spending an hour or so just chatting and packing and calming each others anxieties with questions and reassurance.

When I was packed I had just the time to pick up an old friend from the station. This really was an angel - it was a friend who I knew from when I lived in Paris twenty years ago and she was in the country for a few days, on route to Portugal from her native San Fransisco. We all headed out for a chilled out afternoon of Ethiopian food and long chats. Just what you need the day before an operation!

Then Twitter has also been amazing. T-J from Bras for Mums sent me the most amazing link from You Tube about Natural Cesareans Okay I could not watch it in full, but it was great to have an alternative perspective. In in her 'Simpley Hayley' blog Hayley wrote so eruditely about The Planned C Section - which was amazing to read, an honest blow by blow account of the whole procedure.

So at 10.30am tomorrow I go under the surgeons knife - think of me. I am the lucky person with the angels looking out for me. Thank you! xx

Shh - just don't speak about it

2011-08-12T22:01:00.000+01:00

This post has been a while in the planning - and with my most emotional writing I need to press 'Publish' before I think of a million reasons to delete or refine it out of existence. Back in June in my post Confessional or slander? mentioned some bloggers who have inspired me to write about this subject, they have finally prompted me to take my first step to blog about this subject. I hope that you enjoy the read.

Motherhood should be natural, easy and wonderful. It should be a coming together of generations and a way to celebrate the continuity of family and love. I say that it should....When Pickle was born I was besotted by her, I could watch her for hours, just marvelling at her perfection. We bonded, she latched on and everything seemed to be perfect. I remember the forms that the health visitor got me to fill out about my emotions and I ticked all the happy boxes and felt like the perfect new Mum.

Time went by and life was not that simple. I was living first with my step son then my step daughter (both recently out of University) who took the news of a younger sibling as an invitation to have emotional meltdown, and I was to be the lightning conductor of their bile. On the surface things were fine and they were always superficially normal, but their was a strange and unsettling atmosphere in the home that made life poisonous. I longed for the happy family I had never experienced, but I was still high on euphoria of what I had - and that was an amazing daughter and husband I adored.

Little by little my facade started to crack. Work was shit (I even had to consult a lawyer) and the Pickle was not a great sleeper. I realised that things were not perfection, despite waking up feeling happy and loved, in unguarded moments I just found myself crying. I was functioning well, I was not acting out of character and it was not impeding my ability to be a wife and mother but I knew that something was amiss.

I went to the Doctor and asked for help - and left with the possible offer for a prescription if I pushed it further and an A4 print out of possible sources of help from the Samaritans to unaffordable therapy. I binned the flyer and dug deep in myself and found reserves and solutions to keep on going.

Shall I introduce you to my inner self? I am quite amazing! For over 20 years I have been assembling the jigsaw of my psyche. Most of my tools have been common sense, meditation and New Age philosophies - and most importantly a sunny disposition and an amazing ability to listen and see things from many perspectives. I have put in thought and effort into making myself a well functioning adult who can have mutually supportive relationships with friends and a couple of long term lovers (and when I found Mr.Right I had the sense to settle down with him). However I am also self aware enough to realise that life has been complicated and my emotional foundations could be a little shaky!

Motherhood affects us all differently, some of us have excellent role models and others of us are careful not to repeat dysfunctional patterns. I love my Mum, she has always done her best, but motherhood just is not her thing. There is a saying that the child of lovers is an orphan and my Mum's love for my father obliterated her bond for her children to the extent to which I remember asking my Nanny who the kind people were giving us such nice presents on Christmas day before they disappeared for their adult lunch: they were my parents! My hands on approach to motherhood could not have been more different to my mother's, immersing myself the love the Pickle and my family was the richest reward.

I think that my emotional status quo would have been maintained, but sometimes life prompts you to take action. I read Oliver James' They F*** You Up: How to Survive Family Life - and it started me to question not only myself but more importantly myself as a mother. He advocates that everyone should do an emotion stock check of their lives and work out what messages their upbringing has enforced on their lives. There was one thing feeling a little weepy at times but the knowledge that inadvertently be passing on negative behavioural patterns to the Pickle was of real deep concern to me.

In spite of having drifted away from my New Age philosophies of old, feeling slightly amused by some of the platitudes and fluffiness of their certainties there were some common threads that I could see. Even James discussed how some elements of the theories were gaining scientific credence. Armed with the fruits of my past soul searching and the tool kit described in the book I saw that this was an area that demanded closer scrutiny. I read other books, including the excellent Why Love Matters: How Affection Shapes a Baby's Brain by Sue Gerhardt and started a re-examination of my life, the messages that informed who I was and how I act and those messages that I could be passing on.

The past 18 months have been revelatory, my understanding of myself and family relations have been transformed. The thread of my relationship with my mother has been woven through many posts in this blog - and maybe that could have been both the effort and rewards of my battle with delayed post natal depression. Maybe...but in reality it has been a stepping stone. It has taken me several seasons to find the words to describe the start of the journey - time for me to take a deep breath and hope that I can return with the next chapter in this particular journey.

5th Birthday Celebrations

2011-08-01T22:29:00.001+01:00

Don't you hate it when you start to sound like your parents, but I'll inflict my first thoughts on you regardless. Where have five years gone? ....This weekend the Pickle was the grand old age of FIVE.

She loves her parties, she starts to plan one from the moment she has said goodbye to her last friend. My aim is to keep the parties as simple and innocent for as long as possible. Maybe I am just nostalgic for my parties - actually, it must be in part the reason as we had to have Iced Gems to make the party complete, a must for all 1970's children's parties!

We always start with a simple craft activity as this is a good way to get even the shy ones involved. In keeping with the Princess and Pirates theme that was demanded I customised the party hats with a little net - and they loved them - well, most of the girls did. I was delighted that one really cool girl made a pirate hat - just as well the boys ignored the craft activities altogether.

We had a few of the standard games - all running smoothly. Have I mentioned that the Hubster's family are something special? Well at 8 1/2 months pregnant they came to the rescue. I had a blissful sit down when the Hubster, assisted by his team of sisters and nieces ran around playing pass the parcel and making sandwiches, fruit salads and all manner of goodies. After tea came our speciality - the treasure hunt - you have to work for your party bag here.

This year we had a treasure map and each number hid a clue. They had to work out the clue, find the destination, then (in case it was too easy) find a decorated Post It note hidden somewhere to win their prizes. This is very much a group activity - as you can see from the Hubster being mobbed!

It must have been quite successful, one little Pirate has since told me that he wants to marry me when he grows up!

What did I learn this time around?
I still love the toy library for a few big garden toys
I love my sisters in law even more - and the Hubster is the best.
As well planned as you can make it it is still a sod of a lot of work
Sandwiches take forever, but less time if you take the butter out of the fridge in advance!
The cake was fun to make, but I should have turned it upside down to have a flat top and then the Castle towers may not have slid off until I rammed them upright with some cocktail sticks.
Bribing parents to stay with wine and extra pastries is a very cunning plan!
I thoroughly recommend having a party at 8 1/2 months pregnant - everybody helps and who, would have guess it, with a history of pre-eclampsia and high blood pressure, at my next check up 2 days later my blood pressure had come down.
Yes, I am really yearning that first long glass of wine!

Three cheers for Robert Plant - Picks Disease is sh*t

2011-07-25T17:02:00.003+01:00

I just read how Robert Plant plays a community hall gig. So, a mega star plays a tiny gig - why is that enough to rouse me from my nesting malaise to blog again? It was not so much the gig as the cause he did it for. He was raising funds for Picks Disease.

It is not often that you read about Picks Disease - so it jolted me a little, seeing it written about when I have not really thought about it for so long. The shadow of this disease has fallen over so many of my life's great events, in the way that the absence of a parent can. My Dad's death was bad, but the illness that preceded almost defines heartbreak for me.

Seeing a man transformed, humbled and dehumanised as an illness insidiously took away all that made him great, then robbed him of his life. I say insidious as it was hard to say when the illness first started to take a hold. He was always an individual, a free thinker with a bit of a speech impediment - and the illness seemed to exacerbate these attributes until they became to define him - rather than his charm, wisdom and kindness. Instead of having a speech impediment he became incapable of communicating with those outside the immediate family as his grasp of language evaporated; a gentle disregard for convention over time became erratic behaviour and eventually he was at the mercy of a, sometimes, violent conviction that his needs must be met (think of a toddler with super human strength).

Picks Disease is a form of frontotemporal dementia - hands up anyone who knows that means? The likelihood is that if you are not involved with the medical profession or have first hand experience you will have no idea what it involves. The truth is to the outsider the illness outwardly resembles a mental illness - a broken leg elicits sympathy, mental illness normally prompts concern and fear. Friends found it difficult to cope - although those that owned up to their incomprehension and fear are the ones that I respected, rather than those who chose to judge and even criticise.

His illness was beyond distressing - it is a little known disease and we had no way of understanding it or predicting how it would progress. For many years we stumbled on, seeing all aspects of his character and everything that made him human dissolve until one day when I was sitting with him his finally forgot how to breath and he slipped out of this world. Someone said that it is a great comfort to be with a loved one when they die, but I disagree. However, I found it almost impossible to leave the room until the Doctor arrived an hour or so later in case even then I was letting him down on his final journey.

Even in mourning the illness dictates your actions. The first great step was to remember the man before the illness - the stacks of letters we received was a great help with that. It took years before we could look back and think of the amazing man he once was, unclouded my memories of illness - even longer before we had the strength to see him as a human with all his attributes good and bad. He was amazing and he was human and Picks Disease robbed him of all this and kidnapped our memories was we struggled to cope with the devastation of this illness.

I hope that by Robert Plant in some way raising the awareness of this disease, helping families get support and advice to deal with this - support that was so lacking when we were trying to cope.

[Sorry, I'm going to press publish before I edit this post out of existence. He died in 2002 but it still feels very raw trying to write about it]

Individual Preparation

2011-07-11T13:49:00.003+01:00

Two friends have asked about what to buy to prepare for a baby - I even collated a Baby Preparation List from many on-line versions and annotated it. But lists are one thing, but what is the real gossip and personal insight? Well once I started a survey about the most useless piece of equipment and, by contrast, what was the best bit of kit bought and somewhat surprisingly the same products appeared on both lists.

There are some universal tips that I would offer like always have a tea towel or cloth in your buggy as you never know when you have something to mop up at a cafe or in the playground (think swings or slides) and buy a hand bag insert (the type being marketed at at non-Mums who may have more than one handbag) this can really help keep the snacks, wipes, crayons and kiddie paraphernalia separate, handy if you are going back to work and want to appear professional.

So much depends on what type of parent you are. The most expensive item you will probably buy is the push chair. I know so many Mums, including myself, who have ended up by buying a second when they realise what a duff choice they made first time around. A pushchair is not just a pushchair to some but a status symbol that can put your car to shame, I discovered this listening to the appropriately named iCandy Mums at the school gate. There are websites dedicated to bringing you the latest on which celebrity has been spotted with which buggy. Likewise Bugaboo have the most loyal of all owners, and they certainly do offer flexibility and functionality and the choice of endless optional accessories (summer and winter linings anyone?). Why did some of us get it so wrong first time around, well for one friend needed an off road stroller as she became an ardent walker when she became a Mum, others have baby number two so quickly that they need a double buggy almost immediately. Me? As a Mum I wanted something that was light and highly collapsible and reasonably ethical as out favourite outings were into London to see the latest exhibition so I needed something that I could pick up in one one had while I popped the Pickle into sling adjacent to my bag and get onto trains, buses and tubes. To augment the pushchair I found a decent sling is really important and to my surprise a baby carrying backpack. I would never have bought a backpack, but we were given one and it was fabulous for family days out; it had the space for all manner of random 'stuff' and snacks in the capacious pockets.

Sleep? What is your attitude to sleep? Some parenting books advocate black out blinds - if so rush out and buy - I lined the Pickle's curtains with black out material but in reality we were never rigid about adhering to darkness and silence. Now Pickle is the perfect party girl, comes anywhere with us and when she is tired she drops off regardless of light and noise.

Bathing? The Hubster asked me if we even had a baby bath - and the answer was no. This highlights how personal decisions are; when pregnant I had been to the Museum of Decorative Arts in Copenhagen and seen a display about how the design group Normann came up with the final design for their silicon washing up bowl and so guess what I bought for a baby bath? Yup, a designer washing up bowl that worked perfectly and has not gone to waste when she grew too big and shared a bath with me.

Not only are buying decisions personal, but they are subject to irrational prejudice. Dummies are recommended by FSID and other highly credible sources, but somehow I could never bring myself to buy one. I know some Mums who find the idea of second hand or hand me downs as just not right where some Mums swear by eBay and Freecycle. We were lucky that we have an excellent toy library nearby - so I could test before I bought; I discovered that the Pickle never got on with Activity Centres (and it was not a very stylish coffee table) and as Bumbos seem to be indispensable for a whole six weeks of development time it was great to borrow one for just that period (any other uses you can think of for a piece of molded plastic? a primary coloured plant pot?).

Few Mums know ahead of the birth if they will be able to breast feed. Fortunately the Pickle was a natural feeder and so I am really glad that I did not invest in bottles - in the same way that buying an expressing machine in advance would be a waste if your babe will not latch on. It also effects what baby bag you buy. Often change bags vary from other bags just by having a removable changing mat and have insulated pockets for bottles. I had a funky little changing mat that included pockets for nappies, wipes etc that could transfer from bag to bag and I just had to go out and buy myself a capacious leather bag that is still serving me well with the Pickle aged almost five.

I economised on not buying much that was disposable and used my initiative to avoid buying many gadgets. Did I ultimately save? No way, when I bought I tended to buy organic and I enjoyed serious retail therapy when it came to dressing my little ~~doll~~ darling and always made sure that we had plenty of books and arts materials rather than waiting for birthdays and Christmas. Birthdays, Christmas and Pocket money...that is a whole different debate!

Confessional or Slander?

2011-06-20T21:57:00.002+01:00

What do you write about on your blog? Mine is all about family life - but equally there are still things that I hold from discussing. So many bloggers state that blogging is a form of therapy. There is even an option to Blogonymous if what we have to say is too personal to be done from an acknowledged site. However, I was really stunned by Family Affairs post on Freedom of Speech, which has inspired this musing.

Please read the Family Affairs post and offer support if you have the time. Her ex is threatening to withdraw support if she continues to blog about their marital breakdown - which seems pretty blimin awful. There are laws governing slander and defamation, but aside from things getting legal there must be a case for being allowed to be subjective - or to put it another way an argument always has two sides.

Still I got a shiver of dread when my Aunt showed an interest in my blog, as my Mum does not normally get mentioned in the most glowing of terms. The Mumster would be upset if she saw what I wrote, but I do try to be balanced and write about my response to her actions rather than take a condemning look at her personally. Still, should I write about her at all, if it is not positive. You know the maxim, 'If you don't have anything nice, don't say anything at all'. But then, my views have validity on my own blog too, so I continue to write.

Then are there some subjects that are just too sensitive or too embarrassing? I guess everyone has their own 'blog identity' that dictates how personal their posts are. Some relationships may just be too sensitive discuss in public, but how about issues. I have tried to be very open about my miscarriages and subsequent struggles to conceive as I believe that silence on the subject only served to reinforce the isolation you feel when afflicted.

Many Mums suffer from post natal depression and motherhood can open up cracks that we have successfully papered over when we have got on with our careers and made great home lives. Some of the bloggers I most respect have written about their own struggles to combat their emotional concerns; do their posts make me think that they are weak or otherwise less worthy? Far from it! I respect their courage, strength and integrity. I love reading The Moiderer and Sleep if for the Weak. I also have huge respect for the writing and campaigning on Speaking Up - their badge has appeared on many respected blogs further bringing issues around mental health and well being to a wider audience.

I guess it is good to consider what and why we write. I really agree with Family Affairs that her ex should not bully her into stop writing about her own life from her perspective. But personally, there are still a few relationships and issues about which I am just trying to work out what I really want to say and how to find the words to write about it. I hope that in time I can find words and the style to address these remaining issues so that I can find renewed insight and possibly, hopefully, help somebody else who may be wrestling with similar issues.

I'm Cross

2011-06-20T11:33:00.000+01:00

I had the most perfect weekend with extended family. The Pickle was on amazing form, so I had that smug Mum glow. How can your heart not melt she is so cute? She was playing happily when she asked Grandma to help and when Grandma admitted defeat saying that she was stupid Pickle comforted her saying, 'Grandma you are not stupid, you are good at lots of other things.'

So that is why I am so cross! Three of us in the close family (one honorary family) are pregnant and we were chatting about excitement and plans. It just occurred to me this morning that all plans seem to be eased by helpful Mums. I thought about it when I was doing my duty and trying to call my Mum for a chat - as she would rarely pick up the phone to me. Why have I had not had one offer of help from her around Beanie's birth? I was in hospital for 10 days over the Pickle's slightly traumatic arrival. I don't even know when and if she will bother to visit.

I normally rationalise that it is her loss. Besides, if she was around she would be more of a liability and the Pickle is not really comfortable with her. But, still I am cross, upset and pissed off. There are tonnes of us with crap Mums, and we can't blame any fault in our lives on them (well, I can't she has never been actively malicious) - it would be so good to have a Mum who is a support rather than a continual disappointment.

How would she feel reading this? For a start, she would not, unless it is printed in full in the Daily Mail or Telegraph she thinks that writing is a total waste of time. But imagine she did come across it, she would be devastated and that would be crap; as I said, she does her best and is not actively nasty, she is just either - at best - blinkered or at worst selfish. I'm seven months pregnant and emotional and I feel quite justified in feeling upset and cross!

Dads

2011-06-15T09:54:00.001+01:00

This blog is straight off the cuff - my preggy balance has gone awry and I managed to fall in a stream yesterday. It was more comedy than harm but it somewhat threw my day! At least the river was muddy as I waddled back home otherwise rather than looking like the abominable mud madam I would just have looked as if my waters had broken. But then again, since when did I really care about what I looked like? Anyway, back to The Gallery and Dads and my instant response to a great title.

Hubster, you are a great Dad. Two reasons, firstly because you love it and secondly because you look up to the perfect role model in your own Dad. You play the same silly games as he did, and view being a Dad as an active and important role rather than one where the main duty is fulfilled at conception.

But, ultimately parenting is about partnership. My in-laws had a successful 60 year marriage during which they brought up five wonderful and independent children. As Mum and Dad they have their own approach, but they stood together and reinforced the values and behaviour that they believed in. Equally neither of mine had a clue, too happy with each other to allow parenthood to intrude - if one had been interested maybe things could have been different; but we muddled by and the house at least was filled with love not conflict.

Yesterday morning the Pickle had a turn, normally it is me who has to deal with it, but instead the Hubster was on hand and I watched as he 'put his foot down'. It was almost like looking in the mirror: no messing, no shouting just the promised follow through. We have different approaches to life but in parenting our approach is almost scarily identical. Poor Pickle, no chance of trading us off against each other - is that emotional abuse, or consistent parenting I wonder?

Not all marriages survive - but that does not mean that parenting inevitably stops being a partnership game, or equally that the sole carer will do any the worse job than two parents together, it just makes it tougher. The Hubster has two children by a previous marriage (over for more than a decade before I turned up - and yes, he is that old) and seeing this dynamic can be heart wrenching. My step children adore their Dad and are in constant contact, but seeing their approach to emotional issues it is clear that there is some form of short-circuit in there. As happy as we are, there will always be residual heartbreak that we are at heart a somewhat dysfunctional family.

However, what we have, living at chaos cottage on a daily basis, is all about contentment. A fantastic Dad and Hubster, me, the Pickle, the Manic dog, fluffmonster cat and chookies. I know that everything I do is informed by the support of the Hubster, and he has made the most active decision to be there and be caring - and that means everything to us. We are a fabulous team - and three cheers to our team leader, the Hubster! xxx

Contentment

2011-06-13T13:51:00.001+01:00

So pleased to see Josie back on her feet again and the writing workshop back in operation again. I have missed it! Click on the link below to find out more about it.

There seems to be a running correlation between contentment and the comfort of my shoes. I teetered my way through my twenties in a succession of diva shoes and pairs of fabulous boots, from one party to another cultural opening, holidaying across the world in any number of glamorous destinations, always just before the destination became known as trendy. Days were spent dashing from meeting to meeting, both at home and abroad, evenings merged into nights as we drank and smoked our way to dawn sorting out the worries of the world and disentangling our complicated loved lives.

It was exciting and never dull, but was I content? No. A fantastic phase to have live through, but we need to fast forward in my life to find contentment.

Next pair of shoes are my Ethletic trainers. Fair trade, organic and generally really quite cool. The trainers see me settling into my new married life in Reading, discovering new interests and meeting new people. I have given up city life for a dilapidated cottage, garden and long walks and I love it! I still pop into London for culture and old friends, but I always return to my cottage sanctuary. Content? Yes, I have find my niche.

Roll on a few more years, and I am heavily pregnant and the Pickle has just started at school. The glamour has evaporated and the high heals have been thoroughly relegated to the back of the cupboard and out come the old trainers with Velcro fasteners. I don't really care what my shoes look like, so long as I can get them on comfortably as I am fast loosing sight of my toes. With these trainers I can keep on going and enjoy my walks with the dog and relish the constantly evolving progress of spring into summer.

I don't have the high life but I do have complete happiness. Beanie the bump wakes me first with his loving kicks, then a little later I hear a bump, crash, crash, crash and Cousin It appears. She clambers into bed, and I stroke away her hair to uncover the Pickle. I slowly come around from sleep in a full family cuddle: Hubster, Pickle, Beanie and I. Content? Blissfully!

I don't need glamour, excitement and beautiful shoes to feel content. I feel as if life has a Sarah shaped hole just there ready to welcome me.

Is contentment all about selling out on style? No, it is about realising that life is about more than just the highlights. The French talk about 'feeling good in your skin' well, for me it is more about feeling good in my own shoes. Well, comfort and contentment can also be infused with a little glamour and humour. After all, look at my slippers.

Why I am a Mum orientated Lactivist

2011-06-10T22:13:00.006+01:00

Isn't it funny how a few comments can make you aware of your own prejudices. I was chatting to young family member and suddenly he just clobbered me with a few really daft comments. I knew then how much I cared.

We were talking about his impending fatherhood and breastfeeding came up as a subject. He said that, obviously breast is best, but he did not want to see the Mum with 'droopy baps' (I quote) and besides neither he, nor his 3 siblings, were breastfed and they turned out okay. I almost spluttered that maybe if he had been breastfed he may have had some more sense - but I resisted.

Breast is best - there is no doubt about that. It protects both Mum and babe, it is free, no need to sterilise equipment and it is on there on tap. I appreciate this is tempered by the fact that I never had any difficulty with breast feeding and despite being a well endowed old bird (41) my 'baps' are still remarkably pert despite gravity and extended feeding (although I gave up publicly at a year).

I know though that breastfeeding is an emotive issue. For non parents it can be a taboo, there is little reason to form an opinion on breastfeeding until you have a baby, and in our culture breasts are either very private or highly sexualised. I breastfed where ever I needed to, but always managed to find a quite area and used either a scarf or a sling to give us privacy and discretion . To be honest though, I have never too worried about the opinions of complete strangers but I do not impose my values.

I also care deeply about what Mums have to go through. One friend started to worry about feeding while still pregnant, having heard about the traumas that it may possibly cause, and another talks about sitting at a breast feeding clinic in a local church biting on a bit of rope as a way to try and combat the pain. Breast may be best for all concerned, but not at the expense of the vital bonding experience if it is going to cause undue stress.

That makes me think of another attitude that has failed to impress me: if a Dad gives baby a bottle it helps him bond, therefore, formula is better. Is feeding the only way that you can bond? The Hubster found his niche with burping (in this case winding the Pickle, no comment on his manners) - something he could excel at and a role that was very much his. This task was every bit as important as feeding and as he cuddled and stroked to relieve the wind he could bond over burping (seemed appropriate) and I could breast feeding secure in the knowledge that it was a win:win situation.

Is a Mum a better parent because she can breast feed? Certainly not - although being able to have milk on tap for the night time feed without having to get up and make up the formula certainly helped my energy levels. A good parent is one who takes the time to find sort the real facts from myths, suppositions and scare stories, who is prepared to acknowledge their strengths and weaknesses and is strong enough to seek help or advice when needed. While breast is best, if despite best informed efforts it is still not working I can't believe that any Mum should suffer and should gladly, and without guilt, find the best formula for their baby (I do have a prejudice here, I can't work out a good reason to use a Nestle formula but that is a whole different story).

I hate the way breast feeding has become a political issue, it deeply annoys me that the Daily Mail writes with glee about how 'Feminazis' are terrorising Mums into breastfeeding and that standing up to 'pro-breastfeeding propaganda' is a virtue. Bollocks, why polarise the debate along political lines? A Tory has the right to breast-feed as much as a socialist can use formula. Also feminism is a debate that can discuss and inform all areas of life, and there is a huge potential for feminist debate around the subject of objectification of the breasts (or as my young relative would put it, about what are baps are there for). However we should be able to consider breast feeding on the basis of the pros and cons the health and relationship attributes for Mum and Babe without becoming dragged into this tangential debate.

Do I hold a wishy washy belief? No, for me it is about balance and, if well informed, Mums can make up their own individual decisions, because when it comes to their child they really can know best! Can I be a lactivist who supports a Mum's decision to bottle feed? I don't care if I am allowed but that is my decision and I will stick by it!

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Further Reading

Here is a starting point for help for breast feeding La Leche League offer great support as does the NCT through their website and a network of local councillors the NHS also actively supports it.

Here is an alternative view that this blog elicited from Delighting in the Detail aka @Sunflower26
This is a great post too from the perspective of one Mum who has a babe with food sensitivities Sisters n Cloth - Breastfeeding a baby with food sensitivities
Here are loads of links from Baby Friendly News on breastfeeding (which even has a link back here)

A Funny Engagement

2011-05-27T10:21:00.001+01:00

I seem to have spent many years avoiding marriage - it is an old fashioned institution and, in the age of divorce, hypocritical. I finally broke of with my ex after he gave me an ultimatum after years of proposals: marry or split. I was independent, had my own income and debts and I lacked for nothing (well, maybe a few more pairs of shoes and handbags would have been welcome). So what happened?

I met The Man - and I realised I had a problem. It started with a jaw ache (bare with me, it is innocent) after two weeks of total togetherness I realised that I had not stopped... grinning! We were opposites and he was everything I was not looking for in a partner: I was creative and he was an engineer, I was independent and free spirited and he had, gulp, been in the Royal Navy...the list went on. But as polar opposites we had a magnetic pull! I had avoided living with the Ex for ten years, maintaining control and space, but The Man somehow managed to have a reason to spend every night at my house (even the time he went to watch rugby in Wales, almost drove past his house in Surrey to make it back to my West London home).

I was not looking for a relationship, I even tried to put him off. Knowing that he had children I told him that we could not have a relationship as my next partner would be the father of my children - saying that it was not to implicate him in my plans but to honestly inform him that ours was not a 'relationship'.

Strange things happened, we spoke countless times a day, saw each other daily - even if we had different parties at the beginning of the evening we would always meet where the party lasted longest. After months of being together we took a dramatic step I had not considered before in many years of hard partying in London - we had a night in. I started to write nights in to my diary so that we could have more.

I loved holidays and the wilder the better. I would disappear to meet friends in rural Zimbabwe coming back with long stories and even once a painted barbecue in my backpack - so how would this work with The Man? He always talked of beach holidays...something I had not done since we had our annual trip to the rented beach hut in Filey as a child. We compromised on Sri Lanka for culture, adventure, beach and curries and all I can say is that it was heaven. I was hooked - and realised that maybe The Man could become The Hubster.

At the Blue Lagoon - copyright The Pretty Good Life

I was doing a Masters Degree and coming up to exams so I packed up all my books, ready for a weekend visit to his parents. Put on my pink Stetson and I was ready to go. 'It is cold on the Island, why don't you wear your sheepskin hat' he said. Nobody tells ME what to wear - but very strangely I took his advice. Next, he says, 'If we weren't going to the Island would you take your books, after all you don't really need them'. I responded that we were and almost floored myself as I picked up the bag and headed for the door.

On the doorstep I asked if he had the car keys, but he replied that we were not taking the car. 'But you don't take the train to the Isle of Wight' but followed him anyway when he replied that we were not getting the train. 'But you don't take the tube to the Isle of Wight' but followed him anyway. We went past the station and on towards Heathrow 'But you don't take a plane to the Isle of Wight'. He looked at me and laughed - we were not going to the Isle of Wight!

He whisked me off to Iceland, where I had always wanted to go. Even then The Proposal took me by surprise. We were in the Blue Lagoon and he asked, did I say 'Yes'? Well, not immediately, I was so surprised I asked him to repeat the question. Next, he went down on one knee - and as we were shoulder deep in water - my proposal was a plume of bubbles! What can a girl say with a proposal like that but, yes, Yes, YES! So The Man became The Hubster, and I had to develop new muscles so that I could continue to smile and grin for the next decade that we have been together.

First Sports Day

2011-05-26T22:31:00.000+01:00

They have practicing for weeks, the weather has been glorious and finally the big day has come - and so has the rain. Onto the sports field and we look at a sea of red uniformed children and finally make out the Pickle warm and snug inside her bright pink tracksuit. It appears that independence of spirit and a healthy disregard for convention seems to be a family trait!

First up was the dressing up race: on went the shirt, and (clutch my heart) she is in the lead, scarf goes on, oops, one sleeve slips off, on goes the hat, the shirt comes off but never races on to the finishing line. Shirtless but victorious! Yes, our daughter has won. To give you a clue as to the surprise the first thing that my Mum says when I tell her about the day was a cheerful 'Was she as bad as you?'.

Next up and we have the egg and spoon race - and it is time for dirty tricks. She is off, doing well, racing away as other eggs go flying, then she gets ambitious, or is it just that she fancies playing football, or maybe tennis, then - what the hell - she holds the egg, she has had the taste of victory and she flies over the finishing line. Another 1st sticker to add to her collection (she is cool, so it is not stuck on her track but coyly concealed on her t-shirt and zipped away from view; did I mention that she shows no sign of conformity?).

Third race is the running race. Would her guile make up for what she lacks in size, although that is not holding back Bo the Bullet, the speedy revelation of the day. On your marks, Get set, Go ... yes, really go...go? yes, go. She is off, finally, and she is doing her best racing along fantastically - just not particularly fast. She makes it to the finishing line - last - but greeted by one of the grown up children (who is maybe 8) and another sticker for taking part. 'Mummy, I won again!'.

Two more races to go, the assault course then the relay. The assault course is laid out and ready to go, and her little voice pipes up 'Mummy, is it the end of sports day yet.' Fortunately before discontent sets in she is off again, through the hoop, beanbag on her head at a particularly jaunty angle and she is zipping through the slalom. In pole position when from across the track a little boy races on, oblivious for the need to slalom. After her sharp tactics in the egg and spoon karma has caught up and she is pushed into second place. Any urge to ask for a stewards enquiry into dirty tricks is arrested by a huge downpour and the ensuing chaos.

Family picnic is cancelled and communications break down - bedraggled parents gather for cover as the children are herded back into classrooms. Sports day is over!

What a thoroughly British affair - everybody won regardless of where they came, rain and total chaos. The Pickle was victorious! Hurrah! Three cheers for sports day and the British summer.

My Backyard

2011-05-25T10:58:00.000+01:00

Thanks for Tara from Sticky Fingers for helping me reclaim this term. For too long in our house it has been tainted by association with four of the most nauseous characters in The Backyardigans - if you don't know it, don't find out; one of the toughest burdens a parent has to endure is toddler taste. It may be the sudden humming of the Nightgarden theme tune in the checkout queue, the insatiable desire the Pickle has for anything bubblegum pink or just having to endure her preferred TV programmes - but toddler taste takes over your life. (On the upside, a little brainwashing does work, the Pickle loves listening to Madness, her Ramones T-shirt and is very fond of Bagpuss and the Clangers).

I think that I have talked a little about our backyard - the Pretty Good Life is very garden focused. Until we had a staycation last year I knew next to nothing about the local attractions as we had always had so much fun just enjoying what we have on our own doorstep. We have forgone the 'Are we there yet' chorus for the joys of gardening, talking to the minibeasts (as insects are now called) and endless home entertaining.

The Pickle spends hours in her playhouse - I made the cutest curtains for it, so in her imagination she is there for days ('It is summer, Mummy, so nights are very short'). She even plants her own garden, this year it went a bit awry when she extended her garden to the patio and filled any cracks in the paving with a very efficient mix of grass seed and compost.

The other picture is of harmony! The chicken pecking over the veg patch as we start our annual planting. The Pickle's repertoire of veg has hugely increased with what we can grow in the garden, she likes the strange triple barrelled leaf called chard-fromthe-garden and tries most other things. Of course there is the law of the unintended consequences, after weaning she decided that she disliked most of her early foods - ruling out bananas, raising and cherry tomatoes - so I grew orange tomatoes to give tomatoes a second chance. Now she is convinced that she only likes orange tomatoes and no red ones will ever do.

I love the Pretty Good Life in all its simple splendours - and most of that is down to luck and our lovely backyard. I am sure that there must be some good sense in thinking that if you are happy with your backyard the whole rest of the world can only serve as a huge and exciting bonus.

Flashback Friday - Getting Married

2011-05-20T17:44:00.002+01:00

I often try to follow Karin's lead on Flashback Friday, but as I have never vlogged or video blogged I can't begin to this week. Instead I am following the lead of many others and flashing back to our wedding nine years ago.

It was a very poignant day - my Dad had died six months before so my big bro had escorted me up the aisle. I say aisle, but we were not in a church but in the remains of an old priory, and I had to walk over the buried ashes of my Great Aunt Gertrude to get to where the Hubster and the vicar. (If you don't have a Great Aunt Gertrude, I recommend them, she is a great source of unlikely anecdotes most of which are even true).

As I reached the Hubster I could look at him to my right and a quick glance to the left and I could see my Dad's grave completely covered with flowers. He had been ill for some time with a hideous form of early onset dementia and from our engagement we did not know if he could make it to the wedding, and if he had, it may have been too horribly confusing for a once highly clever and dignified man. It was painful not having him there in person, but he was certainly there in spirit. After six months of mourning and incredible sadness it was as if our wedding brought out the sun again - metaphorically and in reality; as the vicar pronounced us man and wife the sun came out from behind the clouds. One way or another I feel as if it has been shining for us ever since!

Be inspired by Karin and others on Cafe Bebe's Flashback Friday

Push Present?

2011-05-19T14:52:00.001+01:00

Sonia Cheadle ring - image copyrighted so don't copy her design!

What a term - have you heard it? It refers to a gift a partner gives a new Mum in recognition of the birth. I hate it - the term, that is.

When the Pickle was born the Hubster gave me an eternity ring - we were well briefed that this is a tradition and had even considered an eternity ring when we commissioned the engagement ring; we were introduced by a friend who is a jeweller.

At our engagement party their was a queue circling the room twice of single friends waiting to be introduced to the lady who not only produced the ring but also the Mr.Right to deliver it. This is her site, she is a bit of a superstar she has just written a text book about how to be jeweller.

The photo is of one of Sonia's rings, with stones rather larger that grace my fingers. I love my rings, but fortunately for our budget I have never liked the kind of ring that seems to reflect your bank balance rather your aesthetic and for my stubby fingers small is beautiful (if I had piano playing fingers I may have lusted after more carrots than Benjamin Bunny's day dreams, but that is not the case).

If there is a tradition for an eternity ring at the birth of your first child, are there further traditions for subsequent children. Even the great Sonia has never suggested that she is aware of such traditions. Life as a Mum is much simpler, and I can't say that diamonds are top of my dream shopping list. Besides, having heard the term 'Push Present' I am quite keen to avoid the issue altogether.

Moustaches away!

2011-05-17T22:05:00.003+01:00

Have I mentioned that we live the simple life here? This was taken last December when it just seemed like a good idea to play with moustaches. Simple pleasures for simple minds!

I'd love to hear about your simple pleasures, too. xx

This post was thanks to a wonderful prompt from Tara at Sticky Fingers. Take a look at the other entries at The Gallery

Before and After - Flashback Friday

2011-05-14T03:59:00.000+01:00

Inspired by Cafe Bebe's Flashback Friday and Karin's 'life after kids' pictures I thought that I should share these with you. Maybe some time I ought to tell some of the trials and tribulations of living at our cottage - but a summary is that we bought a semi-derelict cottage which had no heating, hot water or inside loo. Since then we have been very slowly and lovingly restoring our house, trying to make it into a comfortable family home. These pictures are not a reflection of the renovations, just the family room (or sun room as we call it).

The main part of the cottage is small so, before even buying, we asked the local listed planning officer if we could extend to build a family size reception room. He agreed, in part delighted that any fool would buy the property and keep it standing. The pictures tell the emergence of that room.

To start off with we had to build the room, then (finally - but that is a LONG story) it emerges in gleaming glory. In the second picture you can see the Pickle's toy box and a bean bag in the shape of a globe. Now the toys are exploded and threaten to take over the house, the bean bag is looking battered and has been moved to beside her bed, where I sit for bed time stories, and we struggle to keep the room pleasant for all generations. In the last picture you can see the room as it was tonight, her chair with a blanket fresh from making a tent, the TV poised for evening watching and a book that we have just been reading. It may not be so neat, but it is filled with love!

Pop over to Cafe Bebe's lovely site and have a read of other Flashback Fridays as well as Karin's original post that inspired this.

Are you BadMAM* if you work?

2011-05-07T09:26:00.002+01:00

How to be a good mother? I agree with Viv Groskop*, eat all your children's Easter eggs and then there is no more evil sugar for them to face. Oops, no that is missing the point wilfully and salving the guilt. I do need that chocolate, as many Mums may empathise, I was awoken at 5.30 on a Saturday morning, could not get back to sleep and used it as the first opportunity to read last Sunday's newspapers.

Viv talks about the polar dialogue about the decision whether to return to work as a Mum or to stay at home. It would seem that pitchforks raised between the feminist cabal of working Mums and thunder of 'evidence' from those fed up at us BadMAM*'s prioritising our evil careers over our children's real needs.

The debate blusters on, bouncing from condemnation, to empathy, to random insults for even pursuing the subject. Every comment seems to come from a pre-set agenda. However, has any decision, from whether to work or stay at home to what to have for dinner, ever been divorced not only from our own specific environment and our politics to the constraints of the society and economy in which we live?

Rational decisions can limited as mothers consider their options for work. Having worked for over fifteen years, studied for two degrees and run a small organisation I discovered that the job market is not, what you could call, welcoming. You have three main options: continue as before, fighting for acceptance in a job market that largely requires you to work for more than the standard 9-5; look for a part time job, where you either negotiate for a cut in hours and status or opt for post natal depression as you consider your suitability as a receptionist, call centre operative or maybe even a 'work from home' scam (employers seem to have established that Mums are desperate); or finally you just give up your decades worth of work ethic and cross your fingers that you can fudge your CV in five years time so that your former PA will take pity on your and re-employ you for old time's sake. Is this a plea for pity? Never, but it is worth pointing out that if you want to be a working mother your decisions may be made for you by the recessionary job market rather than the slightly deluded life plan that you made when considering motherhood.

The other great influencer on family life is finances. Can you afford to work, can you afford not to? I loved the comment on Viv's site that said simply: "Lots of women worked while being mothers in the 1800s. It's just that they were working class." My personal experience was a little different, my Mum was technically a stay at home Mum but being in, ahem, a different tax bracket to me she just employed the Nannie and disappeared regardless.

I agree with the comment that children are a responsibility not a right, but don't subscribe to the policy that the only possible option is to stay at home regardless of other mitigating factors. Is a staying at home the answer for children in families where generations have never worked and life's horizons are so limited? Likewise, watching highly educated former high achievers dutifully shoe horn themselves into the stay at home role while seeing their independence and confidence being replaced by anxiety and self doubt makes me worry that their resulting stress levels must not be entirely to the benefit of family life. This was particularly brought home for a friend whose clash with her teenage daughter centred on the fact that despite having given up a blue chip career for motherhood she an unworthy role model for a woman of today as she currently did not work.

If you want the science you can find plenty of evidence to back up need to stay at home but also read Dettling and colleagues' study in Psychoneuroendocrinology 25, or the digested version in Sue Gerhardt's book 'Why love matters'. An excerpt here gives you a flavour as to the lack of a clear argument; it indicates that the need for appropriate care is paramount, but that it may be offered by someone other than a Mum:

"What a small child needs is an adult who is emotionally available and tuned in to regulate his stress....One study of nursery school children showed that it was not the mother's absence in itself that increase stress hormones such as cortisol, but the absence of an adult figure who was responsive and alert to their states moment my moment. If there was a member of staff who took on this responsibility, their cortisol levels did not rise."

Do I have any conclusions? I wish I could write with the lightness of touch and erudition of the original article, but other than that I can only say as Mums what ever we do we are bound to be condemned for even discussing the issue let alone for trying to balance our finances, children's welfare and our long term career and personal aspirations. I know that becoming a Mother changed me in ways that I could never have anticipated, but I am doing the best that I can do, however flawed I may be.

* BadMAMS - Dad Mothering Amnesty Movement. Read the article and the range of thunderous comments it provoked: Viv Groskop: I'm a bad mother. I work

Flashback Friday - an unconventional Christening

2011-05-06T10:37:00.002+01:00

This subject is very revealing about me as a person and an idealist! I was brought up as an Anglican, but have spent much of my life questioning the role of the church and its actions across the globe and history. I can see the community and fellowship that it offers, how it can be a focal point for many rural communities and how it can act as a family for those who have lost so much. But then there is dogma and conflict that we read about - and the role of the church as an institution.

How can I reconcile my varied emotions? Particularly as walking through the woods means more to me spiritually than a rigid church service. Can I disregard the wishes and hopes of my family and the potential solace that it can off the Pickle?

Obviously I did things my way! The vicar was amazing and allowed me to take the unconventional route. The Christening takes places on consecrated ground in a ruined Priory where we got married, the Godparents were chosen to represent a range of spiritual beliefs, Judaism, Catholicism, Hedonism and a Jedi (the Anglican faith being well represented by family).

The service and the sentiment were amazing - each person considered what spirituality can offer a child, each person can offer their perspective. Joy and fun was almost tangible. I could not wish for greater role models for the Pickle - and it was all good naturedly blessed by a wonderful Anglican vicar.

Thinking about parties

2011-05-05T09:25:00.000+01:00

I love parties - particularly planning them. I love the excitement, the cooking, the decorating and then seeing loads of happy people. I also love keeping to a traditional formula, keeping the Pickle's party in the garden with old fashioned games - not surprisingly the kids love it and they have never missed the glitz of some of the more modern alternatives that you can buy into.

This year I am stumped! The Pickle's birthday is less than a week away from Beanie's due date. I have already confessed that I am a bit of an admin case when it comes to giving birth, so while I am sure that by keeping myself healthy we will have the ideal birth, I must not be complacent and assume that I will be leaping and dancing by Pickle's party.

Up to last year things seemed less of an issue as parents came to parties too, but now the Pickle is at school, Mums drop off their darlings and rush off before the first tantrum is thrown. The easiest would be to go to a soft play area, but I love the innocence of parties at home. Besides, looking back through rose tinted spectacles we always had our parties at home and they were always great (I don't think that was just the chemically enhanced memories of 1970's food of white bread, meat paste and the glamour of turbo charged colourings).

So I am thinking of getting an entertainer. Why do I feel like this is an expensive cop out? Horror of horrors it may even be accompanied by a selection from the Waitrose party catalogue? Food can wait - but I need to work out my options now.

Has anybody got any inspired ideas for 5th Birthday parties? I have a few ideas - but somehow they lack the individual spark that has made past years so much of a joy. The Pickle will have tonnes of suggestions, but somehow I have difficulty following her ideas in theory let alone in practice (got to love the imagination).

In the meantime, if I have to 'worry' about something, I am going to enjoy pondering over this!

The first pic is of an early VERY hot party. I had still to learn how to make a decent cake (I have since practiced) so I found some chintz plates in Oxfam and couple of cocktail classes to make the funkiest cup cake holder. Worked a treat!
The second pic is just one of innocence, a few friends giving the Pickle presents before the others arrived - I love the simplicity of the quiet anticipation in their body language.

April

2011-05-04T09:39:00.000+01:00

I love April - not just as I celebrate my birthday, but it is when the promise of new beginnings start to become felt. Winter's barren landscapes evolved, now the timid appearance of Spring is giving way to the bold clamours for summer.

The sight is the last thing that I notice - as I pace around the corner from the stream the view is heralded by the fanfare of bird song and that wonderful fresh smell of grass and open countryside. [Rational senses: there speaks the optimist again, we are talking about a strip of old grazing pasture adjoining a large rec on landfill in suburban Reading.]

I love this time of year, opening the windows and letting the Spring air awaken the house from hibernation. My morning walks are my lone passion, like a silent meditation where I prepare for the chaos inherent in being a WAHM. I used to listen to music, but I missed the sound and focus of watching the seasons unfold. I love watching the changes throughout the year: wrapped up against the bitter cold in the winter; slipping through the mud and rain in the spring as the first flowers emerge; the eruption of the undergrowth in April heralding the glorious Summer to come.

Impressed by the Royal Wedding?

2011-05-03T10:28:00.000+01:00

I love the way little people can give life such balance. The Pickle is usually a girl of many words - and not just 'Mummy, what does that mean?' (which is where it may all spring from). She had three pronouncements on the Royal Wedding:

- Faced with the pomp and ceremony of our monarch, she took one look then bounced up and down singing 'The Queen looks like a daffodil' over and over.
- As soon as she had seen the bridesmaids arrive she declared 'Okay, I'm bored now'.
- Finally as the news mentioned the wedding on Saturday she said dismissively 'Don't they know the Royal Wedding is over, it was yesterday.'

Nesting or compensating?

2011-04-27T20:06:00.000+01:00

The first three months if pregnancy were exhausting. I became very intimately acquainted with the sofa - as a dozed my way through the weeks. By the time I had walked that dog for an hour or so I seriously limited energy until the school run prompted the next bout of frenetic activity.

After three months the toll on the house was apparent. I'm not particularly tidy but, believe it or not, I have my standards, and things were starting to get me down. Besides when Beanie is born we will need to shoe horn in somewhere for his cot and his stuff (babies do have stuff, and alarming amounts for such little people).

Is this what nesting is all about? Being so exhausted that you can't do the housework until it can be put off now longer, then you have to blitz through the backlog?

Things I have learnt while I have been blitzing the clutter:

-I am not a tidy person, but that does not make me a lesser mortal, I'm just an optimist and see the good side of things and can mentally airbrush away a few rough and ready details.

- I really don't wear 5 inch heals that often but I know they are almost irresistible (particularly when in the sales). I haven now taken up every spare nook in my room housing my expanding collection, and this must stop.

- I was skint in the Pickle's baby years for a reason, a wardrobe full of Monsoon fairy embroidered jeans and delicate cotton dresses was not essential to her well being - but, boy, she did look cute!

- I used to believe that style is timeless. Looking at the Mumster this weekend in her once stylish culottes and 'Lady Di' high necked blouse, I have had a rethink. Time to purge my wardrobe and make way for a little space.

- Quentin Crisp says "After four years, you don't notice the dust." I am not going to test that theory.

Back in the Beginning

2011-04-22T18:12:00.000+01:00

This is a really hurried post for Flash Back Friday. I love the posts and don't want to miss sharing this prompt.

I started this blog mainly thanks to Josie's writing workshop on Sleep is for the Weak (you can see the badge for her workshop. So often when I read a blog I noticed that it was linked to the workshop - either I am slow on the uptake or I just tend to do things my way rather than being a 'joiner'. Anyway, I was inspired and I set up this blog.

Looking back to the beginning I was pondering life at 40 and the impending big birthday. This is a pretty terrible photo, but it does say so much. It is me at our 90th Birthday birthday party (I was 40 and the Hubster was 50) being a friend and mother. The Pickle looked as if she needed a little Mummy attention, so I was carrying her while friends eat, drank and got very merry.

Three cheers to inspirations blogs, friends, family and all that make my life so wonderful. It has been great sharing the journey and it is not over yet.

Picture this Blog!

2011-04-20T08:31:00.000+01:00

I have been flummoxed by Tara's Gallery Prompts for a few weeks now - but this week I was not prepared to be beaten again! The theme is: My Blog

My blog - is about family life, and musings about it. Life here is not all neat and tidy, but it is almost always fun. You can see the Pickle, grinning from ear to ear, wearing her hat back to front (she makes her own style statements) and her Daddy's paint splattered fleece. We are sitting in the garden, eating yummy home made food.

It may be a little rough around the edges, but it is full of home made love and laughter - that is my Pretty Good Life!

If you want to check out any more of this week's inspired posts, pop along to The Gallery

Perfect Day

2011-04-19T16:14:00.000+01:00

Having one of those simple but perfect days! We had a picnic in the most amazing field - a phone picture can not begin to show the flowers. There is a carpet of Snake's head fritillary - my favourite flowers. Up until a few years ago I had only ever seen small clumps planted from expensive garden centre bought bulbs, so imagine being lead to a field where wild fritillary stretch out into the distance. We sat by a river eating our sandwiches, watching the butterflies and listening to the birds - and as we were taken by a botanist - we also munched on a natural salad of ransoms and other random leaves that I normally dig up and throw straight into the compost.

Just imaging a hundred or so years ago fields across the country were bursting with flowers and wildlife like this one - but for now we just felt lucky to have been able to step by in time and enjoy the simple life!

Flash Back Friday...in the beginning

2011-04-08T17:03:00.000+01:00

So pleased that Karin of Cafe Bebe has given this wonderful prompt to have a Flash Back Friday.

The Pickle is now 4 1/2 and I can barely remember what the early months were like, except the profound love I felt for her that over came exhaustion and the whole nappy glamour. Well, Beanie is due in August so I had best start remembering...

Wasn't she cute. Can't wait to meet Beanie!

Have a lovely weekend
xx

A reflection on Mother's Day

2011-04-07T20:05:00.000+01:00

I have been reading the most amazing range of responses to motherhood and mother's day. I was particularly inspired by Carol at Dance without Sleeping piece on 'Mothers Day is not always Special' and by Vegemitevix's 'What kind of a Mother are you'

With Vix there were many wry observations about parenting; she compares her 'band aid and hugs' parenting style with that of her Mother, and the modern tendency to molly coddle. How can I compare myself with my Mother who was notable only in her absence? I feel that I am bungling along with no role models other than common sense and what I have picked up about psychology. Is it easier to spoon feed as a way of feeling that you are being a good parent, rather than allowing children their wings?

Carol talks heart breakingly about the absent mother and feeling alone and abandoned. My Mum never strictly speaking abandoned me, she was always around but never in my presence. She was so busy being busy that my first memory my parents was asking who were the lovely people were giving me such nice presents at Christmas. I can't blame my Mum - I believe that she genuinely did her best, just she had no idea or capacity for being maternal. When we were a little older (maybe six) I recollect going downstairs and diving into her bed; she would be giving my Dad a manicure while he slept and she was totally bemused by our presence, but at least she did not just shoo us away.

At least I can't fall into the trap of outdoing my own Mother's style of mothering - the Pickle has already had many more hugs in a week that my Mum gave me in a lifetime. I love the idea of being a Band Aid and Hugs Mum - but it is still early days; the Pickle is just 4 1/2 and Beanie a bump.

Carol suggests 'not to think about the past and focus on the future' I can't guarantee I'll be that reflective. In the heat of the moment I'll be bimbling along, clueless as to what to do - but we will all be having great fun (and normally mess) doing it.

Mother Love

2011-04-07T11:56:00.000+01:00

Another Gallery post - and I was in doubt if I could deliver as my main computer was down and my camera is having battery issues. I originally discounted this picture then it became the perfect post.

There in the centre is my Mother in Law - and she is an inspiration. She has five amazing children and not one went off the rails, or is anything other than a caring and fun individual. Those five children have become excellent parents and grandparents. She could not have done this alone, by her side for 60 years was Leon, her husband my father in law. Together they created a warm loving family that enhance the lives of so many others.

The photo was taken at the Pickle's birthday party - and interestingly one person who is not there is my Mumster. She initially accepted the invitation but then declined when she realised that she had an important bridge game to attend the following day.

So I propose a toast, to amazing Mums and the support and love of Dads, if they to it right the love can last for generations!

Paris and Disneyland - We did it!

2011-04-06T09:14:00.000+01:00

I lived in Paris twenty years ago, so it was strange going back en famille. Back then I stumbled out of the pub or clubs to go to college, fun but part of my past! So I was off on holiday, but it needed some research, as not only was I going with an imaginative and lively four year old but the focus of the trip was the Mumster's 70th Birthday.

Finding a hotel was not that easy - child friendly, Granny friendly and available. Availability was the first issue, as but seems that family rooms book up early. Eventually settled on a small, boutique style hotel near where I once lived. Parc Monceau became our refuge at the end of each site seeing day - we could escape from the Granny circus, and swing on the swings, explore the worlds inside the bushes and even ride on the ponies at the weekend.

I researched all about what to do with a toddler buying special guide books. As it happened my tour guiding skills were demanded by the Mumster and apart from escaping for a delicious ice cream on the Isle Saint Louis we did not have the luxury of making our own decisions. Having said that, I would still recommend the book with maps, as we had so much fun before we left shuffling through the cards making plans together.

My favourite morning was the one spent with just my Godmother, the Pickle and Hubster. We wondered to the Musee des Arts Decoratifs. They had an Animal exhibition, so we saw an antique frock coat made for a monkey, a life size brass rhino that served as a cocktail cabinet and other wild and wacky things. They we took a lift to the top floor and the 1920s and then we ambled down , moving a decade forward towards the present with each floor, seeing room sets and furniture typical of the period. Half way down there was a large picture window the perfectly framed the best aerial view over to the Eiffel tower.

Paris is expensive! The Euro is not at a favourable rate and where ten years ago you could get a decent meal for under a tenner, this time I was really quite shocked by the prices and, at times, the quality of the food. How has this happened?

After four days it was on to Disneyland. By booking via Eurostar rather than Disney I saved hundreds of pounds, so that put me in a good mood before we started. The Pickle chose the hotel, the Sequoia Lodge based on the picture of the swimming pool. From the maps it is not so clear. but having visited I would say that with the exception of the seriously posh Disneyland Hotel - all the hotels seem to be a similar walk away. Sequoia Lodge was great at times, particularly down time drinking fruit juice cocktails in the bar which almost helped us forget the holiday camp bustle at meal times.

The Pickle loved Disney - we bought her a book in Paris so she could stick in pictures and sketch in. At Disneyland it became an autograph album. The place was one large retail opportunity - it could have been hell! We decided to give her a budget to spend at on our last day; then rather get increasingly wound up ever time she got wide eyed over a souvenir popcorn holder, another Princess dress, a helium balloon or yet another treat from one of the hallowed shops we were herded past we could chat about it and say how she could it on her shopping list to see what she could afford from her budget on the final day. Yes, she bought some total c**p but she is still enjoying playing with them - even if they might appall those with Conran-esque taste!

I loved the blossom, the magnolia trees and being able to escape the Parks for the swimming pool. There were oases of value such as Cafe Mikey for a coffee, where meeting the characters in a near empty restaurant was enhanced by the great keepsakes all children got regardless of whether they ordered a glass of water or a full on sugar or cholesterolfest. I was born with rose tinted specs - and things do seem to be fantastic until I finally get thrown off equilibrium. The Pickle's delight was enough to keep me on my happy cloud! The Hubster was more rational, he awared it 9 out of 10 for Pickle satifaction, but 2 out of 10 for adults. Yes, it was a bit like Butlins with gold cards, but the Pickle is already lobbying for a return visit!

Any tips for pregnancy in France?

2011-03-23T09:52:00.000Z

I am packed and almost ready to go. I used to be able to speak French - but that was 20 years ago when language revolved around flirtation, fashion and a little feminism for balance. It is two decades later and I am pregnant with a four year old and dodgy hearing.

I am writing a full on pregnancy blog as an excuse to try out loads of new recipes to fulfil my various cravings and on that I was discovering that France may have a slightly alternative approach to pregnancy care and nutrition.

Do they sell de-caffinated skiny lattes? I doubt it, although, to be honest, the Hubster is ashamed to order one in England. In England they notice the bump and you are likely to get steered away from the steak tartar with raw egg - or maybe that is annoying.

I had a quick Google about how to eat while pregnant in France and it seemed a little extreme. Bread and stews seemed to be convenional wisdom. As a consmopolitan girl I am entering this with no fear of 'dodgy foreign' food or anything foolish like that,and I know that in cases of emergency their healthcare is first rate. But all the same, do you have any tips for me?

Planning done - ready for fun!

2011-03-22T14:51:00.001Z

A few days to go until the adventure begins. Yes, I have been plotting a party for my Mum. It has not been an entirely voluntary thing, the day after she ignored by 40th Birthday she informed me that the plans were up to me. I probably should not open a blog about celebrations with a moan, but I am having a bad day. Pregnancy hormones + lack of sleep + family issues = wobbly moments!

Despite the wobbles I am really looking forward to it. We have about 20 of the Mumster's best friends converging on Paris, the highlight of which will be a soiree at a friends apartment on Saturday. I lived in Paris twenty years ago and have not been back for ten (that makes me feel ancient) and I can't wait to show the Hubster and the Pickle around. I have warned the clan that we may start off in convoy but we will be keeping to a child friendly schedule so will dip in and out of the adult zone.

I have even bought a guide book to Paris giving a child friendly perspective to the city. After all when I lived there I was more likely to be stumbling out of bars to go straight to fashion college in the morning that to be aware of what the under 5s were enjoying.

After a few days of patience in the city we are then indulging the Pickle with princess heaven - and we are whisking her off to Disneyland before returning home.

I think we are all set, I have reconfirmed bookings with hotels, friends and just about everyone and everything. The Mumster is delighted with the plans, her friends are lovely people (not always of my political shade - but genuine and interesting people) and even my big bro has confirmed attendance (under duress, but he has natural charm which will shine when he finally makes his appearance) so all I can do now is mop the floor here ready for the cat sitters to take up residence!

A few more things to sort and a blog entry about my scan and I will be ready to go...

A trip to the consultant - amid cuts and a funding crisis

2011-03-17T10:30:00.000Z

Heading towards 20 weeks pregnant and the next round of appointments begin. This week it was the consultant and a scan to look forward to. I am quite relaxed about medical matters as I know I will be fine, but please don't let me hear about the medical details.

Seeing the consultant was strange as she read out the highlights of my last pregnancy and birth - there was lots of teeth sucking and tutting and the occasional pitying glance. As the Hubster says, I am an admin case. After planning a home birth I got pre-eclampsia and ended up by having a C-section (and every step was subject to its own drama) . I remember a consultant coming around to see me a few days after the Pickle was born to see if I was alright, particularly in light of my earlier hopes for a 'natural birth'. I think she was marginally surprised that I was so focused on my view that the birth was a total success, as I had a healthy beautiful baby - so we spent the next twenty minutes giggling at the comic misfortunes that had beset her as a new Mum!

So this time around I am going to be closely monitored. From about 34 weeks I need to have my blood pressure monitored (stern look over the top of the consultant's spectacles) at least weekly. I am not automatically schedules for a C-section, but the consultant assures me that there is nothing natural about a natural birth as we should have been born with zips down our fronts to allow for really easy delivery....make of that what you will.

When I do go into labour I have to go straight to hospital, none of the usual being set away for 12 hours. Then I have to be continuously monitored. That is where the plan may unravel...at present there are six midwives for twenty Mums in labour and the consultant it concerned about the future. I thought that the government had repeated their commitment to increasing midwife numbers but any hope on that front was very gloomily laid to rest. Best case statistics for successful VBAC births are 70% but at the RBH Hospital it is only 40% and things are unlikely to improve.

Just as I was leaving she noticed that I am over forty. More teeth sucking - and another an earlier appointment is needed. At my great age the risk of still birth is greatly increased if we allow Beanie to go over term. So I'm booked in to see them again at 39 weeks to see where we go from there.

How do I feel? Obviously concerned for Beanie (that is my job) but somehow I know I will be okay. I sincrely wish their were more midwives, and would feel much more comfortable if I thought that the consultant could guarantee me the midwife support that she feels that I need. But, I'm lucky and I'll be okay - what ever obstacles come our way.

Trees

2011-03-15T19:07:00.000Z

I am so delighted that Tara chose Trees as the theme for this week's gallery. I love trees, they have so much character and offer us so much, beauty, shelter, food and even the air we breathe.

When I travelled I took so many pictures of trees, I fell in love with the eucalyptus trees in central Australia, fascinated by how they clung on seemingly inhospitable ledges on gorges their white bark contrasting with the red earth. Sadly, I can't share any of those images as they are all captured on film (you can just look back at my last entry for more about my exploration with old fashioned film cameras).

I have just got a new camera (a late Christmas present) so when I read the theme I took my new camera for a walk. All I can say is that I need to take some time to get to know it. If you have a Panasonic Lumix and can fathom how to focus close up pics, please let me know! In this shot I almost achieved what I wanted - to offer a shot of spring. Buds bursting against a blue sky with wispy clouds. Heaven!

Another shot from my new camera. My morning walk is my sanity, it enables me to sort out my thoughts and prepare for the day. It is just a small wood in suburban Berkshire, but looking up it is like a cathedral to me.

This is a tree from one of my favourite places in the world - in the Yorkshire moors in a dale adjoining the excellently names 'Fry Up Dale'. The landscape is so rich yet at times desolate with the romance and artistry of the dry stone walls.

The final photo is a surprise entry, it just jumped in when I was looking for the others as it was entitled 'Under the trees'. It returns to another theme of mine about doing things before it is too late. The picture was taken when we visited my parents in law at their winter retreat in Southern Spain. My FiL was a huge man in all but height and everybody adored and respected him and we all thought that he was immortal - sadly this was almost the last time that they made it to Spain. I am eternally grateful that we made it out to see them, where they were so happy and at ease, before it was too late.

A thing from the past

2011-03-09T19:33:00.000Z

I love Josie's new prompt for the writing workshop - it mirrors about my earlier blog Conversation with a chair! but this time instead of a conversation I am making a connection with the past that highlights how the world we have lived is so remote from that of our children.

When my Dad was 21 his father gave him a camera, a very special rangefinder type of camera. When I first saw the camera it made me gasp - my photographic heros had all used a camera like that to capture some of the most iconic and beautiful images of the twentieth century. From Brassai to the best of Magnum they had all used the rangefinder.

Just picking up the camera I could feel part of history - I could pretend that I was in some tiny way linked with past geniuses. I could hardly believe it when a while later my father gave me his beloved camera for Christmas. I was trembling as I held it; tears gave way to a silly grin that I could not shake all day.

Over the next few months I dedicated myself to getting to know the camera...well. To start off with it took me an age to take each shot; I painstakingly checked the light meter, calculated the apperture and tried to learn the tricks to taking a photo worthy of the camera.

As I got to know the camera it started to become an extension of my own outlook. With time I could almost set up the camera at waist level before bringing it up to my eye to check and shoot. As this happened I felt the link with my Father, my Grandfather and icons of early photography deepen. I am not making any claims for my skills, but for the camera itself - and how rewarding it was to get to know.

So where is the camera now? Poised by the front door, ready for the next photo opportunity? Sadly, it lies gathering dust under my bed. Mt daughter's generation have never known film cameras, if you take a shot you immediately check the screen for your instant photographic gratification.

Back to my chair theme. What would the camera think? Would it be upset to be knocked off its throne? The camera would be able to cope - having been at the avant guarde of engineering it would be excited by the future and step aside gracefully. As for me, I can not help but to feel upset that the Pickle never feel that link to my forebarers and icons.

One word: Comfortable

2011-03-09T13:08:00.000Z

Another entry to Tara's Gallery. This week the prompt was for one word so I have chosen comfortable. Let me introduce you to Molly the Wondercat. She was a scared little bedraggled cat when we found her at the rescue home. She is now the fluffiest, proudest old lady who ever ruled a household.

Doesn't she look comfortable? A friend describes her cats as boneless when they relax, we just call it flat cat. To me it just epitomises that feeling of giving in to relaxation - a state that sometimes we all aspire to.

Whatever happens over the next week, I hope life affords you a few moments of blissed out relaxation. Enjoy some comfort! xx

Simple Pleasure: Cooking

2011-03-02T10:16:00.000Z

I have loved looking at many contributions to the Sticky Fingers Gallery - and so here is my first attempt to join in.

The title 'Simple Pleasures' seems quite an apt description of our life at Chaos Cottage. After all, the moments that I am most nostalgic about from my own childhood are the simple things like cooking, picking carrots from the garden or just having silly fun around the house.

Into adulthood cooking became important, I started to bond with my 20 something step son as I taught him to cook when he was on placement from University and now I cook with the Pickle.

It is our favourite rainy afternoon pleasure to cook. She runs off, washes her hands, puts on her apron and gets ready to cook. Here she is making a pizza. We start form scratch, flour flying, kneeding the dough, through to the important job of decorating it with toppings. Cheaper than a take out and so, so much more fun!

This is next...

2011-02-07T14:57:00.000Z

The last fertility blog I said that I was preparing for the next step towards IVF before even waiting for the results of our last attempts. How wrong could I be? That time we hit the jackpot. Yes, I am pregnant! YIPEEEEEE!

The first few weeks were characterised by mild paranoia that I would miscarry again then I was then overtaken by the most fundamental exhaustion. Morning sickness? Well, constant nausea followed by a full on room spinning queasiness at bed time is a better description. Don't get me wrong, this is not a problem. These are symptoms of a healthy pregnancy, after the wait, I am more aware of my luck to be up the duff than I am concerned about the side effects.

After sharing so much about about the journey towards fertility I all but abandoned blogging. It was too soon to spill the beans with my patchy luck when it came to pregnancies. I was so low on energy, while both over joyed and a little scared - but all I could discuss on twitter was the physical exhaustion.

I also felt quite a fraud as I when wrote the last fertility blog when I already knew that I was pregnant. But, this is a long and on going journey - and this pregnancy has only just begun. I hope that this can give hope to anyone who has been struggling to conceive - after 4 1/2 years I'm finally pregnant and I am totally over the moon! Thanks for sharing the journey with me. xx

Mommy Dearest

2011-02-04T13:40:00.000Z

I have written about a few ups and downs I have had with my Mum, she is an amazing woman but she can be a difficult Mother. She has been complaining that she does not see the Pickle but can cancel coming to her Birthday if she is invited to play bridge.

I can be smart and find an invitation she could not refuse. The carrot I dangled to Reading was not her Granddaughter but 'HomeSense' the new T.K.Maxx home store - and it worked. She came!

We had a great browse of HomeSense and she found a cute present for the Pickle - then she even was complimentary about my home, the lunch I prepared and she seemed to enjoy walking the dog. The spell was not lifted. shee ignored the lure of the computer and her emails and even came on the school run with me.

The Pickle was so excited to see Granny, which melted the Mumster's heart. The charm continued - after a quick tea I made myself busy and secretly watched. I am so pleased that I did - the sight will lift me over many dark days. They just sat side by side, Sarita showing her Granny her pictures from her book bag. The were totally absorbed in each other's company, just enjoying the moment.

As afternoon slipped into the evening, and the spell continued. The details are immaterial, the bridges are being built. For the first time Granny really connected with my new family. Patience and optimism have paid off!

If I can capture some of that magic dust that sprinkled that day, I would like to pass it on to you. Families can be great, they can be difficult but sometimes with luck, patience and some of this magic dust, I hope that you too can have your own happy ever afters, even if you have had a rocky start.

Granny is back on side, if I feel strong enough, I may write about one more relationship that seems immune to my best efforts. But, if we have got Granny to relax into toddler time, anything is feasible!

Feeling...(a conversation with a chair)

2011-01-27T09:13:00.000Z

I have spent the past few days looking for random words - which is not as strange a it may seem. I have been following Josie's prompt for the latest writing workshop. What a great way to force yourself to observe the words that surround us - from visual pollution you can pull out that which is thought provoking, the promise of a story, or something to provoke a secret smile.

Nothing quite lit my bulb, until I saw a sad dejected chair that had once been lovingly and creatively painted. One painted word jumped out at me...feeling. In part it returns to an old theme about listening to stories before it is too late. What would happen if that chair could speak - what had led of lovingly painted chair be so shunned. Let us imagine that we can could talk, would it tell us what it was feeling? Suspend your disbelief and lets talk to a chair.

Hello chair, how are you feeling? What are you doing, lurking behind the door? You look so special, so carefully adorned, what is your story? Let me guess, you are in an arts centre, were you painted as part of an exhibition or as a prop for a show. When you were freshly painted were you in pride of place?

How can I put this delicately, you must be intimately acquainted with many of my fellow humans. Have you met artists, and actors - and have you offered welcome respite in their busy lives? What have you seen and overheard in your time?

Then there must be your fall from grace. How did you, in your painted glory, come to be needed for your function rather than your beauty. Do you miss your glory days or do you miss the glamour of your former life? Again, how does it feel?

As I see you in your faded glory I think of others, who may have stories, but are do demure to tell? It can be easy to overlook chairs, but how about people? Instead of a chair, it could have been an assuming lady who was once the life and soul of the Music Halls, would I pass her by or take the time to discover her stories.

So chair, it was wonderful to see your faded glory. I would love to hear your tales of life and indiscretions at the heart of an arts centre. Thank you for a glimpse of your potential life.

Here are a few of my other words, in case you too feel inspired!

What next?

2011-01-25T14:32:00.000Z

What next? It seems to be a slide towards IVF but I am trying to put the brakes on, sure that after one successful pregnancy I can conceive naturally again - but then I think of my age and at 40 I ought to be chasing after whatever options I have left with no delay.

The whole infertility issue is not easy - the path towards treatment is no bed of roses. You get poked and and prodded and your privacy goes out of the window. I have been on Clomid for a while and I have almost been ovulating, but somehow I don't quite get there.

The amazing nurse at the Fertility Clinic is convinced that I need one final push before we go for IVF - and an injection to try to ensure that I do ovulate. It is quite spooky, we work out when ovulation is due to take place and as it is a Monday I need to inject myself over the weekend - that means no trip to the clinic but I need do the deed myself. I have never concentrated so hard on anything in my life as how to do it. One injection, two needles, solvents and the drugs.

We are not at home for the weekend so when to do it? We find a time and, of course, I wimp out and get the Hubster to take control. I am okay with injections, but so long as I don't see what is happening. Deep breath and injection over. But will it work?

Hormonal roller coaster! Weeeheee - Clomid and FSH (I think, it is 3 initials which are not HTC) all coursing through me, sending my emotions haywire. What fun! Fortunately the Hubster is a generous and forgiving type.

I am now so matter of fact about the whole process and the whole failure cycle. After the misfires and the dodgy health (fainting, chronic exhaustion) I do need to think about any extra stresses that I put on my body. A few weeks later and I know the symptoms, the PMT, the churning inside.

I call the clinic on automatic and start to work out the next steps. The lovely nurse asks me if I have actually started my period - funny how I throw in the towel before I have even got to the crunch time. I just seem to be looking fatalistic - counting down the possible months until IVF.

It is funny how I am so upbeat and positive about so much of life but I seem to be totally fatalistic about my fertility. I don't think I am depressed by the situation, and funnily enough I really believe that we are going to have a sibling for the Pickle Why do I seem to be negative about my monthly (lack of) progress? Time will tell!

Giving!

2011-01-12T11:27:00.000Z

The theme for this week's blog is 'Giving' inspired by Josie's charitable work and Action Aid's new campaign focusing on the amazing feeling their supporters get by helping developing communities work their way out of poverty. (Looking back now at what I have written I am a little surprised at the diatribe, but it is honest and straight from the heart - sorry if it is so serious).

I am tempted to get very cynical about giving. Over the past 24 hours there have been some really damning reports about foreign aid. First off there was an article about how UK Government aid is more linked to commercial interests than needs, then there was a piece discussing how in Haiti the aid was not helped by the diverse agenda of the aid agencies involved.

Then lets think about other ways of giving. Our Government is encouraging us all to work for the Big Society and give our time to help our community. Funding for community initiatives are being slashed, but that is fine as having been shown the error of our ways we will all volunteer to pick up the pieces. I have worked for a charity setting up board level volunteering partnerships, and I am a trustee of a fab organisation that relies in part the amazing team who give their time so generously - but I know to build rewarding relationships it takes time and effort. Volunteers need recruiting, often training, they need to be given a brief and support - and without the cash, charities often can not harness the potential of volunteers.

Do I disagree with charitable giving? Absolutely not! I am a Mum and I can't see pictures of distressed children in Haiti, Pakistan or hear about the latest heroic fund-raising effort on Twitter without being moved to donate. I just wish that rather than donating a few pounds and hours I had a fully functioning magic wand that would really worked.

I refuse to be cynical - but I am sad. Sad that there seem to be no ideal or quick fix solutions, sad that there is so much need and I can't do more, sad that the world is not fair. Just because there are no easy solutions I am not going to give my self the excuse not to care or not to contribute. I know that I could do more, I wish I had more money to give, but I am an optimist and believe in hope. I believe in the power of individuals, as together we do make a difference. I wish Action Aid ever success in their new campaign!

We survived it - and I'm forgiven!

2011-01-02T20:45:00.000Z

I do love Christmas - the excitement, the family, the sense of occasion. After all the grief of FiL's death in November it was only appropriate to be there despite my family kicking up a stink. As dysfunctional as my family are, his family are sane and happy so it was great to be there. The is a certain kind of comfort in a great family and some of my favourite moments were just watching The Hubster, his sister and brother just gently ribbing their mother with pure fondness and no malice what so ever. Being with the In Laws there are still subtleties of the family dynamic that go over my head: the occasional tumbleweed moment and a little dancing on egg shells.

The most Christmasy bits were more private. The magical time on Christmas morning when the Pickle climbed into bed and we inspected what Father Christmas had brought. He must have read the Pickle's list well as she got her welly boots, sunflower seeds and scissors. He read my mind as I got a couple of cook books, a pestle and mortar, fluffy socks and a New Internationalist diary with some cartoons so explicitly political it is not appropriate for all business meetings :)

The Pickle had very kindly passed me a virus - so after trying to pull my weight on Christmas day I have been almost bed ridden ever since. I need to pull myself together as the Hubster has been looking greyer and more exhausted I am worried that he is about to succumb. Happy New Year?

Well, yes, Happy New Year - I have been forgiven. After the fireworks of deciding to spend Christmas with the In Laws my Mum is finally speaking to me again. Why? Like the Grinch did her heart grow by two sizes? Almost, it was a gift: diamonds? a designer hand bag? No, it was a small, lurid, fluffy horse that could fit into your palm. Far from the tasteful and chic it was tasteless and cheap but it was obviously chosen for her by her Granddaughter, and she loved it.

Happy New Year to you all - I hope that this is a year of family, peace and a little silliness for us all! xx

The Waiting Game

2010-12-16T13:37:00.000Z

It is funny, the whole infertility thing - but not very amusing. In your twenties it never crosses your mind, birth control seeming more relevant. Now it seems to be socially acceptable to chatter about conception tips, vitamins and supplements and even compare notes on consultants.

I think it is great now that infertility is no longer a taboo subject. However, I still struggled to find sympathy for Mylene Klass when she bemoaned her 18 month wait to conceive. 18 months? The Pickle is 4 and we have never not been trying! I feel a bitch, but fertility and hormones are bound in together, and even if I am pleased that she is now expecting I can't empathise with her wait.

I am amazed by the attitudes to it. I was in casualty one long night recently and chatting to a consultant; he was talking about his training and the different jobs he had done. He revealed how the one job he could not do is fertility. He looked at me, saying how unfair it was the people like us struggled to conceive then others had issues over how to control their families - by implication talking about who deserves children. I don't subscribe to that way of thinking, there are no undeserving Mums, just a range of stories from triumph the tragedy about struggling to do our best (or just to cope). But, even then it is still loaded; someone I care about is undergoing IVF for a first child - I find it hard not to consider that maybe she really deserves the luck more than me.

It is certainly, for me, so different second time around. Before the Pickle every period was difficult, another month of hopes dashed. When we finally got to see the consultant I was told to loose weight and then they would see me in a few months time. So I did a major detox and sure enough I got pregnant. Was it the detox? I am not sure, we got more strategic about when we tried, I was taking vitamin supplements and going to a homeopath - so it may have been any of a number of reasons, or just Mother Nature kicking in.

This time around I have found the detox more difficult, in fact my effort could be described as best as half hearted. When I last checked, many months ago, I was at the same weight as when the Pickle was conceived. I have given up caffeine and since being a Mum my drinking is not what it used to be. It is only recently when the medical intervention has really started that I have got religious about my folic acid.

So where are we now? Mildly hopeless but hopeful (I don't think think that is an oxymoron or a Jane Austen title 'Sense and Sensibility'/'Pride and Prejudice/'Hopeless but Hopeful'?). The medical intervention? That is a story for another day.

Dear Father Christmas

2010-12-01T09:47:00.000Z

What should I do? I just had a horrible conversation with my Big Bruv and I am in pieces. You see, Big Bruv has been a rock for me, as my relationship with the Mumster has floundered, when I suffered miscarriages and when life has seemed cruel you have always been there. He offered us whatever support we needed when my FiL died, so why now is he laying down the law?

It is all about where we spend Christmas. My family verses the in-laws.

There has always been something magical about being at 'home' with you over Christmas. The house holds a lifetime of special memories drenched in tradition. Each year barely deviating from the minute by minute agenda set at birth, the the walls all echoing to the sound of past Christmases. Just coming through the doors and smelling the two large Christmas trees transports me back to the time when Christmas was the focal point of the year, when cynicism had not set in, and when Christmas was just uncomplicated joy. But this year, things are not so simple - and now that I have my own family is your house still really my home?

Things got tougher when Daddy got ill - but we stuck together. The Hubster and his family never questioned that he should be with me, and my family, both in Daddy's last Christmas and the next few years after that.

Now I find that I am the hopes, and more pertinently, the fears of my generation of the family. The Hubster's Dad has just died and I thought that what was right for one family was right for another and I volunteered to change plans to be with his family. This Mum had asked politely on numerous occasions if we may be available, and wanting to support an 80 year old widow we had said that we would spend Christmas with her.

Now Big Bruv has said that there will be (to quote) "a nuclear explosion" if I do that. Citing the fact that the Hubster is one of five and they have a big family and could cope without us. I do understand that it may be a bit dull just Big Bruv, the Mumster and the Maiden Aunt (particularly the Maiden Aunt) but still I feel it would be the right thing to be there for my MiL.

What should I do, Father Christmas? Give in to Big Bruv's threats or risk a family schism? If I do that I will devastate the Hubster's family by dragging him away from them. If Big Bruv was married this may not be so critical, but should I be forced to compensate for that? I have spent the last 24 hours in tears and vacillate wildly between anger and capitulation.

By the way, as I am writing to you anyway, here is the Pickle's Christmas Wish list:
Sunflower seeds
A pair of scissors
A pair of wellies
A Hello Kitty Sticker Machine
A crash helmet with a Daisy on it (okay I may have subconsciously implanted that one as I know that we are giving her a bike).

A sage response to my quandary would be greatly appreciated!
As ever,
Sarah

I am

2010-11-24T11:20:00.000Z

While writing the last post I was reminded how I have not linked up to the Sleep is for the Weak writing workshop for a while. So I have decided to take Josie's advice and just take the plunge - and I am seemed a pertinent follow on from the last two posts.

I am...
... individual. I don't mean to but I do things my own way and this can make me unconventional at times.
...creative. This is not a boast, but it is just who I am. I am not sure which is the chicken and which is the egg with the creative / individual comment.
...a wife and mother as well as being a feminist. I wonder at times if there is any conflict between these but as they are all so much part of me I accept and enjoy!
... kind. I have foot in mouth disease, but I genuinely think that despite some of the outrageous things I say (by accident) I always try to find the good in everyone and everything. I try never to pre-judge, and give loads of benefit of the doubt.
...40 but I still feel that I have loads of life and new beginnings to come.
...in need of a bit of a kick up the bum! I need to loose some weight and refocus after this year of hell.
...ethical. I believe that all my actions have impact in the world at large. I have no expectations for friends and family, I love them as they are, but I won't be serving Nestle coffee and fois gras in my house.
...me! At 40 I realise I have strength and weaknesses, sometimes my looks would frighten a small child but I can scrub up. I have had great times, sad times, done things I am proud of and things that I would prefer to gloss over. Good and bad, I'm me and really quite happy with who I am - just give me that kick to remind me to make the most of this life.

Good Grief

2010-11-24T10:52:00.000Z

I don't think that there is a good way to die, but at times I think that my Dad's was the worst. He had early on set dementia (like Alzheimer's for younger people) and it took years to watch him slide towards death. It is hard to say when charm turned to eccentricity and eccentricity to inappropriate behaviour, and likewise his stuttering became aphasia and then he just forgot how to talk.

As he got more ill I decided to give up my job and study for a Masters as I could study from my parents home and be around when I was needed. As his health deteriorated by personal life seemed to be on the up. I met the Provite and two years later he asked me to marry him. It has great to have something positive to think about to distract from the illness - and I realise how important it is for me to know that the two men I love the most got to meet while my Dad could still just communicate.

We could not really predict the trajectory of the illness so we set the wedding date for two weeks after I handed in my long study for my Masters in September and the planning began. Sadly my Dad did not make it, he died six months before our wedding.

It was great as we had something positive to focus on after the funeral, we had the reading that included 'A time to weep, a time to laugh' at both funeral and wedding as a poignant reminder of the tumultuous year.

But maybe we focused two much on seeing the good side and glossed over the need to weep. I remember after the funeral everybody came back to the house; I was walking in after the private family burial and being accosted by someone who was insistent that we talked as his son was getting married in September - I remember repeating calmly to him that I wanted to put down my coat before talking, time after time when he did not listen until I finally just fled upstairs. That seemed to set the tone for the mourning.

All seemed to be going well and it is now eight years since his death. This year my usual calm has been shaken, as readers of the blog may have noticed. After reading 'They F*** You Up: How to Survive Family Life' by Oliver James I was determined to unpick my past so that I could be a better parent to the Pickle.

This dredged up so much! My parents had a simple facade - if there was a duff decision, it was my Mum's fault and if anything was cool that was because of my Dad. Nobody presented it that way, but folklore is often based on prejudice and this myth was built up. I do have a rocky relationship with my Mum but I have been forced to accept that it may have been a little unfair.

Then my Father in Law died...he was the most amazing man and his death came as quite a shock even though we knew that he had terminal cancer. He just seemed so strong and indestructible. My first concern was the Hubster, then his Mum and my step children. But why was I finding it so hard to keep it together?

I was crying when walking the dog, crying at my desk, generally crying when the Hubster was not around to see me! I felt like an Oscar Wilde character "To lose one father, Ms Dawnay, may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose two looks like carelessness". I was not sure if I was crying for my Dad, for Leon, for the miscarriage, depression that was settling on me from general life - but I was sad and I was crying!

I survived the funeral - thanks to my amazing sister in law's gentle comforting. I was not a soggy mess, just a few appropriate tears (although what is appropriate is any body's guess) and I was strong enough to be there for the Hubster.

I am now feeling strangely free - I have cried away so much past hurt. I feel as if I am starting to move ahead and can look more clearly to my future. After a year of feeling blocked in my issues beyond my control, I can now start to plan again. I appreciate that this is the resolution of over ten year's grief.

As I feel stronger this weekend was a stark reminder. Our lovely friend Rob was building us some gorgeous book cases (that we originally commissioned about 3 or 4 years ago). I was thinking of Leon as previously he has done built all our amazing furniture, I realised how hard it must have been for the Hubster. As my grieving comes to an end, I hope I can be truly strong for the Hubster - as trust me, it is shit, but sooner or later it does get better!

Getting it out

2010-11-23T11:26:00.000Z

This one is dedicated to Dawn AKA The Moiderer . I owned up to not being able to blog when I am on emotion overload and she has encouraged me to work through things. I have read her blog and it is always honest ranging from the laugh out loud to posts that have had me sobbing - I hope to take her honesty as inspiration.

So I am going to start off by giving an assessment of ME - what my blockers are and then I would love your feedback on what to unpick first.

Here is a school report of the factors affecting me. Which one should I unpack first on this blog?

Subject: General Well Being
Grade: A-
Summary: Sarah is generally very happy with a clear grasp of the issues that really matter.

Subject: Grief
Grade: B+
Summary: Sarah's husband recently lost his father, which meant that Sarah needed to take on a caring role, supporting her husband. This role was somewhat hampered by Sarah's residual grief for her own father who died eight years ago.

Subject: Motherhood
Grade: A
Summary: This grade is primarily for the joy that Sarah received from being a mother. She tries hard to strike a balance between being a fun Mum who always listens and a firm operator who keeps in check her daughters determined streak. She loves sharing the simple things in life from cooking and the garden to exploring science and world cuisine with the Pickle.

Subject: Fertility
Grade: C-
Summary: Sarah would dearly love another child and a sibling for the Pickle. Somehow she fails to remain totally focused on the task, aware that diet and fitness would greatly enhance her chances. After initially pursuing alternative therapies she is being cared for at the RBH fertility unit and has a few more months of chemical enhancement before IVF remains the only option.

Subject: Business
Grade: D
Summary: It has been a tough waiting year for Sarah as she has been unable to optimise the potential of her great idea through factors beyond their control. She is not complaining and has stayed sane, which may have been beyond many in her shoes.

Subject: Material wealth
Grade: B-
Summary: Sarah does not lack any of the basics, she has food an shelter and a wonderful home with potential. Everything in Sarah's material life seems to offer potential that she has yet to capitalise on. She has started the renovations in every room of the house pending more time and finance and the business growth has stalled pending the new version of the site going live. Six years on she is still grateful for heating, hot water and an inside loo - that we had to work so hard to install.

Please let me know and I will try my best to be honest and open in my response in my quest to tackle my fuddle.

Always and forever

2010-11-03T00:38:00.000Z

I did not mean to say those words, but maternal love is a funny thing. The Pickle just woke up and could not find me wondered downstairs in tears, so I scooped her up and told her how I loved her and was here for her, always and forever.

The irony could not be more acute - I am downstairs unable to sleep because the Hubster is away comforting his mother as his father died yesterday. Always and forever? My father in law was an amazing man, and I do think that his impact - and love - will be around always and forever. He was a Dad of five who could combine grit with tenderness, and the strength of presence that was an inspiration. But always and forever? Yes, certainly. He is the Hubster's role model and he is reflected in so many of his best qualities.

We can't promise to live forever, but I sincerely hope that, like Leon, my love for the Pickle throughout my life will give her the strength of character to support her through good times and bad, always and forever.

Good and Bad Parenting

2010-10-13T13:36:00.000+01:00

Frank Field was in the new yesterday with his talk of Tough Love parenting in his capacity

"An increasing number of British parents have moved from the tried and tested 'tough love' approach to parenting to more informal and casual arrangements," said Mr Field. "The losers from this move have been children, and particularly poorer children.
"A number of research reports show that children are more likely to thrive if they come from homes where parents lay down clear boundaries for behaviour but who, within these boundaries, nurture their children with love, affection and interest. What might seem to some people little-valued activities, such as reading with their child and talking with them to improve their vocabulary, pays huge dividends when their children start school."
Mr Field said it was "distressing, not to say horrifying" that it was possible by the age of five to predict accurately how much children will have achieved by the time they are in their 20s. Inequality in cognitive, social, emotional and physical skills at five "determines life's outcomes", and action to tackle poverty must be targeted at improving acquisition of these abilities in the crucial early years, he said.
Copyright © 2010 The Press Association. All rights reserved.

So many people have different views of being a parent. We all do the best we can, but their are so many approaches - from birth you can do Gina Ford routines or baby led schedules and just about everything in between, whether you breastfeed or not becomes a political statement and things get more complicated from there.

A recent holiday brought this into sharp focus by the reaction of two friends. they are the most lovely couple, I have known N since school and she is a powerhouse of enthusiasm for life and P her -ologist husband. They have recently become the doting parents to a lovely little girl and are still at the stage of reading books and checking everything with their clinic and friends to reinforce their actions are best.

They are lovely parents, but they are not the Pickle's - and do not know her so well. Their individual responses to me as a Mum were amazing in their difference. P seemed furious/angry/annoyed/dismissive (I must get to know him better so I can understand his comments better) and told me that I should be taking packed lunches for the Pickle with me where ever I went as I was wasting money on her. Why? On one occasion she did not eat a full portion of a veggy sausage roll (when there were no child sizes) and the next day she did the double crime of turning her nose up at a sandwich when it was incorrectly labelled (we bought what we thought was her favourite but turned out to be a spicy version) then later she poured out too much cereal into her bowl. I did not force her to eat up as I do not want to make meals a battlefield. I see his rationale for repeating things that she liked, but then he saw her eat fish fingers once and when shopping the next day he took the initiative to buy her fish fingers for a second consecutive supper. I do see his logic and maybe he was trying to help me, but my grand plan has to promote an inclusive approach to eating, getting her to try as as many foods as possible and to see meal times as a great chance to share food, thoughts and conversation. It does not always work, the first time I took her for a Lebanese meal was a messy nightmare but since falafel have been renamed chickpea balls and they are a firm favourite. Food has been a journey we have enjoyed together - from baked beans to sushi!

P's approach (helpful/disdainful/angry - I am not sure) is by marked contrast to N's - who so often says what a good Mummy I am. Obviously I take it as a compliment, feel smug etc but part of me does not know how to respond. I do have a fabulous relationship with the Pickle, I rarely need to so much as to raise my voice and she knows what is acceptable and what is not - and more importantly I love her and she makes me smile just thinking of her. But, in the same way as I am a complex human, with strengths and quirks: the way that I parent will be a mix of how I translate a lifetime's actions into every day interactions. I am not perfect, but I know myself and am secure in who I am - likewise as a parent I do my best and I am happy with my efforts. I will always listen to advice - I can always learn but in my grand scheme I refuse to feed fish fingers to the Pickle every night as I am still ready for adventures and both the highs and lows that they bring.

Let's be careful about judging other people's parenting. I used N&P's responses to highlight differing responses. SavyMum4 wrote the most heart wrenching piece on her experience. I'd be interested in whether you have had a similar experience. Let me know. xx

Amazing Grace

2010-10-12T21:07:00.000+01:00

Grace was the Pickle's first best friend - we was the smiliest little baby you could imagine. It is hard to believe that she died aged just 13months old of chickenpox. This is more a story of sadness - it is about Grace's memory. After their loss the Bradburn's did two things, they continued to give Grace's older brother a loving family and they resolved to keep Grace's memory alive through fund raising for Cosmic, the unit at Paddington Hospital that did so much to try to save Grace.

They have raised over £50,000! Amongst the amazing things that the family have done is a bike ride to Paris. While Grace's Mum did not go Paris, preferring to stay at home to look after her son, she done many other rides and sponsored events. Even now it is wonderful to see that she had had another child (now a healthy 10 month old) and still cycling away - now with Grace's little brother tucked safely into his little seat behind her.

Here is a video with Natalie - see if you can watch it without crying.

Yummy Spinach!

2010-09-22T16:50:00.000+01:00

I am away at the moment so I can't take pictures - so forgive me. Here are a few quick and easy spinach ideas that I often make.

Boshka's Spinach Pie

Boshka is a lovely Bosnian friend of mine and this is one of her family recipes. She often does it in a greased over dish, but as it is my standard veggy option as any party I tend to make it look special by preparing it in a ring shape.

1 standard size pack of cream cheese (low fat is fine)
1/2 to a full pack of feta
A small tub of cottage cheese
One egg
Spinach - cooked drained and chopped. One large bag should do.
Filo pastry
Pepper
Flaked chilli's are optional
Melted butter

Take the filo out of the fridge to allow to get to room temperature but keep it sealed. Mix together all the ingredients (except the filo and butter), if it looks too dry you can add an extra egg. If you are making it in a ring sometimes I drain a little of the liquid off the cottage cheese to make it firmer. Take out the filo, brushing the melted butter between layers - work out the base area you want for the shape of pie you want and layer up 2 layers (if you like pastry you can add more) with plenty of spare filo to fold up onto the top. Carefully spoon on the mixture and fold the pastry up and over. The easiest shape is an oblong but rings look pretty. If you do not have quite enough filo to cover the top you can just layer addition sheets of buttered filo on top. Pop into a medium oven and cook for about 25 mins, or until set.

Recipe 2 - Instant food!

Take a pack of washed spinach and microwave with feta, tuna and lemon juice. Eat with a dollop of sweet chilli sauce and loads of ground pepper. Like I said, instant food! I don't eat much tuna now so this is a rare treat - maybe I could try it with mackerel or braised tofu?

Chelle's Cinnamon Club Entry: Curry

2010-09-14T10:54:00.000+01:00

I love food! I used to go out in serious way, ticking off the Michelin stars and generally being a little pretentious. Being a Mum has cured me of that affliction but now I seemed to spend a disproportionate amount of time cooking. A little person does not appreciate you forgetting meals, or being too knackered to cook. As a consequence of all this cooking a new cook book is a source of great excitement - I read them, put them down, forget them and then make up things from what I remember; if they are particularly good I may even follow the ingredients, if not the quantities.

Now take a bow Mr Rick Stein - I salute your Far Easter Odyssey as it has transformed Friday nights. So after contemplating Chelle's prompt for Cinnamon and considering all kinds of sweet offerings from my yummy blackberry and apple crumble to pancakes I settled on curry.

If you are Rick Stein now please look away, your precise measurements get thrown to the wind (15g garlic? I have never weighed garlic, and rarely use measuring spoons). Anyway, as I did the transition from gourmet to cottage cook the coffee grinder got relegated/promoted to spice grinder (and actually makes really good spicy coffee too if ever called upon).

First make your curry powder:
1 tbsp rice
2 tsp coriander seeds
1 tsp each cumin seeds, fennel seeds, fenugreek seeds, cloves, peppercorns, turmeric. Missing out any you don't have and ad libbing as you feel fit.
1/2 tsp black mustard seeds (this are a pig to find, so don't worry if you can't find them)
A few cardamon pods
1 -3 dried chillies
Grind together into a power - and put in a screw top jar as you will not use all of it at once and it can last for a month or so.

Tomato Curry
This is quite unusual but really fresh tasting and quick and easy to do. It serves 4-6 people.

Gently fry a 5cm cinnamon stock with a few cardamon pods and cloves for a minute then add up to 6 cloves of garlic, grated ginger (about 2inches or a thumb size piece) about 3 medium onions halved and thinly sliced and fry until soft. Add 2tsp of your home made curry powder and chili powder to taste (Rick says 2 tsp) and fry a little more. Next add a sliced medium green chili (or in our case 1/2 a b****d hot one), about 1lb finely chopped tomatoes, 150ml water and simmer for 5 mins.
Add another 1lb of tomatoes, this time cut into wedges and a glug of coconut milk and 1tsp of sugar (ideally palm sugar or jaggery) and salt (if you cook with it - I don't) and cook for about 3 mins longer.

I served this with rice, a chili spiced cabbage salad, raita and potato, paneer and cheese curry. My excellent step son says that my paneer curry is the best he has ever tasted even better than going out - so maybe I ought to share that too. Or just say that the Hubster is still gaining brownie points for buying me the Rick Stein book for Christmas last year - so it maybe worth a hint to anyone stuck for a present for you.

Hurrah for holidays!

2010-09-12T12:37:00.000+01:00

We are back, we have got over the jet lag, unpacked, sorted out all our foreign currency and life is back to normal(ish). Well, we did spend the weekend at a gorgeous wedding in the Welsh Borders.

We swam, we played and we drank good beer - a pretty good recipe for a fun holiday and it really was! It started off a little shakily with a visit to the Lands End Pub . We are always told that if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything. So I guess I should compliment them on their dexterity with the deep fat fryer, their imagination to call deep fried sloppy potato a fish cake and ambition when it comes to prices. So after a glorious, if interesting, cycle to the pub (with two adults, a toddler and an enthusiastic border collie on a lead you can imagine that it was not straight forward) the destination did not quite live up to the journey. The bill became the running joke for the rest of the week proving that everything else must be, by comparison, great value.

The next day we hit Bracknell. Yes, I know, you often think of Bracknell as a metropolis on a par with London, Paris, New York and we were that lucky! They are pretty child focused. First, virtual cutlass in hand we attacked the Pirate Ship at the Coral Reef (shit website, but not unexpected from a council). Surprisingly despite being thoroughly dunked when we went a little too fast down the anaconda slide she decided that the gentle currents were scary as we swooped gently around an island carried by the 'tides'. When we had turned all 'pruney' (technical term) we decided to head across the road to the Bracknell Lookout Discovery Centre .

The Bracknell Lookout is FAB. Loads of woodland walks, some archaeological remains (if that floats your boat) and a great playground. All for free. If you want to go into the Science Discovery centre there is a charge, but it was well worth it. It is compact but full of hands on science fun. The Pickle was far to young to appreciate any learning but just had a good play with water and the ball pool. The day we were there they had free face painting too.

(The Pickle has her own sense of style and who am I to interfere?)

The next day we did something that we would only ever do if we were new to an area and went into town. The Pickle loves making and loves her teddies so we took her along the Build a Bear Workshop. If you know me you will appreciate that this is normally the last thing that I would do, as it is so commercial, but you have to hand it to the clever marketeers, they know what they are doing and the Pickle LOVED it. She chose the biggest Hello Kitty, begged her Daddy for a matching chair and was generally spoilt rotten. The only thing that made us giggle, in a dark kind of a way, was that at least it was not deep fried like our last ruinous waste of money at the Land's End. So with daughter happy, we set off to please the Big Daddy. He is simple soul and a range of beers and Ethiopian food from Tutu's Kitchen at RISC was all that was needed.

We have discovered so many places to go for free - from the garden centres on the A4 for their free play areas to the long walks in the country parks and even visiting the field of llamas on Beggar's Hill Road. The Wyevale on the A4 gets our vote for their mini soft play area in an airy cafe - despite normally being regulars at the Sheeplands centre across the road. We had the best walks, play and picnic at Dinton Pastures and even found time to visit the fun but delightfully ramshackle Monkey Mates soft play centre for a birthday party (you could not do that if you had gone away!). So much fun, and none of it deep fried.

We had to have a big splash highlight and where better for that then Lego Land. Armed with supermarket loyalty points and discount vouchers we approached early and with trepidation (we are the last family in our area to be initiated it would seem). The dawn raid approach seemed to pay off. We hurtled around, got soaked, splashed and generally flung about before it got too crowded to be fun. I really did hear someone on a mobile phone giving directions saying 'We are here by the big lego thing'. DOH!

Just as we realised that we were never going to tick off every activity on Sarita's holiday list we escaped to the Welsh boarders for one of the most beautiful weddings ever. Between staying at home and discovering the amazing town of Bishop's Castle in Shropshire my wanderlust has been abated for another year.

Even though I live in Berkshire there are so many hidden gems, or clever approaches to popular attractions, that local knowledge unlocked. A few weeks of chatting to people in shop and at the nursery gave us some worthwhile tips - I think I have now passed them on to you too. P.S. Writing about the Land's End was not a recommendation! xx

Mummies in the Playground.

2010-09-09T15:37:00.000+01:00

It is funny how you end up by not altogether choosing your friends, but if you are hurled together with enough of a maelstrom some friendships stick. I am thinking about work colleagues or more specifically 'Mummy Friends'. You know the ones, you go to the same playgroup, same antenatal classes etc.

I joined a great gang on our antenatal classes, but it was only weeks into motherhood the cracks appeared. A relationship ended and one Mum disappeared, and then there were 5. So we bumbled along, meeting randomly. I did my thing and then one of the others joined me in a set of classes. So I saw this other Mum weekly and our little darlings played beautifully together so a friendship developed. This Mum seemed to be the natural leader of our pack, as she wanted to see everybody individually as well as en masse and it seemed to fit with everybody's plans. She was driven and we were laid back.

This particular Mum had become a friend as she was highly entertaining, with real drive and joie to vivre. When motherhood and lack of sleep hit her, I was there with a chocolate cake. When her hubby failed to live up to ideals, I listened. It has been heartbreaking to see her life ebb away. She has aged a decade and the trendy fly away hair cut has been replaced by a severe bob - verging on the pudding bowl; the hair seemed to my a metaphor for her outlook.
Then the last year things started to go a little pear shaped. Around about the time I miscarried things started to unravel. We were planning a joint party and then suddenly all my ideas were inappropriate - I had the audacity to suggest pass the parcel. Then the dagger went in "I don't want to do presents as I will give and receive presents to my real friends" came the comment from the other Mum who I had been seeing weekly.

Of course I was hurt, hormones were raging and the 'mutual' support that I had shown was a little lacking. Every time we met up since there have been strange comments and mildly bazaar behaviour from that very Mum, but I'm secure enough to dismiss or rise about pettiness - besides who knows if any slight was meant. I don't believe in biting back, being nasty is just not my style - I was born with my foot in my mouth so I have to contend with collateral damage without seeking to be cruel.

Fast forward a year and on Tuesday evening we all met up. I thought the evening was going well, we were all chatting. She was included in the conversation, but to be fair she was not the focus. Suddenly she got up, burst into tears and fled. Apparently, she had felt excluded. I have phoned and texted but somehow feel that whatever made her upset was far beyond anything we said or did not.

What is a girl to do? I wish her well, but I don't think that I can help her sort out whatever is going on. Some relationships run their course - and I hope that she can find some one support her through the next stage. I hope that in 10 years time I see her image smiling back out of a magazine, seeing her have found happiness again and achieved her potential. As for me, I will be bimbling along in my own happy world, hoping my happiness can rub off - after all it need not be that hard!

Exciting Holiday

2010-08-26T22:06:00.000+01:00

We have booked the holiday, tomorrow evening the Hubster leaves the office behind for a week and I'll try to control my twitter habit for the duration. We have our plans for loads of things to do, the Pickle is so excited I have to scoop her off the ceiling.

We have a great deal, and it is all so convenient. Door to door it takes negligible time to get there and it is a beautiful cottage with all the mod cons. It even has a well stocked larder so I don't need to go through the usual holiday cottage rigmarole of decanting bottles of oil and buying extra boxes of detergent only to forget my toothbrush.

The cottage is within easy reach of Legoland, London, loads of parks and we even know some out of the way cafes and pubs in the area. The Hubster is most excited by going swimming every day and has booked a special week pass at the local pool for just £7 per person - bargain!

We know from past experience that the cottage has bump free mattresses, soft cotton bedlinen and piles of soft pillows. There are loving touches around the cottage to remind you that is filled to the brim with love. While the floors and bath are clean and the rooms generally tidy somebody could tell the owner that she should de-clutter, and maybe the toys in the main reception room could be kept a little under control. But, at least if the dog comes in muddy I know I will not get any complaints.

The best thing about this place is that it has access to so many places and things that we would never do in our usual day-to-day lives but it is such good value! At the end of the week I will not even need to pack everything up to take home, because that is where it will already be.

Yes, we are having a staycation and I can't wait. I'll tell you all about it soon!
xx

The last taboo

2010-08-23T19:06:00.001+01:00

So many things are described as the last taboo. I remember at college having to help an actor on stage who wearing nothing but a straight jacket and a ghetto blaster on a skate board attached to his only unencumbered appendage (ahem) - all in the name of tackling taboos. Well, this weekend I read another article called Miscarriage: A mother's last taboo and wondered, is it really?

I had a couple of early miscarriages last year and it was strange that while it knocked me sideways I could not always say why I was exhausted / under the weather / emotional. As you may have guessed by the way I write I don't mind challenging convention - and I will talk about almost anything to any one - but utter the word miscarriage and people recoil. It is as if mentioning the M word is a social faux pas.

If you have the flu you mention it and get sympathy, but if you have a miscarriage you are a fruit loop for mentioning it. I exaggerate a little, but people are not comfortable hearing about miscarriage?

They say that 50 years ago cancer was never discussed, it was not considered to be appropriate and it was viewed with disdain, even prejudice. Similarly, when miscarriage is so common, up to 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, why do people feel uncomfortable hearing about it. I won't burst into tears on you, I will share in your joy if you are blessed with a baby and it is not contageous, so why don't you feel comfortable hearing about my miscarriage? Don't get me wrong, I am not suggesting that I was offering news of my miscarriage as a random conversation opener, but was not adverse to being honest about it if asked or if it was pertinent to a discussion. I just think that if we found it easier to confront it as a subject it would make it easier to recover.

On a positive note, part of the reason I want to have another babe is to give the Pickle a sibling around her age (I have two lovely, but much older step children). I love my relationship with my big Bro! We are SO different with totally different politics / friends / jobs and outlooks, but as we both admit that on the real matters in life we agree. He has been a real strength when I have been low, I know that it can not be an easy subject for a confirmed bachelor, but he has just been the best big bro ever, knowing the right thing to say and do to make me feel better. Here's still hoping that the Pickle gets a sibling as great as my big Bro!

The Trouble with Lidl

2010-08-19T21:18:00.000+01:00

We have been watching it for months, from a hole in the ground the building has gone up. Loads of fascinating machines have been used and they have even been kind enough liven the facade with splashes of yellow. The Pickle has been asking daily when the new shop would open.

Today was the day. I have never seen so many men in badly fitting - rushing about slapping themselves on the back. The best thing, obviously, was the yellow helium balloons that enticed us in.

I looked hard for British produce, anything organic or even free range. It seems ridiculous to import so much of the produce when it is in season in Blighty. Does that make me a middle class yummy Mummy?

Worse was to come, I had told the Pickle that she could choose her own supper. Serious negotiation had to take place as they cleverly position the biscuits to be at toddler eye view (and I was not going to pay a quid for a shopping trolley, so now I am a tight, middle class yummy Mummy). We finally agreed on a lasagne verde, it seemed the easiest way to get out of the hell hole. Opening day at the supermarket is not my idea of a glamorous soiree!

I got back home and the Pickle said that she loved the lasagne. She was most emphatic that she lived it, but in reality she only had about 4 mouthfuls. I checked the back of the pack for the nutritional content (paranoid, tight, middle class...) and all them seem to include was the same basic information in about seven languages (where was this stuff made?). No information about nutrition, so goodness knows how much salt and general cack was squeezed into it.

The Hubster came home from work and went for his usual early evening hoover - and said that it tasted fishy. Fishy? It allegedly was pork.

Will I go again? Will the my Scrooge like tendencies over power the yummy Mummy? I can't resist a bargain but when my whole family only manage a third of a lasagne, it may be cheap but that is not value.

So I made up for it by making a delicious veggy moussaka that everyone loved, from the remainders last week's veg box.
Left over Quorn mince with chopped roast peppers (I frazzle them over the naked flame, very satisfying for a would be pyromaniac); I microwaved the last dregs of the 1/2 fat creme fraiche with chopped cheddar then poured over; layer on some cooked thin sliced aubergine and top with Mozzarella (left over from the weekend's home made pizza) and a little Partisan cheese. Pop in the oven, finishing under the grill (as I was too hungry to wait for it to oven cook). Yummy, a meal from left overs! No e-numbers, limited salt and even cheaper than Lidl as it was cook or compost time for most of the ingredients.

The Lucky Gene

2010-08-19T11:03:00.001+01:00

I did not marry for money, but maybe the lucky gene helped our relationship. You can't buy it, it is not for sale, it is a Sprite family heirloom passed down through to the most fortunate of the generation. Yes, Matt is the beneficiary of the family luck gene.

He warned me about it when we first met and about the Sprite rule number one: be happy. It seemed so uncool. After all I was chasing an artistic career and we all seemed to have far higher aspirations that just to be content. In fact, his whole approach to life seemed a little different: he did not find wild private views in the East End cool, he found them a little dull; he thought critical appraisal was people being pretentious and was baffled that there was never any agreement and shock, horror, he was not ashamed by being part of a mass market.

Maybe it was the luck gene, but I stuck around and he even learnt to be a fair (if to the point) theatre critic. It is strange, but his life did seem charmed. He was not rich, had a dive for a house and his car was clapped out - but he was happy. Being around him everything seemed so simple. I did not want to, I did not mean to, but I was falling in love.

He was nothing like the mythical man of my dreams. My ex was an actor/writer/poet and he was (don't hyperventilate) an engineer and worse, he did not read. But, I was falling in love.

So, over ten years later and we are happily married. My pad in central London has gone and I live in this tumbledown cottage but things are working out. I think of the lucky gene, and I think it has rubbed off on me.

Has life been a bed of roses? Well, maybe, considering how my roses lacerate my arms when I prune them. We have had ups and downs, family illness and deaths, redundancy, debt and infertility - but that lucky gene has always pulled us through.

The lucky gene is not a double headed coin, it is no panacea but it is a lens through which to see life. Like the Sprite rule number 1 - be happy. Shit happens, but it isn't about to get me down. Now that is what I call a lucky life!

Perfect Day

2010-08-13T22:52:00.000+01:00

We had the perfect day today, the Pickle and I. We did not do much but it was perfect. I cleaned the floors while we also played. We met Daddy for lunch at the Global Cafe then spent a ridiculous amount of time shopping for a few bits and pieces - but we chatted and giggled and agreed that the Pickle could not buy everything that was coloured pink. I had to do some food shopping and managed to get stuck in traffic and then get lost on a short cut, but we were busy singing "Baa, Baa Black sheep 'Have you and wool?' No sir, no sir....' and other random songs. We could not find what we wanted and had no food in the house and arrived home late for supper. We were then late into bed and still wired up with energy. But it was, as I mentioned, a perfect day, we were together.

I remember at my old work chatting to a colleague who was also a Mum. I said in an unguarded moment that we had had a perfect day and asked if she knew what I meant. She looked at me with mild loathing and said she had never had a perfect day. Motherhood seemed to be one long trauma for her, she loved her kids but that did not make her happy.

Sometimes when I am chatting to friends I have to remember to not go on about feeling happy. Don't get me wrong, I have shit days, the Pickle still plays havoc with my sleep (coming in for a cuddle in the middle of night) and sometimes the red mist can rise. BUT I love being a Mum!

I don't want to whinge about my other half, I don't want to complain that I feel tired (okay maybe) I realise that being skint and being happy are not correlated. I don't want to think about the pile of laundry or reduction in my social life. I want to smile about my happy, simple life.

Have you had one of those days when you know that you ought to go to the supermarket, post office and endless other chores? Of course you have, if you are a Mum. The day starts to go pear shaped when the toddler wants one more book, refuses to put on her shoes and generally is making you late. The moment you realise that half the jobs can be postponed and you slow down to toddler speed the day starts to get better. An issue is only a problem when you make it one, change your perspective it can be an opportunity.

What I really mean is I do have my ups and downs, but I always go to sleep with a smile and wake up with a smile and a cuddle. Whatever else is going on in life that may be shit, who cares because I LOVE BEING A MUM! I really hope that we share the same perspective. xx

The Rules...

2010-08-11T19:03:00.000+01:00

Every year around about the Pickle's birthday she starts to forget her usual manners and test the boundaries. I am not sure why it happens yearly, but it does and as she is now 4 it is definitely a pattern.

She is normally so easy going and responsive I have never had to institute a 'naughty step' instead the power of three has always been enough to strike fear into her. Yes, counting to 3, I have never got beyond 2 and I am not sure what I would do if I did. She was once reduced to a soggy mess when one of our friends did not realise the rules and counted fast and flipantly, actually getting to 3.

This year we needed further amunition. She started to lash out when she got cross and she responded to any request with 'I'm just....' if she responded at all. So we created THE RULES:

1. Loads of smiles
2. No hitting or hurting
3. Loads of cuddles
4. Do whatever Mummy says, when she says it.

The combination of tough and fun rules works a treat. A week or so in and we have had no tantrums just a marked improvement in behaviour. I got my Pickle back. Hooray!
xx

Party, Party

2010-08-11T18:03:00.000+01:00

Sorry, I have been stuck in party world for too long while. There has been a lot to organise. Firstly we had our 90th Birthday. Matt is 50 and I am 40 this year so we had to celebrate, and we have not had a party for a while. My mind had been really made up when I decided on a theme, a vintage (1940s/1950s) Garden Party. It was Pimms, marquees and a new frock for me (glam or what?).

I love a good project and trying to organise a stylish party for 100 on a very tight budget was a challenge. It was complicated as I decided it would start at 2.30 (after lunch) and would go on as long as anyone was standing. I saw happy tides of people drifting in and out through out the day. I found really cheap florists ribbons and almost got RSI making endless bunting and cross costed and budgeted feverishly.

Printed invitations were out but if we were going to email /facebook it had to be done with style. With a free copy of GIMP (the open source photoshop type software) I played around to get the picture you can see.

It is amazing what you can find online - without the online resources I would have had no idea of quantities for catering etc. there was even a great site that collated all the supermarket wine review - essential if you want to serve rose for under £4 and for it not to taste like a student party. As you can tell, I love organising parties and I could go on too long.

Just about everybody we wanted to come could, with loads of long lost friends making star appearances. Yes, it was a party not This is Your Life but there was parallels (minus the saccharine).

As soon as that was over and it was onto the Pickle's 4th Birthday party. We booked loads of toys from the toy library and our usual format. Play, pass the parcel, tea, a treasure trail then parcel them off home. Everything had to be Peppa pig - but then when you can get personalised icing toppers for cakes from ebay it was achieved with minimal effort. It all passed off without a glitch, 12 toddlers, perfect manners and loads of giggles.

The thing I loved most was that the Pickle loved her party, but owned up to having even more fun the day before on her real birthday. The two of us had a quite 'Mummy Day' playing together and going to her fave restaurant for lunch (a toastie at the local coffee shop). If only life was always so simple!

Vegan Ice Cream

2010-06-08T21:28:00.000+01:00

To distract me from how busy I should be on my site - I have been planning a 90th Birthday Party - mine. True, I don't look 90, and indeed I'm not it is a joint thing: DH is 50 and I make up the difference. I got given an ice cream maker for Christmas so I am plotting a lovely buffet with a huge array of ice creams. I started with flavours in keeping with the 1950s theme and made brown bread ice cream and then went off piste.

So in return for GonzoMamas amazing vegan chocolate cake recipe here is my vegan ice cream.
BTW the best vegan chocolate I have found in the UK is Plamil, if you know a better source I would love to hear about it.

Mango and Coconut Ice cream

1 can of coconut milk
A few large spoons of coconut cream
Rice milk
Palm sugar (but ordinary brown sugar would work as well)
One ripe mango

Optional Crunch
Sugar (palm or soft brown)
Cashew nuts (or Boomerangs as Sarita would say)

Whisk the coconut milk in with the sugar then add the coconut milk. Stir in the rice milk slowly until the mixture is looser, similar to single cream. Add to the ice cream machine - if you don't have one pop into the freezer for about an hour. After an hour in the freezer or when the mixture in the ice machine is almost frozen add the chopped mango and stir it all in together.
While you were waiting for the ice cream to freeze put a large handful of cashew nuts into a food processor and blitz until they look like large crumbs. In a pan stir the cashew nut crumbs with a similar quantity of sugar and heat slowly until it starts to melt, slowly increasing the heat - but always keeping control so that you don't burn it. Keep stirring until it is all well combined then pour onto a lightly greased baking tray. Cool then crumble the nut brittle into small pieces.
Add to the ice cream once you have added the mango. This gives the ice cream a lovely crunch.
Eat, enjoy!

If you are out and about on a walk you will notice the elder trees are blossoming. Walking back across the fields with my hands full of elder flowers was glorious, smelling their sweet and slightly earth scent the whole way. I have added the recipe for Elderflower Cordial to my recipes - if you want to join me in making a toast to our wonderful hedgerows.

Summer Butterflies

2010-05-27T11:02:00.000+01:00

"Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you" Nathaniel Hawthorne

I remember yearning endless days of summer, the smell of fresh cut grass and the promise of fun and adventure. A childhood summer should be so ideal, time off school and no pressure or grown up concerns. Why is it that I also remember a feeling of hollowness; looking around to find something that was missing?

I can remember loads of happy events, many of them centred on my French exchange. She was known as 'The Cabbage' so her beauty, vitality and intelligence may have come as a surprise. Boundaries and structure could not confine her, she egged me on to become the seditious spirit that I had never really dared to be. She had the most supreme generosity of spirit to almost convince me that I was the beauty and we bonded into a powerful team. But ultimately we were just visitors into each others worlds and that hollowness was never far away.

As I lay on the grass this weekend I sighed and tried to remember that feeling. Strangely I could not quite access that void that had been my constant companion. Is it growing up (or worse growing old)? Either way I don't care, between the birdsong, the garden and my wonderful family I have finally found contentment.

One thing that makes this even more poignant is that after a few years of distance The Cabbage is coming over to see us. Even though you could probably say about us both that we 'have a great future behind us', she is embarking on a new phase of her life with a new man and new career projects (when she finds a job). My one hope for this summer is that contentment is truly contagious.

From Designer shoes to Muddy Boots

2010-04-13T10:44:00.000+01:00

I loved my flat in London - it was zone 1 and I could get cigarettes and a decent bottle of red at any time day or night. It was Victorian but its high ceilings were a perfect backdrop to my contemporary commissions - and as a curator in a contemporary craft gallery I had great assess to some great artists and designers. I could go out wearing my Parisian pink stetson or my electric blue leopard print trilby and appear stylish but unremarkable.

Then came the relationship - first the cigarettes went (blame that on the theatre - but that is a whole different story) then I - gasp - started to plan to to have the occasional night in. After a while I realised I had a problem - I had serious jaw ache. On closer consideration of my symptoms I realised that I had not stopped grinning for weeks - I was terminally happy.

I was an independent career woman with friends, a flat and a credit card and a relationship was not going to change me. But, my father was terminally ill and working for a gallery was not helping me support my Mum, with long hours and constant the private views in evenings and weekends. So, I had a great idea - why not do and MA. So, two weeks after the decision was made I was still working and enrolling onto a full time course in Arts Criticism.

So now the career was on hold and the independence was slipping away too. 'I will' soon became 'I do' and my happy ever after was waiting. Meanwhile, Matt's work gave us an offer we could not refuse. It was basically redundancy or be paid handsomely to move to Reading.

He brought home the Reading property pages and nonchalantly suggested I take a look. I scoured the thick tome, the only variant on the homes seemed to be the price as they all looked the same and I had no idea as to why one should cost more than another. I had passed Reading on the M4 but there my local knowledge stopped. Hidden amongst the endless smart, but dull, new houses was one tiny cottage that called out to me: 'buy me, or I will be bulldozed'. After one whole day of house hunting we put in the offer. True, it was not every one's cup of tea - the estate agent almost put on rubber gloves to get through the front door and she was assiduously careful not to brush against the walls for fear of contamination.

A few weeks later we were the proud owners of a tiny seventeenth century cottage. It was pretty but with no heating, hot water or inside loo or any other creature comforts that may have crept in during the twentieth century. Even walking up stairs was a hazard - the old lead electric wiring was short circuiting and if you stepped on certain stairs it would cause the hall light to flicker on.

As I ploughed on with my dissertation, however, the cottage offered a sanctuary away from my London social life. The worst distraction was a dove who sat atop of the chimney cooing and her call was amplified as it echoed down into my room.

Then we got the first of our animals and I was totally and contentedly trapped. I was getting used to stoking up a Rayburn all day for a few inches of bath water. I survived by using my imagination - I remembered a wonderful holiday on a croft in western Ireland and if I wallowed in the historical romance I could cope with the day to day trials .

Rather than rushing headlong into renovations we slowly, researching historical homes. Slowly we brought our faded beauty of a home back from the brink. I can no longer get away with the extravagant hats, but I do admire them as I pull on my muddy boots and beany when go to walk the dog. However, I have every intention of growing old disgracefully, to in a few years time when I am going grey I'll dye my hair bright blue, embarrass the kids, pick up those hats again and go out in style!

A Strange 40th Birthday...

2010-04-07T09:43:00.000+01:00

It started off so well, Sarita scrambled into bed early in the morning not clutching her customary teddy but a card that she had made for me then slept with so that she could give it to me first thing.

Next came a wonderful breakfast and presents (it was year of the silly but BRILLIANT handbag), and loads of lovely messages with friends calling me from around the world - then the day could begin...and my birthday end?

We decided to go up onto the Moor and I booked a pub for lunch - and all was well until a volley of strange comments and oversights. Sarita and I were playing and chatting when my Mum, the Mumster, told us to be quiet (from a lady who renders telephones unnecessary for all but long distance?). So we were quickly moved on and on and on.

As tension rises so does the humour. Sarita takes after her Dad and has the perfect comic timing - as were were crammed in the back of the car, lunch lurching inside us we went on and on and on. 'Up and down, up and down I don't think that Granny knows where we are going, Up and down over the hill....up and down.' Only Sarita could have highlighted the farce so well until the only audible signs were of the Mumster's grinding teeth and our muffled giggles.

Muffled titters turned into full on classroom giggles as the Mumster tried to be relaxed 'I don't mind where I drive - Richard will tell me where to go.' Er, we had just picked up Uncle Richard from the station he had stood up on a crowded train for two hours, he was doing a passable nodding dog impersonation and would have been happy to have been anywhere provided he did not have to contribute to any decisions - so the car sick, the toddler and the birthday girl were over ruled.

We did finally get a cafe - and after a few minutes we were on the move...NO! It was my birthday and I would finish my tea if I wanted to. If absolutely pushed I can out-strop the stroppy. We sat in stunned silence as I overruled the Mumster and finished my tea.

The journey back home was in a similar vein - with the giggles getting more hysterical as the Mumster's attempts at polite conversation misfired and every time resulted in low level insults about my intelligence, plans for my home and general outlook.

I did discover that Birthdays were important, as while mine was being ignored I was being detailed on how to organise the Mumster's 70th next year. Hubby was by now incensed as truly nothing had been organised or was going to be pulled from out of magical hat to acknowledge my 40th - and I was just totally perplexed.

The Mumster is not a nasty person, she has issues about the place of children. They best seen (in photos) and never heard. We even have to take all of Sarita's suppers to here house as she does not seem to find the need to feed children seriously - but then she once 'kindly' offered me a pot of unopened creme fraiche four months after the best before date as she bought it and did not like the stuff - so my catering for Sarita is probably for the best under the food hygiene circumstances.

Just as I sat down to write this I got a cheery phone call from her asking if I was upset with her. When I explained that she ignored my 40th, she did acknowledge (again cheerily) that yes, she had missed it but that so much was going on.

We have a second birthday planned to make up for the first misfire - the Mumster is just that, a complex misfiring blend of outrageous optimism, insensitivity and general surprise - like a human foot in mouth of a parent. There is nothing that I can do about her, I should not be surprised at my great age. There is a myth that if you can't beat them then join them - well that is bullshit. But, I can do my best to ensure that Sarita never writes a similar blog about me - you see I love her unconditionally, for all that she says and all that she does - in busy times and in quite, in pubs and at home.

I love being a Mum and I feel if the Mumster had ever allowed herself the time to explore motherhood and what it has to offer she may have discovered the real rewards, but that is her journey - but just don't expect me to take that journey over the Moor, post 'birthday' lunch, with her ever again!

Releasing to move forward

2010-03-24T10:46:00.000Z

Deep breathe and write - this is a loaded subject from Keep Calm Eat Cake for the Sleep is for the Weak workshop.

My earlier blog I talked about reading Oliver James' book about Families called appropriately The F*** You up. In the interests of being a diligent reader I have followed his steps to help me 're-write my script', as he would call it.

Okay, here goes... I am releasing my Mother's negative influence over me. I don't need to go on trying to impress every strong willed and superior women in the knowledge it will get me nowhere and will ultimately result in me getting upset.

It is not that I dislike my Mum, far from it I love her and she is an amazing woman - she just was an absent Mum in the early years and her encouragement was to point out my faults before I got hurt (er, there is logic in that, I'm sure). I was lucky that when she went off the change the world and do great things she left me with an amazing Nanny, who I am still really close to now. I never lacked love, hence coming to these conclusions is not too heartbreaking.

It is simple - you notice it and suddenly so much becomes apparent. Funny though, just writing it brings a tears to my eyes, but it is true and it is time to move on. Now I've written it down now, so there is no going back.

Bye bye heart ache and a few unhealthy friendships!

Hello Again

2010-03-18T13:55:00.000Z

I read Deer Baby's heart-breaking blog to inspire me to write to someone you have lost contact with explore what I would say. That blog was beautiful so it has inspired a reverential and alternative approach!

I can think of three people, Chou Chou, Jo and Jenny. Chou Chou was like a French sister, really like a sister. She is still on my horizon and we text occasionally. Jo was a good friend until she turned and, boy, was that nasty and Jenny was a work colleague and friend whose life just took her in another direction. What would I say to them?

Exactly! Blogging has taught me so much. If I am not listening I have nothing really to say. Time to stop filling the silences with noise, time to think rather than trying to create comfort with sounds (and in so doing make Bridget Jones seem coherent and considered) - time to listen. Yes, I am happy, I love my life, but what about you? I want to really hear about you, your life and where destiny has taken you.

This morning I was up for a 7.30 networking breakfast and it was truly rewarding. I did not push my wares at all I sat back and listened. I got back to my desk and asked to hear more. I can share with you the poem that I was offered.

The Hundred Languages Of Children
The child
is made of one hundred.
The child has
a hundred languages
a hundred hands
a hundred thoughts
a hundred ways of thinking
of playing, of speaking.
A hundred always a hundred
ways of listening
of marvelling, of loving
a hundred joys
for singing and understanding
a hundred worlds
to discover
a hundred worlds
to invent
a hundred worlds
to dream.
The child has
a hundred languages
(and a hundred hundred hundred more)
but they steal ninety-nine.
The school and the culture
separate the head from the body.
They tell the child:
to think without hands
to do without head
to listen and not to speak
to understand without joy
to love and to marvel
only at Easter and at Christmas.
They tell the child:
to discover the world already there
and of the hundred
they steal ninety-nine.
They tell the child:
that work and play
reality and fantasy
science and imagination
sky and earth
reason and dream
are things
that do not belong together.

And thus they tell the child
that the hundred is not there.
The child says:
No way. The hundred is there.

Loris Malaguzzi
(translated by Lella Gandini)

I should have listened to the warning

2010-03-10T08:08:00.000Z

For writing workshop 16: Under Pressure and Parallel Worlds inspired by New Day New Lesson's 'Document your Parents life story before it is too late'

I should have heeded the warning signs earlier, but I was young and life went on. The collective family memory seemed to rest with Great Uncle George, the token member of the older generation. Looking at family pictures we were always assured that if no one there know then Uncle George would, he was the sage.

I remember just one particular anecdote: after the war he was billeted to a large house in Berlin and the owner came to him, pleading with him that he and his men would not damage the house and be kind. She said how she had lots of English friends who could vouch for her good character - and when asked to name just one she replied with the name of my Grandmother, MB. Happy coincidence in the face of post war chaos! I seem to remember even then asking myself, who would remember all these things and more when George was gone.

Next there was Dagi, or Dagmar Von Lewinski to give her her full name. She had been MB's best friend and she had to England for her final days. I knew my Grandmother (MB) but everyone said how alike we were and so I had always felt a special bond with her, despite her having died before I was born. Dagi was a grand lady who had spent all her life flitting between countries, cutting a somewhat sad path; alone and struggling in adult life in a way that she could never have anticipated as a wealthy child in turn of the century Berlin.

I really got to know Dagi, just before she died, when she moved to Twickenham and I would do her shopping and visit her most weeks. We talked about all sorts of things, almost as if she recognised a spirit of MB in me. She seemed to pick up streams of conversation that she had started decades before with MB. We discussed ancient Greece, philosophy and random musings of a German in London.

Occasionally she dipped into her personal history. She had fled Berlin for Cairo, with her husband, when she was publicly opposed to Hitler. She talked about the deceit of her husband, spying back to Berlin on her activities there. The years had enabled her to talk about it in a matter of fact way, but nothing could disguise the fact that once trust is broken it is hard to ever build that bond again.

Her death came as a surprise, I was even out of the country for her funeral. As if to taunt me further, it was just as the film, 'The English Patient' came out. I knew that she was there in Cairo at the same time as it was set, she would have had the inner story on the intrigue and the real history of that era. I have never been interested in dates and wars and the patriarchal histories, I love the details, the people, what it would feel like to there - and that is what I lost with Dagi.

Since then there has been a roll call of deaths. I miss my Mum's parents horribly, although I did listen to certain key lessons. Grandpa never really talked, he listened - leaving the talking to Granny as she did it so well and so freely. She was a historian, teaching adult education classes until she was in her Eighties. She has a real gift for imparting knowledge, neither taking anything forgranted nor assuming that anything was beyond you. Hence, on meeting DH starting with 'I came from Glasgow, do you know where that is?' and still being able to softly chastise me when I got the date of some chairs in the stately home mis-dated by 60 years (I was amazed I was in the right century, but unabashed she continued about how the chair backs had some important function in the way that the ladies had ornate wigs of that decade). She managed to do this with charm but never superiority.

It is through Granny that I gained that delight in historical context; looking into paintings to see how the 'real' people dressed behind the bejewelled statesmen and woman, imagining the effect of the costumes on the way they moved or danced. How to forget about prices, market values or reputation but to look and enjoy. The lesson I still failed to learn was to ask the right questions of her while she was still here, such as what was it like being loosing her father when she was so young and then going to University in the days before it was the social norm for girls to do so.

As Susie says in 'Document your Parents life story before it is too late', you never know when life is going to be cut short. With my father a degenerative illness just gradually stole his power to communicate; to start with we thought he was just getting progressively eccentric with age, then we thought that he was just having difficulty explaining himself. Then it was too painfully clear that it was an illness that would even steal from his the capacity to breathe. Daddy told such vivid stories, about him and his mother and Aunts - who were larger than life (and as Great Aunt Gertrude reputedly had vital statistics 40'40'40' it follows that they had BIG characters). I remember that Gertrude's wartime letters resembled confetti after the censors had checked them and his epic trips to London, but what else did I forget?

So that leaves my Mum. Her family moved to Berlin after the war and only left during the Airlift. What must this have been like for a seven year old? This time I must listen to the warning, nobody lives for ever, but through stories their memory can. Watch this space for another blog about my mother's war time experiences.

And the Award goes to...

2010-03-06T14:33:00.001Z

Josie's blog Can you see me? made me think. Looking at the comments it is easy to see that I am not the only person who values her blogs and her amazing writing work shop. I started to consider other people who have touched my life and who will never really know how I have valued them.

Michael, my postman. He is the only postman who knows when I am out walking the dog and will go away, to do the rest of his round, and then come back a second time.

Gemma, at nursery. It was tough going back to work after Sarita was born (I thought could go back full time after only one board meeting away: WRONG) but Gemma made it easier. I went to visit some other nurseries and it was clear that they read and adhered to every bit of regulation but something was still missing. With Gemma, at the end of the day would greet us with a delighted smile, breathlessly telling us the amazing thing that Sarita had day. Yes, it was her job but it was clear that it was also much more, she loved it being there.

Debbie, at pre-school. Debbie has immense patience with kids (the parents rather bore her). Just watching her and her belief in the abilities the children is amazing - she does not talk down to them, but she does not tolerate anything but good behaviour. I have seen her quell a volcanic toddler mid flow without resorting to raising her voice. When my blood pressure rises and Sarita is doing a public display of her toddler temperament I just channel Debbie.

A Random Doctor. I never seen her before or since, but this lady was a healer. I went in to see why I was not conceived yet (one year on) and she somehow managed to manipulate the situation. I was becoming a bit disillusioned by conventional medicine and was expecting a patronising pat on the head followed by a letter to a consultant that would be answered sometime in the next few years - instead she made me cry. Let me explain, my Dad had died a while earlier, his funeral had been anything other than a private affair. I remember after the ceremony trying to take my coat off while a guest/mourner just wanted to make small talk with me and just trying, in vain, to have a few moments to myself. There was no time for mourning as after the very public funeral as I seemed to move onto finishing my Masters and our wedding (an irony of timings) at great speed. The Doctor seemed to know this and just asked me a few pointed and pertinent questions then just let me cry: I finally could sob about the death of my Dad. It did not help me conceive but it was such a healing moment. It helped me grieve properly which, in time, helped me move on.

The man with muscles - once when I was living in London I ordered a 1/4 tonne of lovely white pebbles for my tiny garden (a alternative to decking or paving) and the **** delivery arrived a few hours early and so just dumped in unceremoniously on my doorstep. I just looked down and in my wisdom thought that I should take the first sack in with me as I unlocked the door. It must have the sight of a strange girl in 1920s style tight tweed skirt and some ridiculous pony skin high heeled boots getting to grips with a leaden sack - but a total stranger stepped in a volunteered to help. He carried the whole lot through the house into the garden. As he approached the last few sacks I started to consider the possible quid pro quo nervously; but he dropped the last sack and with barely a wave off he went.

My saviour - the time when I was saved from possible death. How may times have Londoners heard 'Mind the Gap' well, this time I didn't! I raced down the steps, a little too fast, to catch the tube and went flying. Thank goodness for my womanly derriere, my feet and legs disappeared into the gap and my bottom wedged my on the platform between the train and the abyss. Oops! Suddenly I felt two arms under mine and with one great heave I was standing into the carriage safe and sound.
Here comes reality check: I had just extricated myself from a long term relationship and as I turned around I was alive, whole heartedly relieved and a little bit hopeful. Well, he saved me, I want to show my eternal gratitude BUT (on catching a glimpse at him) that was certainly going to be our last physical contact...ever.

People are amazing, random strangers can do the most extraordinary things. Just don't expect fairy tales!

Inspired Reading!*

2010-03-02T10:40:00.000Z

I swore that I would not read parenting manuals. There are so many amazing books in the world and I wanted to experience motherhood first hand rather than through a veil of dogma. Then I was challenged to read Gina Ford by someone declaring I was too much of a hippy to do so. Hippy? Moi? Just because I was planning to use reusable nappies! Anyway after that I really had to, and in the interest of balance I also read the Baby Whisperer too.

As a Mum-to-be with previous experience running to...well, holding a friend's baby the right way up...once...cautiously...So why did I want to throw these books across the room with such violence. After all, if I followed their sage advise by the minute, I would have a baby that slept through the night, fed perfectly and no doubt genuflect at the alter of these parenting Saints.

Then suddenly there was a book worth going to bed early for: Debra Jackson's Baby Wisdom. It looks at how different groups around the world raise their children for the first year as well as the history of looking after babies. It was fascinating and the antidote to prescriptive parenting. I could forget about looking at my maternal stop watch and dream of the Kalahari instead. Sure, it did have recommendations and to be a true acolyte of the approach I would have thrown away the cot and buggy. It may not be practical but it certainly was a stimulating read.

Also there is nothing like a contrast to help you view things more clearly - or for the philosophers amongst us I had found my dialectic!

Eureka! It is clear - we keep on reading advice until we find something that reinforces our own prejudice. If you need routine, stick with Gina... if you are a free spirit, go for Deborah.

Then enter @VivGroskop who recently wrote an amazing review of Nurtureshock, the latest book of parenting wisdom to be imported from the States. She recommended Oliver James, 'The F*** you up' amongst others as more credible alternatives.

This book is another compulsive read, it has found me turning on the light again after DH has started snoring. This morning (while the three of us had breakfast in bed together) I was reading a psychological profile of George W Bush based on the parenting he endured. Let's get the criticism out of the way, Oliver James is impressed by his own opinions, very impressed, and he is out to convince you beyond any doubt (reasonable or not) that not only is his theory right, but there is no room for deviation. All behaviour is 100% incontrovertibly nurture rather than nature - and if you don't agree then you should read his book again.

Does the negative out weigh the positive? No, way. I thoroughly recommend it. It is a serious eye opener! It is not aimed so much as a parenting manual but as a guide for all children, to understand the messages of our upbringing and how not to become over burdened by the negative messages that still subconsciously affect us.

The Oliver James book has clarified so much - we need to look at ourselves as people before we take the next step to thinking about how we behave as parents and, by extension, the skills we need to be a parent. Being a good parent is immeasurably helped by having a clear state of mind.

All I want for my little girl is to be happy and fulfilled, I need to be strong enough to guide her firmly but with true kindness, take the time to listen and the effort to empathise. Even though he may be too mighty to appreciate my gratitude, I wholeheartedly thank Oliver James for giving me a rewarding context for all other advice I receive, be it from books, blogs or Mummy friends.

* Inspired by Josie's blog about A Book that Changes your life

Amazon.co.uk Widgets

Dear Floor!*

2010-02-24T15:22:00.000Z

When I first saw you I knew that we had to live together. You were beautiful, simple and a modern take on classic flagstones. You took my breath away - and that was just your price.

We had been living with rough concrete for too long while we finished the rest of the renovations - sweeping resulted in clouds of dust and the same dingy, dusty appearance. When I saw you, you seemed to be the perfect antidote. Clean fresh limestone that could be cared for and would make my home sparkle.

You did not come cheap, but I wanted you and knew that I must follow my heart. I had to juggle, to re prioritise and to plead but I got you. You arrived and eventually you went down (when has anything ever happened quickly in this household).

There you were in pristine sparkling form for A's 21st, and somehow our young guest failed to appreciate your magnificence. D liberally pebble dashed you with his excess red wine (no details here, it was messy and I don't want to remind you of your baser moments).

I wonder if you think of all the other more glamorous homes that you could have found. In stead of a castle or designer condominium, I secured you for my tiny tumbledown seventeenth century cottage.

I do my best to keep you in the condition to which you would like to become accustomed, but no matter how often I mop an enthusiastic border collie is never going to appreciate the merits of a saintly sparkle. In fact the only sparkle that is constant is the glitter that misses S's craft desk and that you seem to cunningly save for me and hide from my sweeping.

I appreciate that you do your best to show off your natural good looks and sophistication. It must be a tough job and I am sure that you feel under appreciated. You have to believe me when I say that knowing that you are there, even under the veneer of puppy paw prints, I maintain my conviction that you are beautiful!

I may walk all over you (sorry, that line had to surface) but I still respect you.

*Inspired by http://itsasmallworldafterallfamily.wordpress.com/2010/02/18/a-letter-to-my-bed/ and the Sleep is for the Weak writing workshop

Toxin Awareness

2010-02-16T14:18:00.001Z

On the Ellen show, Sheryl Crow said that this is what caused her breast cancer.
It has been identified as the most common cause of the high levels of dioxin in breast cancer tissue.

Sheryl Crow's oncologist told her women should not drink bottled water that has been left in a car.
The heat reacts with the chemicals in the plastic of the bottle which releases dioxin into the water. Dioxin is a toxin increasingly found in breast cancer tissue. So please be careful and do not drink bottled water that has been left in a car.

Pass this on to all the women in your life. This information is the kind we need to know that just might save us! Use a stainless steel canteen or a glass bottle instead of plastic!

No plastic containers in microwave. No water bottles in freezer. No plastic wrap in microwave. A dioxin chemical causes cancer, especially breast cancer. Dioxins are highly poisonous to the cells of our bodies. Don't freeze your plastic bottles with water in them as this releases dioxins from the plastic. Recently, Edward Fujimoto , Wellness Program Manager at Castle Hospital, was on a TV program to explain this health hazard. He talked about dioxins and how bad they are for us. He said that we should not be heating our food in the microwave using plastic containers. This especially applies to foods that contain fat.
He said that the combination of fat, high heat and plastic releases dioxin into the body.
Instead, he recommends using glass, such as Corning Ware, Pyrex or ceramic containers for heating food. You get the same results, only without the dioxin. So, such things as T V dinners instant soups, etc., should be removed from the container and heated in something else.

Paper isn't bad but you don't know what is in the paper. It's just safer to use tempered glass, Corning Ware, etc.

He reminded us that a while ago some of the fast food restaurants moved away from the foam containers to paper. The dioxin problem is one of the reasons...

Also, he pointed out that plastic wrap, such as Saran wrap or Cling film, is just as dangerous when placed over foods to be cooked in the microwave. As the food is nuked, the highheat causes poisonous toxins to actually melt out of the plastic wrap and drip into the food. Cover food with a paper towel instead.

One year older, but am I wiser?

2010-02-16T12:39:00.001Z

It is hard to believe that I have been tweeting for almost a year. I was very dubious about the whole thing until I went to a seminar entitled 'Organic PR'; Twitter seemed a fairly harmless, even potentially mercenary, way to fill in the hours.

My preconceptions have undergone a major reversal. I developed a severe Twitter habit: Initially I needed to get my first ten followers, then thought that I would be happy when I got a hundred ... and then I grew up!

I am still in the throws of a Twitter affair - but it is so different from imagined. It is so much more about what I can hear, contribute towards and learn rather than how I can sell. I am not interested in numbers, but in the people behind the numbers.

I have also learnt about the personal rewards of blogging. Finding this 'Sleep is for the Weak' writing workshop has been a highlight. I had never imagined so many witty, thought provoking and times heart wrenching blogs were out there, so many inspired by this workshop.

I have had personal and professional ups and downs - when the site got amazing national press coverage, when the sales failed to flood in, when we shared amazing recipes, and when I miscarried, when rediscovered my love of books. Yes, the on-line community has been a catalyst, a comfort and an eye opener.

There is so much to do, so much to learn but if what I have learnt over the past year is anything to go by, I'll be sharing it with you!

Which Mole Waddles?

2010-02-02T11:05:00.000Z

Inspired by Raising my Boychick I thought I should untangle my conflicting female role models (or 'mole waddles' as I once said in a drunken debate - note to self: I have no head for alcohol since becoming a Mum).

Don't you just love a woman just responds to winning a Nobel prize with 'Oh, Christ'. Yes, Doris Lessing has balls to spare. This video of her hearing about the Nobel prize always raises a smile.

I love Doris Lessing, she has incisive intelligence, she fights for her ideals, bites the hands that feed her, she is rude, she is articulate and she is brilliant. She writes what she believes in and, boy, does she do it well!

Hold on, you may ask, didn't she abandon her kids when she left Southern Africa? Yes, and she has never apologised or sought to justify her decision. How can this woman be a role model? As a parent she definitely is not!

Let me explain my other role model. Frances is not famous, she does not aspire to be. She is just a friend of mine who I have not seen for a few years since she went to live in a deserted part of Kerry in rural Ireland. She is, however, my other role model. Just seeing her and her son together just made me realise how rewarding parenting could be.

What is so special about Frances as a Mum? Like Doris, she worked things out for herself. She read and she read, not baby manuals but about human development about psychology and about the things that underpin how we really work, then she got stuck in and enjoyed! I have never seen such joy at parenthood; she took the time to explore life afresh through her son's eyes.

My role models are conflicting and I don't aspire to fully emulate either. I do hope that I emulate their clarity and intelligence, I hope that I can blow raspberries in the face of convention when it runs counter to my family's best interests. I hope to have integrity at all times, to see beauty and to realise that there is always something to learn. Yes, I seem to have problems with conventional role models/ mole waddles but I can be inspired by, and celebrate, the diversity of amazing women out there (in my own way).

How do you feel about 40?

2010-01-27T13:05:00.000Z

Do you realise that you are going to be 40 in April?

Yes, that is what the diary says.

Does it bother you?

Not really, you are as old as the man you feel.

Well that makes you 50!

Okay, back track. I still feel as if I am embarking on adult life, but what I see in the mirror does indicate that I may be ageing. Make-up has become good manners rather than creative expression and the last time I visited a University I was shocked that they were letting in kids rather than contemporaries.

Do you mind being 40?

They say age is just a number, but being 40 has come as a bit of surprise.

By 40 weren't you meant to have achieved life's goals?

I remember saying to my first boss that I wanted to own a flat in London and a palace in Venice while running a large business.

Exactly what have you achieved?

I have a tumble down cottage that one day may be comfortable, I am setting up a business that has yet to break even and I can almost afford a holiday every other year. But, I am happy!

Er, happiness was not on your original wish list. Do you have any concerns?

Of course, I have concerns. I would love Sarita to have a brother or a sister but I am having a few miscarriage issues. Also I would love my business to be a huge success as I fundamentally believe in it.

Are you worried about failing on either of these counts?

Failure is quite an emotive word, besides both are a work in progress. I need a bit of TLC on the medical front, as I am fed up of feeling like shit, and some better time management skills on the business front; they are not critical factors in my happiness.

So how are you really feeling about turning 40?

Surprised that it has come around so quickly, but I think that with age I must be working out what really matters. This morning Sarita clambered into bed just a few minutes ahead of our alarm and we had a gentle family cuddle - that is worth more than a Palace in Venice to me! Let's start organising the party!

Why the Pretty Good Life

2010-01-27T09:04:00.000Z

Well, people always try to typecast you. I had a somewhat disastrous relationship with a PR agency - who after taking loads of my money said that unless Kate Moss designed a dress for my business I was doomed to failure and that I should give up. One of the random things that she did do was write a press release tangentially about the business that talked about me living the good life. I had to rewrite it when one magazine editor mentioned that she liked it but that the English was appalling and misleading. So here is that article that I rewrote as intro to my life. While you read it I'll take the dog for a walk and plot how I am going to complete the first workshop assignment.

Hurray its spring time! In my old life the seasons just passed in a blur as I rushed between the tube, the office and the pub or restaurants – now Spring has real meaning. It has been a gradual transition, Vogue and Elle Deco magazines of old have made way for ABC Magazine and seed catalogues.

Like many of my contemporaries we moved out of London to offer our planned family a better lifestyle – and we have embraced it with open arms. Remember the Good Life? It lives on in our tiny seventeenth century cottage by suburban Berkshire, with our rescue chickens roaming around the fruit trees, the terraced kitchen garden and herb beds.

Sarita loves the garden – she chatters to the chickens and collects the eggs with real pride. Not only can I make the perfect herb omelet when we have forgotten to do the shopping but Sarita can toddle off to harvest her own herbs, keeping her from under my feet in the pre-meal flourish while simultaneously giving the satisfaction of contributing. Home harvested vegetables are so much more appealing than their standard store bought equivalent; leafy vegetables become covetable 'chard-from-the-garden' and peas straight from the bush are a favourite summer snack. It is great to see her taking her friends to see 'her' vegetable patch, and watching the wide eyed appreciation of the sight of a cauliflower that is ready to be picked.

Everyday has been a game as we discover what Berkshire has to offer. We are not brave enough to go the whole hog and keep pigs, but we still do our bit to link farming with the table. We have found the most amazing farm shop in Arborfield with a children's petting farm. We can say hello to the Shetland pony, feed the greedy Pygmy goats and marvel at the size of the sows, all for free, before popping into the shop for our Sunday roast.

Living the ‘Good life’ has not come easy. When we moved in back in 2002 there was no heating, no hot water and no inside toilet. When our daughter, Sarita, was born we had no proper flooring and the kitchen was only half finished. We had a mammoth task to make the cottage comfortable especially when money has been tight,especially after I was made redundant To overcome the doom and gloom outlook I bought a border collie pup called Aston (when the aspirational Aston Martin disappeared off the shopping list we thought laterally).’ As the renovation work took over we even resorted to buying an old red Routemaster Bus for our garden to store our furniture and to give us extra living space.

If home is where the heart is, I was going to work from home doing something I could be passionate about. When Sarita was little I had made the most amazingly useful over sized poncho, or Rockin Hood, to counter the struggles of getting coats on and off. If I had made a great product when I could not find what I wanted how many Mums had similar inspiration, I wondered? By the same rationale, if I could turn waste ground into a terraced veg patch how difficult could it be to set up a website selling only great products by Mums, ideas that really work? The answer to that it VERY difficult – but a year later and I have set up MotherofInnovation.com (or MOIxx.com for short) with over 25 Mums (including myself) selling great products from the Wean Machine to a fantastic bag that doubles as a baby carrier and many, many things in between.

The site is aimed at inspirational Mums – not just those who want to shop but those who want to share our vision. The Good Life permeates the site. We have seasonal recipes, inspired by the garden and a range of free ideas for entertaining little ones. Often Sarita and I try out new recipes together for the site, or on a rainy day find out how to make our own play dough or modelling sand – turning a simple activity into an afternoon's worth of fun and sharing. After all, what do you remember about The Good Life? Laughter! That is what it all about.

Hello

2010-01-27T08:48:00.000Z

I have been blogging for a while, but mainly talking about setting up Mothers if Innovation. Two things have prompted me to set up another blog:

a. I have been inspired by The Sleep is for the Weak Writing Workshop. Josie aka @Porridgebrain has been running this workshop for a while and often when reading particularly poignant blogs I have seen how they have been inspired by Josie. I love to write but have never prioritised it in my weekly life.

b. I love my other blog Mother of Innovation but it has become a business tool linked into my Facebook fan page and twitter. This is not a cynical move, just the way things progressed and it now seems inappropriate to ramble on about anything too personal.

The aim of The Pretty Good Life is merely to explore writing and try and be honest at all times - and hopefully to write something worth reading in the meantime. I am sure that there is lots to learn, so please feel free to advise and steer me in this new challenge!

Thanks for reading,
Sarah
xx