Goodbye!

I am completely and utterly exhausted, every cell in my body feels done in and my mind is heavy with emotion. We left Sussex last night after A and P's school play. There was a tsunami of tears, great torrents of kindness and even a song to wish us well in our Mallorcan life.

It was unbelievably overwhelming.

And as I sit here waiting to get on the flight to Palma, having re packed our bags and bought another one to accommodate our gifts...it is time to say Goodbye to Sussex Mama.

Thank you so much for reading and being a tiny bit interested in what I get up to. I hope you meet me on the other side to watch the Mediterranean journey unfold.

Mallorca Mama is up and running and will be added to as life unfurls and grows - in hopefully the most interesting way.

Last ride

We are experiencing a lot of 'lasts' as you can imagine. Saying goodbye to people and places, remembering the good times together and making plans for the future.

I think it was best I didn't tell the children that this was the last ride on their ponies. We will see them one more time for a cuddle and some carrots, but by then all our stuff will be on its way to Mallorca.

We will find other ponies on the island and Dexter and Louis will find new riders to teach. But it will be such a wrench, they have taught the girls so much and given me so much to smile about. Thank you, you cheeky ponies for enabling the kids to become confident little jockeys - and thank you for their last ride - you were both magnificent.

6 days to go

Louis putting up with A practising her aewo-dynamics!

We're going anyway

I don't know what this will mean for us. I don't know, and I don't think anyone know's how 'Brexit' will affect us all in the future.

I was scared on the morning of the result, scared for the country, the economy, the divide which has been caused, the racism which is back. I was completely shocked at the hate from both sides. I was also scared our Mallorcan dream could no longer be.

The day after the referendum no one could tell what the future would even vaguley look like. Would the 3 million EU immigrants to be sent home? Would the 2 million emigrants be sent back?

We are going anyway. Some say it will take 2 years to start the exit and up to 10 years to completely divorce from the EU.

By then we might have had enough, it might be time to try something new.

1 week and 4 days.

Wise children

We snuggled up together in the super-king size bed - me, little P and the two fattie catties. The house feels extraordinarily empty.

I flicked through my news feed at 7 o'clock this morning, barely awake and taking in the happenings of the night. P, interested in all things screen, watched and asked questions as I scrolled.

"Why are they singing? Why are there rainbow tears coming from that lady's eye? Where's Orlando?"

I explained the horrors, I hope in child-friendly terms, of the shooting in a gay nightclub. She sat up, looking pretty scared.

"So, the men were at a disco dancing and somebody shot them? Why?"

And before I could answer, she shouted:

"THEY SHOULD BAN GUNS!"

"Is there tourism in Paris?" she asked in earnest.

We talked about the romantic city, and the Eiffel Tower, the Mona Lisa and the River Seine.

"With guns?" She insisted.

"Ohhhh, terrorism, not tourism!"

So we had a little chat about the awful shootings in Paris recently and how we mustn't hate people different to us who maybe have different views. I explained that if someone was mean to her in school, she must try very hard not to be mean back. Just love and kindness. Love and kindness.

"There should be no wars then!" she exclaimed and up she got to clean her teeth before another day.

That went fast

Last time I posted it was still May.

Now we are half way through June. 3 weeks and 6 days until we leave, less than a month until we will be sitting in a very bare house waiting for our furniture to arrive. It will be 30 degrees outside but there will be a swimming pool to cool us down. The cats will not have yet arrived, waiting for their flights at Gatwick and keeping it all together I hope. They will have calmers and pheromones to help them through the experience.

I think I need some calmers and pheromones too.

My body is running on a permanent low-grade level of adrenaline, the lists have got smaller but new items are added daily. We are starting the 'lasts' and goodbyes. We said cheerio to our dear goldfish on Saturday and the girls did their last pony show on Sunday.

This is all so very real now. 3 weeks, 6 days and counting.

Best. Day. Ever.

There is nothing better than an inset day. It's a freebie, like winning the lottery or a 2 for 1 offer in the supermarket. Except when the sun shines and there are ponies, gerbils and kittens - then it's a through-the-roof brilliant day. We even had cheese straws which in my kids eyes counts as the Best. Day. Ever.

The blogs that never were

It was always going to be a little of a stretch to write a blog a day.

The weeks are now zooming past at an alarming speed, 5 weeks and 4 days until we leave. And during this time of turbulence there are peaks and troughs, assurance and insecurity and times so very special it seems ludicrous we are leaving. That always happens.

So in short, our week in titles:

Scream if you wanna go faster! - an afternoon of hilarity at the funfair, am sure a little wee escaped

Champagne and tequila - and white wine and mojitos, it was messy for his birthday

Coming 'special' again - ponies are the greatest levellers, learning to come last

Horse Boy - my next career, therapeutic riding for children with autism

Lidl - seriously, how cheap?

The Royal Mews - a glorious afternoon of pomp and ridiculousness, finding ponies in London

New hat - with go-faster stripes, silvery stars and a great big pom pom on top

Book club - the endings begin

Stress

The stress has arrived as we are 6 weeks and 5 days away from our move to Mallorca. Great bucket loads of nerves, jitters and adrenaline have finally come to to say 'Hello!' before we go. Lists are in the kitchen, there are lists on the fridge, sub-lists on the list, lists on my phone, lists in my head and my favourite - the list at 4am making me jolt wide awake.

And then there are the wobbles.

Are we doing the right thing? Is Mallorca too busy in the summer? Will I make friends? Will the children like it? Can we afford to do this? What job will I be able to get? What about friends and family we leave behind?

All I can do is chip away at those lists and keep talking about the wobbles, for in 7 weeks time we will be there. So will ALL our belongings including the cats. It is so very hard to see that reality when there is a mountain in between to climb.

But hopefully, once scaled, there will be an extraordinary view from the top.

Meltdown

We had 2 humdingers of a meltdown yesterday.

The first was over maths. That's to be expected now, maths and A just do not mix - like oil and water, no matter how hard you shake or how much you increase the pressure - they stubbornly refuse to get on. We have a book of maths problems, suitable for 9-10 year olds, and all I ask is 10 minutes a day, or when we remember - to have a little try.

Cue the harumphs. The moaning, the screaming, the tears, the stomping, the door slamming and yesterday, throwing her pencil across the room.

I try so hard to be patient, to explain it in a number of different ways, we use pony analogies often and still the penny does not drop. We will keep trying - and I will keep being the punch-bag.

The second tantrum of the day was in the evening. She had been stuck inside from 8.45am until 5pm, practising the school play after a whole day in the classroom. It's too much, they were both like coiled springs, balls of fiery anger and in need of a glass of water, some food and a serious run around the garden. After an hours rest I thought we should crack on with homework. A project about Mars.

She just does not seem to care about the state of her work. It was scribbled, drawn scrappily, spelt wrong, no full stops or capital letters and looked like something a 5 year old would do...I felt like a Victorian school teacher.

I think I have been too relaxed. She knows I pay little attention to education and do not place value on the current system. But she's behind, she cares little about her assignments and couldn't give two hoots if she comes last. She has zero interest in school work and finishes quickly to get outside, play ponies, ride ponies or play with her pony playmobil.

Why am I surprised? I was exactly the same at 10.

Freddie

I will miss Freddie when we go, really miss him.

Freddie is a Shetland. A fat, hairy pony of the naughty kind. He has forelock (a fringe for those of you not too pony orientated) that sticks out in crazy directions which won him a competition at Forelock Books. Freddie even writes his own blog each week, detailing his antics and pony thoughts. He is strong but kind, he his hilarious and infuriating, he is hairy and soft, but most of all he has the incredible ability to lift your mood even on the bluest of days.

Freddie should be available on the NHS.

A and P came out of school all wound up and grumpy. They hadn't eaten enough food at lunchtime, they hadn't drunk enough water, they had been stuck in all day due to the rain (I'm not sure when rain ever hurt anyone?) and their cheeks were a sweaty red from 30 odd kids all crammed in a classroom. A began worrying about her SATS exams for next year and that her homework about the planet Mars HAD to have a model to accompany it. Lazy bloody homework, model making - guess who's doing papier mache this weekend.

We needed to go and see Freddie. All of us.

And there he was running up and down his fence excited to see us. We stroked, fussed, hugged and groomed him. He even had his mane plaited.

We meandered through glorious bluebells and blossom confetti. We smelt the heady fragrances more pungent after the rain. We all agreed not to make a planet Mars model, but draw a picture instead - sod it. And we all started laughing, noticing, being in the wonderful moment that is Bedgebury forest with a Shetland.

And when Freddie's work was done for the day, he rewarded us with this hilarity. Turn up the volume and enjoy!

Badminton Horse Trials

He hates it when I watch horses on the TV. I can't do it quietly you see. There are shouts, squeals, tears, oooooohs and ahhhhhhhs at the enormous fences they jump. And he's not that keen on my running commentary all the way through.

What a good job he was away last night so that I could go to bed at 8pm and watch hours and hours of Badminton Horse Trials on the iplayer. A thrilling and iconic competition which made me miss Fletch terribly. I hardly slept for dreaming about attacking the Vicarage Vee or the impressive lake complex. My body was full of adrenaline and excitement for believing that one day I would do it again.

My time with horses is not over. I have just had a little break.

This is only the beginning.

Summer for one day

What a glorious day of sunshine, a real scorcher that required sun cream and a barbeque. And how lovely that it landed on a Sunday enabling us all to be together, to admire the tulips and have a game of swing ball. There really is nowhere like Sussex in the sunshine.

Hanging up my pelvis

An unexpected lump hit my throat after I waved goodbye to the last set of expectant parents yesterday. I had to take a sharp intake of breath in stages to prevent the tears from falling. I didn't expect to feel emotional after my last antenatal session as a teacher of birth and parenthood preparation classes, but I did.

It was a long and drawn out training to become an antenatal teacher, the course took me 4 years to complete as I tried to fit in essay writing around having a toddler and a baby. I discovered I had passion, real passion about women's birth experiences and wanted to be a small part of parents new journey, as they set out on the enormous path of having a baby.

It has been fun, it has been challenging, there have been many tears and there have been hundreds of adorable babies. I have met some weird and wonderful people along the way, all of whom have enriched my life enabling me to grow and learn.

Thank you to each and every one of you.

Fattie catties

It's traumatic for the cats going to the vets, the 15 minute drive sets their hearts racing and their paws sweating. Goodness knows how they will cope with the drive to Gatwick and a flight to Palma. Yes we are taking the cats with us.

It was just a booster jab today and the kindly vet checked the girls over and weighed them on the scales.

"Do they go outside?" the vet queried.

"Er no, not really," I replied "Are they very over-weight?"

"No, not at all, in fact they seem to have lost weight," he answered. "It's just that they are very soft, they have very little muscle," he said feeling their bellies.

"I don't want to offend you, how can I say this....they are couch potatoes!"

Well, yes I knew that. But how on earth do I get a cat to exercise? They are sleeping themselves to death.

After school

They used to have more variation in their hobbies - like swimming, dancing, gymnastics and the like. They have all slowly petered out or been given up. The 4-legged furry friends have taken over completely, slowly and surely turning my children into pony-mad kids, especially A - she dreams, draws, reads about and breathes horses. I think P just does it because we like it, she has yet to find her passion, being only 7 years old.

I take their jodhpurs, boots and hats to school, they play 'Guess the snack!' from the school gates to the car, scoff the food and get changed, so that when we arrive at the stables they are ready to run, apple core in hand - to greet Louis and Dexter.

They are so lucky to have two of the sweetest, cheekiest and cutest ponies to ride. I get just as much out of it as they do, grooming, cuddling, tacking up and running along side them as they trot up and down the country lanes every night after school.

What a healthy, wholesome childhood. Learning to take responsibility for such a noble animal, mucking out and mucking in - especially when the weather is less than glorious. I have never regretted a single moment or penny spent with the horses and intend to find some very fast when we land in Mallorca.

9 weeks and 4 days.

One a day

It's 9 weeks and 5 days until we leave.

The packing, the clearing, the painting, the selling, the chucking, the planning, the organising and the endless list-making has taken over my life. A move is an enormous thing. A move abroad is even bigger. A move abroad with a husband, 2 children and 2 cats is gargantuan. Some days it feels an impossible leap and others, a natural course.

The consequence being that SussexMama has been neglected, her enthusiastic start has dwindled to a couple of posts a month. So in celebrating all things Sussex I pledge to write a blog a day, a little something saying Thank You to her offerings and teachings.

Spring must have sprung, as the cat finally wanders into the garden after a winter by the fire

Tulips

Leaving

Leaving makes you appreciate the place in all its rose-tinted glory. There is no rain in the memories, or mud, or Saturdays full of endless homework and tantrums. There is no tedious housework, managing builders and daily trips to the train station. There is only love, blossom and floral bunting - like an article in Country Living magazine. I brought my children up in the heart of the Sussex countryside, and now we are leaving.

As I drove into the car park of the village hall, I sat for a few moments and saw my younger self taking A to preschool, P on my collapsed hip as she sucked her dummy furiously. I smile briefly at times past, of both children learning to play, to have friends, to run in school races and to try standing on the stage for their first Christmas nativity.

I drive past Bodium, Bedgebury and Batemens. The three B's which saved my sanity. A mornings wander with my babies and a needed coffee afterwards - there was half a day gone, now to fill the other half before he gets home. Life with two preschoolers seems so very, very far away.

The garden has plants I planted when we first arrived in Sussex - faithfully flowering every year, watching the children grow too, hoping not to have their heads knocked off with an over zealous football.

Nine years has passed in happiness (mainly happiness) - the formative years of my children's lives, and as we get ready to leave, I see the significance of it all.

The twelve week countdown to Mallorca begins and among the packing, the organising and the planning I am starting to say goodbye - goodbye to the memories of Sussex, both little and huge.

Saying it slowly and with thanks.

Pogo

I watched her wobble and try again. And again.

"Come here, let Mummy show you how it's done..."

I swaggered over to A and took the pogo stick from her, sure that I could do 49 bounces in a row, and more if I fancied.

I nearly damn-well broke my back! One bounce and I shot off into the daffodils and fell against the hard, concrete patio.

She wouldn't let me try again for fear of me seriously hurting myself. He wouldn't let me try either.

So that's it. I can no longer use a pogo stick. Or roller blades. I am losing my balance. I lost my nerve on a big ginger horse and I might as well take up knitting.

What happens when you get older? Do you really lose your balance and increase your fear? Do you become less naive and more aware of danger, and that holds you back?

When no one is looking, I am going to squirrel myself away in the garden and conquer that goddamn pogo stick to prove that I can still bounce. And then I will relearn the roller blades.

And jump horses over silly fences at great speed.

Goodbyes and Hello's

The countdown to Mallorca has started. Items are being recycled, sold or given away to loving homes. Skirting boards are being painted, tiles mended, bathrooms deep cleaned and toys debated over. We are renting our house out and taking minimal 'stuff' with us, a chance to welcome a new chapter without unnecessary mascots of the past.

The garden is being tidied for Spring. The bitter winter wind clings on and whips menacingly around my face as I dig and clear the detritus from the last few months. Goodbye Winter and Hello Spring. The bulbs are flourishing with the rare glimpses of sunshine, perennials awaken after their hibernation, peeping through the soil slowly and carefully as if to make sure the winter months have finally gone.

I said goodbye to my work colleagues, a group of strong and inspirational women whose kindness, knowledge and wisdom I will cherish. I have learnt so much working as a facilitator of antenatal classes, met some incredible people along the way and feel enormously privileged to have been a tiny part of couples journey to parenthood.

We are beginning to say goodbye to Sussex and goodbye to SussexMama. And it seems that only when you are preparing to leave something, a way of life, you realise how lovely it all was.

Dolly blue eye

Dolly stands listless in her stable, her head low and doesn't respond to my call. Her distended belly probably full of worms, and no food up until now.

Her teeth are ground down. Worn away from eating dirt and stones, trying to find food to survive. The vet said she was only two years old. She is lanky and hairy, black and white patchy, with her ribs showing through her furry coat.

She has no flight. Just a little bit of fight, for she eats and eats.

Keep eating little Dolly. There is love all around you now.

#RideForOlivia

It was a day of two sides. A day of two halves. A day which told me to be brave, which told me I should teach my girls to be brave.

But not too brave.

On International Women's Day I enjoyed a TED talk by Reshma Saujani. She spoke clearly that we should teach our girls not to be perfect, when they can let go of perfection and take risks they become brave and courageous. It was an interesting talk about how boys will have a go, take risks and put their hands up even if they are not sure of an answer - and girls, well, they usually have to get it 100% right before they are confident to speak out. P is like this, her crippling sense of perfection stops her from doing things, from drawing even, for fear of it not being good, perfect.

Right, I'm going to teach my children to be wild and free, to have a go, to make mistakes, to be imperfect and to take risks.

And then my newsfeed flooded with #RideForOlivia. Olivia was only 17 when she died on Sunday, she was riding her horse at a competition when the horse clipped a solid fence and fell on top of her. Her parents saw it happen.

I cannot imagine this horror - and as we were asked to post our favourite riding pictures as a tribute to Olivia with the hashtag #RideForOlivia, I wanted to never let my children near a horse again. I wanted to wrap them up and shield them from dangers and risks.

I am reminded of the joy A feels when she rides a pony, the risks she is willing to take, the difficulties she has overcome, the frustration, the falls, the tears and the laughter. And then I realise this is making her brave, courageous and willing to take risks for a passion. For that, my darling daughters, I am very proud.

Carving out a new life

The mud is less filthy and the rain less bothersome, knowing we are to leave for Mallorca very soon. The whining wind and grey, gritty drizzle failed to get me down this morning. The irony being that it is easier to live in the 'now' when a new life lays glistening up ahead. I can wait to move to Mallorca, because it will happen in it's own good time - but for now, I am enjoying the present as well as reflecting on all that has been good about our time in Sussex.

We have just returned from a week on the Balearic Isle, a week of appointments and school searching, of trying to find a house and dragging up Spanish I thought had long been forgotten. We travelled from East to West from South to nearly-North. We discovered mountains, snowy-white sands and gentle landscapes dotted with the leftover blossoming, almond trees. Lemons and oranges shone brightly, lambs and piglets scurried across fields and the warm stone of the traditional Mallorcan farmhouse left us feeling welcomed. As though this was the right place to be for the next few years.

We are just waiting to hear if the girls are to be accepted into the school of our choice, and whether the house we really love is to be our home

The Fly

"Why couldn't you have just opened the window?" she wailed, hot tears of real sadness and empathy rolling down her face.

Because flies are dirty darling, and it would have died outside anyway as it's freezing out there.

"Ohhhhh, why did he have to die Mummy, why couldn't we have caught the fly and made him a little house?" she sobbed, her chest convulsing, struggling to catch her breath.

P was distraught. He had got the fly exterminator, a tennis racket-shaped fly zapper and electrocuted the rogue fly which was looking pretty ill and lazy stuck to the kids bedroom wall.

I don't think he would want to live in a jam jar, I explained.

"We could have made him little windows and a door!" she reasoned, dramatically sobbing over the fly's demise all over again.

I soothed her and explained that flies don't have the same feelings as us. How did I know that? Good question.

"Being dead is horrible Mummy, it must have hurt the fly and now he's dead...." cue more streams of tears.

She had a point, I don't know what flies feel and I have no idea if being dead is OK or pretty boring. I did learn that we have to be more careful around sensitive, little P - and just let flies out of the window.

Ten

Ten years ago I pored over her moses basket, checking her breathing and hardly believing she was ours. And here to stay.

I did the same ten years later, watching over her and stroking her poorly forehead as she finally found sleep after a violent episode of vomiting - on her 10th birthday - how completely unfair.

I wonder where the next ten years will take her?

Happy birthday big girl, double figures forever. I love you very much, get better soon and we will celebrate all over again at the weekend.

At the races

On Monday, we went to the races just for a laugh. We were hoping to see Nobby, Mattie Batch and The Pwoducer - three celebrities of Internet fame. I'll try and explain.

For a while now, Saturday mornings have started in such a hilarious way by two jockeys on Facebook. We all look forward to the Wocket Woy and Batch videos so much that they have become a part of our weekend. Even he loves the hysterical antics of two grown men on their horses. And when an opportunity to own a teeny-tiny part of a racehorse came up, £45 for a bit of Nobby, we jumped at the chance and waited with anticipation as to when 'our' horse would run.

At 3.50 at Plumpton apparently. Except he didn't run because the ground was too wet. But we went anyway and giggled the whole afternoon.

To those of you that have never been racing, it's not how you imagine. There were no fancy hats or champagne, there were no owners dripping with money, there wasn't any glamour or beauty at all. In fact there weren't even any women there, and certainly none under 50. But my goodness it was fun. Having no idea what to do, how to bet or what to say - there was suddenly a plethora of older blokes willing to show us how it was done. We laughed together as they tipped us off, in between pints from plastic glasses and discarded fags on the floor. We exchanged horse knowledge and stories of huge wins, they told us how much they had riding on each horse, we jumped and screamed when ours looked like it was coming home a winner, we laughed with the geezers who laughed at us. She won, my sister - and I lost, picking the fallers and the ones who trotted home.

I can't wait to go again. And if Nobby runs, we will be cheering the loudest. £10 to win on Ya Hafed (Nobby) - our tiny part of the dream that is the Sport of Kings.

We're off to sunny, sunny Spain

Not just for a holiday this time.

For years we have fantasised about living abroad. Every Friday night after a week in the rat race, we would talk about how we could do it, over a couple of bottles of wine. The ideas seemed so real when all drunk and fuzzy but crashed with a reality every Saturday morning, when we realised that we were probably here for a very long time.

We discussed travelling the world for a year, we talked about buying a caravan and bumbling around Europe, road-schooling the kids - we considered volunteering as a family in places like Ecuador or Columbia.

Every holiday we would look around the place to see if we could live there. Romania too difficult, Cuba impossible, India too mad, France too French but Spain was always just right.

We had lived in Spain before, you see. In Seville, amongst the traditions and ferias - before children when life was different. We can speak the language, love the food and of course the weather is very appealing indeed.

Mallorca felt just right as soon as we landed, it helps that my bezzie lives there as well. We have plotted and schemed, taken the romance out of the move with excel spreadsheet after excel spreadsheet, I have contacted the schools, I have done the maths. We can do this.

We are going to live in Mallorca. We are going in July. We are staying for a year, but probably very much longer.

And yes, the cats are coming with us.

End of an era

It's days like yesterday I miss him most. Those sunny starts to the day, knowing that very soon I would be greeted by warm breath and a velvety nose. It has broken my heart that he is no longer in my life, and like any long relationship that ends, the grieving process takes a while.

Fletch has gone to someone braver and stronger than me. I am sure he will teach them to fly, to win ribbons and to sit tight. Although that was a lot of fun, what I really miss is the stroking, the grooming, the fussing, the touch and his gentle face. I really miss him an awful lot.

And just like when I used to break up with a boyfriend in my teenage years, when I would play records which reminded me of our good times - I have taken to looking at all the photographs of Fletch and I together. With tears rolling gently down my face, adding more puffiness and wrinkles to the already haggard visage, I remember our three years.

I know it will fade, all this hurt, the future is bright for me and my family.

But for now, the comforts of watching us over and over again is helping, hardly believing that it was me up there on that beautiful ginger horse.

Silence

I haven't written a post for a while, not because there is nothing to write about, rather there is a storm in my head. A loud, noisy mess which I am struggling to put in order, struggling to quieten down.

Huge changes are afoot, there is so much to consider. There just never seems to be any time to give the changes any proper thought. The children's demands are no less than when they were toddlers, they are just different but all consuming. He needs me to listen. The horses never stop poo-ing. The house is one problem after another which needs to be solved, let alone the never ending dust and washing piles. 

So to be able to have a moments calm, alone, is rare gift. To empty my head completely and revel in the moment is a scarce delight. And when the silence happens on a cold, but sunny day, my heart can join in the singing.

I took my pony for a walk. He is the size of a big dog. We walked, my pony and I, up the lanes and down the hills. He investigated the icy puddles, tapping them with his hooves. I did not hurry him or berate him for his inquisitiveness. We opened our lungs and ran side by side, smiling. The air was still, time hovered for a second, allowing us both to appreciate the deep beauty of the Kent countryside. Alone. 

And in silence.

The beginning of something new

The cloud of Christmas and New Years Eve has lifted. The fog of celebration has cleared giving me more clarity for the future. The cheese has been eaten, the last Mr Kipling mince pie scoffed and only a few pine needles remain to remind me of the festive season. Thank goodness. Such a mountain to climb at the end of the year - and now finally, I can see the view.

It's time to change. I mean really change. We have pondered on it for years. Either a big trip to exotic locations or maybe move abroad, to see if we like it.

Sussex is nice, it has served me well through the 8 years we have been here. It has provided my toddlers with forests and rock pools, with play groups and friends, Sussex has safely cosseted us from the news, from the terror and abuse. It has been a pleasant place to raise young kids, while my head was mush and I whizzed their meals into slushy dinners.

Except they are nearly 10 and 7 now. Tweens almost. A is nearly ready to enter the world of the mobile phone and popular culture.

So while they still like us, and want to come - I think that 2016 will be a year of great change and adventure.