12 years, 1 month and 5 days

I am recovering from my daughter's 12th birthday Pamper Party last night. I gave 6 facials, 6 mini pedis/manis, 6 shoulder/head massages.  They devoured 7 pizzas, countless fruit kebabs & fresh juice mocktails. They ate all the banana & maple syrup cupcakes (more about those later).

Every single one of those girls said please and thank you. They were helpful and gracious. They showered her with the most thoughtful gifts including a home made friendship token booklet which included "coupons" to redeem for "hugs" and "a shoulder to cry on". I honestly could not have been more touched by the incredible friendship these girls showed to my daughter.

 

It has always been difficult for my daughter at her birthday.  First off, her birthday is Christmas Eve.  No one wants to come to a birthday party on Christmas Eve.  I have tried.  Then her brother became a chorister and even her family party had to be squeezed in between his singing responsibilities.  We tried to fit her party in between everything else that was going on but we were never that successful.  She hasn't really complained about it all that much.

We don't have much money.  If I could find 2 pennies to rub together, I'd be rich.  So the prospect of trying to fund a birthday party seemed just out of our reach.  But one morning at about 3 am (because that's when I get my best ideas) I had a brainwave to throw a small pamper party at our home with a few of Abigail's friends.  After all, I'm a Neal's Yard Remedies consultant.  I've got all the gear.  I've been trained on how to give a wonderfully effective facial.  I know how to paint nails.  I've got one of those Indian head massage thingymajigs.  I've even got one of those spa foot baths that takes up space in the spare bedroom. And I've got buckets and buckets of wonderfully natural and organic Neal's Yard Remedies products to use.  I could even possibly, maybe teach the girls a few tidbits about how important what we put in and on our bodies is.

Initially, I limited it to four girls.  Then it became 5.  A few days before the party it became 6, 7 if you include Abigail.  I had enlisted the help of a couple older girls we know who had volunteered to help.  I could do this.

That was a big commitment from me.  Struggling with my depression and anxiety there are few times when I feel strong enough to take a stand and say I can do something, especially something as big as a birthday party, which requires meticulous planning, a task I used to be able to do in spades but these days find all a bit overwhelming.  I made a list.  Then I made another list.  I tried to combine the lists.  I wrote up a carefully crafted time line of what I would need to do when.  I made more lists.

Still I experienced some hiccups along the way.  The girls who were going to help couldn't in the end.  They had some school commitments.  OK, no big deal.  I adjusted the plan.  I would just have to work more quickly and do things at the same time and maybe not do everything I had hoped.

 

I made the banana and maple syrup muffins and realised when I took them out of the oven that I used plain flour rather than self raising flour.  Oops.  Not a lot I could do about it so I just went with it.  Then I cooked the second batch a bit too long.  Like 10 minutes too long.  I made extra frosting and topped up their flatness and covered up their darkness with tons of icing sugar and butter and hoped the awesome flavour would compensate for their density and hardness.  

I got all the beauty equipment laid out in the lounge with stations for each treatment.  That's when I realised there wasn't adequate seating for 7 girls.  There was for 5, 6 at a push, but not for 7.  OK, well, they were going to have to figure that out.

 

Then my grocery delivery was late.  Not really late but just enough to cause me about 15 minutes of accelerated heart rate, shallow breathing, and curling up in a small ball.    

One of the girls came home with Abigail directly after school.  Thank goodness.  I put the girls to work on cutting up the fruit and putting it on to skewers for the fruits kebabs. 

Before I knew it, everyone was arriving.  Parties are fun.  First it was all quiet.  Next thing I knew I had 7 12 year old girls giggling away in the next room.  

They got their juice and kebabs.  One by one they got their facials, massages, manis, and pedis.  I don't think I got everyone's nails painted.  A couple of the massages were very short.  Everyone got an exquisite facial though.  One girl displayed an incredible talent for doing everyone's hair in a complex style.  We had fishtail plaits, we had inside out plaits, we had around the head and down the side plaits.  We had countless photos of the girls with cucumber slices on their eyes and they relaxed with their face masks on.  We had meditative music.  We had an exhaustive debate on the merits of music by Justin Beiber.  We sang with Taylor Swift at the top of our lungs.  I had a shockingly well informed discussion with one of the girls telling me all about why palm oil is so bad.  Inside I was rejoicing.

 

But I was running out of time.  In a state of panic, I had requisitioned the help of my husband to do some nail painting.  The girl looked horrified but Abigail assured her that her father was in fact must better at painting nails than her mother.  This is a true statement.  

 

The end came all too quickly.  I don't think I've ever said that about a child's birthday party before.  One girl wrapped her arms around my waist and gave me a proper hug when it was her turn to leave.  I almost burst into tears.

Abigail told me as we were tidying up that it was the best party ever.  Not just the best birthday party or her best party, but the best party she had ever seen in her life.  She went through all of the gifts she was given and marvelled at how thoughtful and how much effort must have went into the carefully chosen "just for Abigail" gifts were.  She told me she was very lucky to have these girls as her friends.  She told me how lucky she was to have me as her mum.  She put herself to bed and it wasn't even 8 pm.  She was exhausted.

I collapsed on the sofa with a glass of cider in hand.  I was exhausted.  It was worth every single moment.

She is 6

If.....

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

Happy 8th Birthday, Sebastian!

Much love,

Mummy xxx

Abigail's 5th Birthday

I know my daughter turned 5 on December 24 2008. I know I haven't managed to put the photos up until now. Give me a break. I am not in the running for mother of the year. At least they are here now!

Birthday Gift

What a Great Idea!

Not sure this will fly with Abigail but just might send a message to Sebastian! What do you think?

Happy 7th Birthday, Sebastian!

Strictly Come Dancing

Sebastian had a themed birthday party on Saturday: Strictly Come Dancing.

He had been excited from the moment he got the invitation. He designed his own costume and practiced his dance moves. I messed up with the costume because I couldn't find a red satin shirt. We settled for a white satin shirt after the fourth dance shop let us down.

But he came up trumps with his dance moves and even won a prize at the party.

The girls are still talking about what an amazing dancer he is! Guess those ballet lessons are paying off.

Check him out!

Party Bags

I am not a fan of children's birthday party bags. My children love them. And striking a balance between these two opposing views is a constant challenge.

I remember being a child and loving party bags; all those sweets, all those pieces of worthless plastic just waiting to untidy my house. My children can hardly wait to leave a party to rip into the party bag. Oh sure, the piece of birthday cake is nice but it really just takes up room in the bag for more useless stuff.

A couple years ago after Sebastian had received his 500th piece of useless crap I vowed to give meaningful party bag contents. Ah, but that wasn't so easy.

The budget kicked in. Let's do the math. 15-25 party bags at £5/bag and you're talking £75-125 which pretty much sucks up half the party budget. And you try doing something meaningful for less than £5/bag!

So the key here is to plan and shop all year long with party bags in mind!

Yesterday, was Abigail's birthday party. Yes, I know her birthday is 24 December but you try getting people to bring their children to a party just before Christmas.

We spent the day picking up the cake and the balloons and putting the party bags together. We took brown paper bags (imported all the way from America), stamped the child's name on each individual one and decorated them with stickers. We put in a book and a cookie cutter (to make the parent's happy) and bubbles and sweets (to make the children happy). We had a near disaster when we realised we had left one child off but we quickly put it together.

The party was great! I hope the children enjoyed themselves. I hope they found joy inside their party bags. I hope their mother's didn't mind the sugar buzz. I know Abigail had a great time which ultimately is all that really matters.

Happy Birthday Abigail!

Four years ago this morning Abigail entered my life. It was not an easy day. It was both a great joy and the darkest day of my life.

Uncle John had pronounced in early December that he just knew this baby wasn't going to wait for 2004. I replied I just wanted to get through Christmas.

But that wasn't to be.

I had been waiting for her arrival since my waters had broken on 22 December. I hadn't gone into labour and on the evening of the 23 December 2003 the doctor told me I would have to have a c-section the next morning.

I was expecting this. Sebastian had been safely left with Uncle John and Auntie Mary and we knew Christmas would have to be put on hold.

The process had changed quite significantly since I had Sebastian just a few years earlier. The epidural was administered in the operating room and within a few minutes Abigail was delivered into my arms. She was gorgeous.

They took her to a side of the room and cleaned her up and delivered her back into my waiting arms. I was never going to let her go.

Unlike with Sebastian they did take me to a separate recovery room and I held on to Abigail for all my life in the recovery room. She took to my breast immediately and ate like a champion.

Marc and I were the beaming parents of a beautiful little angel.

Marc decided to leave me alone so he could go tell the world of waiting friends and family of our newest member. He needed to grab a bag from the car.

Whilst he was gone and midwife and doctor entered the room asking if Abigail had been grunting the entire time. I said yes. They frowned. I held her tighter.

The nurse pried her from my arms and examined her. Then the doctor examined her. Then they told me they needed to take her away. I said they needed to wait for my husband to return. They said they needed to take her now. I asked them to please wait. They said no. I couldn't move. I still couldn't feel my legs from the epidural.

Marc returned to find me wailing and without our daughter. They wheeled me into the Special Care Unit and there was my daughter in an incubator with little tubes. They let me hold her which wasn't an easy thing to do with all the tubes.

She was the most adorable little bundle you could possibly imagine.

We fought long and hard over the next 4 days to get the hospital to release her. She struggled to breastfeed but only because they were giving her glucose and they kept saying my milk hadn't come in. I very patiently explained it wasn't going to come in if they didn't let me feed her. I was pumping for England hoping my milk would come in. I would make the long walk and down 3 floors to feed her or attempt to feed her every 3 hours. I was drugged to the max on morphine so I felt very little pain but I was exhausted.

Then she got jaundice. Of course she got jaundice. She was locked up in a basement with no sunlight.

Marc and I entertained the idea of kidnapping our own baby from the hospital.

And then they released me from the hospital and told me to go home. Without her. My heart was being ripped out from my chest. I couldn't breath.

But my son needed me at home. He hadn't even got to have his Christmas. So I left.

I went home that night and Marc and I returned to the hospital every 3 hours for the feeding. I didn't want anyone but me holding her or changing her nappy or feeding her. The darkest depth of my misery was when Marc and I were returning home from our 3 am feeding and the nurses were complaining about Abigail's jaundice. I felt like they were never going to let me take her home. We'd been told every day tomorrow but tomorrow never seemed to come.

I felt like I had made a horrible mistake just letting the nurse take her from me that very first time. I should have never let her go.

At that precise moment, I fell into the deepest darkest black hole. I told Marc that maybe we should just leave her. Clearly, I couldn't take care of her and if we left her at the hospital there would surely be someone who could do a much better job.

Marc stopped the car in the middle of the road and held my face as I sobbed. He said there was no one who would love this baby as much as us and no one equipped to take as good of care as us. We would get that baby no matter what.

I got home and went to bed. Marc stayed up the entire morning never once going to bed. He researched jaundice inside and out (thank God for the internet) and by the time he roused me to return to the hospital for the next feeding he knew more about jaundice than the nurses at the hospital. His commitment to our wee little girl inspired me to fight on.

On the morning of 29 December the doctors had at last returned from their holidays and the first real doctor took one look at my daughter and said get this healthy baby out of here. I could have kissed that woman!

Today that little girl that we fought so hard for is 4 years old. She is a bursting bubbling mischievous cherub. She makes us laugh. She's clever. She loves to dance and sing. She's got an imagination to rival JRR Tolkein. She loves kisses and cuddles.

And we love her more than we could possibly ever imagined. I am so proud to have the honour of watching this little girl grow.

Happy Birthday Marc!

Today is my boy toy's birthday!

He is 34 and doesn't act a day over.....uh 16!

Seriously, today my husband is one year older and I love him! He keeps me young and makes me old.

He is your stereotypical English eccentric and if I can't find him in the house he is in the garage trying to blow it up with his biodiesel concoctions.

He teaches the children obscure facts and scientific trivia.

He makes me laugh.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart!

Brith Days

I've been doing some catching up on my blog reading and November has included quite a few birthday posts. It stuck me as a bit odd that we celebrate the person that has been born.

Why?

It's not as if they did anything remarkable that day.

I say we should celebrate the mothers that did all the hard work on that day and for 9 months prior to that day and for years and years afterwards.

When you become pregnant, another human being has taken over your body. The first 3 months a woman is exhausted and cranky. In many instances she is sicker than a dog. The second 3 months she frets that she won't be ready or won't be a good mother. The last 3 months she gives over her body to grow to an enormous size and suffers numerous inconveniences including but not limited to heartburn, sore feet, sore back, sore hips and random weeing in her knickers.

The skeleton of a woman can tell you if she has had children because having a baby causes permanent irreversible bone damage/degradation.

And then comes the actual day of delivery. Mom endures great pain. I mean, GREAT pain. Whether vaginal or c-section they both hurt. A LOT!

Then she has a baby for which she has no formal training or qualifications. Breast feeding is not easy and the hormonal imbalance following pregnancy can drive a sane woman barking mad. Milk is followed by weening is followed by mashed food is followed by finger foods is followed by non choking inducing food is followed by everything they see they eat. My son is currently eating me out of house and home despite being only 6 years old and my daughter only eats white food.

A woman doesn't sleep soundly for years afterwards. Late night feedings are replaced by midnight nightmares followed by curfew violations and dodgy boyfriends keeping them out until the wee hours of the morning.

So if it is your birthday, go out, celebrate with your friends and family, enjoy the cake and ice cream. But don't forget the one who got you here. All mothers need to celebrate birth day for getting through it and making it thus far in the journey of parenthood!

40th Birthday Party

Our friend Sean, husband to Helen and father to Sam & Lottie, turned 40 last week. Marc and I went to Birmingham to join him and 20 other mates to celebrate.

We left the home counties (the counties around London) about 4 pm and headed north for about 100 miles. Sat nav took us directly to the hotel door (I LOVE Sat Nav!). We checked it and proceeded to destroy the room. I find it amazing how quickly one can make a perfectly meticulous hotel room look like a hurricane has hit in under 5 minutes. That's my hubby. I used to stay in hotel rooms a lot. You could hardly tell I had arrived. Not Marc. He arrives and it looks like 3 suitcases just burst open and the contents are strewn all over the place. Alas, I digress.

We met up with everyone at Blanc Brasserie. We missed our original seating as there were a couple people who didn't bother to show up on time. So we proceeded to have just a few too many Gin & Tonics before we ate. I have a garlic soup which was a brilliant choice on a night out, followed by a fishcake. It was a bit too salty and there were no vegetables served with it. Glad I had a meringue with ice cream for pudding or I could have starved.

From the restaurant we bid farewell to a couple of party poopers and went clubbing. Yes, night clubbing. This would appear to be a highly unlikely activity for a 40+something mother of 2 and to be honest I haven't been clubbing since we had children ( almost 7 years ago). My dancing shoes were a bit rusty.

Ah, but I got those cute little black velvet kitten mules shined up in no time. Dancing is a bit like riding a bicyle. If you couldn't do it when you were a child you probably aren't any good at it now. No, just kidding!

We bopped to the pounding beat of the excruciatingly loud music until well after 1 am and our hearing had been at least temporarily impaired. At which point we poured ourselves into a taxi and headed back to the hotel. We had one of the best and most aggressive taxi drivers I've ever encountered in the UK.

Sean was looking decidedly worse for the wear but somehow Helen, Marc and I got a second wind. Sean went off to bed but we shared a bottle of champagne and roast beef sandwich with chips in the hotel bar and stayed up talking until 3:30 am. That's what he gets for turning 40. just for the record, this 40 year old out did that 40 year old (only just but don't tell him that!) I didn't drink 1/2 what he did.

This was a much needed break for Marc & I. The next morning we got to sleep in and share a beautiful breakfast with Sean & Helen. We found my favourite of Eggs Benedict down in the beautiful canal district of the city centre of Birmingham. And this was a bit of a surprise as well!

I used to work for a company based out of Birmingham. In fact, that is where I met Helen. And Birmingham was a concrete jungle that looked like time had forgotten it since it was built in the 60s and 70s. But it has been rejuvenated lately and it looks beautiful.

We had a great time! Happy Birthday, Sean! And welcome to the second half of your life!

Belated Birthday Celebration

Yes, I know Sebastian turned 6 back on 4 June. But when I asked him what type of birthday party he wanted he told me he wanted to go to the cinema with his friends to see Shrek 3. That presented a wee bit of a problem since the film was not released until 29 June. He said we could just postpone the party. How very 6 of him!

Then we had the wee bit of a problem with the guest list. Historically, we have invited both of his classes and numerous friends he has collected over the years. This could have easily brought the guest list up to around 50 children. I could not possibly reasonably control 50+ children in a cinema. I knew I would loose a few.

So I set Sebastian down with the impossible task of whittling the invite list down to 10 of his closest friends. The final list ended up being for 11 and 2 couldn't come so we had a manageable number.

Now we just had to wait for the party. This was forever. At least in Seb's eyes. And we all know how Abigail goes on and on and on about birthday cake.

The night before the party I baked the birthday cake. Seb wanted the frosting to be the same colour as Shrek. After a lot of agonising over the exact colour of Shrek and mixing yellow and green food colour I do believe we got close!

And at last the morning had arrived. We had picked the right venue for the party. The rains were falling like a monsoon so everyone was happy to be inside. Everyone arrived on time and we got all the children seated in a row with parents positioned at both ends and behind to control access and distraction. But we needn't have worried. The children sat there riveted by the film. At the end they all got up and danced. Wish I had seen that.

But I had already left for Pizza Hut to ensure we had a table secured and the pizza was on its way. The children made funny faces and ate loads of pizza. The waitress at the restaurant was fantastic! She took care of everything we needed.

Sebastian told me last night that it was his best party ever. I hope he says that every year. Even Marc & I enjoyed ourselves. We didn't have any mess to clean up. There were no injuries and no children went missing. And we got to visit with the parents who had turned up to help us control the battlefield. Phew, another party successfully executed.

When I am Six

Yesterday my son set off for school one year older and another year wiser. He was so excited we couldn't tie him down. He took some lollipops into school to share with his mates.

After school we enjoyed the meal of his choice: Dominos pizza, delivered. Daddy made a chocolate birthday cake and Granny and Abigail decorated it whilst mummy worked.

He made quite a haul on the pressies including 2 remote controlled cars and one book of Greek Myths that mummy wants to read!

A good time was had by all!

The Gift of a Baby

When Marc and I first found out we were having a baby, mild panic set in. OK, not so mild. Sheer hysteria. We had been together for just a day less than a year. We weren't married. We lived in a small 2 bedroom flat (apartment). Our lives revolved around sailing catamarans (not a child friendly activity). I was working in New York City 2 weeks/month.

Once we got our heads around this, we got down to the busines sof sorting out our lives. We bought a house. We bought furniture. I stopped travelling. We took 2 different sets of birthing classes. I didn't want to risk some vital piece of information left undiscovered. I read books. Lots of books.

The first 3 months of pregnancy, I was sooooooo tired. I would walk in the door after a hard day and not even bother getting undressed. I would flop down on the bed and fall fast asleep. A couple hours later, I'd wake and eat something and go back to sleep. During the day it was all I could do to keep from falling asleep at my desk. I stopped travelling at 5 months.

During the 2nd trimester carpal tunnel (RSI) set in. Bad. So bad on so many levels. I couldn't cut my own food. I couldn't lift a cup of tea. I couldn't drive. I couldn't write. I didn't fit into our shower so I had to take a bath but because of the pain in my hands I couldn't heft myself into or out of the tub. Marc had to lower me down and pick me up, like a crane.

At 7 months, I got a bad case of the flu and cold. Coughing, vomiting (and other stuff). I dislocated a rib coughing so hard and had to see a chiropractor to sort it out. Marc had to do things for me no husband should have to do for his wife. and we weren't even married (yet).

I was huge. I could eclipse the sun. At 4 weeks before the due date, my mother arrived. She helped Marc with the laundry (Not much back then. It was just the two of us). She did some cooking. Bu mostly, she kept me company whilst Marc was at work and worked in my garden.

I had one night where my mum had gone off to the pub with a friend she had made. I had some very strong Braxton Hicks and I was convinced that baby was coming. But after a few hours, I contractions subsided and I just went to bed. It felt like this baby was never going to arrive

A week or so before my due date (7 June), I started to break out into a nasty rash all over my abdomen. It itched so badly, I scratched until I was bleeding. My mum convinced Marc to take me to the midwife who instructed us to pack a bag and go straight to the hospital.

The bag was packed. It had been for months in advance. The doctors thought I might have choleostasis which is where your liver stops processing the bile from your stomach and can poison the baby. So they induced labour.

And induced labour. And induced labour. I had drips. I had creams. I had a very scary midwife sticking her fingers where no finger shad gone before her. I had contractions. For 3 days!!!!! In the end, he wasn't coming out the way nature intended and I conceded to having a c-section.

We waited for what seemed like ages for the surgical crew to come and get us. I got the epidural which I seem to remember didn't hurt as badly as it did when I got the one for Abigail. They wheeled me into the operating theatre and I knew that in the next 10 minutes I was going to have a baby. Mild panic really set in.

Marc and the anethesist were talking about sailing. I had to remind him that they were going to pull a baby out of me and he needed to pay attention. He did and they did.

They announced it was a boy and held him up over the curtain for us to see. He was a mini-Marc. He looked just like my husband only in miniature. He was huge. He'd been born 6 years ago today (3 days before his official due date) and he was beautiful. He had great big cheeks and a scrunched up little nose. Marc cut the umbilical cord. And took loads of photos.

I spent ages in recovery alone. They changed this when Abigail was born and I didn't have to be separated from her in recovery but waiting to be reunited with my son and husband was the longest 20 minutes.

And then they handed him over to me. At 37, I was a mother. I never thought that moment would come. I was in awe of myself, my body, the whole process. Mostly I was in awe of this little man. He smelled so sweet. How do they get that smell? I grew a wee little human being inside of me and produced this most perfect little creature.

He breast fed like a champion and within 3 days, Marc and I took our perfect little boy home with us. We put him down in his car seat in the middle of the lounge and just stared at him wondering what in the world were we supposed to do now.

We are still wondering. That's precious little baby is 6 years old today. He has grown into a charming, clever, industrious boy. It is a joy to be a part of his family.

I love you, Sebastian! Happy Brithday!

Sunday Funday

Sunday was a proper summer day. Our temperatures soared to over 36 degrees C. We set up the pool in the garden for the children. We cleared out our garage and Marc made 2 trips to the tip (dump). We still have another 1/2 load to go but thought we would wait for me to some clearing up in the house first. The lawn and the garden look fabulous.

Sebastian had 2 birthday parties this weekend, one Saturday and one Sunday. Isaac turned 6 on 31 May. He is Sebastian's very first friend. I met Isaac's mummy, Keeley, at our National Childbirth Trust (NCT) classes and Isaac was the first baby born to the group. Sebastian was the next. Isaac just lives down the road from us.

Abigail is struggling with the idea of not being "invited" to Seb's friend's parties. Not sure how to make this clear to her. she goes to parties on her own that Seb is not invited to but she just thinks everyone should invite her. She through another tantrum today when Seb went off to Hetta's party. Hetta also turned 6 and goes to school with Seb at St George's. Hetta also lives in Old Windsor although a bit further from us (about 1/2 mile). Her house is just down the road from Sir Elton John's house.

I went with the neighbour, Gill, to watch one of her mates, Carol, play lawn bowls. I've never seen the game and it was very enjoyable even to watch. Once I figured out the basics I could easily see how this could be a fun game. It's a bit like curling without the ice. And the lawn is NOT flat which I think would make it doubly difficult. Most of the people playing were older (over 60s) but there were a few youngens. Don't think I'll be taking this up anytime soon though. I've got enough to keep me busy.

Tonight I've got a birthday cake to bake and presents to wrap. At the dinner table I asked Sebastian what tomorrow was. He paused and Abigail jumped in, "It's Shake's birthday!" No moss growing on that stone!

Editor's Note: Shake is Abigail's nickname for Sebastian. Don't ask....we don't know why.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Dad!

The Celebrations

Saturday night, my husband and I met up with our friend Mike for a sushi dinner as an pre-birthday celebration. We seriously over ordered on the sushi and I probably drank more sake than I should have. Mike was in a seriously grumpy mood. I really enjoyed having some grown up time with my husband. We ate far too much sushi!


I'm not sure who was more excited about my birthday: Sebastian or Abigail. Sebastian made Marc help him hang some bunting in the lounge and they helped Daddy make my Eggs Benedict and bring me coffee and breakfast in bed. I opened my cards and pressies. I got one of those digital picture frame, where you load up some digital photos on to a memory stick and plug the frame in and it slide shows through the photos as it sits on your shelf. I saw one that Nikki & Kevin, Marc's cousin and her husband, got for their wedding and I have been yearning for one ever since.

Sebastian insisted that they decorated the lounge with bunting. It looked like party central. Sebastian was very cross that they didn't have any balloons.

We took a nice long walk along the river down to the weir with the dog. Bailey was fairly well behaved. It was cooling down and threatening rain by the time we were heading back and we made it home before the drizzle started.

After a relaxing afternoon, my husband made my favourite dinner: lobster tails. We had home made birthday cake (Thanks, Marc!) and ice cream for dessert.

A very civilised birthday celebration indeed.

The Place I Was Born

I am 43 today. Phew, I said it...or rather typed it. The test will be if you are reading it. If I've really got it and practice what I preach I gotta hit that old publish button down below and tell the world (well, my readers, at least). Today I am one step further down the path of life. Not sure what that all means and I know I'm supposed to be older and wiser but today I'm just not sure I feel all that wiser. I certainly feel the older bit.

If you are a CP Family Blog fan and a faithful reader, you will know that my father was a jockey. My mother was a wee young girl of 18. My father was 23. And they must have been scared out of their wits. Mom had been in labour for hours and hours and hours and hours. She'd woken Dad up so many times to take her to the hospital he just didn't believe it when the time had really come. she had to go over to a neighbour's trailer (yep, we lived in a trailer park during those racing days!) and beg them to go get my dad out of bed.

Now my parent's are divorced and I soooo get that. I mean these 2 can't agree on which version of my birth really happened and they've been divorced for almost 30 years. I suppose the truth is somewhere down the middle.

I was born early in the morning in Omaha, Nebraska USA and I guess that was a good thing because my dad had to work that day. He was racing at AkSarBen Race Course. As a jockey you ride and get paid. You don't ride and you don't get paid. My father now had a family to support so he needed to ride. He was able to get to the race course just in time for his races. And he won.
When I asked Mom about my birth she says she can't remember. I get that, too! When I was pregnant and drilling my mom for her birth stories she would always say she couldn't remember. I was horrified. How could a woman forget the memories of the birth of her children? That's easy. We have to so that we have more children. If we could remember how much it hurts we would only have one and then we would tell the world how much it hurts and they would stop having children. And the human race would cease to exist. But I wonder how she felt on this morning 43 years ago.

43 years on and I can't imagine what an 18 year old does with a newborn baby. Heck, I was 36 when I had my first baby and wasn't sure what to do with a newborn baby. I know that my mother gave me loads of baths. She took me to the doctor when I was just a few months old with a red rash all over my body. When the doctor asked her if she was giving me any baths, she replied, "Yes, at least 3 times a day." Apparently, the doctor nearly fainted. The cause of my rash was way too much cleanliness.

So at 43, how am I feeling? Hmmmmm, my body ain't what it used to be! But I don't have any rashes. I don't party nearly as hard as I used to. Heck, who am I kidding? I don't party at all anymore! But I got a loving, loyal husband who makes me laugh and puts up with all my extreme eccentrencities. I've got the two most amazing children in the world. No, really! I've got a career that I am proud of.

My sister told me on the occasion of my 40th birthday, that a woman spends her 20s figuring out who she wants to be. Her 30s are spent becoming that woman. Her 40s are spent enjoying the fruits of her labour. That sister of mine is one smart cookie. I'm enjoying it so far. I like my life. I'm happy in myself. I think I'll just kick back and enjoy the ride for a while.

A Life of 90 Years

What's in a life that has lasted over 90 years? A lot!

Yesterday we celebrated Dorothy Harrison's 90th Birthday. Dorothy is Marc's Auntie Mary's mother. We celebrated with a lovely luncheon party at a beautiful barn. There were lots of family and lots of children and loads of great laughs.

Simon Bastow, Marc's cousin and Dorothy's grandson, gave a beautiful tribute reminding all of us of what an incredible individual Dorothy is (as if we could forget) and more poignantly, what an incredible life she has lived. She left home for her first day of teaching the day after the UK entered the second World War.

She is a prolific letter writer and a keen observer of sport, especially golf and tennis. Her mind is as sharp as a tack. She is never shy to express an opinion about the latest shenanigans of our politicians and their policies. The camera she is holding in her hand in the photo (left) is at least 50 years old and she wields it like a pro. She loves my children like they are her own great- grandchildren.

We were honoured to join her and her family in the celebrations and really enjoyed meeting family members previously unknown to us. We have made some new friends and hope to keep in touch with them. The lunch was delicious and the weather was beautiful. The children had a fabulous time and enjoyed playing with all the other children (with the small exception of Abigail's scrapped knee, which she has scrapped again this morning whilst helping mummy and daddy in the garden).

And to Dorothy, thank you for setting an example on how to live a life wholly, content and happy.