Whoops a Daisy Angel

I have been to the village school’s Key Stage 1 Nativity play this week, despite the fact that it is a couple of children from Key Stage 2 with whom I work and the warning from one that “They’ll forget all their words and be rubbish. I don’t know why you’d bother when you don’t teach them.”

I love a Nativity play. For me, half the charm is the bits that go wrong! It was delightful, lots of youthful singing (always slightly tuneless don’t you think?) with a bit of acting and humour thrown in for good measure - and completely priceless of course!

I’ve performed in a few Nativity plays myself. One of my earliest memories is of walking down the school hall between rows of chairs wearing a sheet tunic and a dyed blue sheet headdress put on with elastic as though it were a hairband. Unfortunately I also remember being mortified because I had to hold hands with a boy who was so nervous at an early rehearsal that he’d wet himself and of course the rest of the class weren’t going to let either of us forget it! Better, was singing ‘We three kings’ with two others, each singing ‘our’ verse alone; I brought myrrh. And best, was playing the angel Gabriel in my last year at Primary, though I recall that learning the bible version of the words was tricky because they weren’t the same as the carol’s!

That was a very long time ago. More recent memories are of Youngest as a very proud Mary in a tableau as a Reception child at the end of a review by the rest of the Infant School - she didn't actually drop Jesus, he was saved by her grabbing a leg! Though she’s since been in a number of Christmas productions, she’s never been in a traditional Nativity, and neither has Eldest since she played a star (narrator) at her first Christmas in school.

Last night Youngest performed in Down the Rabbit Hole with her sixth form friends at school. She had devised the play from Alice in Wonderland; performed three minor roles; organised props and costumes; directed the production and was also selling the tickets. (It was a triumph though I say it as shouldn’t.)Then she went to an after show party and sleepover. She is exhausted!

It is her birthday on Monday so, as usual, we are hosting grandparents and godparents to a slap up lunch tomorrow: an opportunity to remember her day before Christmas sets in.

(While Blogger is at last letting me post it has decided to stop uploading photos. Hmph.)

Holiday

Things I have thought I should write about while I was away:

The second workshop

The logistics of dealing with ‘independent’ children

How glad I am I’m not a princess – giving birth is hard enough without the world watching

Where to visit on a trip to the Chinon area

How to walk a dog in Hampstead

Supporting your children’s productions

Birthday celebrations

The Ashes

I may come back to some of them, but I can knock off a couple now. The second workshop was much like the first, with three people coming again and two new customers. All seven said they would come again but none want to commit to weekly classes. Need to think about that!

Eldest came home just in time for our trip to France, even managing to wash some clothes needed for the holiday and/or the Edinburgh Fringe. We travelled via the Channel Tunnel staying in Le Mans en route to a little village near Chinon (above). We stayed on a property with three self catering cottages and a shared pool. We would recommend: 



a potter around Tours

Bastille night in Chinon




the gardens of Villandry

Wherever you of course, it is vital that you take Test Match Special with you at all times – we wouldn’t let Husband listen to any of the CDs we’d brought along for our holiday as we needed to know the score…

She will go to the ball!

There are eight teenagers, including Youngest, eating pizza and making a noise as I type. When invited, there was apparently a chorus of "Is there going to be a Barbie cake this year?" But of course! Luckily Eldest volunteered to ice it this year so I could enjoy cleaning....

Planning

It has been a week of collecting Youngest from school.
A GCSE in Drama requires ‘putting on a play’ – several actually. These are sometimes scripted, sometimes devised, but always planned, dressed and performed by varying groups of students in the Drama class. In turn this means ‘homework’ needs to be done by the group, usually after school, hence Mummy’s taxi has been busy in the lead up to yet another play.
The added complication this week is the three nightly performances of the school’s Christmas Concert. Youngest is in the choir as usual, but this year also performing with the Chamber Choir (Let it Snow and The Twelve Days of Christmas) and a year 11 ensemble of about 6 – Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s The Power of Love. All great fun and of course I’m delighted she’s taking part again, but it’s 6.30 until 10pm. The gap between drama rehearsals and the concert has been challenging in terms of supper and changing, and she’s getting more tired as the week goes on.
The weekend may provide some respite but she plans to make biscuits to freeze for decorating next weekend to give to her friends as Christmas gifts… Meanwhile some major tidying needs to occur if a party for ten, to celebrate her sixteenth birthday, is to happen next Friday – not to mention the visit of her grandparents and godparents on Sunday, the day itself.
We’ll get there, we always do, but poor planning on her parents’ part always adds to the challenge of this time of year!

(The photo shows the unflooded view from the bridge.)

Packed

Her bags were packed, she was ready to go.

The college house she’s in is old, the room modest, but there was a very bijou basin and a feature fireplace (if blocked off by a desk). There’s a large kitchen in the basement with an aged electric oven, so she may yet fulfill her plan to bake. The college laundry is also in her house’s basement: convenient. The scout was friendly.

The Principal gave the parents a reassuring lecture despite reminding us that our children are adults and it is with them that the college will deal, not us - though he did promise they’d be encouraged to talk to us!

Saying goodbye in her room she was a little tearful. We decided not to prolong our departure. I texted to let her know we were home and got a reply, so all is not lost. However she would not commit to when we might be allowed to visit again…

Onwards!

I’M STILL HERE! It’s just taken rather longer than I expected for Husband to set up the wireless network again after it crashed – yes, I do understand that our internet connection doesn’t NEED to be wireless, but it does if all your photos and files aren’t on the only computer with a connection. Hey ho, I’m back now and looking forward to catching up on what you’ve all been up to.


But, today, the only important thing going on in this house is a celebration: Eldest got three A* in Maths, Further Maths and French for her A levels and has thus secured a place at Oxford to read Maths.

I am smiling from ear to ear!

Being a Happy Mother

I may not be doing well at keeping an interesting and informative commentary on the life of this hausfrau, but I have had a busy week:

I have turned 10 sad, pilled cushion covers into 5 revamped ones for  Friendwithmatchinggirls for a small fee.

I have cleaned and tidied the bits of the house that show for a fete meeting on Friday and a supper party last night; making apple and walnut muffins for one and liver parfait, beetroot and orange soup, chocolate, chilli and walnut braised beef and an iced raspberry soufflé in a chocolate case for the other.

I have bought fabric for my new upholstery project, finished stripping back the chair so I could mend the springs and started the refurbishing task.


Oh, and I’ve promised the chair to Oldschoolfriend for the cost of the components. She has just embarked on a major upgrade of her house and is feeling down at the enormity of the disturbance to her home which is such that it makes relaxing at the end of the day impossible.

Today I have received cards from my girls and rather different rewards for being their mother: Youngest gave me two bars of chocolate that she’s rather hoping I’ll share and deigned to provide quality time by helping me to clean and tidy (her mess from) the room in which her Spanish Exchange student will be sleeping come Thursday. Eldest, on the other hand, has taken over the kitchen today. We were given eggy bread with fried apples followed by ginger and pear muffins for brunch; are shortly to be called to treacle soda bread and honey for tea and are to be treated this evening to a three course supper that she has been planning all week!

Consequences

Once upon a time I could pinpoint events in my life by where I was living. I can still do this with the past of course, just not with the last eight years. Every time we moved we reviewed our possessions and cleaned behind all the furniture… But that’s another story.

Because we were living in a particular house with metal framed windows that Mother used to seal up with sheets of plastic in the winter to provide crude double glazing, and I wasn’t yet at boarding school, I know that I must have been about ten. Our quarter had four bedrooms, two of them tiny, but, for the first time, we all had rooms of our own. My room contained a set of bunk beds, a small table and a single cupboard. It is this bed from which I famously leapt (I slept on the top) when, glancing up from my Puffin Post, which I was reading by the light on the landing, I saw an enormous spider dangling above me. My screams brought my parents to the rescue - though Father disappeared when he realized from what I needed rescuing!
I cannot tell you how long my parents were out, or where they had gone, but, one sunny day I produced the candles I had been given for Christmas, found the matches in the kitchen, and demonstrated lighting them in one of my younger brothers’ bedrooms. I have a sense of the awe we felt at such daring, we’d never been told not to light candles, but it had never previously occurred to us. Of course the smell of extinguished candle reached the nostrils of our parents as soon as they returned. The boys were sent to their rooms, and I, as the leader and chief culprit, was put over Father’s knee and spanked with the back of a hairbrush.
I was humiliated but not physically hurt. I have not been permanently scarred, but I certainly thought twice before leading those little boys into scrapes! I am quite certain that for my parents it wasn’t really about punishment but about just how frightened they were: the ‘what might have been’. The Consequences. I bear no grudge: he was absolutely right! The short, sharp shock of the spanking has stayed with me – though my parents claim to have forgotten the incident.
I cannot remember smacking either of my girls, but I do remember the odd slap around the nappy accompanied by a sharp ‘No!’ to warn of unacceptable behaviour –pinching or biting as I recall, usually of each other. I’d be surprised if they remember. Smacking is not something I have felt necessary, but then Eldest never showed Youngest where to find the matches and how to use them!

Playing Favourites

Would you admit to having a favourite child?

Both my girls’ godmothers claim I favour the other child so I’m hoping that means I’ve got it right, but how do I know?
I am currently engaged in trying to be proud when Youngest comes home to announce she’s got a B grade… I am not doing well.
I don’t want you to misunderstand! Youngest is an adorable child whose greatest need has always been to be regularly hugged. She is bright, articulate, beautiful and artistic. She is also surly, determined she is right, shockingly untidy and not interested in personal hygiene but likes make-up, nail varnish and perfume. At our first parent teacher meeting at Secondary school we were told that she had scored highly in aptitude tests and was thus expected to be in top sets with top target grades. Thus I can only conclude that, were she at either of her parents’ schools, she would receive reports that stated ‘could do better’. (She does not: her reports are glowing.)
She is not helped by her scary academic sister. Eldest is good at everything – well, if she isn’t good at it she doesn’t try. I believe I have previously recorded the tears over Art homework in Yr 7 because she couldn’t draw realistically (she draws wonderful cartoony concepts for birthday cards). Eldest is in her final year of school, engrossed in A levels, dance and baking. She is on target to achieve good grades and has received offers from all the universities to which she has applied to do Maths. She is pretty, getting better at showing affection and can join in amusing conversation when she chooses to leave her tidy room.
They are my pride and joy. They are my pleasure and my biggest worry. I love them both but recognize that I like different things about them. Inevitably I feel I have probably treated them differently, after all, I learned from the first one, and adapted my methods for the second! Each thinks I favour the other – Eldest’s activities get first dibs on my taxi and use of the front seat; Youngest doesn’t have to eat vegetables, or finish her main course in order to get pudding; and I tidy her room for her (when it all gets too much for me!)… All this is true and, I would argue, shows balance, though others might say I am being unreasonable. Certainly I am guilty of different expectations of their behaviour. Isn’t that what we do with everyone we meet? The relationship is an interactive one informed by previous interactions. I don’t suppose I treat anyone like anyone else. How about you?

Not natural

There has been a lot of talk on the radio this week about the National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence guidelines regarding caesarian sections. Apparently the number of instances of women having this major abdominal surgery continues to rise. There was discussion about emergency operations, but it was those opting for elective surgery that was causing the most debate. It would appear that much focus is on whether the guidelines will change anything or whether, actually, this is what happens any way: if you have been given the facts about both forms of delivery, and still ask for a Caesar, you will be given one – even if it is not thought you need one for a medical reason and despite the fact that they are more expensive than a vaginal delivery. Much comment included the view that such surgery might be ‘easier’.

This is the moment to declare an interest: Eldest’s birth was a complete nightmare resulting in me, no longer compos mentis, being knocked out and cut open to get out the baby who was also in difficulty. The doctors never did seem to know why it hadn’t happened naturally, and it frightened the life out of me. When Youngest was due I went into panic mode and the kind doctors said I should have a planned C-section. I felt less of a drama queen when they announced that if Eldest had been in the same place as Youngest there was no way she was ever going to be born without interference. Since I didn’t actually give birth naturally I don’t really know what my recovery would have been like, but it didn't feel 'easy'. I can only add that a planned Caesar is a great deal better than an emergency!


When news of yet another celebrity birth was announced followed by pictures of the slender after-baby figure out shopping I got to wondering about caesarians in a different way… It had never even crossed my mind that ‘too posh to push’ wasn’t really about not pushing, it was about having a tummy tuck without having to admit you’d had surgery.
At no point did anyone mention giving my stomach a helping hand in recovering by nipping out a bit of the excess. I’m assuming it’s not something you could have done on the NHS. I’ve always presumed it was just my complete failure to do any sufficient exercise that means there is a roll of stomach that never flattens out even when lying down. I’m working on forgiving myself for failure in this area as a result of this new insight.


I have never yet discussed birth with another woman without a frank exchange of experiences. So, at the risk of inviting a deluge, how was it for you?

Not quite Christmas

I went to Manchester on Wednesday for reasons explained further down the page. Despite decorations and signs to the contrary it turned out they weren't quite ready for Christmas!

Youngest, as predicted, had a ball in Spain last week.

She’s been taken all over Madrid, but also to Toledo and Segovia and indulged with a variety of gifts – from a calendar of teenage fairies through a variety of sweet treats to a copy of Don Quixote (in English) and a Peanuts sweatshirt. She was exhausted when collected on Friday at midnight but also too excited to go to bed until we’d been told more news than we could be expected to absorb. We didn’t see her ‘til lunchtime on Saturday. The gifts we sent went down well. The flapjack was a particular success: they want the recipe! We'll teach Spanishgirl to make it when she visits in March.


Eldest received a conditional offer from Nottingham and an invitation to Manchester for an interview last week. I was requested to accompany her (joy!) and Wednesday was the day we went up. We left the house at 7.25am and parked at the station in time for the train to Cheltenham Spa. There we waited for 40 minutes before getting on a train to Manchester arriving at midday. A hasty 20 minute walk across town took us to the Alan Turing Building for a buffet lunch (pastries with a variety of fillings, rather dry) where we were invited to listen to a lecture on the delights of studying Maths at said university plus a taster lecture. This was to be followed by a tour where parents would be taken off separately. We agreed I didn’t need to hear the lecture and had pretty much had a tour marching through from the station so I decanted at that point for a little retail therapy. Eldest, meanwhile, got on with the programme.
She and Husband had visited earlier in the year. The lecture was the same as the one she’d heard, though the taster was interesting (but perhaps not useful?). The tour was also the same and, as last time, failed to show them any accommodation: apparently you have to come on a different day for that… Her interview lasted little more than ten minutes and, apart from a Maths problem, consisted of a chap asking questions whose answers could have been found on her UCAS form. I hope she made a better impression on her interviewer than he did on her!
We met up again at 3.30 and pottered around the town centre before heading for the station and some supper. I reduced the cost of the day by booking a 7pm train home so we had a certain amount of hanging about to do. The same route back brought us to our front door just after 11pm. I had good company for my outing, we enjoyed the occasion, but I’m not at all convinced it was worth the cost or the time! When I described the day to Husband he declared me 'Mrs. Grumpy', I dispute this: the day was a novelty and the only other time I went to Manchester I saw no more than the station the inside of a taxi and a meeting room, so I enjoyed my exploration… but I do think the university got the plan wrong, and I am cross about the £130.

Relief not panic

Youngest will go to Madrid, Spain this afternoon. It’s an exchange through school: we will have a Spanish girl to stay in March. There ought to be worry and perhaps panic; instead there is only relief!


We had an active half-term and did nothing you could call useful: a blustery walk to Old Harry’s Rocks, a trip to see a ridiculous film (The Three Musketeers, at which Youngest cheered and the rest of us laughed derisively), trawled the charity shops for items to be turned into three costumes for the school play, read the newspaper, fought over the puzzles, tidied the garden after the builders and before the greenhouse turns up…
And this week has been busy: school, tidying for Swedish visitors, altering aforementioned garments to make a day dress, beachwear and an evening gown that look vaguely 1920s, a coffee morning spent filling Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes, upholstery (still taking out staples!), and finding suitably British presents to send to Spain. Not to mention that ballet is back of course and Youngest has been out babysitting two nights, had two after school rehearsals for said school play (The Boyfriend) and been to Rangers – a bonfire party last night.


Let’s face it: the family has been through two French Exchanges, went to Madrid earlier this year and Youngest went to Switzerland in the summer. Sending Youngest to Spain to an unknown family in somewhat of a rush is just a relief all round that she’s off! Except that this is Youngest: when we got in the car to go to school this morning she burst into tears, and again when I left her there. She managed some watery laughter in between, and she will be fine, she will love the experience and get on with the Spanish family regardless. She is good at making friends.


When she went to France Husband had to actually go to put her on the bus (as opposed to them leaving from school). Stood waiting to wave her off the mummies around him were discussing the poor girl in bits on the coach and how they wouldn’t be sending her, they’d be whisking her home at once, it was just too cruel… I told her this story on the way this morning, it made her laugh because she’d had a wonderful time. She’ll be fine, and she’s back in a week, hardly worth tidying her room!

Burning the candles at both ends

Husband was away this weekend. He went to Dorset with two of his brothers to do maintenance tasks.
Since we didn’t need to watch the rugby, we girls spent Saturday afternoon and early evening in front of the TV. We watched An American in Paris and the dancing was sublime. Rather less so in Strictly: we cringed and cheered. And we relished Dr. Who’s ‘season finale’; we’ve got to wait until Christmas for more! According to Youngest watching TV together counts as quality time and she didn’t think I should do the gardening instead.
Eldest went to an 18th birthday party that night (she took this cake*, which she made, to school to give to her friend on Friday), and Youngest went to The Big Gig, a Guide event, at Wembley Arena early Sunday morning. Despite the need to wake early (for a Sunday) I said I’d collect Eldest, and she didn’t demur so I think she was pleased not offended.
Did you see how I breezed over Eldest’s evening entertainment? Aren’t I the cool calm mother taking her Eldest’s trip to a party in a friend’s car so lightly even if I did chicken out of letting her come home the same way?

I went to boarding school. When I was at home I rarely went to anything that didn’t involve the whole family. At school I am afraid I was just as unlikely to be invited anywhere. But my first teenage party happened when I was 16. (As far as I know it was the only occasion on which I was offered drugs, but I was so dim I thought they were cigarettes and I was far too good to smoke!) I moved from my all girls’ school to do sixth form at a co-ed, and there we had regular school discos. So, at Eldest’s age I may not have been cool, but I had managed a bit of partying and a boyfriend or two (OK, one boyfriend). Not so my big girl. Since she stopped being of an age to have a children’s party, she has refused to hold her own parties and she has ceased to be invited anywhere.
I’m sure you will understand that this is a mixed blessing. As a general rule I do not need to worry about what she and her friends might be getting up to, nor have to plan and host suitable parties that won’t let her down. On the other hand: what’s wrong with her?! She’s pretty enough, dresses well, has a wonderfully cynical sense of humour… aah! And is clever! Does she put the boys off asking? Or maybe she really is just not bothered? She once said it was more interesting sorting out other people’s love lives than getting involved herself. I do hope she really believes that – this unkissed 16 year old was mortified!


“I’ve been to a proper big girl’s party, Mummy!” she said in very pleased tones.




*I don't know why the photo won't be the right way up and I've got bored with trying to sort it out - sorry!

a mixed report

It’s been an odd week.

Monday is my visiting school day, but this week was sports day so I didn’t have to listen to my children, just cheer for them.
Youngest is singing in the choir at her school’s musical Prom. They are celebrating 40 years on the site and so were performing songs and themes from those decades. On Wednesday evening we were treated to some terrific talents; an outstanding singer and a brilliant violin player shone, but the whole cast performing Stairway to Heaven was staggeringly good.
Eldest meanwhile is doing the rounds of the universities she is considering, and this week it was my turn to take her. We went yesterday and only just made it home in time to wave Youngest off to her prom and drink a cup of tea before rushing out again to Eldest’s tap lesson. A very full (but exciting) day.
When I considered my options for further education I was at boarding school, my parents were not to hand, and my school didn’t know what to suggest if you weren’t going to university to take up a profession. My plan to ‘save British industry’ resulted in the eventual discovery of The Clothing Institute and its course in Clothing Management at Manchester Poly or The London College of Fashion. I only visited LCF for my interview, choosing to remain in the south east to be near my parents – I had been away from home enough not to have that need to escape. So I can’t expect to have much influence on Eldest’s decision, can I? And, anyway, I don’t wish her choices to be my fault! But I can’t stop myself from minding what she chooses. We are trying to remain calm and helpful and to let her make her own decision.
To-day Husband has gone off to the New Forest for a Silver DofE weekend. The forecast is rain. Tonight is the 'last night of the proms' and the usual ballet lesson, but luckily they don’t clash, so my taxi isn’t double booked. Eldest and I will also hope to grace the neighbouring village fete with our presence this evening, but it may all be too much of a rush, and the forecast is rain. I’ve had a post-our-church-fete meeting this morning which was full of fascinating insight into the characters that make up our community… Much of it will have to remain strictly between four walls as it may be libelous; suffice it to say that we had a full vent of pent up emotion and all feel sure we can do better without the assistance of one or two of the more difficult helpers!
I feel a rather lazy girlie weekend coming on spent largely in bed with a book or in front of the telly, the forecast is rain after all, though we might just manage a trip to the pictures to look at something Husband would hate!

Bits and Bobs

I was allowed to watch Eldest’s last Grade 8 lesson last night – I don’t think I’ve been welcome since about Grade 4 and it was a huge pleasure! There are only three of them in the class and one was dancing at her school, so Traineedanceteacher’s father and I were the audience of a pretty exclusive show. Traineedanceteacher completed her A levels last year and is now training as indicated. Her dancing was beautiful and her ability to reach the floor in full splits and put her legs over her head was amazing. But Eldest could hold up her head with pride: she may not have achieved the extremes of her classmate, but her delivery of the steps, her expression of movement and grace were a delight for a proud mother to behold.

Youngest, meanwhile, is in the throws of organising a camping weekend for her and five littler guides. They will be camping in a garden in the village so there will be some grown-ups to hand if required, but the idea is for her to arrange the whole thing and make it through to Sunday with everyone in one piece. At 14 she doesn't drive so yesterday I helped collect tents, a chemical loo and a variety of other bits of camping equipment and deliver them to the site. I also have a hall (and a fridge) full of provisions. The theme is Just William and she plans to build dens, play outlaws in the woods and generally chill without adults! They’re cooking their own meals on a camp fire – bangers and baked potatoes one night and a veggie chilli the next. It’s ambitious, but she’s enthusiastic and believes it will be fun rather than any sort of problem… The forecast is promising.

I'd like to go and play in the garden, but I must make cake for a church fete meeting tomorrow and get ready for upholstery this afternoon. School holidays start this weekend so I may be away for a little while. How about you?

Now we are sixteen

Ready for the ballet exam I washed the ballet uniform, cleaned the ballet shoes, and washed and ironed the silk scarf. On the day I made her favorite lunch, glued her hair into the required bun and got her to the exam venue in good time. Then I left her to it, picking her up two hours later. She seemed calm.

When Eldest started out on this lark I’d have done all that, but I’d also have helped her dress, checked and double checked that we’d got everything she needed for the exam, stayed with her while she was prettified and unified with her exam companions (they always do exams in small groups because they have to dance together as well as doing individual choreographed dances, so they have to look the same but be distinguishable by different coloured ribbons: think rows of swans!), and kept her company while she waited for her turn. ‘We’ must have done Pre-Primary when she was 4 or 5. Not all schools do it as they only ‘fail’ if they refuse to dance, but her school felt it got them used to the drama of the thing. Since then there’s been Primary and Grades 1 to 7, Pre-Inter and Intermediate ballet exams and a footful of tap exams.
Yesterday, aged 16, she took Grade 8. She says it was OK but she won’t have got a distinction…


From my point of view (apart from getting used to her growing independence) this means that Eldest will be dropping two classes a week: there’s still tap and Advanced 1, but that’s 3 lessons on two nights instead of 5 classes on 4 nights. However proud I am of her dedication, it will be nice not to have to do so many ballet runs!
Just a note of caution: I'd rather do the taxi service than sit at home while she drives, but it's only a matter of time. (Head in hands at very thought of my baby driving.)

Twenty and happy

I have been married twenty years today. We met in April the year before and became pretty much inseparable (circumstances allowing). We had a couple of years living in different counties for work purposes so started up with a fairly even distribution of household chores and breadwinning. There is certainly an argument to be made for us both continuing to work. We’d probably have been materially richer, but we would have needed major childcare help and would have spent a greater part of our married life apart.

We lead a quiet, homey sort of life that suits us. We discovered early on that neither of us was good at a fight: we both sulk in a childish fashion. So while we have our disagreements we are usually able to see one another’s viewpoint and come to a compromise of some sort. (Our most famous row took place whilst driving down the M1 as to the pros and cons of Radio 1 versus Radio 3 – pop vs. classical for those of you without access – which resulted in us listening to Radio 4 (talk in many varieties). Husband still tunes into 3 when not listening to 5 Sport, but 4 is my permanent companion.)
When we met we earned similar salaries and had similar ambitions – I had intended to remain a career girl and had little interest in children. But I chose a guy in the Army, and I had picked an industry that was going to struggle to allow for the amount of movement we would have to tolerate for Husband’s career, and we both wanted children. As you know I am a hausfrau! It wasn’t what I planned, but both Mother and Grandmother set a fine example of supportive, fulfilled wife.
It can be a tough job! It can be lonely, you can feel unappreciated, particularly by your children, and the simple fact of the repetitive, never-endingness of housework can be tedious, BUT… I know that Husband could not get through life without me, that the girls are capable when necessary and present a polite and charming face to the world (and we love each other most of the time), and that housework can always wait - so long as there are clean clothes somewhere, and food in the fridge!


So, today I have flowers and a card, Husband will make scrambled eggs with smoked salmon for supper, there is a bottle of champagne in the fridge, the girls will eat pizza, and I’m off to find a recipe for some sort of puddingy chocolate cake that we can all enjoy. It might take me all day, or I might make some more marmalade, or play with my upholstery, or curl up with my wedding album; and I will do almost no chores!

What's in a name?

There were oodles of children at my cousin’s wedding, around 200 guests. The groom has a sister and the bride 3 siblings: all are married with children. So the exclusion of the cousins’ children was simply about numbers. No offence taken!

Noisy church service with lots of guitars and songs; Mother, Favourite Aunt and I enjoyed a good sing; our husbands were resigned to silent horror or surreptitious eye-rolling. The service was a great deal shorter than the previous wedding ceremony in this part of the family (I’m afraid they were taking bets).
My cousin is training for the church (following his father and our mutual grandfather and great grandfather), so every other person we met seemed to be church of some sort.
We were given tea and tiny sandwiches while the photographs were taken outside church which we all thought was a great idea - and Pimms while we stood waiting to meet the bridal party at the bride’s home. The garden had been cut down over the previous year to allow the erection of a marquee for the occasion, so there were (small) fruit trees inside it and a considerable slope to the ‘room’. It was imaginatively decorated with bunting and place settings made from a mismatched collection of tea cups and saucers, a sale style label with our names and a little muslin bag of sweeties. The bride and her mother had made the chocolate coloured bridesmaid dresses with royal blue sashes, co-ordinated male accessories and the similarly co-ordinating bunting. The dress was an off the shoulder scoop-necked, drop-waisted and trained fitted frock in lovely cream lace: very pretty!
Supper was extremely good, and generously wined. The speeches were generally good with plenty of laughter in amongst the obligatory thank-yous. We were clearly too old for the disco’s music and decided to call it a day at around ten.

My Church Uncle and Aunt are unhappy with the groom and bride’s decision to opt for a hyphenated combination of their surnames. We are a largely female line of the family and there are only two ‘boys’ with the necessary surname left. One is so far unmarried and nearly didn’t attend for fear that everyone would say “Your turn next”, and the other has this weekend ‘abandoned’ the name. My Family-Historian Uncle was understanding, but provided a list of example family names where this had happened before (some with hyphens, some with as many as 4 names strung together). It may be conventional to take your husbands name, and it is certainly the simplest solution, but it is definitely not the fashion… I expect, as I type, a spray of spluttering about female identity, independence and general disagreement!

Invitation

My brother says he won’t come to our cousin’s wedding because his children aren’t invited: isn’t part of the marriage service about the procreation of children, so why would you exclude them? (He was in full grumpy old man mode.)

Of course, they’re not excluded. Cousin’s nephew and niece are certainly attending, and there may well be others, but can he really be expected to include his six first cousins their 5 spouses and their 10 children? By not inviting the children, but inviting his uncles and aunts he has also removed the obvious child carers, Granny, and reduced at a stroke the number of guests needing entertaining. I am torn between the waste of an occasion when we can’t get the next generation together and my understanding of the need to keep the numbers down.
When we got married there were few children around (and some of them were my first cousins!) so they came, or didn’t, according to their parents. But I’m as guilty as the next woman of thinking hard who to invite to occasions… 'though I tend to include the children and restrict the invitations accordingly. More children mean fewer adults! I’d have been disappointed not to be asked at all, but when your parent is one of 4, and their mother was one of 5 you will understand that there is a large extended family out there!
So no outfits needed for my girls, and I’ve remodelled the dress I wore to the last wedding we went to (a very intimate affair that included the children of the people who attended), don’t know what to do about a hat. Now I like a hat but haven’t one to go with this outfit. Do I shop or go without? If it’s going to rain I’m better off without, and the high heels in a marquee may be a mistake.

Not easier, just different

Last night I went shopping for Quorn. I have never bought it before, nor knowingly eaten it. Not being a vegetarian it hasn't occurred to me to try such things. I don't really understand why you would want to eat something pretending to be meat if you don't approve of eating meat. Prior to owning a husband I was as likely to eat a vegetarian meal as not, mostly because I'm too lazy to cook for just me. So I ate cheese salads, baked beans, fried eggs, lots of salad...

Actually, as a student in Leeds, where I had an electric oven in my room, and a metre to feed with coins (15p for a bathful of hot water), I reduced suppers to a helping of cottage cheese with mango chutney, and a portion of uncooked flapjack (why wait?), followed by fruit, a glass of milk and plenty of chocolate. I seemed to survive!

These days I prepare family meals. This is yet another new phase. It is true that life with children doesn't get easier, just different. I no longer make a separate meal for two little people who cannot wait until Husband gets home. In those days my freezer was full of fish fingers which was pretty much all Eldest ate from when she was about 3 until secondary school. At a meeting with a doctor inspecting her health aged about 4 I was told that while her diet might be boring, it was perfectly balanced and I wasn't to worry about it. I didn't, but it reduced the offer I was prepared to make to Youngest because there's a limit to how many evening meals I was going to make. But they're older now, and can wait for Husband's appearance on week nights. We're only gradually broadening the range of food that Youngest will try - she's very partial to a bowl of pasta with grated cheese, so it is possible to feed her simply when she refuses point blank to eat a roasted vegetable lasagne/veggie chilli/ fish pie or whatever.

It remains true that Youngest likes a roast dinner and no vegetables, Eldest likes fish and chips and lots of fruit, and Husband likes joined up meat. I like most things but won't cook things I don't like (prawns), and I'm not keen to make 4 different meals!

I haven't resolved whether we will actually eat the Quorn. Eldest is taking GCSE Home Economics and is doing a project on Textured Vegetable Protein. She is to make a balanced meal incorporating TVP in school on Thursday, and that means for homework she needs to make sure the cobbled together recipe works in the pie dish that I must buy specially - apparently those I own won't do. I didn't do HE so it's a bit of a learning curve for me too: every dish she makes has to include a psycho motor skill, which basically means anything they make must include pastry, bread (in an hour and a half long lesson), a 'proper' sauce or cake making. This makes savoury dishes quite difficult! So a Quorn savoury pie with a cheese crust is to be produced. They also have to present everything so she'll be designing a menu card, looking for suitable table cloth, napkin, vase and flowers and any other prop she thinks might help. Getting to school on Thursdays on the school bus can be a challenge.

The practice session is tonight so I'd better go and buy that pie dish.