Children's 'Firsts' (1) ...

I’ve been thinking about the joys that my daughter has in store for her in the coming months and years as her son grows and learns. 

First up, I thought about the smell of a new born baby’s skin.  It is an aroma which cannot be replicated by any other means.  Next I thought about that overwhelming moment when you fall in love with your offspring.  It can hit you like a truck, or it can sneak up on you and whack you over the head, but sure as God made little green apples, one day you realise that you would truly die for this little person.

I thought about the first smile, the first tooth, the first words and all of those ‘firsts’ about which the wonder never fades, whether it is your first child or the seventh.

There is one ‘first’ however, that never fails to crease me up.  One day whilst walking along a peaceful, leafy path on our way to town, my eldest son looked up at me from his innocent three-year-old face and said, ‘Mummy, is Bollocks a naughty word?’ ...

One of those weeks...

Blogging seems to be hard this week.  There are so many things going on around me and in the wider sense, around the country, that my mind is pretty frazzled.

This is one of the consequences of having Fibromyalgia and ‘information overload’ – the brain just turns tail and hides somewhere out of reach till it all dies down a bit!  I wish I knew where it hides, then I could go hide with it cos at the moment, the rest of me is still trying to deal with four kids on summer break, interviews for the two men in the house, middle daughter in a flap, teen daughter’s hair dye issues, coughs – the sort that bark all through the house all night, Lego and oh soooo much more!

I have four gallons of wine waiting to be bottled and another seven waiting to be racked, none of which I have the energy for, and in the grand scheme of things, it’s probably not that important.

On Monday, I baked – all day.  We filled eight tins with various muffins, cookies and flapjacks and when I say tins – I mean the tins that your Roses come in for Christmas.

Tuesday, spent trying to recover from Monday, did too much, felt like poo.  Middle son had a call to say that he had an interview on Thursday, so it was all hands on decks to find his certificates and show him how to press his suit.

Wednesday was to be a study day – the morning in the library and then the afternoon with Middle Daughter before hitting the home run to be back in time to host my weekly Healing Circle online.

Thursday – recovering from Wednesday.  Had a migraine and felt sick all day, read nothing, wrote nothing, did nothing – period!

And today, well today I am trying to get to grips with some software but my head is still all muzzy from the week and the weather.  Perhaps I’ll go lie down for a while... but I have to make a shopping list for the weekly shop. 

Dear Husband will be hot footing it home from work tonight to do the regular supermarket run.  Two trolleys, one man, one woman and a list!  We will fight them in the aisles, we will fight them at the checkouts, we will do battle with carrier bags and boxes.  When we reach the hallowed peace of home again, we will do battle with cupboards, fridge and freezers.  We’ll get it all put away just in time to flake out in front of the TV for an hour with luck, before one or both of us fall asleep.

And so we come to the weekend...  is there any wonder this is my first blog post this week?

For A Child In My Heart... A Poem

Today, I thought I would share with you something that I wrote earlier this year.  I know many women have miscarriages, or lost a child at a very young age.  Even though those children have gone before they got here, they are still in our hearts forever.  This was written with that in mind.

Sarah

A little angel walks with me

everywhere I go.

She's there in times of sadness,

and times when I don't know.

She strokes my hair to comfort

and gives a guiding hand.

I miss her every single day,

but some won't understand.

Although I cannot see her,

she's still a part of me.

Her brothers feel her presence,

our little absentee.

I'm sure the cat can see her -

he won't sit on her chair.

One day I'll see my Angel,

till then, she knows I care.

©Ruth Raymer 2011

Fear Lasts... a lifetime

Today we ventured out for a few hours of respite from decorating ‘teen daughter’s’ bedroom.  It was to be a leisurely wander around a car-boot sale; no smells of paint fumes, no dust around the whole house, just a bit of time to recoup our energies and relax.

How wrong can you be!  One minute we were walking along a row of stalls, minding our own business, next minute my stomach is in knots.  I feel like I am going to throw up on the spot.  I am shaking and tearful.

What happened you ask?

A fight broke out.  Not what you expect to see on a Saturday morning boot sale.  I think what caught me off my guard more than anything though, was the sound of a woman screaming and going to, getting stuck in with the attacker and then in between the two men who were fighting.

I used to be very accustomed to the feelings this provoked in me – the fear and panic, the utter revulsion, however in the last twenty-seven years or so I have not had to deal with the like.  I had put to the back of my mind the effects of seeing my parents trying to physically harm one another.  I had lain to rest the sounds of them shouting and screaming.

This morning, it all came roaring back, like a freight train running into my chest. I forgot to breathe for a moment or two.  Then I heard the sounds of a child crying and even now, some hours later, I’m not sure if that was a child at the boot sale or the child in my memory.  I managed to regain my outward composure and carried on moving, albeit slowly.  All I wanted was to make sure that my kids were ok.

I never, ever want them to feel what I felt today.  I will move heaven and earth to protect them from the terror that is domestic violence.  Most of all, I want to thank my husband who quietly and without question, understood my need to gather our kids close to me for a while.

Tomorrow we’ll try a walk in the woods – should be more peaceful at least!

A Severe Case of Granny-itis...

A strange affliction that runs in families?

Well it is in a way, because I definitely caught it from my one and only grandson.  November last year – that’s when I really came down with Granny-itis in a big way.  I had been incubating the germs for a while – or at least my daughter had.  This time last year, my daughter had just found out that she was in the family way, as my Grandad would have said.  It was a bit of a shock for her, as most women these days know well before they reach 20 weeks, trust my daughter to be different!   Thirteen weeks later – another shock – dear daughter’s dear son put in an early appearance and was born about six weeks early.

I had long since stopped fawning over beautiful baby clothes in shops, but now, I’m at it again.  I see adverts for baby things from all over the place and I can’t quite resist having a look.  My house has been invaded by high-chairs and cots.  The toy box that we had banished to the older kids bedrooms has snuck its way back into the living room again, full of primary-coloured plastic whatnots and teddies that jingle and sing.  The fish tank is covered in sticky little hand prints where dear grandson has been talking to the fish.

Do I care?  Of course I do! 

I am loving every minute, in fact, I highly recommend a good dose of Granny-itis, it’s the best thing in the world next to gazing at your own newborn.

Come back soon for more about Granny-itis, and what it can mean for your heart and your home.

Teen Getaway

Just another Monday morning in a family household... except another one of my babies has taken that first step toward flying the nest.  My teen son has gone on holiday without us!

It’s not a bad thing, and I have to keep telling myself that.  At seventeen years old, we have brought him up able to cook and care for himself properly. But... and it’s a huge but, he is still one of my babies and it is so hard to let go.

So for the next week I shall have sleepless nights thinking about all the things that could go wrong, but safe in the knowledge that these are just the dream-time thoughts of an over-protective mother who needs to let go.  Will they get the train ok? (Forgot to mention – he is going with his twenty something brother.)  Will the rain have washed out the camp site before they get there?  Will the tent hold up to the rain?  Will they burn the tent down cooking the spoils of their fishing trips?  Will they get horribly drunk and vomit in their sleep?  Will they have enough food?  Will they get the right train home again?

The answer to all of these questions is immaterial of course. 

They will have a fantastic holiday.  I imagine they will have their moments of madness and several cock-ups along the way too, but isn’t that how we all learned to get along in the world?

I’ve told them to enjoy their holiday and that I don’t expect a phone call every night (yeah!).  And that, dear readers is why I’m here on my computer at stupid o’clock in the morning, writing this blog post.  Ahh! the joys of motherhood!