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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

#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.

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.

This year

I'm not sure about this year. There were highs and lows, as in every year, but the end of this year has clouded the first part for me. My goodbye to Fletch has been the hardest part emotionally. Well, if it's only a horse that has let you down, I hear you say - then count yourself very lucky indeed.

Yes he was only a horse. He was also my challenge, my reason to work (once the bills have been paid of course), he was my inspiration and a need. I feel very lost without him, bereft and lacking in purpose - but I couldn't take the risk any more, being thrown off a little too often than was safe.

We travelled a lot - discovered spring meadows in Greece, raved till sunrise in Ibiza, trekked with donkeys in Romania and visited good friends in Mallorca. Extremely lucky and proud to have shown our children foreign lands - apart from Ibiza of course, they can do that when they are 18, and I don't want to know. He and I worked hard and developed our careers, mine fulfilling me greatly - his not so.

My main memories of 2015 will be of fixing things. The house was repaired, damp penetrating every part, the cars were maintained, the cooker an ongoing 8-week nightmare, the boiler busting, the computers crashing and a royal blue carpet finally replaced. The house looks nice.

So what for 2016?

I really do not know. A new job for him could take us anywhere. A horse of my own? A writing career?

Certainly I hope to open up the world a little wider for the children. And drink more water.

Happy New Year all, may 2016 be a healthy and generous one.

Daffodils in December

Sick day

To be honest her cough does sound croupy, when she remembers to cough that is.

And of course I can't actually see the stomach ache or headache but apparently it's there, when she remembers.

Otherwise, after all the horses had been done and the shopping bought for the week, she curled up in a onesie after a hot shower. I had the overwhelming urge to cuddle her like a baby and we hugged and stroked for a very long time.

Sometimes you just need a day off.

Mallorca

It was a cheeky last minute trip to see my bezzie and her husband, to be introduced to the next part of their journey. Arriving in Spain I am always engulfed with a sense of overwhelming familiarity and longing - the language, the foods and the waft of cigarettes in the warm air. I always feel I can breathe a sigh of relief when I am with Spain again, a long lost friend, a second home.

Mallorca surprised me with its ease, its clean streets and fancy plazas. The port with its abundance of super-yachts being repaired during the winter, the palm trees lining the streets and the impressive cathedral of Palma all gave off a sense of wealth, pride and international flavour.

My bezzie lives in the campo, the countryside, surrounded by derelict farms and prickly pears. The lambs would bleat in the neighbouring fields, November being a perfectly reasonable time to be born. The geraniums still flowered, the horses wore no rugs and the kids even had a quick swim in the pool. It felt serene as we rode over the land, reins in one hand and talking idly about the last few months.

We walked the beaches devoid of tourists, running with the dog in the freshest of winds as kite surfers impressed us with their swoops in the air and jumps out of the waves.

And as well as the laughter, the partying, the wonderfully cheap-red-wine-by-the-5-litre-container and the paella which made us gasp at its prettiness - we felt like this could be home. The children revelled in trying their Spanish, they joyfully pulled the heads off the langostines and dug out the mussells from their shells, they ran barefoot with a dog and played with kittens, they tried the cheeses and meats at the market. They said they could live here too. 

As long as our cats could come to Mallorca as well.

Mama and daughter

I guess it was always a dream of mine before they were even conceived. To ride alongside my child.

I remember a time in Spain, in those years we lived in Seville before children, when desperate for some equine action I rode in the Donana National park. We were given wonderful Andalucian horses of free spirit and impeccable training to explore the wild nature of the landscape. We cantered with wide grins sharing the same language of love for horses. The owner of the stables took us out - his long, wavy gypsy hair flowing in sync with the horses mane. His 8 year old daughter accompanied us as well - and as we cantered along the dry and dusty tracks, the father and daughter would hold hands, singing a song about how much they loved each other.

I want that one day, I thought at the time.

And so I do.

The Blue Peter Badge

I knew what was in the envelope before she opened it, having accidentally mistaken the letter for something medical. I guess I shouldn't be opening her post any more, with A growing up so fast and nearly in double figures.

I was so excited for her, because in that envelope contained her dream, her nine-year-old dream - a Blue Peter Badge. She had given up hope of one arriving, deeming herself not good enough. Completely on her own, she volunteered to talk in assembly about horse riding - as the Blue Peter presenters were encouraging kids to inspire others into sport. She carefully collected pictures, rosettes, showed the school her hat and back protector as well as choosing a suitable hymn. She even made up a prayer thanking God for all the animals, especially horses and ponies, in the world - I would like to second that, cheers God, horses are pretty ace.

She practised her assembly plenty of times, she learned to speak clearly and passionately about her subject and then bundled all the bits of paper off to the BBC - hoping for a badge.

And when it came her joy was immense, she was proud and rightly so, she even believed that Radzi, Lindsey and Barney had personally written to her - I didn't have the heart to burst that one.

Well done A, you are fabulous! Believe in yourself a little more and see what you can achieve. Or as my Dad used to say:

"Effort in. Reward out!"

He was a man of few words.

Before work

Feed the cats
Feed the fish
Take him to the station
Breakfast for the kids
Make a packed lunch for one
Dinner money for the other
Empty the dishwasher
Test spellings
Check homework
Put a load of washing on
Start tumble dryer
Take food out of freezer for dinner
Remind child 1 to take dance kit to school, three times
Remind children to hurry up, teeth, face and hair - a thousand times
Do two hair styles - one plait, one pony tail
Put the recycling bins out
Take children to school
Take the car for a service and pick up a courtesy car

Before I go to 'work'.

Song of the Sea

It's the most beautiful film I have seen in a long while, and had I been alone I might have cried a lot more than did. I would have allowed the tears to really flow rather than hold them back, not wanting to scare my children or all the other people in the cinema.

The animation was just exquisite, magical, entrancing and entirely enthralling. I am sure it was lost on the children although they seemed happy enough when they left the cinema. My heart was heavy with loss, with bottled up feelings, with characters I wanted to meet, with storytellers and faeries. 

It was a truly incredible little film, heart warming and heart wrenching. For all ages, but especially mamas. 

Fringe benefits

She had been asking for weeks. Can I get a fringe? She had been practising in the mirror, making a fringe out of her pony tail, staring at herself coquettishly, this way and that - deciding that a fringe would suit her very well indeed.

It changed her face entirely, her mannerisms and the view of herself. My baby girl is growing up.

Cherries and chips

I cannot wait for the end of term.

It's been a whirlwind of sports day, the school performance, last assembly and leavers assembly (I missed both), open afternoon, school trips, school fundraisers, cake sale after bloody cake sale, school reports and a good old dose of the nits.

We squoze P's birthday in to all the chaos. An afternoon of cherry picking with friends amongst the idyllic Sussex countryside, followed by a pub meal and beers for us lot. It was a glorious summer evening, the kids sweaty with play and filth, and hyper with E-numbers and over stimulation. P enjoyed her day, her cake and presents. I allowed myself a brief look back at her entrance to the world, remembering the good bits and the funny bits - choosing to ignore the carnage.

Lovely little P, a big grown up seven year old now. Knowing your own mind and telling us how it is. I can't wait to have you back for six long, fun-filled, fabulous weeks when we can get to know each other again. A time when we can both realign ourselves with no rules restricting our discoveries.

I cannot wait for the end of term.