Lucky number seven.

My boy is seven today. The first grandchild and nephew in both our families. Seven years ago today I was taken in an ambulance to deliver this boy when it became clear that both he and I were in trouble.  Following a blissful and trouble free pregnancy with a much longed for baby at the last minute it started to go wrong. My husband was told he could lose us both. He never let on to me how bad it was. He stood next to me and held my hand as we joked and laughed - much easier to do when you've been given the drugs, me not him. When the boy finally arrived I told Hubbie to go with him to make sure he was ok and I would be fine. We had done the NCT practice run of this and knew how it would go when an emergency C section took place. The room full of people, the student doctor introducing themselves to us and our baby being taken away immediately for checks. We had agreed that Hubbie would stay with him while I was stitched up. Apparently the boy did a massive poo as soon as he was born. Well his sense of timing is impeccable. We spent the night in a recovery ward and Hubbie went home to sleep for the first time in almost three days. I held my son close and watched him all night. I still go into his room and watch him sleep every night.

Since that day I've experienced more anxiety than I've ever had in my life. I've felt more love than I knew was possible. I still find it amazing that I am someone's mum, never mind two boys. When we talked to Brown Bear about adoption and explained he was going to have a brother he took it in his stride. Until Blue Bear arrived and he had to share me with this little boy who Mummy held and cuddled and protected. They both fought for my attention and I expected this little boy to be the big brother before I taught him what that meant. He was feeling pushed out and I didn't realise. It was difficult. I felt like I was being torn in two and he felt like I didn't love him any more. In his head I only had space to love one boy and it wasn't him any more. 

I look at those boys now and the fierce fraternal bond they have. To anyone who doesn't know they were always brothers. Brown Bear is proud of his younger brother and Blue Bear looks up to his big brother and wants to be just like him. On his first day at school Brown Bear took Blue Bear's hand and walked him to the classroom. When Blue Bear came skipping out at the end of the day Brown Bear was there waiting to greet him with a smile and asked him how his day was. Ok so Brown is up with the lark and annoyingly chipper from the off (he always has been, it's exhausting !) and Blue was born a teenager and could sleep in until ten given the chance. By the end of a school day they are in entirely opposite moods and one wants to play while the other is happy to sit and relax. They are forming a great bond though. They other day as we were driving past a funfair they asked if we could go and Hubbie said no. Brown Bear turned to Blue Bear and said, "Don't worry when we live together we can go the fair whenever we like." I reminded him they live together now and Brown Bear said, "No when we're adults. When we're 45." 

The other night we went out together. Just me and Brown Bear. I am at a conference all day today - I left early and will be home late - and I wanted to do something special for his birthday. We went out for dinner and then to the theatre. He opened doors for me saying, "Ladies first" and held my hand as we walked from the car to the restaurant. He smiled at me in the theatre and asked if I was enjoying the show. When we came home he kissed me good night and said, "I love you more than you love me Mummy." I smiled and replied, "That's just not possible." 

Happy 7th Birthday Baby Boy xxxxxxx

One weekend, three Mums :)

This weekend it's Mother's Day (if you're in the UK that is - our American friends celebrate in May for some reason). It'll be my 4th one as a Mum and I've planned a lovely pampering day on Saturday which my Mum is coming to and then lunch with Mother-in-law on Sunday. We've kind of got the hang of this thing now. My first one was a little fraught as my boy was only 6 months old and while I enjoyed having a day of being pampered I did actually want to spend some of the day with my son and Hubbie.

Me and my Mum at West Pier Brighton

We are both lucky that we have our Mums and we make sure they are thoroughly spoiled and that they get to see their grandson, which is no less than they deserve. They seem to enjoy spending time with the boy and as time goes on it gets difficult to think of things they don't already have lots of. In the past I've deluged my Mum with scarves, chocolate, flowers and all manner of gifts. In recent years I've noticed that I have inherited a habit from my Mum and her Mum (my Naniji) of saying that I don't want anything. I never understood it, but as time goes on I notice that with Christmas, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and then my birthday in the space of 6 months it does get a little crowded and I don't need that much. We're still working our way through all the chocolate we got at Christmas so I've embargoed all chocolate gifts until after Easter. This also helps with my getting fit and training for the Moonwalk so double bubble.

Hubbie with Mother-in-law

I prefer to have some pampering and relaxation so that's what I'll be doing courtesy of my boys. The nice thing about having some time to chill out is that I get to reflect on how far we've come as parents and what my boy can do now that I catch myself being amazed by.

• He can brush his own teeth. I remember when he didn't have any teeth

• He chooses his own clothes - sometimes many times a day - and he checks himself in the mirror !

• He asks questions and responds to the answers - I remember when he would burble and smile at whatever I said *sighs longingly*

• He can use scissors - properly - this still makes me wince and I keep wanting to take them out of his hands

• He can hold a conversation with a pilot, a cab driver or an airport official. I know adults who can't do this ! 

• He knows to speak up and look at his grandparents who are deaf when he talks to them - he doesn't shout

• He corrects me. Often. It drives me crazy

• He calls for me when he is hurt or upset - it makes me feel important - one day he won't 

The thing I like the best is when he gives me a big hug and a kiss and says, "Mummy, I love you more than Jiggles." Jiggles is the bear he loves most in the whole world.

Whatever you do I hope you have a wonderful Mother's Day :)

Me with my one day old boy

Bacon for breakfast.

This morning my boy wandered over to the side cabinet by mine and Hubbie's bed and picked up a small flat purple case:

"Switch on the ipad Mummy." he said.
"It's not an ipad sweetie it's a kindle. Now go and brush your teeth" I said.
He proceeded to open the case to check.
"Watch Peppa Pig on it Mummy." he said.
"It's not a tablet honey, you can't watch Peppa Pig on it. Go and brush your teeth" I said.
"Daddy watch Peppa Pig on the phone please." he said.
"Ok son, you can watch one Peppa Pig on my phone then we can go and brush our teeth."

I guess that's why it's called Fathers' day.

My boy loved the Pink Cadillac the best

Tomorrow is Fathers' day. In the last week a few things have cropped up that are relevant to this fact.

• Firstly there was a news story about the 'lack of male role models' in the lives of some children in the UK. The story suggested that women raising children on their own and the paucity of male teachers and care givers is harming our children.

• Then there was the usual Fathers for Justice stunt with a man arrested for defacing a portrait of the Queen. I have no idea if the campaigner was dressed as a superhero.

• Finally a work colleague made some reference to Fathers' Day being a made up construct to sell cards and gifts as thought all the other 'Hallmark Holidays' are somehow more legitimate. 

I've said before that we love a celebration so any excuse for pressies or feasting will always go down well. In our family we do mark the day, usually with a card and small gift for mine and Hubbie's fathers and we do something special for Hubbie. (Of course there are also presents involved, but he's going to read this so I won't go into details).

This evening we went out for a pre-Fathers' Day meal at a fifties themed diner and a lot of other families seemed to be doing the same. It was as you'd expect with neon signs, a jukebox and frothy milkshakes in tall glasses. Hubbie and son loved it. We're hoping for good weather tomorrow so that we can go to a classic car show that both Hubbie and son will also love.

You see I think that it is important to recognise the importance of fathers and if that's with one day in the year that's fine. My son has a great relationship with Hubbie, he has male (and female) football coaches and there are also male staff at his nursery. I realise that isn't the case for all children and I also recognise that I am fortunate to have Hubbie who does as much childcare as I do - not everyone is that lucky.

The jukebox didn't have this on it so I'm playing it on here instead - just for Hubbie :o)

Happy Father's Day xxx

It's Wednesday so it must be date night !

What did we do before the Orange Wednesday offer of 2 for 1 cinema and 2 for 1 pizza at Pizza Express ? We didn't go out on dates that's what.

There was a time before we had our beloved boy when going out for the night wasn't such a mission. We'd play softball together one evening a week during the season, we'd go out for dinner quite often and we used to go to the Clapham Picturehouse for free previews or occasionally we'd pay for a movie.  The only time we ever paid full price for a film was to watch In The Loop and thankfully it was worth every penny.

Now if we want to watch a film together we usually have to wait until it's on DVD or - as we discovered recently - we can pay a small fee to watch it on TV and have our own home comforts while we watch Argo from the sofa in our pyjamas. The gold standard of date night, however, is when we have childcare and can go out to eat and watch a film both on the same night. Tonight was such a night.

We do make the obligatory calls to ask the babysitter (my sister) if our boy is being good. Of course being modern and high tech parents we have a teleconference with our son from Pizza Express direct to his cot and can check if he has toothpaste on his pyjama top or if he's playing up while he's supposed to be drinking his milk. With these duties done and pizza and doughballs wolfed down and paid for it's to the cinema for the main event.

Now I used to go to the cinema every week come rain or shine and watched a new movie each week. In recent years I watch fewer than 3 films a year in the cinema, so when I do they had better be good. The trailers give me the impression that my attendance is hitting the most likely candidates for films I can sit through. Apparently, upcoming delights include; Fast and Furious 6, another new Superman (Kevin Costner is his Earth dad this time, not a Duke of Hazzard), a zombie apocalypse movie starring Brad Pitt and something about a magic trick / grand larceny involving Woody Harrelson, the kid who invented Facebook and Borat's wife. It really didn't inspire me to return to the cinema again any time soon.

The last cinema visit we made was to watch Avengers Assemble which was brilliant. Cracking dialogue, great action sequences and lots of super heroes. I have to say that Star Trek: Into Darkness was no less impressive. It gave me laughs, thrills and a story I could actually follow (no mean feat these days !) We upgraded to the premium seats for a treat and if we'd had any snacks we had two places to store them and extra wide arm rests too !!

In a return to my movie reviewing past after a 22 year hiatus here are the highlights:

• Chris Pine giving it the full Shatner 
• Bones played with tongue so far into his cheek it was poking into his ear
• Spock, Kirk and Uhura having a domestic in a small shuttle while trying to avoid a Klingon attack
• Scenes on moving vehicles reminiscent of Blade Runner 
• Costume changes so ridiculous that at one point Bones appears to be wearing his Gran's best dress 
• Benedict Cabbagepatch in action mode and giving it large with his dulcet tones and dreamy dark hair 

The best moment, though, was when Benedict's character reveals who he really is. In the hush of the cinema a lone voice said - with feeling - "oh Shit !!" it was what we were all thinking and it relieved the tension of the moment, albeit temporarily.

I love date night.

Love, love, love…

I have been a bit quieter than usual on the blogging front for a few days. Partly this is due to my new job and an acute awareness that people get fired for making remarks about their places of work online. Also the improved weather has meant we've been outside a lot more and as usual I overdid it on my first foray into the garden this year which left me doubled over in pain on Sunday evening.

So two days into commuting I've managed to finish a book that I have only managed to read halfway through for the last 4 months. Almost makes up for the crush on the tram going home, but not quite. In addition my boy has developed a whole new night-time wail that is high pitched, irritating and is only soothed by 'Cuddle Mummy.'

Then today I read two blog posts that inspired me to write this post.

Firstly this one by a mother bereft at her daughter returning to university. She talks about the cycle of life with parents where as babies we love and depend on them, then as teenagers we grow tired of them, then as adults we grow into loving them again. It reminded me that in my first year at university I spoke to my Mother every day - mundane stuff like what I'd eaten - then it was every few days then eventually it was when I remembered. Going home meant a return to the routine of my family and the food that I knew and loved. It also meant being transported back to feeling like a child.

And this brings me to the second blog I read today. This one by Zoe Williams about a recent news story claiming that a child will be able to cope with being disciplined so long as they are reassured that their parents love them. I'm not going to approach this from the angle of whether hitting is ok or not. My parents did not hit as a rule. Instead they used a combination of anger, manipulation and inducing guilt to make their point. I was spoken to as if I was an adult in arguments, but treated like a child when they wanted compliance with their rules. As far as they were concerned parenting was not about consensus, but obedience. As a result I am determined not to do the same to my son.

There isn't a manual for how to raise a child or how to manage our own parents. I only see my folks now in order that they can spend time with my son. I'm not ungrateful to them as they raised me to know how hard it was for them and to appreciate that they worked so we could have things. It is a relationship based on their demands for respect 'just because.' Culturally that was not unusual, but it was tedious having to explain to friends that I couldn't do the normal things they did because my parents believed that anyone outside the family was a bad influence.

The greatest trick my parents ever pulled was convincing everyone - me included - that they were the smiling characters that everyone else saw. So long as they are nice to my son I won't have reason to disabuse him of this myth either. I know they love him and that it makes them happy to see him. If I need to be there too so be it.

I don't know if being hit by your parents is bearable if you feel loved. I do know that not feeling loved by your parents is pretty crappy.

For me loving my son is like breathing - it is not optional.

It was a rough afternoon on Walton's mountain

I was Facebook chatting with a friend the other day who has 4 children, half of them young twins. As the oldest of 4 children I used to think it would be nice to have that many. However, there are times when I am so overwhelmed by one toddler that I can't imagine what state I'd be in if I was outnumbered like that. I was commenting on how well my friend seemed to be doing with her brood as she had posted lovely pics of her beautiful babies. This was enough proof for me to surmise that she is coping admirably with the transition from two to four kids, but she tells me it's mostly crowd control.

Now I can definitely identify with this sense of being in the eye of a tornado and having little idea what's coming next. What I hadn't appreciated was that I respond in ways that my boy is now reflecting back to me. In the last week he has uttered the words:

• "That's nonsense"
• "Pack it in"
• "No, no, no."

      and the other day he said: 

• "Ridiculous"

Now I know he got the last one from the Archers which was on in the car at the time, but the other stuff was all from me. Even though I have no recollection of saying any of those things, Hubbie assures me that I do. I tell the cat to pack it in when he's miaowing for food (which is often) so my son isn't even just copying what I say to him. This would be less worrying if it weren't for the fact that during one of our particularly prolonged arguments the other day I caught myself throwing a plush* space rocket at him and heard myself say "if you don't put on your shoes / eat your dinner / stop throwing your toys all over the place (I can't accurately recall) I'm going to smash your face in."

Now if you have just taken a sharp inhale you're not alone. I did as well at the recollection of it. I don't advocate violence and I certainly don't countenance threats to anyone - least of all small children. I can only imagine I temporarily lost all sense of proportion and didn't realise what I was saying. Then it sent me into an insane train of thought about how I clearly don't deserve to have any more children as I'm just not good enough to cope with the one I already have. I won't tell the adoption people this of course as they might just take me seriously. Having spoken to a prospective adopter who had been told she had a miserable face and that might work against her I'm not taking any chances.

I do expect my karmic reward to be that my son will repeat my words at some highly inopportune moment, but at least I am now forewarned and waiting for it to happen. As he is in the 'hear it, say it, repeat it' phase of language I deserve all I get in return really.

However, I've also been working on forgiveness lately as I realised that being able to forgive is the root of keeping a level head. I am very hard on myself when I make a mistake and hold onto grudges and resentments from the past that really are best left there. My new approach is to forgive myself for getting things wrong and to let it go when things happen that would usually cause inappropriate rage.

Next phase is to stop making insane threats to my son.

I can't promise anything, but I'll try.


*plush fabric - I'm not making a comment on the decor

Love, romance and a new kitchen floor

This evening Hubbie was fixing what appears to be a case of flooding under our kitchen floor. It's the latest addition to my list of things that need to be done. Now don't get me wrong the house is not a wreck. I love our home and we bought it because we didn't need to do anything to it when we moved in. The previous owners even left us the curtains, a spare bed, all the kitchen goods and a really nice bike in the shed. Oh and all the gardening equipment in the shed including two mowers. Hubbie loves having a shed to call his own and of course is overjoyed at being the owner of two mowers. Since we moved we've added to the shed a leaf blower and a gas barbecue courtesy of Nectar points (and my generosity in giving all of them to him).

The house is not particularly old, but there are things that are starting to go and that will over time need doing. If I think about them it makes my head hurt, but while we were out having dinner this week instead of looking into each other's eyes over the candle on our table we were discussing what needs to be done. We're romantic like that.

The list so far includes:

• Rebuild the garage (safely removing asbestos)

• Replace fridge, cooker, dishwasher, washing machine which are all slowly croaking to death 

• Repair the front bay window in the boy's room which leaks when it rains heavily 

• Remove the tree stump in the garden that is making the path go all bendy 

• Clear the dingly dell at the end of the garden (where I think the foxes live) 

• Extend the kitchen to make a utility area 

     and now

• Take up the kitchen floor to dry out underneath it (with the possibility of having to replace it)

I had planned on spending the wages from my new job on travel, nursery costs and the occasional Ocado shop with any leftovers being used for treats. I suspect that instead of pampering treatments and the occasional hair appointment those treats will now consist of down payments on my John Lewis wish list items and a 'house fund.'

So the transformation is now complete:

I listen to Radio 4, shop at Waitrose and my kitchen wish list is with John Lewis.

Hubbie has a shed, keeps making noises about building another and did I mention he has two mowers ?

Our aspirations aren't to go backpacking or try a new cocktail bar in town.

Yes, It's official.  We are middle aged.

The Sporting Life

It's a rite of passage for a boy to watch football with his father. We know this because it's the basis of Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch and Russell Brand's autobiography refers to his love of West Ham coming from the time he spent with his father Ronald going to watch matches at Upton Park. My son started going to football with Hubbie when he was a few weeks old. In fact I had to go with them the first time as I was still breastfeeding and had to be there to provide a half time snack for the boy.

I owe a great deal to sport as when my boy was first born Hubbie used to stay up late to watch the San Francisco Giants play and he would take the baby downstairs with him when he woke up at night for a feed. It meant I could do a sleep feed and go back to bed while they boys watched their team eventually go on to win the World Series. Hubbie is convinced that our boy broke the Giants' 30 year losing streak although I draw the line at keeping him awake to repeat the feat again this year.

They don't just watch sport together, they also go to a football activity for toddlers on a Saturday morning and this week I took the little man to an Easter camp where he played football, tennis and basketball. I've mentioned before that he has bundles of energy to burn off and it's lucky that Hubbie loves to do these activities with him as I have zero interest in any sport at all.

Since the early days we have fine tuned the Saturday morning routine and have narrowed it down to the trinity of essentials to keep our boy happy for the afternoon: Snack bag, snowsuit / suncream (delete as seasonally appropriate) and spare clothing. This way he has a snack at half time and is prepared for any weather conditions which considering when the football season falls is pretty important.

Aside from the bonding between father and son this regular activity has given my boy an impressive repertoire of football chants which thankfully are still repeatable in front of his grandparents. He has a friend who he plays with during the match and has been known to snaffle a biscuit from the board room during half time. In later years I expect he'll sample the delights of the snack bar and come home holding his belly and groaning. Today he took a new friend to football, a dog that he has named Woof Woof, and impressed his pal Freya who has been going to matches since she was a week old.

It was a conversation with Freya's mum that first made me realise how beneficial this whole Saturday football could be for me. I asked what she did while her husband and daughter went out and she said, "I have a bath, read the paper, go shopping. Anything I like really." The lightbulb lit up over my head and I realised that the faff of getting the boys organised was more than worth it for the sake of having an afternoon all to myself.

My usual Saturday afternoon is spent catching up with friends or having some pampering without having to rush home to feed anyone. Today I was massively productive and managed to go for a run, clean the bathroom and fridge, have a pedicure and baked some cookies. I also indulged in some kitchen porn and added a dishwasher, washing machine, cooker and fridge to my John Lewis online wish list. It's a far off dream, but when there are no distractions from the boys miaowing for biscuits, whining for milky way stars or asking me what's for dinner I am free to meander online and plan my ideal kitchen.

The season was due to finish in about a month, but the weather has been so bad that there are a few postponed games to be played. I have to make the most of my beloved and precious Saturdays until then or hope that something else takes the place of football once the season does finally end.

I have my fingers crossed for baseball and good weather :o)

Project parent: the sequel.

I've mentioned before that sometimes Hubbie knows me better than I know myself. He diagnosed I was having a migraine (and not dying as I thought I was) and he often tells me to drink water when I'm feeling a bit flat. He is also able to pinpoint more serious concerns in a way that previously only my friend Neil could. It was Neil who pointed out that I was so discombobulated in my new flat because I was surrounded by boxes and this disorganisation offended my sense of order. He knew this because we had lived in shared accommodation at university so he is familiar with my insane OCD tendencies. Also, his housewarming gift to me was a step stool for my kitchen and a can of flea spray - before you wonder why we are still friends I'd asked for both of those things. 

Anyway, I digress. Recently I asked Hubbie - yet again - if he minded me not having a 'proper job' (my words not his) and he said he didn't. Then he had a genius idea. Our new house (of over a year now) has a garage that is riddled with asbestos so he suggested that I project manage the rebuild. I have no experience of building projects so I looked at him sideways. Then I realised that actually what I need is something to keep me busy - other than a toddler and a cat that is. 

Having a project keeps me out of trouble and stops me from pondering and falling into depressive moods. Since we've been together my projects have included; training to be a yoga teacher, moving house, (twice), planning our wedding and the assessment process for our first adoption application. As you probably know I became pregnant with our beloved son so that adoption process came to a halt while we celebrated our new family member. 

Not having a project has left me feeling a bit empty and pointless. While I was pregnant I watched the entire box set of the West Wing and when my son was taking his time to be born I was getting a bit bored so we went out shopping for a car - which we were going to do anyway, but later. Of course having a baby kept me occupied and since then we've also been trying for another with little success and more than a little failure. 

It has left me feeling like my body isn't good enough or that my temperament isn't positive enough to make a baby or that I just don't deserve it enough. All of which is self-defeating. Now that Hubbie has given me a project it's injected some fresh enthusiasm into my well planned routine days. The new routine includes waking up earlier than I have in months to practise yoga - helped by the lighter mornings. This means I'm cheerier when the boy wakes up rather than being as tired and grumpy as he is. 

Being able to take on one new thing means feeling strong enough to take on more. Hence the biggest decision that we've made to get through this phase. We're going back to adoption to complete our family. This means we can look forward to an initial assessment to check we meet the criteria, hopefully further interviews and then the long process of preparing our F1 form for the adoption panel.

We have been here before. It won't be quick and it won't be simple. It will, however, be very different this time. This time we have a young son and he will be part of the assessment process and his interests will be taken into account. This time we have experience of parenting and of preparing for an adoption panel - although not at the same time admittedly. 

So here we go again. 

It's back, it's Adoption: the sequel.  

The Seven Year Stitch

Hubbie and I present a radio show together that we joke is the only time we actually talk to each other. While that's not strictly true it has reminded us how much we enjoy each other's company. Today he made me laugh so much I had to turn my mic down and let him carry on introducing my song. It was a ridiculous comment about a horse called Hoof Hearted and it had me in stitches and crying with laughter, silly I know.

We've been married for seven years this year - having both had starter marriages as practice - which in celebrity marriage terms is a lifetime. I always forget the date we got married, but I remember birthdays and other celebration days so I don't feel too bad. In fact we kid around that we have reversed the traditional roles as he irons his own shirts and I refuse to read instructions. It works for us.

In our early dating days we went on holiday to California and took a road trip from San Francisco to Las Vegas (via Los Angeles). We spent 24 hours a day together and a lot of time in a car driving. Well he drove, I mostly handed him sweets and pointed at the ocean. At no point did we argue or fall out and we always managed to agree on where to eat and what to do with a minimum of fuss. I put this down to him being easy going more than any positive qualities on my part.

When we were told it was unlikely that we would be able to have a baby we sat and cried for what felt like hours on chairs in the fertility clinic feeling bereft and empty. Every day after that I would phone him at work with some new plan I'd concocted to enable us to have the family we so desperately wanted. One day I called him while I was sitting under a dryer at the hairdressers to tell him I wanted to adopt one of the 11 million abandoned baby girls from India that I'd just read about. He said "Ok."

I asked him if we could go ahead and adopt in this country and he said "yes." We were assessed and verbally prodded and poked for months until we were approved by a panel of 13 strangers as suitable to be parents. Then we waited, and waited, and waited a bit more. It occurred to me that we had given up trying to get pregnant and it had to be worth a try. I suggested that in addition to all the dietary changes we'd made and the weight loss and the yoga we should also try acupuncture or reflexology. He is terrified of needles, but he said "Yes."

On a plane to India I watched Juno and cried and cried and cried. Then he watched it and he cried too. We watched Gavin & Stacey struggle to have a family and cried and cried and cried. We tried to get used to the idea that we would neither adopt, nor have a baby of our own. We went on holiday and remembered why we were together in the first place. Then on the day that I found out I was pregnant he responded joyfully "My balls work !"

As I type this Hubbie is out watching My Bloody Valentine with a friend. He loves their music, I don't. On Sunday I will be taking a flying lesson that he bought me as a present - I am terrified, but you have to love the thought. The other day he told me I looked hot in my skinny jeans - unprompted !

So for all the times that Hubbie has said, "yes" or "ok" or "if you like" to make me happy I am posting this as I know it will make him happy.

All you need is love, love...

A good friend of ours lost his mother last weekend under very sudden and tragic circumstances. Today must be terribly poignant and upsetting for him and his entire family and for so many other people. I have been thinking of them today and hoping that they have found peace on a day that can be difficult for so many. 

I've been very lucky to be spoiled by Hubbie and family today and am now flumped after a blissful day at a spa while the boy was spending time with my Mum. As a result I've been terribly lazy with this post and have compiled some random thoughts on being a Mum.

• I didn't put off having a baby to concentrate on my career. I concentrated on my career because I didn't have a baby 

• I feel guilty about the three children we were asked to consider for adoption that we felt would be too overwhelming to take on. I still cry when I think they might have been split up 

• I don't regret staying home with my son. I do, however, worry that I'm now 'unemployable' and useless

• Being told on New Year's Day that I'm no good as a person has sent me into a spiral of self-loathing that I can't find a way out of 

• I tell my boy every day that he is handsome and that I love him. I hope that he always believes me 

• I give thanks for my loved ones every day. I don't know if they realise that, but I do

• Being a parent is a gift me and Hubbie thought we'd never have - we are so very, very grateful  

Does the boy eat chicken ? or My Big Fat Punjabi Family

I'm sure there are some films you watch repeatedly, either because they have meaning for you or they star someone you love watching or they just make you laugh. My Big Fat Greek Wedding was on the other day and it's a film that I missed on cinema release that I never really appreciated at first. It's grown on me since and it's only now I realise this is because I see it as an instructional film for anyone considering a cross-cultural relationship / marriage. In fact it could almost be about my own family the similarities are so startling.

There's the character of the father who is convinced everything is Greek (or in my Dad's case indian) and his constant sobbing refrain "why is she doing this to me ?" The enormous family that are noisy, in your face and inappropriate. I have aunties who used to say "it's good to have a long nose, it suits you," genuinely believing I needed to hear that. This appears to be an inbuilt need to 'advise' on appearance which is also evident in the scene where on the morning of her wedding Tula is surrounded by noisy female cousins and aunties bleaching and plucking facial hair while fussing around the sudden appearance of a spot.

I was spared the one cliche from the film that is also a truism of cross-cultural marriages, the poor new lad being tricked into saying inappropriate words to his new family. As I'm the one sibling who is fluent in punjabi it was unlikely Hubbie would learn any swear words from me. Now he is learning from our son who uses some incredibly cute crossover language that is 'Pinglish' or an amalgamation of punjabi and english.

Of course I've mentioned before how there are always mountains of food when we visit my parents or other family and my husband's first visit to my Mum's home for lunch was a lesson in why indian women outlive their husbands. Mum hovered over Hubbie ensuring his plate was always full (while simultaneously cooking chappatis) so he learned to always go to their house on an empty stomach in the future. The first time my Dad met Hubbie he asked (in Punjabi) "does the boy eat chicken ?" (I don't so it was a fair question) and when it was established that he did I think he passed. 

My favourite similarity from the film is when Tula's father presents the bride and groom with a wedding gift of a house. These grand gestures are very indian and I still cringe when I recall being a guest at a wedding where the father of the bride presented his terribly embarrassed daughter and son in law with a comedically big cheque like they'd just won the pools or something.

I admire the bravery of the men who've married into my family. Some didn't make it, but the ones who did have hallowed status. Hubbie is no. 1 son in law - especially since he is also Daddy to their first grandchild. When we visit Mum always makes his favourite chicken. These days she spends less time watching his plate as my son gets lavished with all the attention, but Hubbie still leaves feeling stuffed.

The one line in the movie that sums it up for me is when Tula's auntie looks at Ian and says proudly, 'he looks Greek.' When we stayed in India with my beloved late grandmother she was so taken with Hubbie she said, 'of course he's Punjabi.'

It was the most I could have asked for and made me so proud.

Foodie Friday: Life is all about Chocolate, Chips and Cake.

I met a friend for dinner last week and she reached into her bag before eating so she could check what she was allowed to eat. I asked the obvious questions, 'on a diet ?' 'Pregnant ?' Turns out she has IBS and has been advised to avoid certain foods. Now I am way ahead at this particular party as I had severe problems with food around ten years ago and it took the GP two years of testing to conclude I had stress related IBS. Frustrated by the medical advice to eat charcoal (for real !) I decided to have a food allergy test at a health store to see if there was anything I should be aware of.

Now I know I brought this on myself really and if you have seen a 'nutritionist' or a 'holistic therapist' or spoken to anyone from the world of food health you won't be surprised by what the nice man told me after a highly unscientific test undertaken in the shop. I was advised to avoid: bread, caffeine, chocolate, onions, peppers, cabbage, red wine and red meat. In fact the only cliche he managed to avoid was that he didn't tell me to stop eating dairy.

The world of 'healthy eating' seems to be all about exclusion. We are advised to cut out wheat, sugar, dairy and caffeine. It's supposed to 'detox' the body. Now I don't know about you, but I don't feel toxic when I have a cup of tea. I feel pretty horrific at the thought of custard, but that's a preference thing. I used to feel a bit poorly if I overdid it with the wheat and I haven't drunk real coffee in ten years, but give up sugar and tea ? Give me a break. What's the point of living a long and essentially crappy life ? No cake - no tea - no hot buttered toast ? I realise that some people have genuine allergies to foods and I get that, what I'm talking about here is the self-imposed misery of food exclusion either to lose weight or to stay well.

I tried being a vegan for a few months in my first year at University. It struck me that as I already didn't eat meat I could easily be a vegan if I skipped butter on chappatis, left out the raita with my food and denied myself my beloved boiled egg and soldiers. However, I did struggle with tiredness, terrible skin and I was the most miserable I've ever been. I can see why Morrissey is such a grump most of the time -- hence it was only a shortlived experiment.

If life is about anything surely it is about enjoyment and experiencing and trying new things ? If I didn't eat sugar I'd never have tasted the exquisite chocolates from Rococo in Chelsea (also available online).

If I gave up dairy I'd never enjoy Ben & Jerry's ice cream on a hot day in Clapham Common watching live music and seeing the sheer bliss on my son's face as he scoffs two cones at once.

If I stopped eating wheat I would deny myself the pleasure of eating toast or pancakes or chappatis or cake. Personally I don't see wheat as the enemy, I love it. Most cultures in the world have a wheat based diet be it pasta or chapattis or bread and who am I to fight against those odds ?

This week I've made peanut butter cookies (a bit crumbly, but taste great), chocolate chip cookies (the boy loves these) and honey cookies (wanted to use up a jar of honey, they smell incredible and taste very sweet, but the boys both devour these for breakfast !). The simplicity of these and the happiness they create in my home cannot be overstated. 

All of which is a very long-winded way of saying that I'm going on a bread-making course this weekend. It's with Daniel Stevens who wrote the River Cottage bread handbook and promises 'all the bread you can eat' as well as lunch and wine - sold !!! 

It's a very early birthday present from Hubbie and I'm ridiculously excited about it. I will take photos and tell you all about it next week. 

Foodie Friday: Chips, Chapatis and Cheese Sandwiches.

It's half term and Hubbie has kindly taken time off work and we're having some 'family time'. Our son isn't at school yet so I'm not sure why he chose this week - I think he said something about using up all the holiday he has accumulated - but, nonetheless it's a gesture. If I was sending you a postcard it would read thus:

"Day one: Bundled the boy into the car to go out for the day and he spotted a few horses in the New Forest so that was nice.  Then spent almost an hour finding the otter and owl sanctuary where Hubbie worked when he was 13 - to be fair he didn't drive then so he's hardly to blame for not knowing the way - only to decide that £20 is a rip off so had a terrible pot of tea and got back on the road. Programmed the sat nav to find a pub with children's play facilities, got here and were told that the online listing is 2 years out of date.  Had to do a lot of loud singing to keep the boy awake so that he would still sleep when we got back in the afternoon. Got back opened a bottle of wine and fell asleep by ten.

Day two: A day at the seaside ! It's fricking freezing so today's trip involved us shivering as we walked along the seafront and desperately trying to look like we were having a good time while losing all feeling in our fingers. The rides were a big hit so getting the boy off Iggle Piggle's boat and the pink Hello Kitty car caused a massive tantrum before we could get him back on the land train - which he also loved. It was far too cold to find somewhere to get chips so we ate our sandwiches in the car before driving home. Tonight it's the chippie for dinner and the last of that bottle of wine.

Can't wait to come home - wish we weren't here xx"

I am worried that I've inherited my family's inability to do holidays. I'm the oldest of four siblings and we didn't go away much, but my Mum did her best to give us the experience of family breaks. There was generally a lot of sitting in the car while my folks argued about the directions. Dad would get tired after about an hour and get my Mum to take over driving then he'd fall asleep so we had to navigate from the back of the car.

Mum always packed a huge lunch for us all and we'd stop somewhere to eat our chapatis with dhal from a large thermos and complain loudly that we'd rather have 'normal food,' ie. sandwiches. We'd have to eat in the car so the smell wouldn't offend other picnic folk and would spend the rest of the drive holding our overstuffed bellies through turmeric stained clothes. After getting lost a few times we would arrive at a caravan park in North Wales or Devon late at night and try and get the tv to work then go out to find a chippie for the first night's dinner.

Each day we'd faff about all morning and leave after 11 o'clock to get to a tourist destination that would be far too costly for all of us to go in so we'd take some photos of us outside a castle / aquarium / butterfly park and eat some lunch then head back. On one memorable occasion the car was low on petrol and we appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. My parents got more and more batey with each other as me and my brother gleefully sang 'Honiton' to the tune of the Konica commercials because we kept seeing signs for the mythical place that might yield some fuel before we broke down in deliverance country.

Essentially our holidays were predicated on the next meal and how we would get to it. I do try not to be like that, but it's difficult to fight the genetic indian hardwiring that makes me pack enough food for a week before we leave the house.

Tomorrow we're going to go back to what we do best: I'm having my nails done and the boys are going to watch football. We'll eat lunch indoors and I'll meet my friend for dinner and leave a hot meal for Hubbie. I predict it'll be the best day of our holiday so far :o)

When I grow up I want to be Siouxie Sioux

It's Monday morning and I've dropped the boy off at nursery, meditated, practised yoga and planned my radio show for later, so I have time for my "I don't like Mondays" style ponder.

Before I met Hubbie and I was a single girl about town I was less Bridget Jones and more Bellatrix Lestrange - in dress sense and temperament.  I did internet dating at a time when you would rather tell people about your toilet habits than that you met via the internet. It was for about a year and I was pretty honest with my friends about it as I needed them to make my emergency phone calls an hour into the latest foray into the world of meeting strangers who really were the definition of strange.

For example the man who looked like a young Elton John and told me how he attacked his neighbour and practised tai chi on the tube. I popped to the loo, asked my housemate to ring me as a get out - which he did - and then I proceeded to do the best acting of my life to get out of the date. How I ended up giving him a lift to Victoria station is not recorded in history, but suffice it to say if he was weird to have a drink with in a bar then how much worse was it to have him in the much smaller space of my car ?

Then there was the chap I dated who bragged about the value of his sports car, his Breitling watch, etc. etc. and then wondered why he only ever attracted women who were interested in money. He would regularly list the nationalities of all the women he had dated as though he was working through a list or ticking them off on a map of the world. He now lives abroad and posts pictures of himself flying planes and hanging out with what look suspiciously like ladyboys.

Not all the failed relationships started online though, I also met an ex-school mate - many years after we left school - at a friend's 30th. It was a few years later that we actually dated and I had memories of how gorgeous he'd been the last time I saw him so what I failed to see was that he was not at his best at that point. He'd had a massive breakdown and was living with his parents, drinking a lot and was generally not in a good way. He would arrange to meet me and turn up over two hours late and not entirely sober.

Now I know that trashing your exes is the preserve of crazy ladies who admit to knitting jumpers for their room full of cats. It's not classy, but to be honest I've got enough tragic material here for a book that would make less of a misery memoir and more of a desperate dating diatribe. I only really mention these case studies as an example of my credentials in offering advice to friends with relationship woes.

One beautiful yoga teacher friend who I met through her husband was in a toxic situation that I summarised for her was clearly about their physical attraction as they were so different in character. Another lovely friend was drowning in debt, but very much in love. I suggested she might decide whether she could be with him and not hold it against him that she paid for everything. I'm pleased to say they are very happy together.

I often wonder if I could be any cop as a counsellor. I did the training a few years back and having had a failed marriage and a chaotic dating history I think I've put in the ground work in person too. If knowledge is best achieved from personal experience then I'm pretty much qualified to be the new Claire Rayner as no one seems to have taken over from her kindly manner and no nonsense advice. I would say that against these pros there is one pretty big con and that is that I have a skin to few for the job. I take things far too personally - it's really a pain - and it's only getting worse as I get older. I'd like to be more like Tony Soprano's shrink. She is the ultimate listener who knows what he does for a living and yet keeps focused on the task at hand and appears not to judge him.

I feature a guest on my radio show every week and they talk about the work they do with passion and enthusiasm. It is inspiring, but also makes me wonder where my true calling or passion in working life lies. When I was younger I was experimental with my hair, clothing and career choices. As the title of this post suggests I had aspirations to become Siouxie Sioux (who shares my birthday by the way) or another colourful strong female. Now I'm pondering what I do in this next phase of my career having had a child, so you may get a few more of these rambling posts as I think aloud about what I should do.

Bear with me please. Unless you're a career counsellor in which case let me know what you think.

Lips like sugar (from eating so many treats)

Happy valentines day

If you don't celebrate it then happy Thursday between pancake day and half term. Nice that the sun is out again today isn't it ? Well don't let me keep you I'm sure you have better things to do than read about lovey dovey nonsense.

If you do then I hope you're feeling suitably full of chocolate and are surrounded by cards and flowers from a legion of admirers as well as a helium balloon that popped out of a big box and a large teddy holding a red heart and "I wuv you" on it's belly. Ok maybe not the last one as even I'm feeling a bit queasy at the thought of that.

There is a scene in the Sex and the city movie where Carrie and Miranda go out for dinner on Valentine's Day and they are in a restaurant surrounded by balloons and couples in love. It's the nightmare vision of overblown 'romance' that haunts the single and terrifies the coupled who just want to get some dinner.

Thanks to our kindly neighbour offering to babysit we are going out this evening for dinner - just us two. I didn't want my boy to feel left out so we had a family breakfast before Hubbie left for work complete with heart shaped sparklers in the pancakes which our son loved. He even got a card from a secret admirer (although a clue was in the paw print at the bottom). He actually has so many admirers thanks to his flirtatious ways and cheeky smile that I think it's no bad thing to get him used to the idea of being a romantic.

To give him a head start here are some of my favourite valentine surprises:

• A dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts delivered to my desk at work - Cliff the security guard brought them up to me with some ceremony so I tipped him a doughnut for his trouble 

• A trail of paper hearts from the front door leading to the bubble bath surrounded by candles - we didn't live together at this time so it was a bit presumptuous, but still sweet.

• Hubbie (before we were married) taking the day off to prepare a romantic meal for me - we had a bottle of rose water and most of the bag of dessicated coconut in the kitchen cupboard for months afterwards. 

• Hiding a card in Hubbie's bag for him to find when he is at work - today he found it at lunchtime :o) 

• Baking a dozen red velvet heart shaped cupcakes with chocolate topping for my boys - I'm not sure they will last the day :o) 

We go in for being lovey dovey in a big way in our house - it's cheesy, but fun. 

Whatever you do today I hope that it's filled with love. 

Chocolate, chocolate everywhere...

February is crazy time - it's the shortest month with the most going on from dragon dances to pancakes to lovehearts to half term fun and the return of Creme Eggs !!

We are now in a new year on the Chinese calendar and last weekend we stumbled upon a dragon dance taking place in the most unlikely quarter of downtown Croydon. My boy found it all a bit too much with the loud drumming and large headed dragon, but he talked about it afterwards with glee so I'm pleased we experienced it first hand. Chinese New Year seems to have become lost in the glut of celebrations that we have over this short period, but we did made a lovely paper dragon at playgroup last week so the year of the snake hasn't entirely gone unnoticed.

Then we have shrove Tuesday - a magical day dedicated to the simplest foodstuff known to humankind that brings a smile to my boy, Hubbie and me all at once. We pile ours high with fruit and tuck in most weekends, but to have a special day just for pancakes is something else.

My boy made pancakes at nursery today and he was delighted to report that they were "delicious" a word he says with relish and saves for only the best foods. Poor Hubbie had a horrendous journey home so imagine how wonderful it was to come back to mini pancakes with bananas and maple syrup as a treat for my boys instead of their usual teatime.

Later this week we have one of the busiest nights in the restaurant world and the day that florists make more money than any other with the possible exception of Mothering Sunday. Valentine's Day causes so much consternation for new couples who don't know if it's too soon to go overboard on gifts and established couples who either have a 'routine' or feel it's all been done so what's new any more ?

In the past we have always taken turns to make a special meal at home rather than go out, but now that we are parents an evening out just the two of us is such a rare treat that we have decided to go out for a meal despite it being a cliche. I start planning gifts a long way back so by now I've got a pretty good stash of pressies for both my boys (sshhhh don't tell them !!) I am fascinated by the offers from dine in meals to overpriced roses to 'sexy' underwear. If you are in any doubt as to what you are supposed to give the retail sector will give you a lot of ideas.

Next week is half term then we have the preamble to Easter - the bus posters claim that Creme eggs aren't around for long, but seriously don't we just have them all year round now ? With so many celebrations in close proximity February is a pretty sugary month.

When me and Hubbie were first dating we used to celebrate everything. Any excuse to go out or to give each other gifts. So we would do the pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, the card and fancy meal on St Valentine's day and a tonne of chocolate at Easter. Hubbie makes the same promise each Lent to give up eggs and cauliflower (neither of which he eats) even though neither of us are Catholic or Christian.

I guess we just like having markers in the year that remind us where we are and give us excuses to celebrate.

Now it's even more fun as there's someone for whom it's all new and exciting as he's doing them for the first time. (Just don't tell him that his Valentine is from Mummy).

This too shall pass (I hope)

As it's that time on a Sunday evening when the looming spectre of Monday morning is only held off by the hope of a good night's sleep I have been pondering. I left school over twenty years ago and I left my job over a year ago so why would Monday hold any dread for me ?

Other than the logistics of getting the boy to nursery and ensuring I'm home to receive a delivery at almost the same time it's hardly the most trying of starts to the week. I also do my radio show on a Monday so apart from a little bit of a panic about my guest finding the studio I tend to look forward to it. By the time I pick up the boy from nursery and then Hubbie from the station we've all got stories to share about our day.

So why is it that by the time Hubbie is home - having commuted for a few hours and suffered a full working day - I hide in the kitchen with a cuppa and Radio 4 and let him deal with the boy ? After all I don't have colleagues to drive me crazy, or the travel delays to wind me up or even a toddler at home on certain days ?

Well my theory is that it is precisely because I don't have colleagues or a commute or delays that I have lost all sense of perspective. My day is punctuated with breaks for hot drinks and planning my needs around my son's. I no longer have a role at work or a salary to spend or even adult company to discuss office politics with. All those necessary components to keep my sanity and identity intact.

Later in the week I mostly escape to the kitchen at 6.30pm because it's been one of those days - again. The ones where I have bruises from being kicked changing nappies, a headache from being head butted in the chin, a ringing in my ears from being slapped across the side of the face and backache from wrestling to get the boy to sit in his car seat. To top it all off I usually also have a sore throat from saying "Stop !" and "No !" so often.

Try as I might not to I do mutter swear words under my breath or in the next room, but his supersonic hearing will catch me out eventually and he will cause a sharp intake of breath at a bus stop or in front of his grandparents one day and I will have to hide from them too.

So the phrase 'this too shall pass' is my mantra to get me through my son's terrible twos and my muddled middle age.

In the meantime any tips would be much appreciated.

Let me tell you about the birds & the birds and the bees & the bees.

To my beloved son,

As I type there is an urgent debate taking place on Twitter, in the Houses of Parliament and on news channels about the free vote taking place on marriage between gay couples. The most interesting part of this for me is how we retread the same old arguments for years and years. In my youth the debate was about 'promoting' homosexuality in schools - in other words acknowledging that some relationships exist outside of the man and woman scenario that was considered the norm. Of course you know that there is no such thing as 'the norm,' there is just who we are and how we live.

I heard a discussion on the radio this morning where a woman claimed that it was 'God's law' that marriage is only between a man and a woman. Now let's be clear where I stand on this issue. Anyone who wants to be married and who is free to in law should be able to. If they want to do this in a religious ceremony that is up to them and if they want to do this in a legal, but not religious way that is fine too. That means: a man and a woman who want to be married, a man and a man who want to be married or a woman and a woman who want to be married.

Can you believe there was a time when me and your Dad being married would have caused a similar hoo-ha because we have different coloured skin ? I know, I know, it's ridiculous the things that people think are any of their business.


You are nearly two and a half now and you have no preconceived ideas about the people in your life. I just have a few things that I need you to know and remember as you grow into the amazing man I know you'll be:

• Treating someone differently because of who they fancy is stupid, plain and simple. 

• I bitch-slapped a grown man (ok he was a young man, but he was in the army at the time) for repeatedly using the word gay in a pejorative way -  I will not hesitate to do it again.

• Whoever you fancy / adore / love we will always love you - there is no question. 

• If you want to marry or not marry the person you love you deserve the choice either way. 

Most important of all, to meet someone you love enough to want to marry them is a special gift - not everyone is that lucky.

If anyone tries to stop you from being with the person you love come and get me - I'm nowhere near out of slaps yet.

All my love always,

Mummy