Dark times

At midday today our power went off.  I was expecting it to be off for a short time.......not for ten and a half hours.  The kids weren't bothered at all.  It was a lovely evening and they played outside until the rain set in at about 6 o'clock.  I wasn't bothered either until Bryony decided it was bedtime and needed a bottle of warm milk immediately.  Having chopped some kindling (not one of my better skills.....poor patio) I lit the woodburner and warmed her bottle on there.  It took twenty minutes longer than she would have liked but patience is a virtue right?

By the time Mark called from his hotel room in Lincoln I had made the kids some hot chocolate on the woodburner, read countless Mr Men books by candlelight and was down to the very last dregs of my candle collection - who wants their home to smell like 'sparkling cinnamon'?  He probably thought that I was a bit off with him but I wasn't really interested in where he was meeting his colleagues for supper because here we were doing 101 ways with a saucepan and woodburning stove!

Once Jamie and Carys had gone to bed I was considering how fortunate I am.  Not once did either of them moan about not being able to watch television, access the internet or play on the wii.  Then I chuckled again about the conversation I had with Carys just before she went to bed.

Carys:  "We have only lived in Great Oak for five months and we've had loads of power cuts that have lasted forever, been flooded in three times, flooded out once and had brown, muddy water for a whole weekend."
Me:  "Lots of people have had power cuts this year because of the really strong winds and lots of people couldn't get to places because of flood water, it wasn't only Great Oak that had storms.  Its lovely here.  The Red Kites are back, there's a pair of Blue Tits in the nesting box and the weather is much improved.  Great Oak is a great place to live."
Carys:  "ummmm.....maybe, but until I see at least two baby Blue Tits I'm just going to call it Oak."

TIME for a new car?

To cut a long story short, about 2 years ago when my people carrier looked like it would fail its MOT  we decided to get rid of it and buy a brand new little something.  I only use my car for ferrying kids around on week days so we decided on small engine, low fuel consumption, very little tax and minimal insurance.  I ended up with a ‘cocktail green’ Chevrolet Spark.  Cocktail green…..I know, sounds disgusting.  Well, for the record, it is disgusting.  I really wanted baby pink to match my snooker cue and ukulele but Mark said he would look silly enough driving one of them as it was without it being pink.  We never agree on colour; picking paint is always problematic, even choosing a bottle of wine is a bloody nightmare……I like red, he prefers rosé - our neighbours call him Rose. 

This doesn't quite show how disgusting the colour really is!

 

Anyway, as long as it gets me from A to B then make, model nor colour bothered me really.  Cars aren’t really that important to me, in fact, I neglect mine and have recently driven it through flood water that was far too deep.  Carl (Roses favourite neighbour) drives a white, top of the range BMW.  It is sparkly clean all of the time and I am beginning to wonder how he gets home because he certainly doesn’t drive through the same shite as I do.  During the recent weather, he would walk to the main road measuring the depth of any water he came across.  His rule, anything above 5 inches is too deep to drive through so stay at home.  My rule, if you get wet feet it was too deep to drive through.  Gadgets don’t excite me either.  Sat Nav is highly irritating, I’m not a fan of talking to people on the phone so Bluetooth is pretty irrelevant and heated seats make it feel as though you’ve wet yourself.  That said, having bought a brand new car in 2012 I really did expect it to have a clock!

 

Admittedly I am a little obsessed with time and did once accuse a friend, who was late for coffee, of wasting ten minutes of my life.  Slight over reaction she said.  May be so, I thought, but we never get those wasted minutes back do we?  At first I thought I was being a bit ‘girly’ and spent a number of days searching for the clock.  I kept thinking it must be on the radio display somewhere.  In the end I gave in and mentioned that I couldn’t fine the clock.  “Of course it’s got a clock, you are just being bloody dopey” said Mark who promptly marched out to the car with a smug look on his face.  About half an hour passed before he came back in and declared “I can’t find a clock either but it must have one.  It was a reasonably cheap car but not that cheap”.  The following day I rang the dealer and spoke to Gary who had sold us the car:

 

Me:  “I’m probably missing something really obvious but I can’t find the clock”

Gary:  “Your car hasn’t got a clock Mrs Williams”
Me:  “It’s 2012, how can a car not have a clock?”
Gary:  “Mrs Williams, you said you didn’t want anything fancy”
Me:  “Indeed I did but I didn’t think having a clock was fancy”
Gary:  “Your car has things that other small (he meant cheap) cars wouldn’t have”
Me:  “Like what?...a steering wheel and a rear view mirror”
Gary:  “You’ve got central locking and an air conditioned glove box”
Me:  “What use is an air conditioned glove box”
Gary:  “It’s handy to keep your lunch in when out and about”
Me:  “Very true….only I won’t know when its lunch time as I haven’t got a clock.

 

Gary made note of my observations and would pass them on to the relevant department.  He also advised me that Halfords would be able to provide me with a stick on clock for about fifteen quid before quickly hanging up.

 

Today, almost two years later, Gary called:

 

Gary:  “Good afternoon Mrs Williams, Gary from Newtown Motors here”
Me:  “Is it afternoon, I was wondering what time of day it was”
Gary:  “You still haven’t got over the clock thing then”
Me:  “No, and if you’ve called to tell me that my car is nearly two years old and that I should think about changing it then don’t bother because I’m not interested”
Gary:  “I was ringing to inform you that we won’t be importing anymore Chevrolets as of last Friday but that your service plan and warranty is still valid and parts will remain readily available in the UK”
Me:  “So, what you are saying is that you will no longer be selling clockless cars”
Gary:  “I suppose I am Mrs Williams”
Me:  “About bloody TIME”

No more babies!

Not long after Bryony was born we decided that our family was complete so yesterday, as a birthday treat, Mark had a vasectomy.  Although I don’t regret our decision, I do feel a little sad.  Mark says he feels sad too but surely there is a big difference between feeling sad and feeling sorry for yourself? 

Mark said it’s the end of a chapter, I said it’s the beginning of a new one.  Either way, there definitely won’t be any more babies in this family.  At 32 I consider myself young to have three children, especially as Jamie is nearing 9 years of age, so to close a door on that part of my life seems a little drastic but to move on with Mark and three children is very exciting if not a little daunting.  A friend recently said that I was made for babies – fair comment I thought, but I’m not made for any more.  I also had a brief conversation with a friend about how we sometimes hide behind the things that we are good at.  I’ve put everything into being a mum and like to think that I’m doing ok at it and I suppose that when the kids are still young then I’m still Mummy.  What will I do when they find their own independence? 

Life is hectic.  With an eight year old Robbie Williams impersonator and a six year old drama queen there is never a dull moment but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’m teaching Carys to play the harmonica and Jamie to play the ukulele – it sounds bloody awful but they are enjoying it so who cares…..other than the neighbours?  Jamie and I are ‘writing a book’, I’m the author and Jamie is the illustrator.  I don’t always have time to sit down and think of another ‘Tale from Great Oak National Park’ but he enjoys drawing, he’s not bad at it and, although only 8,  he says he wants to be an animator so if writing stories together is going to improve his drawing and help him achieve his goals then its time well spent as far as I’m concerned.

Jamies Pooh Bear, drawn about 18 months ago - my favourite to date

 

 We are fortunate enough to be able to spend loads of time together and with two animal mad kids there are plenty of options to choose from come the weekend.  All Jamie wanted for Christmas was to be a zoo keeper for the day and to help the South American Tapir so Father Christmas brought Bristol Zoo membership, a zoo keeper experience and a small percentage of Noah Ark Zoo Farms tapir.  Carys particularly likes birds and reptiles so is the proud owner of WWT membership and is looking forward to her zoo keeper experience in the Reptile House at Noah’s Ark – odd child!  We talked last night about what we will do with our time when going to the zoo with your parents becomes really un-cool.  Our relationship is stronger now than it ever has been and we really do enjoy the very rare moments of ‘childlessness and togetherness’ but how, regardless of how much love we share, will we appreciate each other in the same way when the kids are older and it’s just the two of us for the majority of the time?

Having said how much I love and appreciate Mark, he really does need to man up!  I’m not normally one for the ‘poor old female’ nonsense but surely his 15 minute procedure doesn’t compare to the major surgery involved in delivering Bryony.  In the two hours that it took to deliver Bryony,  and ‘close up’ as they call it on Holby City, I lost 1350mls of blood.  Mark lost 4mls……that’s not even a teaspoon!!  Its tradition on a Friday evening to do ‘our best part of the week’.  Carys’ was getting a gold award in school.  Jamie’s was a piece of work, about a Cheetah, that got top marks.  I will admit that when it was my turn I grinned a pathetically childish grin, looked at Mark and left the room………I never did find out what Marks best bit was!

Maternity leave

I haven’t written here for ages and my excuse is a miserable pregnancy and a traumatic emergency caesarean section 4 weeks prior to my due date but we’ll just call it maternity leave.

Bryony has brought so much to our lives in the 18 weeks since her birth.  I don’t know if it’s because we are older or because we waited a long time for her or because, at 36 weeks, we thought we may have lost her.  There were occasions during my other two pregnancies that I would think to myself that the baby hadn’t moved much and then eventually I would get a kick, a punch or even just a wriggle but it was enough to convince me that the baby was fine.  The night before Bryony’s birth I led in bed thinking I won’t wake Mark just yet, she’ll move soon.  By 4:30am I gave up trying to sleep and decided that coffee, rich tea biscuits and a stroll with the dog might wake her up.  I was beginning to think all sorts and had already started to blame myself, I had a dental abscess earlier in the week and although the midwife had told me to take stronger painkillers I couldn’t help thinking that they may have harmed the baby.  That was my first thought when the midwife mentioned stronger pain relief but, quite frankly, I have never felt pain like it!

6:30am came and still no movement so I woke Mark who immediately phoned the hospital then started making Childcare arrangements for Jamie and Carys – of all the days to have a training day! We arrived at the hospital at about 9 o’clock where I was hooked up to the monitor.  They eventually found the baby’s heartbeat but it wasn’t fluctuating at all which indicates poor or no movement.  About 20 minutes later a consultant arrived and told us that he couldn’t guarantee the safety of our baby and that he would recommend an emergency caesarean section.  I signed the consent forms and Mark reappeared in scrubs and said they were just waiting for a paediatric doctor as they wanted one present in theatre.

A midwife took us to theatre and told me to sit still and stay calm so that the anaesthetist could set the epidural up.  It was at this point that it dawned on me that the monitor wasn’t picking the baby’s heartbeat up at all and that the midwife was frantically trying to find it but failing.  At this point I was thinking that she hadn’t made it.  I was also thinking about 4 years previous when we lost a baby at 9 weeks.  Although hard, we dealt with it but how the hell would we deal with losing a baby at 36 weeks – she would still have to be delivered, she would have existed in the real world, we would see her, hold her yet go home without her.  Everything was a blur at this point but I do remember thinking about my Grandmother.  She lost her youngest daughter to cancer in July of 2012, and although I hadn’t met my youngest daughter yet I suddenly realised how my Gran feels and I started to question how my Gran deals with that – my respect for my Gran was great before, it’s immeasurable now! 

At 11:07, Bryony was delivered.  The midwife told us that she was fine but needed the all clear from the paediatric doctor.  I still wasn’t convinced, she hadn’t cried and we hadn’t seen her.  I clearly remember Mark saying ‘fuck this, I’m going to see her’.  My first thought was please just come back and tell me she is ok and my second thought was that Mark never ever swears.  He returned, minutes later, with a crying baby and streaming eyes.  As worry and anxiety turned into relief and love I realised how awful I felt, declared how sick I was feeling and then had a complete breakdown.  I was given an anti-sickness jab, Mark laid Bryony next to me and theatre became a warm, calm place – it was cold and chaotic before.

Bryony, 1 hour old

 

Bryony weighed in at 7lb 4oz so, although not massive, a good size for a ‘pre term’ baby.  Her blood sugars were a little erratic but of no great concern.  She seemed shocked, appeared vulnerable and had a constant look of worry about her.  We had a brief discussion about names when I declared that I didn’t really care, she was here and was safe, and that’s all that mattered.  That was all that mattered but I did care about names, I’d wanted to call her Niamh ever since our 20 week scan but Mark hated it – I thought he might have taken pity on me on this occasion but he had clearly pulled himself together by this time too.  “You had better go and ring my mum” I said to Mark.  “No need” said the surgeon, “she has been stood outside my theatre doors for the last hour!”  As they wheeled me out of theatre and into recovery my mum shouted “I’ve been ringing your mobile”…..it was at that point I decided it may all have been a dream!

We took Bryony home 48 hours later and knew immediately that this time was going to be different.  When Jamie and Carys were babies we tried to get them into a routine as soon as possible, we tried not to pick them up and cuddle them all the time – we didn’t want them to be clingy.  I couldn’t give a bugger if Bryony did become clingy, she still had a look of vulnerability, was probably as traumatised as I was and somehow she just deserved to be cuddled…..for most of the time……all of the time. 

Even now, at 18 weeks, I make  what Mark calls ‘special allowances’ for Bryony.   She really is old enough to face outwards when in the baby carrier but I feel that she is safer facing me, she is closer and more secure.  Jamie and Carys were both in their own rooms by 18 weeks and although Bryony sleeps between 13 and 14 hours a night, she is still tucked up safely in the cot next to our bed.  I almost sound as if I never put her down or that I never leave her but I do and she is happy to sit in her chair and watch what’s going on around her and she is happy to go to other people so I really do feel as if I’m having the best of both worlds.

Bryony, 18 weeks old

 

Having said all that, what really makes it different this time is that I will most definitely not be doing it again!

The delights of disruption

Last Friday morning we woke to the perfection of an untouched blanket of snow.  The kids were still sleeping and before checking websites I knew that school would be closed.  Exceptionally heavy snowfall can cause chaos on the roads, close schools and generally disrupt our everyday lives.  In other parts of the world hurricanes and floods can instantly devastate whole areas and cause massive loss of life.  Drought withers crops, kills cattle and people eventually starve to death.  Tinder dry vegetation fuels the wildfires that tear across landscapes eating everything in its path, including human lives.  So, although I’m not a huge fan of snow, it’s not the end of the world.

Despite its colour, I believe that a single snowflake contains more e numbers than a tube of smarties.  Within 10 minutes of waking up the kids had disappeared through the back door leaving a trail of rice crispies and pyjamas behind them.  I was up for the ‘the snow will still be there when you have taken your cereal bowls to the sink and picked your pyjamas up’ lecture but, like Mark said, we don’t get this amount of snow that often and it’s a big thing for them.

The snow was still falling and the birds were already struggling.  I had been out first thing to replenish the feeders and I had bought some dried meal worms for the ground feeding birds.  As well as our daily visitors, we had some first timers.  A Greenfinch, a Coal Tit, a Siskin, a Nuthatch and a Redpoll.  The Redpoll was beautiful with a stripy brown body, red forehead, tiny black bib, pale double wing bar and dark-streaked rump.  During the breeding season the males would have a red flush on their breasts distinguishing them from the females.  It appeared confused as it flew rapidly between the feeders, eventually settling for nyjer seed.  I wondered where they had been until now and if they would return once the snow has melted. 

It was unusual to see three robins feeding in the same garden.  Robins are very territorial and I wondered if this was safety in numbers or energy preservation.  There is no good having a good feed to spend all of your energy on one scrap.  I also wondered if the territory will still belong to the same Robin once conditions are more favourable or if he will have to fight for it again.

That night, having drank too much wine and eaten too many kettle chips (that’s 2 new years resolutions down the pan), I went to bed hoping that we would at least be able to make it to Abergavenny in the morning.

The main roads were clear but the lanes were treacherous.  My uncle, who lives just down the road, had already planted his 4x4 into the hedge so it wasn’t worth the risk.  We decided to walk to Raglan.  A 6 mile round trip but we had all day.  The kids weren’t keen but the promise that they could take the miniature hot water bottles that Uncle Dan had bought them was all the persuasion they needed. 

We turned right out of our driveway and followed the lane through Great Oak picking up the main road at Bryngwyn.  We were keen to spot a buzzard.  Bernard the Buzzard is seen every day in the field behind our house…sometimes he even sits on our fence post.  He is a magnificent bird with quite pale plumage that makes me think he is probably a juvenile.  We haven’t seen him since Thursday and even then his attempts at making a kill were pathetic.  “Look Mummy, up there”, said Carys.  I looked carefully.  It was larger than a Buzzard, more graceful too with a long forked tail.  We knew that a pair of Red Kites nested not far from our house last year but we had never been lucky enough to see one….maybe he too had to go further afield in search of food.  We concluded that Bernard has strayed from his patch in search of food and that he will be back soon….fingers crossed.  “It was worth walking this far just to see that”, said Carys.  “Really Carys”, said Jamie, “I want at least a magazine and some sweets at the end of this”.

We got what we needed in Raglan, mainly more wine but felt that a magazine and a packet of sweets wasn’t out of the way….it was a long walk and even I was beginning to question what we were doing.  We walked back along the main road stopping at the garden centre for a hot drink.  Before setting off we had a quick look around the shop, stopping at the wood burning stoves for quite some time!

As we turned off the main road onto huntsman’s lane Jamie said “Look by the Jay by Mum”.  The Jay by is a little lay by/pull in.  We call it the Jay by because back in the autumn we would often see a Jay scratching about beneath the hedge.  Back then he was hiding acorns, now he was trying to recover them.

As we opened the front door, both the heat and the aroma of slow cooked lamb were welcoming.  I asked the kids what they enjoyed most about our walk.  Carys was pleased to have seen the Red Kite, Jamie thought it was cool that the Jay can remember where it hid the acorns almost 6 months ago and Mark chipped in with “at least we got more wine”.

First thing Sunday morning and what a change.  Friday’s untouched blanket of snow has given way to a brown, slushy, icy and dangerous mess.  So, I thank the snow for the delights that accompanied the disruptions but, quite frankly, the sooner it melts the better.

There are no photos due to a child/camera related incident.

Inner conflict

When asked to write about previous conflicts, the ones that stand out for me are the ones I have with myself.  Psychological struggles resulting from two simultaneous but often incompatible ideas that regularly leave me emotionally drained.  Friends and family say I over think things.

It was only last week that my recent internal conflict began.  The kids had brought home their leaflets for this years Operation Christmas Child mission.  It is run by Samaritans Purse and has the following mission statement

‘The mission of Operation Christmas Child is to demonstrate God’s love in a tangible way to needy children around the world, and together with the local church worldwide, to share the Good News of Jesus Christ”

In all honesty the God’s love, local church worldwide and Good News of Jesus Christ bits are absolutely meaningless to me but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a bloody good cause.  The kids wrapped their empty shoeboxes in Christmas paper and made their lists of things to send; bouncy balls, pens, crayons, paper, yo-yos, sweets, toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, flannels, hairbrushes and cuddly toys. 

I decided that whilst I was out buying the things for their shoeboxes I would buy the ingredients for this years Christmas cake.  Mark suggested making some mini ones.  Not a bad idea, could be given as presents for school teachers and I’m quite good at forgetting people so could come in handy for those unexpected visitors.  I searched every shop in Abergavenny but couldn’t find a suitable tin so decided that small baked bean tins would do the job.  £2.76 later and I was the owner of twelve tins of the cheapest, crappiest beans I could find.  As I started emptying the beans into our food waste bin I was suddenly swamped with guilt.  Why should I be able to throw away twelve tins of beans when there are people starving in the world?

I tried to rationalise with myself.  I told myself that it’s fine because we are sending our shoeboxes to children in under developed countries.  However hard I tried, there were no excuses to cover my arse this time, what I was doing was entirely immoral.

I concluded that as I had already thrown the beans away, committed the crime so to speak, I may as well continue.  As I was weighing out the fruit I was still searching for excuses to justify my disgraceful behaviour.

Half an hour later I put the cakes in the oven and headed back to Abergavenny where I bought 12 tins of Heinz baked beans and took them immediately to the food bank.  They would be given to local people in crisis.  I stopped at the bank to make a donation to UNICEF’s Children’s Emergency Fund and returned to my car a little less remorseful.

Later that evening I was telling Mark of my emotional battle.  We discussed how we are fortunate to live the lives we do.  We live comfortably in a secure home, we drive new cars, we take regular holidays and have food and drink on tap.  Mark admits that we are fortunate but he says he has earned our way of life, which of course he has, he worked hard to get where he is today but I still maintain that favourable circumstances have paved our way.

As Mark opened a good bottle of red I tried hard to forget about my own unrest.  I sorted the shoeboxes out and put them ready for the kids to take in the morning. 

As I stood in the bathroom trying to decide whether to use the L’Occitane or the Molton Brown it hit me that somewhere in the world a poverty stricken child is eagerly awaiting the arrival of a shoebox that contains a bar of Imperial Leather….maybe I will always be uncomfortable with how well off we really are.

A slice of life

I haven't posted on here for ages but I have been writing, I've joined a creative writing group.  I'm enjoying it, it's good to share ideas and helpful to gain feedback.  Here is a memoir I wrote last week.

It was the 2^nd August 2005.  James Blunts ‘You’re Beautiful’ was number one.  Beautiful is exactly what you were – all 7lb 7 ozs of you.                 

Seeing you for the first time led to a roller coaster of emotions.  At first I felt great resentment.  I had been in labour for 52 hours and following every man-made attempt to encourage your natural birth you were finally delivered via emergency caesarean section.  I couldn’t help but feel resentment.  You had offended my sense of pride and dignity.

Forty five minutes after you were born I got to hold you for the first time.

2nd August 2005

 

 As soon as Daddy placed you in my arms I was struck by a sudden wave of forgiveness.  The previous 53 hours immediately became excusable.  You were here, you were perfect and you were ours.  As I counted your fingers and toes I was amazed by how big your hands were…hands like Bampis I thought.  People often say that all new borns look like Winston Churchill but you didn’t – you had qualities in abundance that delighted my eyes.

It wasn’t long before Grandma had taken you off me.  As you led there, cradled in Grandmas arms, I felt a sudden sense of love and I knew that I would love you unreservedly, without any limitations and with immeasurable devotion for the rest of my life.

It was 1am, you took a good amount of milk from a bottle and we both slept until sunrise. 

 

3rd August 2005

 

Daddy was back first thing.  He couldn’t stay away.  I was a little confused when Daddy picked you up, kissed you, looked you in the eyes and quietly whispered “Good morning Jamie”.  I don’t remember having a discussion about your name other than 6 weeks previous when I really liked the name Max and Daddy hated it.  Apparently, I had agreed to naming you Jamie only minutes after you were born.  I was exhausted, completely drained and wiped out by my long labour and huge quantities of medication.  Quite frankly, Daddy could have named you Stripe or Spot and I wouldn’t have quibbled.  By mid-morning cards congratulating us on the birth of Jamie had started to arrive.  Daddy wasn’t backing down and you had even begun to look like a Jamie.  I left you with Daddy and went for a shower.

As I made my way back to the ward I had a sudden urge to take you home.  I didn’t want to share you with doctors and midwives.  In all honesty, I didn’t want to share you with our visitors either.  I wanted to go home, lock the door and enjoy our new existence as a family.

“You can go home tomorrow as long as you are able to walk the entire length of the corridor unaided” said the consultant.

“I’ll Jog” I said.

“Completely unnecessary Mrs Williams” he said.

Twenty four hours later Daddy came to take us home.  He placed you in your car seat.  We discussed how, even though you being in a car seat was the law, you didn’t appear safe.  Your miniature body, surrounded by big bulky seat, secured with a network of straps and buckles.

You looked extremely comfortable in your moses basket, fast asleep swaddled in the blanket that your great grandmother had knitted.  Locking the door didn’t work.  We had visitors after visitors after visitors.   Most were family and close friends which were fine.  Your extended family and our close friends have become very important people in your life.

No more than a week later we had settled into a routine.  You fed well, fortunately for us you slept very well and you were an extremely content little man.

12 months later, as we discover that I am pregnant with your sister, Shakira is number one with ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ and I can assure you that mine most definitely don’t and probably never will.

Jamie and Carys - 9th June 2012