Moments // June 2021

There are days where Karma is in your favour from the moment you wake up. There are also days, when it is most decidedly not in your favour. I muse to myself in the gloaming of one of the latter days; a particularly infuriating one which saw what felt like each attempt to be productive thwarted at every turn.

I pick up the sponge in my gloved hands and wipe another leaf. The litany of profanity-inducing mishaps began when I woke up early, to a contentious and mercurial Chief Rascal who, overtired, refused almost every option for breakfast.

Deep breath.

My laptop then decided to have a fit and spent half of my allotted time for working that morning, frozen in an update process helpfully displaying “0%”.

Breathe.

Chief Rascal came back home pleased as punch with an ice cream in hand, but overtired and verging on the brink of tears at the slightest mishap. The only pair of sandals I have broke. In weather nearing 30 degrees.

No swearing in front of little ears. You know he’ll pick it up immediately; he’s not daft.

I discovered black fly infestations on every single plant, including Chief Rascals cherished strawberry plants and my grandmother’s rhubarb that I rescued from her garden. The final straw was the tin opener breaking when I went to use it that evening to make the next day’s breakfast following a dinner disaster.

The only means of keeping my sanity, I conclude, rinsing the sponge, is simply to let go and see the funny side to this. My neighbours must think me well and truly doolally; washing up bowl full of soapy water, gloves on and sponge out, washing the leaves of our strawberry plants.

Moments // May 2021

I collect Chief Rascal from childcare at lunchtime and on the way home he asks if we can have lunch in the garden. It is warm in the sunshine, a slight breeze rendering the shade that little bit too cool to be able to completely discard sleeves.

He gets out his plate and cup from his cupboard, and places his order with the kitchen staff: one ham and cheese sandwich – no pickle, thank you – and a glass of water. Oh, and don’t forget the Pom-Bears and the grapes. Whilst he waits on lunch, I watch him inspecting the plants, delighting in the colours of the various flowers: the white of the vinca minor and the aubretia, the lilac of the calendula, the pink of the saxifraga. He peers into the pots with seeds yet to emerge from their slumber, brow furrowed.

I bring out our lunch and we sit on the step, talking about our surroundings and soaking in the warmth of the sun, the kiss of the slight breeze that dances past, listening to the constant hum of the red mason bees on the ornamental cherry tree blossom, and the birdsong emanating from the trees around us.

He asks me questions about what we can hear, about the multitude of pots and their inhabitants. How big will the sunflowers grow? When will we see the poppies? And what about the Rote Bete and the runner beans? Which bird is singing now? Where is the bird? Was that a dog we just heard? Why are the leaves on the borage fuzzy? What do you have in your sandwich, Mama? Can I leave the grape for Herr und Frau Amsel?

A lunchtime spent in the present, enjoying our surroundings. I feel gratitude. I feel grounded. I marvel at Chief Rascal’s refreshing fascination and genuine joy at the simple things, and suddenly my world feels that little bit brighter.

In Memoriam // a year on

My dearest, darling Grandmama,

You have been gone a year now. It seems inconceivable, if I am honest. Part of me is still stuck in that moment of time, whilst everything else marches on.

Things have been acrimonious, to say the least, now that you are no longer here. I’m not quite sure whether it is fuelled by grief, avarice, something else or a combination. It saddens me. All of it. But I know this is a life lesson that I have to experience and digest for myself.

I miss your hugs. Your laughter. That mischievous glint in your eye you’d get before saying something absolutely irreverent and outrageous – a glint, you’ll be pleased to know, your great-grandson appears to have inherited. I miss doing the crossword with you; an infuriating affair, in which you usually begin reading aloud a clue only to announce the answer before you’d finished reading it, you bugger. I miss the way you would sing “bonjour” when walking into the house. Your love of the garden and the innumerable jars of various cuttings, usually geraniums, that populated crammed windowsills in the little kitchen and the greenhouse. Your deep-rooted dislike of carrots. I remember playing badminton with you on the bottom lawn – mown by Bayleaf the gardener – in summer, and the seemingly endless supply of French and runner beans, rhubarb and spinach from the vegetable patch. The walks after Sunday lunch around the village and by the ford in the afternoon sunshine, past the fields filled with sheep and their lambs.

I remember being so concerned about you in the summer heat one year that I called in to work sick and we spent the day laughing, chatting, drinking lemon barley out of pint glasses I’m sure were adopted from the pub or a beer festival, and doing the crossword in the cool shade of the kitchen with the back door open. My Mischief Maker Extraordinaire and Partner in Crime. I miss singing down the telephone to you every time you picked up my calls, and I remember fondly the occasions you’d meet me from school; a warm embrace followed by the offer of either a fruit pastel or Werther’s Original. I miss your near-constant recital of Lorelei; a poem I don’t think I will ever be able to maintain the composure required to read aloud again. When I recite those lines in my mind I hear your voice, not my own. I can still hear you asking me the meaning of Märchen.

My Grief is a mercurial beast. There are days I can look it in the eye and acknowledge it. I see you. I feel you. I accept you. You are a part of me. And I carry my Grief with me through my day; a docile black cat nonchalantly draped across my shoulders. Present, yet unobtrusive. A companion. On other days it is transformed; an indomitable tigress sitting on my chest and every breath I take is a conscious effort, sheer will forcing air into my lungs.

I recently read that grief is the price we pay for love. I have found the idea soothing. It helps me feel grounded. On occasions it enables me to coax the raging tigress back into her docile, cat-like state. I don’t know if this is always how it will be, living with my Grief. I imagine she will take on many forms throughout my life. She is a part of me, here to stay. But perhaps what has brought me the most comfort as of late, is the discovery of a series of cards and letters you sent me during a particularly difficult time in my life. A single line of your elegant handwriting stands out, a line I can only echo back to you: I will never stop loving you.

I have slowly come to realise that your absence does not mean that I can no longer love you. I can and I will. I think I can live with that.

Forever and always,

Rx

Moments // April 2021 // II

I get the lamb shoulder out of the oven. It’s perfect. To my dismay, I see the trivet in places has burnt. No matter, my usual A-Team combination of secret ingredients should save the day.

I open the fridge, and discover the crucial element to counteract the slight tart, singed taste is missing; its place in the fridge door ominously vacant. Condiment down.

I panic and do the culinary equivalent of picking up the Bat Phone: “Gravy SOS” is all the text reads.

Moments later she calls. A few minutes of expertise and debate on the merits of including various jams, honey or sweet chili sauce and the day is saved.

I may be about to turn thirty, but you’re never too old to phone your mum when your struggling with your gravy game.

Moments // April 2021 // I

A quiet moment of reflection after another long day. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday and after finishing my work for the evening, I’ve hidden a couple of brightly coloured eggs for you to find.

As with Christmas, nothing brings me greater joy than seeing the excitement in your eyes as you take it all in. I’m beginning to think that, religious origins aside, the modern Christmas and Easter are in fact designed with the adults in mind more than the children.

I lie in the dark at the foot of the bed, listening to you gently snoring; spread-eagled across both pillows. I will forever be amazed at how someone so small can take up so much space in a bed.

At least one of us will get some sleep tonight.

Moments // February 2021

Sometimes this lone parenting business is soul-crushingly difficult. Sometimes, it is the best thing ever to have happened.

Chief Rascal had finished breakfast, got down and begun to play. I found myself eating leftover custard straight out of the jug in the kitchen. Toddler catches me, spoon in hand, mouth full of cold custard. (Don’t judge; waste not, want not.)

He looks at me, then the jug and spoon as he realised I was serious about custard for breakfast. No tantrum. He looks back to me and opens his mouth. I sit on the floor and offer him the spoon.

The custard is gone. A quiet moment of spontaneous indulgence on a sunny Friday morning.

Je ne regrette rien.

Moments

I often find myself bemoaning my current situation or failing to appreciate enough the little things happening on a daily basis and the experiences I have, often accompanied by my little helper.

Rather than allow myself to be overwhelmed with the drudgery and stress of, say, work pressures or the challenges of parenting in a pandemic; or force myself to write a “gratitude diary”, I’ve decided to make a point of jotting down moments that have brought warmth, happiness and joy.

These short literary doodles are my attempt to be more present, and to appreciate things more.

3 Months – Realisations

Below are a few things I’ve learned during the past three months of motherhood.  I feel like some of these are not-so obvious and whilst others are, when you’re in the middle of an intense 2am cluster feed you find your mind crowded with all kinds of ridiculous notions of what you should -or shouldn’t- be doing.

• Carpe f*cking Diem – that thing you need to do?  Do it.  Do it now or spend the next 3 days regretting your mistake.
• Priorities.  If you couldn’t prioritise before, you’ll learn damn fast post-partum.  Got half an hour whilst the little darling naps?  Now’s the time to use that freedom wisely.  I categorise things in terms of how much will I regret not having done it later.  That, and can I do it one-handed?  If I can, it’s a lower priority.  This blog post?  Mostly typed one-handed on the phone whilst boobing overnight.  Prevents me from thinking that casting on another pair of socks to knit is a good idea.
• Learn to let go and embrace the chaos.  As an adult, you’re far more of a control freak than you realise and are surprisingly regimented in what you do and when. You don’t realise this until you have a baby.  Our lives are ruled by the notion of time and babies are glorious little wildcards that quite frankly, shit on time and its constraints.  You wanted to quickly nip to the shops?  Oh nonononono.  Mama it’s time for a feed and yes I will take my sweet time.  Oh, and what do you know?  I’ve just decided to explosively fill my nappy and simultaneously spit up on your shirt.  You weren’t planning on doing anything for the next hour, were you?
• That noise they make the first time they headbutt you in hunger hard enough to hurt themselves will make your heart break.
• Be comfortable in your own skin.  There is no such thing as discreet public breastfeeding at the beginning.  Your little boob addict is hungry?  They will snort, snuffle and generally rub their face all over your boob except for the nipple. Accept that you’ll likely inadvertently flash people.
• Your little rascal will mistakenly latch onto somewhere that isn’t breast and will give you what looks like a lovebite.  It’s inevitable.
• Enjoy the small things.  Remember when you were 38 weeks pregnant and immensely proud of the fact you managed to epilate your legs without falling over or putting your back out? That pales into comparison when your little inhabitant is on the outside and you finally manage to have that hot cup of tea or a shower long enough to use a body scrub.  Or eat with both hands.  Relish those moments of bliss.
• Nothing will rip you from a deep sleep like your little angel filling their nappy with that almost-comical squelch.  I say almost comical because it’s hilarious until you have to change it.
• Never wake a sleeping baby.  Unless you’ve just heard *that* nappy sound.  Then it’s time to brace yourself and poke the lion with a stick.
• They are noisy AF.  Whoever said “sleep like a baby” clearly never slept in the same room as one of the little buggers.  Sleep time is time to bust out those dance moves, mum.
• Babies are fidgetbums.  Mine is a Fidgetbum of the First Order.  Fidgets whilst he sleeps, whilst he nurses, during nappy changes…  Enjoy the nappy changes before they learn to roll over or discover their hands, by the way.  Those are game-changers.
• No matter what you said during pregnancy and how much you try, you will turn into that annoying sickeningly proud parent.  “Look! Alfonso has just managed to stick his fist in his mouth for the first time and made himself gag!”.  Considering you spend nine months incubating another human being, only for them to emerge looking like a seriously wrinkly, grumpy old man that appears to just scream “BOOB” incessantly for those first few weeks, these tiny developments will never cease to amaze you.
• Trust your gut.  You think your Bambino is tired?  They probably are.  You suspect a growth spurt or teething?  Most likely is.  You got this; ignore the well-intentioned unsolicited advice from those unqualified and listen to your instinct.  Nine times out of ten, mum knows best.
• You can successfully breastfeed.  No, they’re not fussing because you can’t produce enough.  They’re fussing because they’re telling your body to make more of that magic milk.  And no, you cannot overfeed a breastfed baby.  No you cannot spoil them when they’re this small.  But ultimately fed is best and you know what works for you.
• If you breastfeed, you discover that if in doubt, boob is most likely the answer.  Aside from a dirty nappy or trapped wind, boob will resolve everything.  Pain relief?  Boob.  Comfort?  Boob.  Overtired?  Boob.  Grouchy?  Boob.  Hungry/thirsty?  Boob.  You just can’t go wrong.
• Breastfeeding: Thought pregnancy cravings were bad?  Wait until The Hunger gets you. 2 minutes after giving birth it hit me like a freight train and I’ve been ravenous ever since.  It is possible to have a three course breakfast by 9am and feel hungry at 10:30, by the way.  Coconut yoghurt is the bomb.
• Don’t under-estimate clusterfeeding. Get snacks, drinks and the TV remote because you’ll likely be here a while.  Ride it out; it won’t always be like this, honestly.
• You will never feel a bond like this and you never expected it to hit you the way it has. Allow yourself to be proud and enjoy those moments where they smile at you with a mouthful of boob, or start babbling at you like you’re having a serious conversation.  These moments are priceless and are all too fleeting.  You will also never feel so protective of anything or anyone in your life.
• Your body is amazing.  Yes, you may feel a bit battered, flabby, sleep-deprived and at times like a human milk machine capable of only watching box sets whilst the boobivore feeds, but when you think about it, this whole process is an absolute marvel and is not to be taken for granted.  Yes, those 4am feeds are a pain.  As are the 2am ones.  And that one at 5 where you usually have a fight over the nappy change.  It won’t be like this forever.
• You understand more of what your parents went through raising you, particularly if you’ve got siblings and have just had your first baby.  You have all these apps and gadgets and Dr. Google to turn to when you have questions or concerns.  They didn’t.  Your parents had to do it old school and that’s pretty badass.  You don’t have to agree with everything they’ve done, but it should earn your respect, at least.  Still won’t make up for that time you weren’t allowed to go to that party, though.
• Share their joy in the little things. Is sticking your tongue out the best thing since sliced bread? Embrace it and enjoy that right now, entertainment is cheap.
• Be vigilant during nappy changes.  This is particularly addressed to those with sons. Chances are you too have fallen victim to the Anger Wee when struggling with a very indignant, hungry baby in the small hours.  I have lost count the number of times we’ve had an impromptu hair wash at stupid o’clock because I was too bleary-eyed to check where he was pointing, he let loose and it went all over him, in his hair and the changing mat.  Impressive.
• Finally, wing it.  All mums do, and eventually you will master the art of blagging your way through the challenges your little human sets you to the point where it appears as if you actually have a plan.

 

On a sober note, a lot of this revolves around baby, and whilst the little soul is unspeakably precious, the most important thing I personally am struggling to make sure I don’t lose sight of is myself, and to jettison that impulse of trying to be super-mum.  I wasn’t always a mum and I need down time too.  It is so incredibly hard to shake off the expectation of being a natural-born superwoman once your baby has arrived.  Your already superwoman by virtue of the fact you’ve decided to raise another human.

Oh, and guilt.  You’ll have plenty of things to feel guilty about at a later stage in life, no doubt, so be it safe co-sleeping, or realising they watch TV with you in the evening, save the guilt for another time.

The dishes can wait.  Play time with your smiley little Sleep Thief, however…

Inane Whittering #20 Introducing…

…Mr. and Mrs. Stripes. Or Herr und Frau Streipze, as they’re known in German. This is a still taken on set whilst filming for their upcoming debut.

Filming’s nearly done – got 2 more scenes to go tomorrow before editing can begin and then it’s basically finished. The first version has to be in German, but I’ll make sure to do an English version too!

I’ll bung it up on youtube and link it back here when it’s ready, I just thought I’d give you guys a taster…

Inane Whittering #19 KITTENS

So I thought you could do with some cuteness. And hilarity.

I give you: THE KITTENCAM.

This is a foster home for rescue cats in the States, and they currently have Rosmary and her four kittens: Pepper, Sage, Basil and Mace.

There’s also sound, if you turn it up loud enough, you can hear them mewing at each other mid-fight.

Best study aid ever.