Take on me, take me on

At four o'clock this morning I had a bit of an 'aha' moment.

Nope Morton Harket didn't appear at the foot of my bed, I always preferred Pal anyway...

It was simply this:

It's ok to be happy, it's very much allowed even for me.


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As snug as a....

Ladybird?






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The Princess and the Pea

Ok so Isobel isn’t a princess: ‘ I not a princess mummy, I Isobel F******’

And there isn’t a pea under mattress but I do seem to have been unable to tempt her away from her cot and into her ‘big girls bed’. Her ‘I not a baby mummy’ has been met with ‘so why do you sleep in a bay’s cot’ but this, it seems is just logic and we all know how easily dismissed logic can be.

I bought her a beautiful Iron day bed, picturing her lounging on it as she gets older.








I bought grobag bed linen so I could zip her in all cosy, hopefully replicating the snuggliness of her sleeping bags.

We have read stories on this bed every night since May; she has even volunteered to sleep in it, only to appear at the door five minutes later asking for her cot.

On the last visit to Grandma’s Isobel slept in a big girls bed; at Daddy’s he took down the travel cot and seemingly had no trouble tempting her into her bed.

Me, I thought I’d do that child centred laissez faire parenting thing of believing that maybe Isobel could choose for herself, when she was ready…

The cot came down yesterday evening.

Isobel was coaxed to sleep in her big girls bed by an attentive mummy answering all spurious requests that my ‘not a princess’ issued from upstairs…

The result?

Isobel slept in my bed with me.






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Heartbroken

No, my new romance hasn't yet been short lived, but it seems to be the last straw for another relationship in my life.

PD and I may have broken up two years ago, but our lives have been very much entangled as we have supported each other emotionally and financially he has more than just contributed to his daughter, he has afforded me flexibility.

So maybe I shouldn't even have looked for another guy, maybe I should I have ensured I was fully independent first, but I just didn't think like that.

And now the timing of this breath of fresh air and hope and happiness in my life, seems to have overnight blown away any semblance of a friendship with PD.

And that makes me sad, very sad.

My timing couldn't have been worse, and I can't help feeling perhaps I should wait until both PD and I are in a better place.

And that too would make me sad, very sad.


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Moving on?

As a single mum I think the most difficult thing I have had to do is dating.

I use 'have had to' very loosely because obviously I could quite simply stay single and fill my life with my daughter and girls nights out - actually that has served me pretty well.

Girlfriends urged me to sign up to Internet dating sites to meet men and probably most importantly get over PD.

Well Internet dating didn't really go to well, my heart wasn't in it and I never bothered to go on any dates - far too scary!

But as luck would have it, someone I already knew turned into a prospect, a surprising one, one I kind of fought because it seemed unlikely.

Now actually going on dates is relatively easy; PD has Isobel fairly regularly so great. Plenty of lead up, frock pondering and anticipation time.

But it's other things that are tricky.

When do you introduce new man to little girl, we are pretty much a package?

Overnight stays, I'm the kind of girl who runs out at 5am at the best of times, let alone when I have a daughter returning home at any minute.

When is it serious enough to tell PD; let's face it, it his little girl who will spending time with someone else.

How do I maintain the precious family dynamic that PD and I have battled to create?

When is the right time for that overnight stay to be allowed even though there is a possibility of three in a bed - not in a kinky way!

And most importantly, how do I not only prevent my heart from being broken but keep Isobel's intact too?

So far, for all this angst it seems to be worth it. I'm definitely smiling.


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OMG

Actually the title of this post is somewhat understated, it should read:

OH MY F*ING GOD!

You remember the little chap in Aint Half Hot Mum who used to shake his head going 'Goodness Gracious Me' well to fully appreciate the enormity of what I am describing he would have shaken his head so much it would have fallen off.

Isobel has just had the biggest tantrum I have ever seen, there is no scale big enough to measure it on.

She has just screamed for about 20 minutes.

Yes I do know that that is not good for health. Don't you think I would have stopped her if I could, well short of giving in of course.

What was it over? She wanted to go to bed in my bed; not her cot, not her big-girls-bed (a whole other post) but my bed.

I did everything: I walked away, I reasoned with her (yes I know but you have to try), I held her, I gave her space...

When she was ready I cuddled her and while she sobbed I talked about Friday in the way she had to me earlier:

Friday, Isobel will go to nursery and have her cornflakes. She'll play with her friends and have lunch. But, she won't have a sleep at nursery; mummy will come and pick her up and drive her in the car. Isobel will sleep in the car. Then we will go on the ferryboat and do some colouring. Then we will drive some more to go to Grandma's house and Grandma will give us a cuddle. Grandpa will come home from work and Jack will be on his bed. We will give Hayley her birthday present....

' *sob* I will have a bath *sob* at Grandmas while mummy has a shower *sob*'

And so ended the biggest tantrum n the world. Now she is in her cot reading Charlie Cook to her dinosaur.

I, on the other hand, am drinking a very nice, single malt in a measure that is directly proportional the size of the tantrum.

The family that hops together stays together

In the last 24 hours my daughter has:

Made me 'hop like a bunny' on the Platform at Richmond station;

Smile cheesily in a cafe (maybe it wasn't just Isobel who made me smile there);

And lay in bed with me as we coughed in harmony.

Well actually it went like this:

Me: Oh dear you have caught my cough

Isobel: No, mummy. I have my cough, you have your cough.

Isobel: Isobel's cough is LIKE mummy's cough.

Is it any wonder I find my self often having to be the baby while Isobel plays mummy.

Pinch and a punch

It's the first of November, October is over already - just in case you hadn't noticed.

October was quite a good month for me; it was a month for reconnected with peeps, for getting back in the swing of the social thing.

I have seen friends I hadn't seen for over a year; friends who have even published a book I didn't even know about, and this is someone I count amongst my dearest! Peeps have got married, pregnant and I have just been out of the loop. Too busy being a fruit loop I guess.

I'd stopped hosting lunches, stopped answering my phone and have even got out of the habit of answering emails (which reminds me I must reply as soon as I post this).

This month I have definitely been socially active and believe me, once I get past the anxiety, it feels good.

Let's face it any month that starts with a girly child free outing with my bestest friend has to be good.

Especially when it even ends with a hot date...

Happy Halloween

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Baba

'I not a baby mummy; I a big girl.'

Most of the time I do agree.








But, for just a few minutes after bathtime, she still is. Don't you agree?








(ok she will always be a baby to me)

Sorry

Sorry is a really small word and one that can be tossed around, often without thought, as a quick fix.

Recently, as I've mentioned before, Isobel has been a bit of a pickle and she has started apologising for her behaviour.

I often hear 'sorry mummy'.

Now, I know I should be pleased that she apologises and, that it is quite valid that I feel a little disappointed that it has been necessary (disappointed in both her and in me).


The thing is it actually gives me the fear. Maybe I feel like I am always apologising for being me; perhaps I remember that feeling if knowing that I have disappointed someone who I just want to love me; or maybe it's because I want Isobel to know my unconditional love.

Or maybe I do just want her to be good.






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My little ray of sunshine

This morning I was greeted by a grumpy little girl who could see no good in anything.

In fact I was even driven to ask 'what do you like today?'

The response to which was 'Daddy'.

So I pointed out the joyous news that she would see daddy this evening after nursery. But, even that wasn't quite good enough.

First it was 'Daddy come to our house, no go to daddy's house mummy please?'

When that was agreed, a new plan was contrived: 'we go cafe, westraunt, mummy daddy and mummy too. Please mummy. Okay. Okay mummy please?'

Now I didn't even know that she knew the word restaurant!

So we rung PD, who started his commute to the sound of his daughter requesting to dine out.

Luckily Isobel's idea of a restaurant is Pizza Express.










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Mummy calling Starship Enterprise

Every mother has moments when she wishes the ground would swallow her or better still that Scotty would beam her child up.

Every mother of a two year old has these moments twice as often.

Today I hosted, what used to be a regular, lunch. We had big news to celebrate: an engagement, a marriage and a baby on the way and I only had two couples as guests.

It was an opportunity for catching up and also a perfect time for one of those proud mummy moments when other people meet your angel mini-me and congratulate you on being such a fab parent that you have created a perfectly lovely little girl.

Well that was the plan.

Isobel had other ideas. She had just come back from PDs and she had only had half-hour nap and I had woken her up and she's two, and......

I can make excuses but she smacked little Sam on the Trampoline; she threw a ball at him when he was taking a turn on her bike, smacked him for .... I can't remember, my mind has blanked it out.

In the end Isobel was very eager for Sam to go home and he was equally pleased to have her hand him his shoes and dummy and wave bye bye. Actually they were so pleased to say good bye they kissed.

Our house

Has two floors: down-downstairs and up-downstairs.

And our garden has a big top:







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Mothers and daughters

Today is my Mummy's birthday. Isobel has been excited about Grandma's birthday, she has made a card and has so far resisted posting it as she wants to give it to her.

The relationship between a Mother and daughter has to be one of the most difficult in the world. I am incredibly close to my Mum but it's not always easy.

Maybe mothers and daughter's are too alike; they always know which buttons to press and often without meaning to can hurt the deepest.

I can talk to my Mummy about anything, I can run away home when life gets too much and I know she feels my hurt. I think we are even beginning to dress alike (she is copying me I hasten to add)

Happy Birthday Mummy, I love you...

But, I'm scared witless about having a daughter myself!

Out of the mouth of my babe

On Saturday my daughter called me a 'slag'.

Now I'm the first to admit that, in my past, I have had my slutty moments but I would never be described as a slag!

I (like to) think it was a slip of the tongue as PD was trying to teach her that term of affection he uses for me and his mum: old bag....

But I really can't fathom how she got to slag!


Oh, as I typed that I can: it's yet another one of PDs pet names for me.

(I promise he doesn't mean it, he is just misguided and sometimes it's wishful thinking in his part!)


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Birthday resolution

I believe birthday resolutions should always involve a positive action, not be something you will no longer do but something you will.

So, this year I resolve to believe a little more.

I will believe in myself, in love and in happy ever afters.

Birthday Boxing Day

Today is the day after my birthday and I should be up and at 'em, putting my best foot forward and brimming with positive resolutions for the next year.

But, my feet ache, my head is throbbing, my ears are ringing, my mouth feels like a badgers bottom (not that I have ever licked one -honest),and my diet red ambulance is in the fridge downstairs which is too far away.






Yes, I had a great night!

And I am giving thanks that I do not have a two year old bouncing on my head.

I'll make resolutions after my shower when my drinkers self loathing fades.

Things my daughter has said to me this week

Waking up time mummy. Stretch. Come on Mummy stretch.


Zabracadabra make mummy's hands dispear; zabra mummy's hands better again.
Zabrabcabra make Mummy's face dispear; ooh not like that mummy.
zabra mummy pretty again; Oh.


(me: have you played nicely today?) No, I fight Emily.


I don't like that dress mummy, nooo mummy. *points to dress I'M wearing*


So looking forward to her being a teenager - not

The End

Yes, yes I know that sounds awfully dramatic, but I do like a bit of drama.

It's just that this last weekend has had me thinking a lot about ends while trying to focus on the continuings.

Sunday was the fifth anniversary of the loss of my beloved James, an end that could not be more definite, the curtain call from which there is no encore. A lesson that love cannot conquer cancer but that it can allow you to hold on to memories, sad and happy, memories that show you have lived.

I was home for the weekend to celebrate (in advance) my birthday and to ensure I had enough love to wrap myself in when the worst of the memories come flooding back. There is always a lot of love when surround by my family, long may that continue.

Then on Monday I was literally stopped in my tracks by a sign that something else has come to an end. I drove down the lane to 5 High, my true north, to find the gates closed and padlocked. Indeed I didn't park in the yard as I always have. No-one lives there any more.

More memories: memories of the old wooden gates that were there when a studio formed a bridge over the top; the small yale locked door you unlocked to go in and open the big wooden gates; falling down the drain when standing behind someone unlocking the little door, my poetry book still tells the tale - I was clutching it at the time; catching the bumper of my Renault on the wooden gates as I reversed up the lane with Grandad yelling 'left-hand down' etc. - directions that never helped but served to fluster, he was a navigator and I can't tell left from right....

I guess the memories continue even when a part of a life ends.