Blog 54?...End of the alphabet...

Blog 54 ?...End of the alphabet...

Well I certainly didn’t plan this very well...I’ve run out of letters to put next to the number 54! When I started the blog in February I simply used a,b, c etc. I didn’t actually think that anyone would read it and that it would fizzle out as an experiment gone wrong! But I am delighted to say that I have been encouraged over the passing months to continue! Currently I have 3,159 views on the blog page; viewers from near and far: United Kingdom, USA, China, Norway, Italy, France, Jersey, Ireland, Mexico, Guatemala, Ukraine, Alaska, Latvia, Canada, Germany, Russia to name some of the audience...I am stunned and also a little more than plain old excited!

Once I had made the decision to start a weekly blog I remained anonymous purely because I felt firstly that if it flopped it didn’t matter as no-one knew it was me and secondly to protect the identity of family I talked about: ‘Hubby’, the ‘Intelligent-one’, the ‘Cutie-pie’ and not forgetting the ‘Bridezilla!’

However, close family members soon saw it on my younger brother’s Face-book page and then it became a suggestion to link it to Face-book properly myself. I was a little worried as I had been enjoying seeing comments on the blog page each week...and of course these faded once it was on Face-book as my family and friends could tell me directly what they thought! I did panic because with no comments at the foot of the page I felt as though no one outside the family and friend circle was reading it or that people were put off by the thought that it was obviously not worthy of a comment or two. But, by tracking the progress, the audience and the number of hits I soon became encouraged and persuaded myself that people writing books and columns do not get personal messages about what they have written! Do not get me wrong I am not likening myself to any of the greater writers out there! But I do enjoy writing this blog. In fact it is safe to say that I am hooked!

At the very beginning I thought that I would probably run out of things to say...ha! Safe to say that will never happen in my day to day life...but I do need to be careful and selective in case I become boring or even becoming in danger of writing my memoirs as opposed to a blog!

Whilst I have been blogging the country has celebrated the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, we have hosted the 2012 Olympic Games and my own town is preparing for the Preston Guild 2012 which only happens every 20 years. I have shared memories and incidents as they arose and in a sense I have created a 'diary' that I can reflect back on.

My life has changed a lot over the past few months in ways that I would not have thought possible or even noticed as much had I not been blogging!

The biggest change of all was the ‘Bridezilla’ moving out...an experience I thought I would not get over and I certainly didn’t think that I would adapt to life without her 24/7. But I would like to offer hope to all the people reading my blog that you do, gradually and in time, get used to them not being there. It was strange and sad not saying: “Goodnight, see you in the morning...” and the disappearance of the regular sound of her key in the door. There are no more fashion shows before she decided what to wear on a night out and there’s no more consulting about decisions that will affect her...she has her ‘young-man’ as first port of call for all these things now. Sitting in her room sharing chocolates and a bottle of wine to watch a ‘chick-flick’ whilst the males of the house watch football is now also a thing of the past and instead of that little girl/surrogate mother relationship something new is taking place...we have time to sit and have a coffee, we have the chance to look for wedding items, we also text more and speak for longer on the phone. In fact we have now got the quality of time that we didn’t have before. How is it that you can live in the same house and not have the time to finish a conversation and yet the minute you live separately we are blessed with this new depth of friendship? Who knows why it happens but I’m glad it has!

With the departure of the ‘Bridezilla’ came a new routine for the house as a whole...the bathroom is free more often, there are more dry towels, the washing basket never spills over and dare I say it but we actually have more toilet paper these days! We have also re-arranged the bedrooms for the hundredth time since the boys were born! After lots of discussions it was decided that the ‘Intelligent-one’ could have the ‘Bridezilla’s’ old room: a bonus because it came with fitted wardrobes, fluffy carpet and more space for friends to play on the Play Station. [It was of course minus the larger T.V. that both boys had their eyes on without thinking she’d take it with her!] This then meant that the ‘Intelligent-one’s’ room was free...and very quickly I claimed it as my study. A quick shuffle of furniture was all that was needed, actually no what am I saying? There was nothing quick about this process at all! I waited for several days after the ‘Bridezilla’ had moved out as I didn’t want it to look like I wanted her out of the home. I was spending too many parts of the day wondering into her empty room and worrying in case she hadn’t been as happy as I thought or that she hadn’t felt as much a part of the family as we tried to make her or that perhaps she might change her mind and decide to come home! [All parents must feel some of these emotions at some point when children are fleeing the nest!] I had a deep rooted urge to turn the clock back and start all over again with the ‘Bridezila’ as a little girl...now that I knew she had a happy ending to her story and found her ‘Prince Charming.’

So, finally I started to re-organise furniture which led to the most incredible de-cluttering of all times! Suddenly we had a surplus of bedroom furniture. Wardrobes were emptied of clothes that were too small, out of date or not worn for ages and as I was filling the charity bags with the boys’ clothes I decided to de-clutter the ‘Hubby’s’ and I’s wardrobe and drawers as well! Then it was down to books and toys and DVDs and before we knew it we were all knee deep in bags of items which probably would have raised some much needed pocket money for the boys but it was easier and quicker to donate the lot! Then there was the moving of the furniture; no easy feat when I wanted things doing ‘now’ and the ‘Hubby’ preferred to ‘leave it until the weekend.’ There couldn’t be too much to pushing an empty wardrobe could there? I mean I used to move furniture all the time...but that was years ago and age and chronic pain get the better of me these days! However, I decided to pace myself and try a little at a time...shuffling a pine wardrobe across a shag pile carpet is not as easy as I thought it would be and by the time I got it to the doorway I realised that as I had kept pushing and pushing the carpet was rolling forward bit by bit and by the time I reached the doorway it was somewhat piled and there was no shifting it...also I was trapped behind the wardrobe which had now become wedged in the doorway at an angle quite alien to what I had imagined! There was nothing for it but to shout for help...of course the ‘Intelligent-one’ was at that point out on a run and the ‘Cutie-pie’ was downstairs sitting with his ear phones on whilst taking part in the most important on-line match on the Play Station of his summer break! So defeated I sat down on the bed and switched on the T.V. and watched some very interesting shopping channels until the ‘Intelligent-one’ returned and found he couldn’t get in his room...as I couldn’t get out of it! 

Then the next issue to be resolved was the moving of the beds; well the ‘Intelligent-one’s’ bed was easy as he and the ‘hubby’ shifted it quickly one night before tea-time but I had decided that with a change of furniture which had led to more space in the ‘Cutie-pie’s’ room that his bed needed to be against a different wall. I pushed and pushed on all fours and there was no sign of it moving. Perhaps the wheels were stuck on the carpet? Not at all...I had forgotten that he had drawers built into the base of the bed and these were full of trains and Lego and Transformers so it was just too heavy to move! I was so disappointed as the thought of emptying everything again in order to move the bed across the room was too overwhelming! Once again I sat down on a bed pondering and then a light switched on in my head...of course! The head board could be unscrewed and swapped to the bottom of the bed and then I got both boys to help push the bed up against the wall...so much better than trying to shuffle it around! Doh! Sometimes I’m just dumb!

Following this from then on it was suggested that both boys would do all the removals...why hadn’t I thought of that? They lifted, they pushed, they pivoted until after four whole weeks after the ‘Bridezilla’ had moved out all four bedrooms were now neatly re-arranged with bookcases, drawers, tidy wardrobes, storage boxes: containing special-not-to-be-disposed of-EVER- toys and teddies; were placed decoratively and all old and un-matching furniture passed on. Phew! It was surprising the space we suddenly had by re-organising and de-cluttering and to top it all I now had a study with space and with a desk, my old computer finally out of retirement due to always being pushed to one side to make room for the laptops or homework on the desk downstairs: now it was fully plugged in, paper stored neatly and a lovely view looking out over the garden added to the excitement of this room. Peaceful and a great place to write. At last after all these years of school work, books and clutter! Ah well that is until the ‘Intelligent-one’ also found it a great place to do some pre-term reading and the ‘Cutie-pie’ decided it was a better desk to sit at to do his summer holiday Maths revision...it’s a quiet room you see at the back of the house...perfect for me...er all of us!

As well as these changes since I started my blog there has of course been others. Like for example my health issues whereby I have been following all the advice of my doctor and the Pain Management and trying to get out and about: learning to live with my chronic pain even though it meant I ended up in the brook on a good day and semi-comatosed on my bed on a bad day! Just recently the ‘Hubby’ has been tidying out the garden shed in order to organise his fishing tackle for winter storage and the bikes were re-discovered. After an afternoon of puncture repairs, seat adjusting, brake servicing and helmet fitting it was a case of ‘Right! Let’s use them!’

So the ‘Hubby’ and the boys set off on the ‘Tour de Preston’ along the new cycle pathways: “See you in a few hours!” they shouted as I waved them off with butties and pies and biscuits and juices in their back-packs. Then I stood on the driveway and thought mmm...been a long time since I’ve even seen my bike let alone ride it and it was all fixed and ready...I pressed my painkilling patch to check it was still in place, swallowed my pain killers, donned my helmet and locked the house up...I could just have a little try and I wasn’t feeling too bad. I intended to just cycle a short way as a warm up. Plus also I was doing what I had been advised to do; “get on with life, take your pain with you, don’t sit around wallowing...” I nonchalantly walked with my pink bicycle by my side and crossed the road heading towards the cycle path. I hadn’t been down here since that time I fell in the brook...probably one of the last times I’d ventured out on my own since. I waited until there was no one around and then attempted to mount my bike...good god have I shrunk? My feet barely touched the ground and the seat felt harder than I remembered... in fact one leg felt shorter than the other and I wobbled a bit but I persevered and began pedalling. Oh to have the wind in my hair [well inside my helmet, but against my cheeks...!] and feel a sense of freedom. The path was smooth and straight and I felt okay...not very confident and I have to admit a little shaky but nonetheless...oh er...oh heck...I hadn’t counted on the slope; how the hell I can forget these places I don’t know and isn’t it a well known fact that you don’t forget how to ride a bike? Ha! Suddenly, I was heading down the slope towards the bridge...I couldn’t focus on what I should do as the bike felt out of control...oh er...brake brake my mind was shouting...ignoring my brain I stopped pedalling , threw my feet as close to the ground as I could, my toes scrapping against the path, I squeezed my handles and uh oh I missed the bridge completely and pelted head first down the embankment and landed minus the bike into the brook...which by the way was deeper than before because of all the damn summer rain. I sat and looked at my pink bike all dry and shiny on the side of the brook and then I heard a little voice call; “She’s here mummy...that little old lady is in the brook...” I don’t know what hurt the most...my bottom, my back, my head or the fact that a little boy thought I was OLD!

I returned the bike to the shed, cleaned myself up, had a stiff whisky [not advisable when taking painkillers I know!] and sat comfortably by the T.V. furious with myself and my doctor...how on earth am I ever going to lead a normal life when every time I go out alone I end up in the brook?! Why do I have these sudden urges to do something that just makes the pain worse? To make matters worse when they all came home the ‘Hubby’s’ first words were... “That was brilliant...you should try and come next time...the path’s quite smooth and straight...” yeah right!

So you see I am more active now than when I started blogging although my health has not improved a great deal! Other changes have been the chickens who came to stay, the cat who wanted to stay and the ants who will never be allowed to stay; as well as all the other things, happy, funny and sad, that I have shared with you all over the period of 28 blogs...who would have thought it? So, I am going to continue with my blog...it will have a number after it instead of a letter and we’ll see how far we get!

So for this week it remains for me to say thank you for reading; thank you for finding me; thank you for introducing me to the weird and wonderful feeling of writing as a relatively unknown person for a relatively unknown audience. 

Enjoy what is left of the summer month of August...

                        ... I will be returning soon in September with blog 54[1]...     

Blog 54 ?

Copyright©GML 2012

Blog 54z...Appointments & children...

Blog 54 z...Appointments & children...

Things suddenly became quite hectic at the end of last week whilst we tried to cram a lot into the remaining days of the holiday period and then this week has been one of those times when all the appointments come at once…I know I said I wanted to be busy but this is ridiculous!

The ‘Cutie-pie’ had a follow up appointment at the Podiatry Clinic to check how his insoles are. I am always nervous about this particular appointment…

He has needed support for the past 5 years due to some kind of condition that makes his feet appear banana shaped and the muscles at the back of his legs don’t grow as fast as he is growing which causes the awful tightness and cramping of his legs.

As a little one everything was fine and then one day I was watching him in the playground before school started and he appeared to be limping…he actually had started to adapt his walking and running in accordance to how his muscles were developing. I felt so guilty as he had complained of pains in his legs but I’d said it was growing pains…mm typical response I suppose! Then I said the cramp was due to not eating enough salt in his diet…where the hell do I get these notions from? So after a few nights of rubbing the backs of his legs I took him to the doctors to ask what could be done for painful legs… then followed the usual waiting game and then appointments and then finally a diagnosis and a referral to the Paediatric Orthotist!

The ‘Hubby’ had to take him for an x-ray…bearing in mind that he was only 8 years old at the time and rarely spoke a word to anyone other than family; he had to endure sitting in the x-ray room by himself and watched whilst the radiographer positioned his ankle, the back of his foot, the heel etc.  in order to get a comprehensive x-ray of his sweet, little foot! All during the x-ray he said nothing and was politeness itself when asked if he was okay…then the ‘Hubby’ and the ‘Cutie-pie’ had to wait to see the Consultant who pushed and poked and said he would recommend some physiotherapy as there was nothing on the x-ray to be concerned about.

“Is there anything you’d like to ask me young man?” enquired the Consultant.

“Well…” answered the ‘Cutie-pie’… “I just wanted to know why they x-rayed my right foot when it’s my left foot that bothers me…”  

I have since tried to encourage him to always speak up for himself in the vain attempt to avoid any further mishaps but he just kept quiet for the most part and then he became adept at dropping both his parents in the deep end with Consultants and Physiotherapists alike!

He had to follow the set of exercises that the Physiotherapist sent home with him on a sheet…we performed these religiously until by some quirk of fate I lost the damn sheet in amongst the recycling and had to encourage him to do them from memory…of course at the next session at the hospital when asked how was he getting on I said we performed the exercises each night but from somewhere the ‘Cutie-pie’ found his voice and informed the physio that I had lost the sheet and was making the exercises up! I felt my face redden when she then suggested a new sheet for me and an extra copy for him that he had to keep in his bedroom!

Over time the physio did work and the pain lessened…enter the Consultant who advised specially fitted insoles for his shoes. The ‘Cutie-pie’ had his feet measured and squashed in foam and then a few weeks later he had gel pads for his shoes. As his feet grew he was progressed onto stiff, specially shaped insoles which were hard wearing and would support his feet and aid his walking and running.

Excellent I hear you say…well the first set of insoles were a great success…he wore them all the time in his school shoes and then transferred them into his trainers. That’s where the problem lay. I put them back into his school shoes the wrong way…I know, hard to believe isn’t it? But there you have it…and of course when we went to the follow up appointment the Consultant asked the ‘Cutie-pie’ to take his shoes off so that the insoles could be checked for size and see how his feet were looking and feeling.

“Who put these in?” Asked the Consultant in an angry tone.

“Oh my mum did”; replied the ‘Cutie-pie’.

“They are the wrong way round…”

“I know but you can’t argue with her…”

Please let the floor open up and swallow me…I know it’s wrong to want a child to take the blame but I was so, so embarrassed.

“Well then I shall make a note that the new insoles are marked Left and Right…for your mother.”

Ha well, could it get any worse…you know full well it can! During another appointment I insisted that the ‘Hubby’ came with me. ‘The Consultant wouldn’t remember the earlier problems …’ suggested the ‘Hubby’ confidently; but I was taking no chances and of course I was right to feel apprehensive.

After the usual check up procedures and the affirmation from us both that he performed his exercises and that we always had his feet measured for his school shoes and that they were correctly fitted…the Consultant looked sternly at us both…

“Could you explain why his trainers do not fit correctly?”

“Don’t they, I never noticed,” answered the ‘Hubby’.

Dear God I wanted to curl up…what on earth was he talking about…?

“Well look at them…there’s a huge gap at the back of this one and this one has no space for his big toe…”

Dear God help me out of this I prayed… “Oh?” was all I could say…

“Take them off again please and let’s have a closer look.” He said sweetly to the ‘Cutie-pie’. Then looking sternly at us both he produced the trainers close up so that we could see that the left one was a size 5 and the right one was a size 7.

“Oh he must have picked one of his brother’s up by mistake…” I offered weakly.

“No I didn’t,” said the ‘Cutie-pie’; “his don’t have the blue stripe at the side.”

“One presumes you must have been given the wrong sizes by the shop assistant,” ah yes that could have been our get out clause if only the ‘Cutie-pie’ hadn’t decided that now was the time to discover his inner confidence…

“Oh no, we get my trainers from the supermarket, I showed mum and she picked them off the rack…”

Dear Lord, hung out to dry by my sweetheart…

“I’d like to suggest that in order for your child to benefit from this department that you ALWAYS check his shoe sizes and that you ALWAYS ensure the correct insoles are in the correct shoes…” [Dear me he remembered that and he must see 100’s of patients…]

So you know now why I was dreading this week’s check up…not too bad except that it isn’t a good idea to say that you run around in bare feet because mother doesn’t want the carpets to get dirty in reply to “…and how are you getting on with the insoles during the summer break…” Of course I was then informed that if he was not experiencing any problems  when not wearing the insoles then this could be a good thing…phew…and it would suggest that his muscles were stronger and all was working well…yeay! I escaped practically unscathed and now will be informed within the next two weeks of an appointment regarding larger insoles AFTER he has had his feet measured for his new school shoes!

The ‘Cutie-pie’ just looked at me through his beautiful long eyelashes and…kept quiet and smiled!

Funny how the innocence of children though can get you into trouble…the ‘Cutie-pie’ has become an expert…

When he was an Infant pupil, say about 6 years old, he began to look ‘chunky’ just one morning when he came down for breakfast in his school uniform. Over a few days I kept looking at him as I couldn’t understand how he was suddenly getting a bit bulky in his uniform. Then I received a call from school to say that he was refusing to get changed for P.E. and that it would be in the best interests of everyone if I could persuade him not to wear his pyjamas to school. What?

That night when we got home I sat him down to ask about the pyjamas…well of course that’s why he was so cuddly, nothing to do with a growing spurt …the ‘Cutie-pie’ was too cold in the morning to get undressed so he just put his school uniform on over his pyjamas…oh and by the way could I get him some new black pumps for P.E. as, according to the letter from his teacher that he then gave me, he was struggling to get his pumps on his feet…well naturally I investigated. I discovered that not only had he not been taking his pyjamas off, he had been keeping his socks on too so that by the end of the week he had 5 pairs of socks on…no wonder he was struggling!

It’s not just the ‘Cutie-pie’ though; the ‘Intelligent-one’ has his moments too…he had only been in school for the first half term and brought me a letter home from the secretary. This was to inform me that I owed school £28.00 outstanding school dinner money and that an appointment had been made for me to see the Headmaster. Sure that they had made a mistake I popped into the school on the afternoon of the first day of the new term to politely inform the secretary that as my son brings a packed lunch to school everyday there was a mistake about the money…expecting some form of apology for any embarrassment caused I was then ushered towards the Headmaster’s office…a bit confused, I was made to feel like some kind of criminal for not paying an outstanding balance. Hackles high and at the ready for battle I was then informed that the ‘Intelligent one’ frequently stood in the dinner queue and chose a hot lunch and sat with friends; without ever bringing in any payment. How could this be? Whilst trying to convince the Headmaster and the dinner lady and the secretary that they must be mistaken the poor child was hauled out of class and stood in front of the adults whereby he was to ‘confess’ to stealing a school dinner…

“But mummy I don’t always like what you pack…and I want to sit with my friends…” was the reply to my request that he needed to tell everyone that he didn’t have a school dinner because he had a packed lunch in his 'Thomas The Tank Engine' butty box.

Red faced, shamed faced, furious at looking like a fool [thank God I hadn’t sworn at the headmaster…!] I produced my cheque book and duly wrote a cheque for the £28.00 only to be informed that he had actually had another dinner that day and I owed a further £1.75…

That night I was discussing the whole situation with the ‘Hubby’ and that I had no idea what he was doing with the lunches that he hadn’t eaten…only to be informed that when the ‘Hubby’ had collected him from school they would sit in the traffic jam and the ‘Hubby’ would ask:

“Well son, what left overs have we got to eat today?” and the ‘Intelligent-one’ would duly open his butty box and the pair shared the goodies…

Ah well, that’s the menfolk in my household for you…

…by the way tomorrow I have the Optician’s with the ‘Cutie-pie’ and the ‘Intelligent-one’…wonder what trouble they’ll land me in there…no doubt something like…”Oh yes we wear our glasses all the time as instructed; but the mother makes us take them off if we are having our photographs taken” and what could possibly go wrong at the Dentist at the end of the week…most likely that I keep forgetting to buy the packets of Dental Floss for them all...

Blog 54 coming again soon…

Copyright©GML2012

Blog 54 y...Chick...Chick...Chicken...

 Blog 54 y...Chick...chick...chicken...

For a long time now both the ‘Hubby’ and the children have been asking for chickens...not for tea but to keep; to roam around freely and to produce lovely fresh eggs. I had my reservations and have always said absolutely not...nothing live other than us was to ever be in residence here! I know some of you reading this will be shouting at the screen: “Why on earth not?” Well let me tell you...

Growing up in a house of 4 children there was always going to be a request for a pet; we started small by having the goldfish Splish and Splash who were won at the summer fair on the local park’s coconut stall. There was nothing as exciting as carrying home a goldfish in a plastic bag and the talk of buying a large tank so they could have babies and we could ask all the neighbourhood children round to watch them all swimming round. We had seen fish at the pet shop which had stones and little underwater gardens with bridges and plants in their tanks. They looked so happy but our mother always refused saying that they would be hard work. But when the opportunity arose for the goldfish at the fair our ‘big sister’ was expert at chucking the hard wooden ball at the coconuts: several bang on targets and we were the proud owners of three fish.

Walking round the fair with our bags of pure gold was so exciting and we each picked a name. [ah well the three fish became two as I lost mine, Splosh, in the public toilets and when I departed the toilet cubicle I was heartbroken to see that the bag with my fish had disappeared from the sink where I had only left it for a few minutes!] Still, I could share the other two fish. So we went home to face the wrath of mother who was non too pleased with the win. Splish and Splash spent a few days in the old tin bath as we intended to buy a glass bowl as soon as possible. Somehow they got ‘free’ according to dad...they must have jumped out of the bath and down the drain to join their mother at the seaside...mmm well I was only 6 and the ‘little brother’ was only 4 so maybe they missed their mother [the ‘big sister’ however was not convinced...being a see-all know-it-all 8 year old! She announced that she was going to simply win some more...but after a quiet word from the mother there were no more trips to the coconut stall!]

The next pet to arrive at the house was a dog that had ‘followed’ dad home from a party: this dark little thing barked and snapped at our heels but we were besotted. We trained him to follow a handkerchief as we ran him ragged around the yard. During the fireworks on Bonfire night mother was furious to be left inside with a howling, moaning dog. I’m unsure who was most afraid of the fireworks but she said it was cruel to keep him as he was ‘sensitive to noise’ so dad dropped him off at a friend’s house. We all felt bereft when we cleared the punctured balls and bits of chewed toys from the yard.

As we grew older and moved to a house with a large garden we began to pester for another pet; all our friends had pets and it would keep us out of trouble and busy. When it seemed likely that nothing was going to appear the ‘little-brother’ requested a hamster for his birthday and he didn’t let up, constantly talking about the hamsters he had seen in the pet shop. Well what the first son and heir wanted he always got [no offence brother dear!] On his birthday he ran into the breakfast room to discover not one but two hamsters! They were in a cage with a wheel, a water bottle, feeding dishes and straw in their little metal bed. They were a dark, golden brown colour with little stripes of very dark brown and the birthday boy announced that they were to be called Flash and Lightning. Believe me they lived up to their names!

They spun round and round in that wheel as quick as any flash of lightning! They also discovered how to get out of their cage and run as fast as they could under the furniture, into cupboards and would disappear for days on end. There was nothing funny about waking up on a Sunday morning to the sound of something being nibbled and see a fat hamster devouring the remnants of miniature furniture in my doll’s house! Or worse still finding the shredded postal order that had been sent from my grandparents in Ireland for my birthday! Ah yes these hamsters began to rule the roost and quite frankly the lingering smell of used sawdust still reminds me of them.

Then one day Lightning disappeared and no matter how hard we tried we never found him. It appeared that poor old Flash was pinning for him and refused to leave the pile of tissue in her bed. No food was eaten and the sound of her water bottle ceased. So it was a sad day when our ‘big sister’ decided we should give Flash a decent burial. The four of us gathered around the tiny hole that had been lovingly dug in the back garden under one of the apple trees. As we stood and listened to our ‘big sister’ say prayers we lowered the metal bed into the hole. Suddenly my ‘little brother’ cried:

“Wait! She’s moving!”

“Not at all,” replied the ‘big sister’; “it’s only the wind.”

Distraught he knelt down, stroking his little pet and then jumped suddenly as a pair of brown eyes peeped up at us all from beneath the tissue! Luckily we pulled her out of the premature grave; Flash was actually only trying to hibernate!

Her survival was then celebrated with the birth of her babies; ha! No wonder Lightning escaped! He had done his deed and knew what was coming! She delivered a huge pile of babies and so a new cage was needed. The seven babies eventually became eight more and the large cage was no match for all the activity, not just the exercise wheels! Before we knew it there were 24 hamsters of varying sizes and colours and so mother called time on the ever growing brood of hamsters. All the new hamsters were sold to the pet shop and Flash was put into retirement. Bless her she must have savoured the new found freedom and space but sadly one morning the ‘big sister’ and I came downstairs to see her stretched out on the floor of her cage; she definitely wasn’t hibernating this time and she received the best funeral any hamster could wish for...complete with music!

By this time it was my turn to long for a pet! I saved up all my pocket money: doing extra chores in the hope of more money; that’s how I learnt how to iron! I stopped buying sweets and comics. [I tried eating everyone else’s by taking just 2 out of each bag of sweets so that no one lost more than the other and I would take the comics to read sneakily into the toilet... but soon got caught and then both brothers started to hide their Superman comics; so I really was doing without!] but I survived the trauma of saving and proudly presented my Tortoise to everyone. [Honestly I think the pet shop owner must have been rubbing his hands together each time he saw the four of us standing outside his shop!]

Well of course by now you must have guessed that all was not going to go smoothly. My sweet tortoise was having the very best of care: he crawled around the garden and ate all the weeds, the rhubarb leaves, the Forget-me-not flowers and mother’s pride and joy: Lily of the Valley. He devoured her lettuce patch when she wasn’t looking and he would set off on three day safaris: walking along our path, onto the pavement, along next door’s garden fence, down the side of their house and back through the hedge into the raspberry plantation! The first time he escaped I was so upset I cried for days and then suddenly he re-appeared. After that we got used to his disappearance and were able to track him down at some point between our garden and next door’s garden! We tried penning him into a set area and this was the worst thing we ever did to him. Early one Saturday morning we were woken up by barking and growling and as I ran into the garden still in my pyjamas I came face to face with a large golden retriever dog who had my tortoise firmly in his mouth and was shaking him about like a rag doll. He refused to drop him and even when I wielded the sweeping brush at him he thought I was playing. My screams brought the ‘big sister’ and both ‘little brothers’ running from the house, including one of the children from next door. Between us we managed to get this vicious dog to let go of my tortoise, who was dropped unceremoniously into the pen. If only we had left my tortoise sleeping under the bushes where he liked to be then the dog would not have noticed him. Once the dog ran off we were left stunned at the damage caused and I broke my heart not knowing what to do to save my pet.

Our friend said he knew what to do and he returned with a sack, string and a brick. He said it would be kinder to put the tortoise out of his misery. As he was older than us we trusted him and followed him as he carried the near lifeless little pet down to the brook. We watched in stunned silence as he placed the brick and my tortoise in the sack and tied it at the top. To my horror he threw the sack into the brook whilst the ‘big sister’ said some prayers. [She was still going through her religious phase that summer!] We stood still for a while not sure what to do and just as our friend turned to go the sack began to get very wet and move. We were about to go when the youngest ‘little brother’ shouted:

“OOH look!” and to our horror we saw the tortoise poking out of the sack and struggling in the water: the ‘big sister’ waded into the ankle deep water and collected the tortoise, who no doubt was not amused at having been half eaten; half drowned! Of course the friend laughed at the realisation that the brook wasn’t deep enough and then he suggested we put the tortoise to sleep as that’s what a vet would do to be kind.

“How?” was my question.

“Like the dentist.” Was his reply.

So we all trotted off back to his house, piling into his kitchen and watched amazed as he put the tortoise in the oven and turned the gas on, but not the ignition. We all stood round the oven, I’m not sure what we were thinking at this point or how long we were standing there but all of a sudden his father appeared at the back door having just finished his night shift.

“What the bloody hell is going on in here?” He roared. The 4 of us jumped back and pointed at his son;

“He’s putting my tortoise to sleep like the dentist.” I said.

“Bloody hell fire, you bloody nutcases...” he wrenched open the oven, the smell was sickening and he held my tortoise who was not asleep but wriggling in his own little way, definitely not impressed with the situation!

After an explanation of what had happened with the dog our friend’s father said it was kinder to let the tortoise die as quickly as possible but not with an audience so he offered to deal with it and sent us home.

The final pet I ever had was as a teacher in Liverpool when a pupil donated her two terrapins to the class. The class loved them and helped feed them, clean the tank etc. Sometimes in the middle of a lesson one of them would crawl up onto the rock at the side of the tank and tap on the glass...totally disrupting the lesson! I wasn’t particularly fond of them but the class loved them and we made them a focal point as well as incorporating their care and background information about them into the learning process. They survived two full school years in the class, coming home with me for the summer holiday. [Now that journey is a blog in itself...a tank of terrapins sloshing around in the back of my car...] However, during the third summer break one morning I noticed how quiet one of them was and as the day passed he didn’t move but instead lay as if sunbathing in the sunshine...I decided to take him to the vet who took one look at him in the bucket:

“What can you do for my terrapin...?”

“Not a lot really...I can offer to bury him for you...!”

So, you have to understand that my track record with animals isn’t really all that good. I know that the chickens would not be pets as such but I worried about the attachments that might form and the pain when an animal passes away; I have in my own little way managed to protect my children from this over the years by always saying no to a pet. That is until now of course. 

The ‘Hubby’ came home excited to say that a friend was giving away his three chickens and we had first refusal...ah the lure of walking to the end of the garden first thing in the morning to collect freshly laid eggs was too much for the ‘Hubby’...and so I relented; I had reservations but I felt that I couldn’t be the ‘baddie’ anymore and deny the men folk their wish.

Preparations were made in the form of securing the fences, fixing any gaps to stop them squeezing into the neighbour’s garden, a coup, hay, sawdust [yikes!] food, grit [this helps with shell formation] water dishes and after being reassured that they would not attract rats or mice and that any red mites would be dealt with...the chickens arrived!

I was totally unprepared for the cuteness of these three birds: a large brown, speckled chicken [just like the ones in Old Mac Donald’s Farm storybook!] a large pure white one with a red crown and the sweet little Polish bantam who was black with a shock of white feathers like a slipped wig over her eyes. We named them Sage, Onion and Stuffing! These were going to be the saviours from the ants...after all they eat anything like that don’t they?

So finally we were part of the growing number of people who were keeping their own chickens in their back yards...the ‘Bridezilla’ and her ‘Young-man’ popped round to see; them announcing that they were sweet and they too would be having chickens once they were settled...ah well we’ll see...

It was lovely, it was exciting, it was different: my patio, my courtyard back garden, was overnight transformed from: a sandy coloured, block paved, peaceful haven of potted plants, strawberries, gooseberries, fuchsias, mini bushes, lettuces, water fountain, shiny black wrought iron table and chairs, mini lamps...all of which have taken me 18 years to achieve...to: a shit hole of the worst kind.

Yes I do mean shit and I apologise for the use of the word but it was shit on my table, shit on my chairs, shit on my block paved yard...shit in piles and shit in circles, shit in the bushes, shit in the tubs...you name it if it was not moving it was shit on !!

They sat on the lights and pecked at the glass, they ate the strawberries and spat them out and then shit on them... then plucked the gooseberries and lettuces, they climbed into pots and dug out the soil scattering it over the shit, they squawked, they fought, they flew onto the table and shat through the wrought iron design so their shit was splattered in minute triangles and they shat on the top of the chairs letting it run down to form mini mountains of...shit!

Of course their eggs were wonderful...brilliant white shells and brilliant yellow yolks but to be honest 3 tons of shit a day in return for three eggs a day...not sure that’s a good bargain!

Of course the ‘Hubby’ patiently explained that it was because it was a new environment and soon they would settle and feel at home...did he mean that they wouldn’t shit as much?

It was a strange feeling opening the back door and being followed by a cheeky black hen who sat between my legs as I crouched down to shovel her shit into the bin...a strange sensation to hand feed chickens with worms and finely chopped tomatoes...it felt peculiar talking to them as I lovingly called;

“Good morning girls...” as I let them out of the coup and; “Here you are my chickie-dees some fresh water...”

It was a weird feeling opening the lid of the coup and collecting the eggs, having fallen head first the first time I collected them I left it to the ‘Cutie-pie’...he’s taller than me now and his arms are longer and I think he found it easier to collect the eggs than trying to haul me out of a large wooden box with my arms and legs flailing about in a cloud of sawdust with chickens gathered round his feet!

It was infuriating picking my way across the yard in between piles of pooh to hang my washing out because ‘yay’ for the first time in weeks we have had the most glorious, burning hot sunshine...just in time for the chicken coup to start smelling and the green-bottle flies to discover the chicken shite!

The ‘Intelligent-one’ was not impressed with the cleaning duties and decided to become a non-egg eating teenager...as if somehow that would relieve him of having anything to do with them...except of course for taking pictures and laughing at me as I proceeded to turn into the farmer’s wife...no wonder they need to wear wellingtons when pegging out their washing!

The ‘Cutie-pie’ on the other hand was in his element. He researched what they needed, the best food to feed them, the best equipment to keep them healthy and he was on line to one of his friends who also has chickens. Sage, Onion and Stuffing all followed him round the garden and would run up to him as soon as he opened the door. In fact in a morning if he hadn’t appeared by the time they were out of their coup having breakfast and their first stroll of the day then they began to wait for him, pecking at the glass door.

He was happy, he was busy, he was too attached. Bless him, he patiently helped me several times a day to scoop the poop and swill the yard. He abandoned his holiday activities to help look after them. What began to worry me was...what happens when he’s at school, ‘Hubby’ at work, the ‘Intelligent- one’ at college and I’m left on my own all day...

I needed the ‘Hubby’ to know just what was involved; so after being out all afternoon at the pictures we arrived home to a very hot, fly ridden smelly yard at the same time as ‘Hubby’ finished work and I informed him that before his tea he needed to do his duty! It was unfair to neighbours...I’m damn sure I’d be complaining if it was the other way round...I said. He couldn’t believe how much muck there was; in fact he was as naive as me as he thought that chicken pooh was small pellets like a rabbit not this squishy stuff that then became as hard as concrete and had to be chipped off the patio.

Mmm... funny how the romantic notion of chickens soon began to falter...luckily after 6 days he had finally understood what was causing my stress...he even decided to fence off half the back yard in order to give me some space...ha yes note the words ‘give me’ some space but then of course he was only coming home to the evening shit!

The fencing didn’t work and I’m not sure if it was just curiosity or a protest but when we had sat down to our Friday night Chinese takeaway supper...oh er yes spicy chicken wings and special fried rice...there was a sudden reflection of movement on the dining room window and I followed the glazed stare of both boys as their eyes landed on the sight of the large white chicken a.k.a. Onion...landing on top of one of the newly erected posts and staring in through the window: her eyes wide and menacing...enough to put anyone off fried chicken for life!

The next day ‘Hubby’ had a full day with the chickens...note one full day...and decided that actually this was not for him... it wasn’t fair to expect them to not have grass to run around on or to try and reduce the amount of space they pooped on and so he bravely admitted that perhaps it had not been such a good idea after all...of course he had to break the news to the ‘Cutie-pie’ who was distressed [exactly what I had tried to avoid all these years!] but understood that they needed a lot more space to roam. So the friend was sent for to collect the three pooper makers and arrived armed with a large net and box...

“Good God what have you been feeding them...?” he called out when he stood in something soft...
...ha! Don’t get me started again on that subject...

Footnote...
...if in doubt stick to buying your eggs from the market and leave the rearing of chickens to the bolder, braver, pooper scoopers of this world... 

                   ...preferably the ones with larger gardens...! 

                                               

Blog 54 z...coming soon...next Wednesday...

Copyright © GML 2012.

Blog 54x...I've been thinking...

Blog 54 x...   

 I've been thinking... the first two weeks of the boys’ summer holidays has passed in the blink of an eye…it has been strange having no uniforms to wash and press or sports kit to organise. The weather has been unbelievable with torrential rain and then burning sunshine! It has been too soggy for picnics and then too hot for walks. The worst part is that already there are signs of ‘Back to School’ as the war for the lowest priced uniforms commences…it’s worse than Christmas time: no sooner have schools closed for the Christmas break than the sales start! It used to really bug the life out of me when I was teaching; the term would end with the Nativity play; calls of 'Merry Christmas' echoing behind me and I’d be feeling all Christmasy and excited and set off for late night shopping to discover half empty shelves, Christmas displays being removed and sales signs going up as well as there being a sudden and devastating lack of Christmas treats!  

There is a sense already of the supermarkets moving items in order to clear away the summer garden paraphernalia in favour no doubt of the onslaught of the Hallow’een decorations! What is this pre-occupation with rushing through the year? We have Valentine’s and then the next day Easter eggs are on sale…is it all to do with consumerism because if it is then shame on all of them…someone somewhere is making us all race through life at too fast a pace!

I don’t want to rush…I want to stop and smell the roses as someone once said…wake up and smell the coffee [was that my own version or have I heard it somewhere in my long ago past?]…stand in the rain…jump in the puddles…you get the picture; I want the world to stop and give me a chance to breathe…give my children the chance to be children enjoying a break from their studies…let all children think that the new school term is a million miles away. 

As you all know the sad loss of my close friend’s son happened just recently and it rendered me helpless with shock and sadness.

It has been difficult to know that my friends are suffering with this devastating loss and there is very little I can do to make things better. 

The funeral was a wake up call for me.

A favourite song of his was played..."Don't look back..." although it's a popular song I have never known the full meaning or all of the words but those three words have been repeating in my head constantly...I suddenly felt that I think I have wasted some of my life…mainly due to my illness… I lost track of time…how to make everyday count…you see when you are working there is a purpose to your day; or when you are looking after someone or a child…but when you become house bound on your own all day you slowly become reluctant to go out, to see people, to be part of the world and as you all have read before my days rarely have a purpose or routine as my days are ruled by my pain…I suddenly felt that I have been wallowing in the pain, hiding behind it sometimes to avoid life…I have allowed myself to not be thankful for actually being given a new day…I have allowed the years to be rushed by...I have been wasting my days either sleeping, feeling miserable, isolated and just totally fed up!

Well, I don’t want to waste another day…so yes I want the world to stop rushing us through life; I don’t want to see school uniforms or stationary equipment adverts so early in the summer break, not for at least another 2 weeks…I want to feel a sense of freedom because there are no classes for the boys…I want to wake up in glorious sunshine and say to my boys… “Get your bikes out…here’s a picnic…I’ll meet you at the park…” [It’s not too far for me to walk as I certainly cannot cycle there!] I want to wake up when the rain is pouring down and say to my boys… “Get your coats and pop corn, we’re getting a bus to the movies…” I want to begin making the most of time…their time.

As an unmarried, childless, young teacher I used to love the first day of the school holidays…I would set my alarm for the normal time, get up and make a coffee and then get back into bed and sit and read a novel that I had specifically bought for the summer break.

As a newly married woman I used to love getting up early to make the ‘Hubby’ breakfast…well alright it was only cereal but the thought was there! Then I would spend hours clearing cupboards, organising school files, going into the school and arranging my classroom ready for the new term or gardening and cooking an evening meal and drinking copious amounts of wine whilst watching a movie or soap opera during the week …just because I could! 

As a mother of two young boys the beginning of the holidays used to mean lazy breakfasts of hot chocolate and croissants or waffles whilst watching cartoons; baking and picnics, playing on swings, games of Frustration [very apt!] and then a trip to the Toy store to invest in new Lego/Bionicle figures and then spend days piecing them all together [and then spend even more time hoovering them up!]

As a child the summer holidays always seemed to be endless weeks stretching out in front of me…the weather always seemed to be hot and a few of us children in the neighbourhood would get together and we would spend days in shorts and sandals. We would explore the fields and parks near the house; crawling on all fours pretending to be snipers in amongst the enemy [the cows on the hill!] We played hide and seek in the long grass and we used lampposts as the bases for games of Rounders. We went swimming in the open air swimming pool on the local park…er the memory is more glorious than the actual activity: the water was always freezing, there were leaves floating on the surface and the changing cubicles were draughty…but we had crisp butties and 'Tizer' pop to cheer us up! We fished for tiddlers in the brook [yes the same one I recently fell into!] and built a rope swing after fighting off the children from a different neighbourhood…ahhh the battles the gang of us had…not serious but it helped spend some of our energy; after being chased for several blocks we would sleep a peaceful sleep that night and wake with our batteries fully re-charged! 

Everyone has happy memories of the freedom of the summer break…freedom from school…freedom from routine…freedom to be what we want to be: dressed up as cowboys and Indians or princesses or knights in shining armour riding around the streets [usually the garden sweeping brush with our own neighing sound effects!] 

One night last week after the funeral I lay in bed with the windows wide open desperate for the cool breeze after a strange really hot afternoon…somewhere in the distance the sounds of a summer’s night floated in through the window; a BBQ was still burning and the smell was wafting in the evening breeze; the sound of laughter, running footsteps, the sound of someone putting out the recycling bins, the clatter of their bottles, a bird was singing…really yes and it was almost dark;the sound of the odd car passing and it all reminded me of nightimes when I was a 9 year old girl...

I shared a bedroom with my 'big sister' at the back of our Victorian terraced house.Our bedroom was freezing in the winter and stifling in the summer. During the cold months if we breathed out we could see our breath hanging in the air. There would be frost on the outside and ice on the inside of the windows. We had hot water bottles but if you moved your feet during the night there was always a cold patch guaranteed to wake you up! But in the summertime we lay on top of the beds, the old sash windows open wide, the cool breeze wafting the net curtains; we could hear the rumble of the trains nearby. Sometimes we would kneel on my bed and look out of the window; we watched our next door neighbour run around the garden in his vest and we giggled when we saw his bare backside wobbling as he happily danced whilst singing to the moon. We would often hear one of our neighbours a few doors down shouting to her children to come inside before she "Ruddy-well" was going to chase them home. Then there was the cat lover shouting her cats' names as she called that their supper was ready. As it grew darker we heard young lads climbing over walls and through ginnel ways escaping from their mothers' calls as they rushed to meet friends and we heard women shouting their friendly banter over the back walls as they collected their washing; we could often see the smoke rising in a swirl from the side garden wall as someone was stealing a quiet moment with the last fag of the night and there was always someone shouting or singing as they left the pub in the next but one street to ours. It was a happy place to sit and I have often thought that had we lived longer in that house my 'big sister' and I would have been the ones at the side of the outdoor lavatory wall smoking a quick one or climbing out of the window onto the kitchen roof, shimmying down the pipes into the garden to make a quick exit down the lobby. Who knows I might even have got lucky and be snogging one of the young men against the lobby wall like the oldest daughter from the corner house! 

I found myself laughing at what could have been! 

Ah yes, warm nights get you thinking and so do funerals, particularly those of someone so young...and the words from his song struck me; suddenly making sense in my own interpretation...

I realised that I needed to pull myself together... put my pain relief patches on and get on with life; for the sake of my boys: I need to slow down the pace of life for a while and take time to do some special things with my family so that these summer days of their childhood are worth reflecting on...not looking back at how their mother suddenly refused to go out over the door…not of how their mother needed to rest…not how their mother changed from a fun loving, laughing, creator of happy days…I want them to think of the summer as a great time to be together, to go out and do something worthwhile…so yes I have thought long and hard about life over the past two weeks and I have had a re-awakening much like a slap in the face: a young person has passed away living only half as long as me…so I need to be thankful for each day not just for me, not just for my boys but in memory of him…I have to slow down the pace of the world for us; I need to stop thinking about what could have been if I had not become ill and start looking forward...because I’m damn sure he wouldn’t be wasting his summertime...he'd be out there... somewhere...not looking back...

Blog 54 y...coming soon...

Copyright©GML2012

[R.I.P.  young man, September 1985-July 2012.]