Hmm, it appears that I have forgotten to blog. Did I really publish my last entry over 3 months ago? I'd like to convince you that my life has been a whirlwind of exciting activity, that I've been overwhelmed by my social calendar and simply do not have enough hours in the day to switch on my laptop and pour my thoughts (via my fingertips) into this but actually, no, I have been a total slacker.
A few things have happened though, since my last entry - we holidayed abroad with friends, M went back to pre school, Mr H slipped a disc (did you know that the pain he suffered 'must have been quite similar to childbirth'? For all fellow mums out there, do not fret - I corrected him by pressing the point that unless he had passed a rugby ball from his backside, then no, the experience wasn't quite the same). More recently, we were visited by the God Squad (more on THAT later) and lastly, I had a taste of wedding fever (someone else's, not mine before you get excited..).
Firstly, the holiday re-cap: to all my child-free friends/readers, my advice to you, before you embark on the journey of Parenthood - enjoy every weekend and holiday as if it were your last. When you're lying in bed on a Sunday morning, enjoying the luxury of the morning papers (uninterrupted, without a child jumping on your head and certainly not before the sun has come up), reading the travel supplements and toying with the idea of booking a last minute wine-tasting trip in Tuscany, don't just think about it, BOOK THE DAMN THING. Because believe me, holidaying with children is enough to make you want to stay within the safety of your home forever. Don't get me wrong, there are many, many gorgeous things about watching your child run free on a beach, splashing in the surf, eating strange food that you can't pronounce and listening to them attempt foreign language in their own innocent, uninhibited way ('buona sera' from a three year olds mouth sounds very similar to 'bollock sarah', for example). But by the end of the trip, you will need another holiday to do all the things that you would have normally achieved whilst away, pre-children. I am talking about sleep and relaxation, mostly.
It starts with the flight. Forget about opening the crisp pages of your newly purchased novel. Don't even think about browsing through the Duty Free magazine (you will only refer to this when your child wants to and when you have read her books so many times that you make HER eyes glaze over). Make sure you have reserved a window seat and that you have packed the entire contents of your child's toybox. It doesn't matter if it's a short-haul or long-haul flight - I've done both with a child and 90 mins in a confined space, surrounded by strangers (who always seem not to like children) with a bored three year old is just as tricky as on a 9 hour flight. My mum once instructed me (5 years old with the attention span of a gnat) to clean all the seats of a 747 during a long haul flight to Malaysia - it worked for her - apparently, the cabin crew and fellow passengers were very accommodating - I was small, agile and thorough - 2 hours later, a packet of wetwipes down and mum got enough shut-eye to keep her going for the rest of the flight.
Another thing you have to worry about when travelling with children is being in a strange environment, whether you are staying at a hotel, apartment or family villa. We were fortunate enough to stay at a relative's house, tucked away in the Italian hills, on the Ligurian coast. The house belongs to an art-dealer uncle so naturally, the house is full of important, expensive heirlooms which have been in the family forever. Guardians of very young children will be familiar with the term 'room-sweep', ie. scan any new surroundings for things that can (a) damage your child and (b) be damaged by your child. My advice to new parents, travelling overseas for the first time, would be to hire a blank room with no windows, no furniture, no breakable items and no sharp corners. I am probably sounding like a neurotic mother but I am actually one of the calmer ones. My daughter, unfortunately, is a kamikaze loon, whose aim in life is to encourage/accelerate the growth of my grey hairs.
On day 1 of our Italian adventure, she skidded head-first along a gravel road, taking half the skin off her beautiful face and making the holiday photos look like something from a horror film. On day 2, she bit into a wine glass. On day 3, she walked straight into the corner of a sharp book shelf. On day 4, she fell up the stairs and gave herself carpet burn. By day 5, I accepted that my daughter was, and always will be, as accident-prone as her father. Lord, have mercy on me.
Which actually provides me with a handy link to my next story - God and his Squad...AKA Mad Aunty Doris, born again Christian/self confessed preacher and her travelling companion, Pastor Sue. Now, it's not that I don't have a faith. I have regularly lifted the lids of my many shoe boxes to worship the glory that is contained within AND I always pray for nice presents just before my birthday. Forgive me (Lord) for trivialising real belief and belittling those who have an honest faith in a greater being but I just don't do religion. So, when these two old ladies came to stay with my mother recently, I was never going to be an easy convert. But they do deserve full marks for trying.
Whilst trapped in the backseat of my mother's car, on a relatively long journey, sandwiched in between Preacher and Pastor, the first conversation went something like this:
Pastor: 'so, how long have you and Mr H been married for?'
Me: 'oh, er, well yes, we've been married (ahem) for 7.5 years now.'
Pastor: 'And do you take M to Church with you?'
Me: 'oh, er, well yes, actually no, well, you see, we're not really married and we don't go to Church...'
Let's just say, at this point, my conscience got the better of me and if there was someone sitting up there on his smug, holy cloud, then a huge fat bolt of lightning would have pierced through my heart at that precise moment, for lying in the first place. I'm not sure which look was worse. The one from my mother in the rear-view mirror, pleading with me to retract the last comment, or the one from the Pastor who looked like she might pass out...
Pastor: 'you...aren't...married?' (looks over at M) 'but...' (points at M, finger shaking)
(I should point out that Mad Aunty Doris had fallen asleep at this point of the car journey, but if she had overheard the conversation, then no doubt she would have hurled herself out of the car, directly into the oncoming traffic, in an attempt to sever all ties with her wayward, atheist niece).
I sighed, took a deep breath in and thought carefully about my position. Now I'm not ashamed of who I am or the choices I have made in life, so despite this total stranger recoiling in disbelief that I had borne a child out of wedlock (plus my mother's silent, urgent need for me to keep my big gob shut), I just had to argue my case and defend my position. It actually turned into a fabulous, insightful debate about religion. Not only was the Pastor extraordinarily liberal in thought, she also opened my eyes and made me look at believers and converts in a different way. So from that moment on, we found an equal footing and a mutual respect of each other. Unfortunately, you can't always rely on your children to share the sentiment. My daughter's response, when given an advent calendar by Mad Aunty Doris - one with a rather large picture of Jesus on the front, purchased directly from Westminster Abbey - turned it over, examined it with furrowed brow and said 'er, where's the chocolate, Mummy?'.
So finally, moving onto weddings. I have been asked to be a bridesmaid. Unfortunately, my one and only experience of being a bridesmaid was when I was 7 years old. The dress looked like someone had drenched me in vomit and the shoes were like Jesus sandals (sorry, I'm not deliberately including religious references in every paragraph, but they were exactly like that). This time, however, we (the 4 bridesmaids) get to choose the dress. But given that none of us have ever met before, I fear this will be quite a tricky process, seeing as we have to come up with a single style and colour which suits all. Alarm bells are already ringing loud and clear, as one of the girls has expressed an interest in something AQUA and SATIN (hellooo, you non-fashionista walking disaster???)...clearly, I'm going to have to break it to her (gently but firmly) that we are not dressing for a mermaid convention.
As much as I am thrilled and honoured to be part of the bridal party, I am already feeling waves of anxiety sweep over me, every time I think of her Big Day. Being part of the 'living in sin' camp, I have obviously not experienced my own Big Day. I imagine it is very stressful, both on the day and in the run up. I am guessing that it's very expensive and you don't always get what you want due to differences of opinions from mothers in the wedding camp. I am also thinking that it is very easy to get sucked into the wedding circus, having recently attended my first wedding fair with the bride. I was supposed to go and offer her moral support. But it was me who needed the hand-holding. Upon walking through the doors at this recent event, I was ambushed by a foray of singers, magicians, florists, dress designers, caricaturists, musicians, DJ's, eager beaver sales people (one even selling cosmetic surgery to brides), all desperate to convince you that THEY could make your dreams come true and give you a day to remember. It just seemed so manufactured, so impersonal. So not what I thought it would be like. I've been fantasising about my own wedding for years. But having seen what its actually like for a bride-to-be (scary, expensive), I think I might need to go back to the drawing board. But as I've said to Mr H before, we could scrap the wedding and spend all the money on a Big Fat Diamond Blinger instead. Now that's more up my aisle...
