We are thankfully nearing the end of term. P is out of control, grouchy, cross and so sick of reading that she is desperate for the six week break. She doesn't know she is desperate for the summer holidays, I can see it. She has yet to reach 5 years old. I feel we need to reconnect, P and I, we have lost our way with each other. I have been battered by the system to conform, forcing her to read, do her homework and we even had an argument about socks this morning - she insisting that odd socks were OK, me getting wound up that they had to be the same. We all need some time to get grounded and rediscover what really matters. And of course odd socks doesn't matter one jot.
If we had reduced holidays for children I really think we are going to see some stressed, burnt out kids before they even start secondary school. They need this break so badly, the relative freedom from sitting on the carpet in a certain way, dressing like clones and repeating rote fashion their numbers or the days of the week.
Roll on the summer holidays, only 2 weeks to go, when we can paint our nails orange and wear sticker tattoos. Let's go to bed when it gets dark, have camp fires, eat sweets for breakfast, have long walks and big lie ins. Let's get to know each other again A and P.
I can't bloody wait.
Wednesday, 10 July 2013
Monday, 8 July 2013
Safari
The sun was blazing, it was only about nine in the morning but already the oppressive heat of the savannah was making my temples throb. A fine trickle of salty sweat passed my ear and down my cheek. The velvet on my crash helmet feeling very out of place. My skin prickled and my eyes squinted, for now we were on the plains where there was no shade from the thorn trees or baobabs. I was thirsty so reached into the saddle bag to find a cool drink. My eyes seemed to burn but the horses necks yet to break into a sweat, for they were used to this.
"We make long canter? Look out for jackal holes!" said the guide.
And we were off, allowing the horses to pick their way, watching herds of zebra and impala scatter as we approached. Four horses thundered in unison over the hard ground heading for the distance, there seemed to be no end. My legs were screaming, the muscles working hard to keep me balanced and forward out of the saddle, to help my horse. He was called Zulu. The froth began to appear on his neck and waft that intoxicating smell so addictive to horse-lovers. Maasai walked hundreds of head of cattle in the distance, always on the move to find better grazing. I grinned, E grinned, this was good, this was very good. I wanted to remember this forever.
Just as I thought my legs could not carry on, there in the distance was a table with a white linen cloth, being laid under the cool of an acacia tree. We slowed our horses to a walk, allowing them to stretch their necks and reach down. Was this really for us? A table of breakfast overlooking the plains of Africa. Tears rolled down and mixed with the sweat on my cheeks.
"Karibu!" the waiters called to us, someone took our horses. We were relieved to rid ourselves of the necessary hats, our hair stuck attractively to our skulls, soaked.
"Wash your hands here and take a seat!" said the waiter in a soothing African lilt.
"Asante!" I replied in my limited Swahili. And sat down to the best breakfast of my life.
"We make long canter? Look out for jackal holes!" said the guide.
And we were off, allowing the horses to pick their way, watching herds of zebra and impala scatter as we approached. Four horses thundered in unison over the hard ground heading for the distance, there seemed to be no end. My legs were screaming, the muscles working hard to keep me balanced and forward out of the saddle, to help my horse. He was called Zulu. The froth began to appear on his neck and waft that intoxicating smell so addictive to horse-lovers. Maasai walked hundreds of head of cattle in the distance, always on the move to find better grazing. I grinned, E grinned, this was good, this was very good. I wanted to remember this forever.
Just as I thought my legs could not carry on, there in the distance was a table with a white linen cloth, being laid under the cool of an acacia tree. We slowed our horses to a walk, allowing them to stretch their necks and reach down. Was this really for us? A table of breakfast overlooking the plains of Africa. Tears rolled down and mixed with the sweat on my cheeks.
"Karibu!" the waiters called to us, someone took our horses. We were relieved to rid ourselves of the necessary hats, our hair stuck attractively to our skulls, soaked.
"Wash your hands here and take a seat!" said the waiter in a soothing African lilt.
"Asante!" I replied in my limited Swahili. And sat down to the best breakfast of my life.
Monday, 1 July 2013
Camping 2013
I moaned when I saw the weather forecast this weekend; rain on Friday, dull on Saturday and the promise of a peek at the sun on Sunday. I had expected it this way because we were camping. Memories came metaphorically flooding back - of soggy tents, mouldy socks, damp sleeping bags and the ever present worry our tent was not going to hold this storm out.
It happened to be a fabulous weekend, of sunshine, meadows, marshmallows on sticks, flying kites and playing frisbee, walks to country pubs to sample the ciders and ales, bbq'd meat never tasted so fine - and nobody even put their socks on at night. It was a warm June weekend with even a few red shoulders and peeling noses. It was a heavenly bucolic weekend that childhood memories and those camping book photo shoots are made of. This years camping has healed the raw wounds of 2012 camping.
It happened to be a fabulous weekend, of sunshine, meadows, marshmallows on sticks, flying kites and playing frisbee, walks to country pubs to sample the ciders and ales, bbq'd meat never tasted so fine - and nobody even put their socks on at night. It was a warm June weekend with even a few red shoulders and peeling noses. It was a heavenly bucolic weekend that childhood memories and those camping book photo shoots are made of. This years camping has healed the raw wounds of 2012 camping.
Tent with a view
Walk to the pub
Through the corn
Toasted Tunnocks Teacakes
Grass filtered coffee
We are planning on going again, and soon, and extending our camping kit - part of the fun of camp sites is kit envy. So Summer 2013, you had better keep this performance up as we have all decided we like this under-canvas-camp-fire malarkey.
Monday, 24 June 2013
No man's land
It's a funny time, odd, not hilarious. I feel in limbo and at a loss. Everything is neither here nor there, one thing or another.
The weather is dull, not sunny and bright as it should be, just day after day of grey. The lettuces have simply stopped growing, the chilli plants died off and hardly any seeds have germinated at all. I try to persuade the children not to wear tights as it's June, the month of strawberries and long evenings, of school fêtes and Glastonbury festival, the time of roses and high teas as well as awesome shades and R&B. But I let them wear tights because it's cold.
It's not the end of term but it feels like it. The school show has been and gone, which was fabulous - the kids still singing the songs every morning with the dawn chorus. One day they will sleep in until 7am. The teaching has slacked off a bit, sports day will soon be upon us but really it feels like the holidays should start sooner - not in 4 weeks time.
Fletch is still lame. Well he's not, he is on the mend. Just not quite sound enough to gallop around and jump fences yet. A 'walk and trot' sort-of-well.
The allotment needs attention, to water or not to water? Decisions to be made whether the downpours are enough for the newly emergent runner beans or the wild flower meadow.
And me? I just don't know what to do. I am going around in circles chasing my tail wandering what is next. Change is in the air - and only I can force that.
The weather is dull, not sunny and bright as it should be, just day after day of grey. The lettuces have simply stopped growing, the chilli plants died off and hardly any seeds have germinated at all. I try to persuade the children not to wear tights as it's June, the month of strawberries and long evenings, of school fêtes and Glastonbury festival, the time of roses and high teas as well as awesome shades and R&B. But I let them wear tights because it's cold.
It's not the end of term but it feels like it. The school show has been and gone, which was fabulous - the kids still singing the songs every morning with the dawn chorus. One day they will sleep in until 7am. The teaching has slacked off a bit, sports day will soon be upon us but really it feels like the holidays should start sooner - not in 4 weeks time.
Fletch is still lame. Well he's not, he is on the mend. Just not quite sound enough to gallop around and jump fences yet. A 'walk and trot' sort-of-well.
The allotment needs attention, to water or not to water? Decisions to be made whether the downpours are enough for the newly emergent runner beans or the wild flower meadow.
And me? I just don't know what to do. I am going around in circles chasing my tail wandering what is next. Change is in the air - and only I can force that.
Thursday, 20 June 2013
Clothes hangers and taxi's
Standing outside the school gates waiting for A and P, which is always a slightly uncomfortable feeling, P comes charging out and dumps her cardi, her paintings, her book bag and sandwich box on me. I try to instil some manners and ask her to carry some of it herself, when a fellow mother laughs and says:
"Clothes hangers and taxi's - that's all we are!"
And for some reason this has stayed with me and given me a rather niggling feeling about motherhood. Am I really just a mother? We all know how important that job is, how precious it is and how wonderful it is being a parent, but what else am I?
The very same day, I was asked what I wanted to do when I was 16 years old - by a 16 year old making her exciting life decisions. It got me thinking and wondering.
When I was 16, I was going to save all the animals and all the people in the world. I was going to be a vet, and volunteer with VSO. I wanted to end apartheid, inequality, poverty and war. I travelled to Africa when I was 18 and this confirmed what I wanted to do, to help animals to help people. I started donating to Brooke Hospital when I was very young and found their practices in Luxor and Cairo whilst on a backpacking trip - the vet even let me look around and encouraged me to stay for an afternoon, watching all the horses and donkeys being brought in for treatment so that they could have more fruitful years working hard for their owners.
That's what I wanted to do, to make a difference.
Am I really just a clothes hanger and a taxi? Maybe something has to change.
"Clothes hangers and taxi's - that's all we are!"
And for some reason this has stayed with me and given me a rather niggling feeling about motherhood. Am I really just a mother? We all know how important that job is, how precious it is and how wonderful it is being a parent, but what else am I?
The very same day, I was asked what I wanted to do when I was 16 years old - by a 16 year old making her exciting life decisions. It got me thinking and wondering.
When I was 16, I was going to save all the animals and all the people in the world. I was going to be a vet, and volunteer with VSO. I wanted to end apartheid, inequality, poverty and war. I travelled to Africa when I was 18 and this confirmed what I wanted to do, to help animals to help people. I started donating to Brooke Hospital when I was very young and found their practices in Luxor and Cairo whilst on a backpacking trip - the vet even let me look around and encouraged me to stay for an afternoon, watching all the horses and donkeys being brought in for treatment so that they could have more fruitful years working hard for their owners.
That's what I wanted to do, to make a difference.
Am I really just a clothes hanger and a taxi? Maybe something has to change.
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