Wednesday, 18 December 2013

I just want you to know...

You know what's funny? When I think about my kids I've realised that the way they entered this world has determined their characters a wee bit. Perhaps. 

Ollie was late, by 16 days. They had to practically stick a pack of c4 up there to get him out, and even then he had to be airlifted out the sunroof in a hurry. Thing is with olls is he's stubborn and strong willed, as many kids are I suppose. He just decided he liked it there so he stayed. Now? Now he nags you for something, he knows what he wants and he won't let it drop. He can be quiet, observant. I think he knows things but he doesn't let on that he knows things. He's impatient, bossy, all the things the oldest child should be. I like to think it will make him a great leader one day, that all that stubbornness is actually determination in child form. He's so good with his sister, he's helpful (when he wants to be) and he's lovely. Really lovely. He's my oldest, my firstborn, my beginning of a journey into motherhood, which has seen me really fit into the niche I was designed for.  I really love him, he's amazing. I just want you to know that. 


Now Ben. Ben is...in a completely different world. He's a character to say the least. There's not a day goes by when I don't roll my eyes to heaven and wonder where he's wandering off to now. After having an emergency c section on Ollie I was determined to have a normal birth on my second. Was all set until they discovered he was breech. Happy days. Another one to be ripped mercilessly from my insides. I tell him often about how he used to sit like a meer cat inside my tummy, peering around. He always had to be different, all the other kids were in the correct downward position. He loves hearing about it, always laughs his head off. Ben is a meanderer. He strolls through life and enjoys the journey. Surely one can't complain about that? Except he takes his sweet time about it (along with the hobgoblins and aliens which reside in his head) and sometimes it gets him into trouble. But he's just so funny and random, and quirky. Yes, definitely quirky. If you're going to see me hide my head in my hands at any of my children, it will absolutely be Ben. He's my second, the middle boy, the one who had to fit into a schedule undetermined by him.  And I really love him. I just want you to know that. 



Now Jasper is the birth I enjoy thinking about the most. Imagine the scene. 38 weeks pregnant, a c section booked (for 2 weeks time), I go out for a meal to TGI Fridays with some 'mum and toddler' friends I'm close with. I stand, for a wee, and feel a glug. (Sorry). Pause. Rush to the toilet. More glugs. (Really sorry). Panic. Friend pops in to see if I'm ok (she's had 5, she must know what's happening, this has never happened to me before...2 sections, remember?). Ring the hubby. He tells me to stop kidding around, couldn't be a worse time for us to have a baby. I leave in a mad frenzy (drama queen that I am had to announce it to the whole table, resulting in squeals, frantic texts to absent mums, mouths agape), and with a close friend....who is also heavily pregnant!!! (Also, a missed opportunity...why didn't I think to tell the staff, could've had free meals for a year...). Anyway, this little boy of mine, my youngest boy, my poppet, is always the first one awake in the house. He hates going to bed early and missing anything, he loves to be in the middle of the action. He's popular, crazy, and also quite stubborn. I think he decided he'd had enough of missing out on the action; he could hear his brothers having all the fun, why shouldn't he come out early to meet them? So c section number 3. He's hard working, sociable and is still young enough to give really great cuddles.  I really love him. I just want you to know that. 


Finally the girly. She's not so easy to read, she's still young, not even 2. Her birth was relatively straight forward, (c section number 4), though I had a slightly more difficult pregnancy. One thing I know though, she's been born into a fantastic family...she has 3 older brothers for goodness sake. When I was pregnant the first time I was desperate for the baby to be a boy. For many reasons, but one was so that if I ever had a girl, she would have an older brother. (I always wanted one). She has 3! Who knows if they will protect her from bullies and creepy blokes as people keep assuring me they'll do. Who knows if they will sneak her out of the house when she's 16 and drive her to a night club and keep an eye on her without us knowing. (I seriously hope not). Who knows if they will kidnap any future suitors and take him through an initiation process (strip him naked, blindfolded, leaving him in tescos at 2 in the morning). I don't know. All I know is she has 5 people looking out for her and that can't be too bad. She's sweet, dainty, and also stubborn. She's shy, likes to babble, and likes her independence. I really love her. I just want you to know that. I don't love her more than the boys because she's a girl. I love each of my children equally and unconditionally. 


Being a mum is the most amazing thing I've ever achieved. (And that's saying a lot from a girl who's been married to Fitch for as long as I have). 


Sunday, 15 December 2013

Scrooge

So this weekend I have sweated, smiled to the point of pain and swelled. (No, not my ankles, but swelled with pride). (No, not the bad sort of pride, the good sort.) (IS there a good sort?) (Don't know but my over-use of brackets is beginning to bug me too.)

Many years ago, my buddy Marcia was thrown in the deep end. Instead of waving at me as she drowned, she pulled me in with her and we drowned together. Except we didn't drown, we floated, and together we started doing amazing things. (Ok sounds a bit flaky, will drop the dodgy analogies, along with the brackets.) 


This is just a little thank you to her for trusting me and my crazy ideas (what WAS I thinking with that minstrel? Not very Dickensian...) and for letting me offload when things got too much. For putting me in my place when I moaned that I wasn't acting in it (at first, though things got rearranged half way through). For trusting me to direct a group of people (whose only experience of acting has been in this church). Flip me, what was she thinking? 

I have had a ball, there really is something thrilling about treading the boards. (Is that right, or am I mixing my idioms?) I'm proud of the cast and crew and proud of my mate Marcia who managed to find a buoyancy aid for us. Thank you to all who came and joined in our journey. (Now pass me the bucket, I need to vomit). (And not just because of the slushiness but also because of those damned brackets.)  




Sunday, 1 December 2013

Nonsense...

Why can't I ever think of quick, on the spot one-liners? 
When told by a complete stranger that I finally got lucky "fourth time round" (with regards to having a girl after 3 boys), why did I politely and respectfully reply with "oh we always wanted lots of boys, we're really rather happy" instead of "shut up you stupid woman, who sat on your face and squashed it?" 
Ok I know why I never said that, it's because it's unkind and mostly untrue. And I can't stand the idea of hurting someone's feelings even though they've hurt mine. But still...it would have been a fun story to tell. 

I was raised to be polite and kind to others, which is sometimes a pain in the cahoops. (I made that up, it doesn't mean anything, just a random word). Only when I feel justifiably angry do I speak my mind. 

Once, me and the hubby were driving into a car park and a lady of the (much) older generation got in our way and cut us up. We tutted and shook our heads (as one does), and finally parked once she had moved. Seconds later we experienced mild shock and surprise when she came and knocked on the window. 
"Just so you know I'm partially deaf so can lip read, and I am not a stupid cow." 
Me, incredulous...
"We never said you were, you stupid cow!" (Ok, I didn't say the stupid cow bit). 

I was shocked but assured her (politely) that we didn't say anything of the sort and she walked off. Then we laughed so I didn't get angry at all. Doesn't really prove my point, does it?

Ok I've got one. It's about a DVD but it's boring so I shan't tell it. But I got mad and told that woman what's what, and trust me, we got our £3.99 back, yes siree. 

Anyway, I'm too polite and maybe that's a good thing and maybe it's not. I just hope that when it comes to the things that counts (silly people telling me my gorgeous 3 boys are unlucky when they are right there, within earshot), that I can speak my mind respectfully and calmly.  The witty one-liners which would make me feel better are sure not to, though I particularly like the ones about fat mothers...




Bye.