Life After Kids: 2013 365 Challenge #210

Weekend BBQ

At the end of a tiring three days of relentless childcare it’s hard not to think about life BK (before kids) and wish for a return to those days.

Days when a lie-in meant staying in bed until 11am with a cup of tea and a good book rather than 8.30am with earplugs and guilt.

Those days when you could visit friends for a barbeque and not have to worry what anyone ate and whether they were wearing sun cream and a hat.

When going for a swim meant having a cuddle with my husband rather than spending an exhausting ninety minutes watching two children trying to drown themselves.

Those days when I got to Sunday evening calm and refreshed and ready to tackle the week ahead, even if I didn’t really want to go to work on Monday morning.

Rescuing the princess (spot the hat!)

However, even though I’m clinging onto my sanity, waiting to drop the little ones at nursery in the morning so I can drink a hot cup of tea and get all the way to the end of a thought uninterrupted, there are plenty of things about life AK (after kids) that are amazing.

Always having someone to talk to, laugh with, care for, worry about. There were plenty of BK years where there was no one. I enjoy solitude, but climbing a mountain isn’t much fun if there’s no one to text at the top and say I’m here!

Having a reason to get up and out, to go swimming every day and have cookies afterwards. Getting to watch Tangled as many times as I like on the TV, and then watching my children re-enacting it in the garden.

Allowing myself to be silly and to realise I am quite good at it. Giving myself a gold star for every meal cooked and eaten, bath time successfully completed or hair washing survived.

Best of all, realising that we now belong to a community. We went to a birthday party this morning in the local park and knew several of the other parents. The dads got together and chatted and the women did too. There were nods of greeting and genuine smiles at our arrival.

Happy Girl, Happy Mummy

These are not necessarily the deep friendships of BK, but they are people at our time of life, who can relate to us in a way our friends mostly can’t (because they either don’t have children or their children are much older).

I quoted a line from a Julia Donaldson book at my child and a dad next to me recognised it, resulting in a conversation about books that are great to read and ones that drag.

I come from a small family and have very few close friends. The community of shared experience at the park on a Sunday is a precious one to me. I belong, because my children belong. I don’t have to explain or justify anything, even to myself.

So even though my eyes are being kept open by willpower alone, every part of me aches from playing Twister with my daughter, and there’s a glass of wine with my name on it once the kids are asleep, I’m happy. Maybe more now than BK. Plus I’m looking forward to work on Monday! How many people can say that?

This post probably isn’t written as well as it could be, were I more awake. For beautiful words read this post on Scary Mommy: To My Favourite Child. I want to have written this (and will try, when I find my muse again!) The last line made me smile.

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire pulled up outside her mum’s house, pulled on the hand brake and let out a sigh. Okay, I’m getting a bit tired of driving up and down the country. Maybe staying in one place for a month or two might be quite nice.

Standing on the doorstep, Claire looked around at the familiar place and felt something jar inside. When did it stop feeling like home? When did I start ringing the doorbell rather than letting myself in with a key?

Eventually she heard footsteps and her mum opened the door.

“Claire! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Mum. Nice to see you too. I’m staying for the weekend, to take Sky to Kim’s opening night. Remember?”

“Goodness, is that this weekend? It can’t be. We have guests.”

Claire’s skin flushed hot and cold, and a lump of ice slid down her chest. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, darling. We met the most lovely couple at the Spa, and invited them to stay. Can’t you stay at Ruth’s? It makes more sense, if you’re taking Sky out to the theatre.”

“Ruth doesn’t have a spare room, you know that. I’ve had enough time on her sofa.” She saw a frown furrow her mum’s brow and her lips scrunch like she’d swallowed a lemon.

“Oh, look, don’t worry about it. I’ll find somewhere. You have a lovely weekend.”

Claire raised her hand in a wave and turned to walk down the path. Stumbling slightly, she strained her ears, but all she heard her mother say was, “Bye dear.”

Blinking back tears, Claire climbed into the Skoda and drove on autopilot to her sister’s house. At least she would be welcome there.

“Hi Claire, you’re early. Sky’s still with Jenny. We’ve agreed that she’ll feed Sky her tea, just to give me a head start on the weekend. Especially as Mum has guests.”

Claire followed her sister into the hallway, letting the rush of words wash over her.

“I don’t understand. Mum and Dad only went to that Spa last weekend. How come these people have come to stay already?”

It had been less than a week since Claire was last home and it felt like the whole world had shifted on its axis.

“Apparently they got on like a house on fire. Mum came round yesterday, and was all full of Pam and Steve. Pam’s an author, and has been helping Dad with his book. I’ve never seen Mum so full of life.”

Claire tried to decide whether Ruth was as delighted as she sounded about their parents’ new friends. It was unlike Ruth to be so happy about someone taking their mother’s attention away from her.

“Can I stay here tonight? I had intended to stay at Mum’s but obviously that’s not possible.”

“If you don’t mind kipping on the couch. What time will you be bringing Sky back? She has a children’s party to go to tomorrow, so I don’t want her up too late.”

“It probably won’t finish until after 10pm. I imagine she’ll fall asleep in the car, so I’ll put her straight to bed.”

Ruth frowned. “That’s quite late. Couldn’t you take her to a matinée instead?”

Claire swallowed hard against her rising temper. “Ruth, we discussed this five days ago. You must have known about the party then. It’s Kim’s opening night, I can’t miss it. Sky doesn’t have to come.”

Shaking her head, Ruth jumped in, “No, she has to go now. She’s looking forward to it. I just wish I’d known it would be so late.”

With a sigh, Claire headed across the kitchen to the turn the kettle on, giving up on her sister ever offering her a drink. “Tea?”

“Yes, please. Wait, no. There isn’t any milk.”

Fighting a strong urge to cry, Claire retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water. As she sat back at the table, she wondered whether to call the whole thing off. Kim wasn’t going to talk to her anyway, and the weekend would be better spent worrying about her future, rather than disentangling her past.

I have to try. Kim’s my best friend. This might be my only chance to make it up with her.

Sipping her water, she sat and listened to the ticking of the clock.

***

Oversharing, Scary Mommy-style: This One Time, In My Bedroom… (whencrazymeetsexhaustion.com)
Bestselling author Julia Donaldson launches exhibition in Birmingham (coventrytelegraph.net)
D.C. Mom (and Dad!) Bloggers We Love (redtri.com)
Confessions of a Scary Mommy. Jill Smokler (myafeniksus.wordpress.com)

The World of Blogging: 2013 365 Challenge #207

The world of blogs

Today has been a day for giving back to blogging. I’ve written before about how hard it is to have a daily blog and still give to the blogging community. Much of my spare time is spent writing and formatting blog posts and photographs and coming up with new dilemmas for Claire. It’s hard to get a balance.

I should read blogs when I’m staring blankly at Facebook in the evening, but that doesn’t seem the right time. I want to do more than visit and like just to be liked in return. I want to give time and thought to the great blogs I see, and take the effort to discover new ones.

So today I gave my whole day to doing that (as well as a pleasant hour reading and reviewing a lovely collection of short stories). In some ways it reminds me of something I read once about children getting upset when they have chosen a sweetie, as it immediately rules out all the other sweeties.

I reached 200 followers

I feel a bit like that with time spent reading posts. There are so many, about parenting and writing, about life, with amazing photographs and poems, flash fiction and craft ideas. I want to read, understand, comment, share, embrace them all, but I can’t. Tempus fugit.

These are my favourites from today.

Some great ideas about how to keep children entertained during the school holidays (sarcastic/ironic – hopefully!)
Mary Beth Lee explains how she doesn’t mind a weepie book or film, as long as she knows in advance: no surprise deaths here please
Chuck Wendig asks, So you just had your book published, now what? A tongue-in-cheek exploration of what happens next. (contains strong language)
Tracey Lynn Tobin asks if you are concerned with gender stereotypes, in her post Gender Insignificant. I explained in the comments that my son wears pink and nail varnish!

I might have to emulate (steal from) Annie Cardi, who has a weekly post just listing great links, called Links Galore. Hers are at least all (or mostly all) about YA fiction though. Mine would be a bit more varied. Amanda’s random links. A winner yes? No?

My Blog Map since launch

I also took a sneaky peak at my blogging world map today (inspired by a post I read by Mary Beth Lee) and was amazed to see how many countries were included (95 different countries since I started the blog last year).

I used to aspire to be a traditionally published author and see my book in the local Waterstones. I still have that dream. But I’m so thankful to my amazing sister, and others who pushed me to self-publish in the meantime. I have learned so much, gained so much, and – best of all – met so many amazing people.

Thank you to everyone who visits and follows the blog. You’re all making one crazy stay-at-home mum with crazy dreams very happy!

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“What do you think then?”

Claire looked up with narrowed eyes. “What about?”

“All of it. The town, the job, hell the band even. You’re a gal who keeps her cards close.”

Claire looked up in surprise at Conor’s words. Sitting in a bar with him, she felt exposed, as if her every thought was pasted on her face. Maybe it was the lack of make-up, or the jeans, but she felt more visible outside of the office. Conor kept his gaze on her, waiting for an answer. His features were indistinct in the dim bar, but Claire could still visualise the piercing green eyes, pinning her down.

“What do you love about it?”

Conor laughed. “Oh, slippery lady. I’ll have the truth from you, you see if I don’t.”

She raised an eyebrow and he held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Ah, go on then. What do I love about it? It reminds me of home. The friendliness, the sea, the hills. It has a warmth that closes round you and keep you safe.”

“Where is home?”

Conor twisted his lips as if to say, isn’t it obvious.

She grinned, a déjà vu popping up of her tormenting Mitch. “I mean what part of Ireland. I can just about tell you’re from the South but that’s the end of my linguistic skills.”

“Cork, I’m from Cork. Left when I was young, parents sent me to school over here. Thought I’d have a better chance in life without the accent and the parochial tarnish.”

“Really? You kept the accent, though?” Now she thought about it, the Irish lilt hadn’t been as strong during the interview. Gosh was that only this morning?

“I can produce a school boy accent, should the need arise.” He spoke in clipped tones. “But I find my own fair brogue is best for charming the ladies.” He grinned.

“Is that what this is? A charm offensive? Is that appropriate?”

“I’m not your boss yet.” He winked, then his face became more serious. “If I am attempting to charm you, it’s purely in a work capacity. I could tell you weren’t overly taken with your time with us today.”

“If you mean did I dislike being grilled like a piece of tuna, you’re right. Besides…” She stopped. Conor’s manner was too friendly; it had nearly lulled her into another indiscretion.

“Besides what, Fair Maid?” Leaning forwards, he clasped his hands and turned to face Claire full on.

She squirmed under his scrutiny, well aware she had a bad habit of admitting the wrong things to the worst people.

Thinking furiously, her brain threw up a card. “Besides, I’m not sure I’m ready to bury myself in this backwater, charming as it might be.”

Connor frowned. He looked much older without the grin. “From the sounds of it, you’ve stayed in more remote places than this and found peace.”

It was Claire’s turn to furrow her brow. They hadn’t discussed her travels much during the interview, so he must have read her blog. Funny how you could pour your heart out to invisible strangers but find it so much harder to talk to a flesh and blood person who you’d only just met.

“Who could climb a hill, stand in silence on the summit. and not find peace?” She spoke softly, half hoping he wouldn’t hear.

“Me,” he said with a laugh, making her jump. “Can’t bear to be by myself.” He shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll happily sit in a bar on me own, but there’s still the steaming heap of humanity all around. Silence makes my teeth ache.”

He turned to face the band still playing in the corner and Claire breathed in relief. She needed to know her own mind before she divulged anymore of it to anyone, least of all a potential boss. When the song finished she drained her glass and stood to leave.

Conor reached out a hand to lightly grasp her wrist. “Claire?” Frissons ran up her arm from his touch. “Don’t sell out. If they counter-offer – and I’m sure they will; I would if you tried to leave me – don’t be swayed. We can’t compete on salary but you’ll be making a difference here. Not to some faceless corporation, but to real people. Think about it.”

Claire looked down at his hand on her wrist and he dropped the grasp as if her skin burned him. His eyes looked puzzled and Claire wondered how often he met with a rebuff.

Not often enough. With a nod to acknowledge his words she turned and made her way through the punters to the door.

Outside, the cool night air prickled her skin. Josh would be awake, if she wanted to call him. She felt drained and hollow, fit only for sleep. Loading up the map on her phone she traced her way back to the hostel and fell into troubled dreams.

***

365 days ~This is my Thank you… (seasonsinherlife.wordpress.com)
Tuesday Meme – why I blog (jackieofnotrade.wordpress.com)
205//365: Wish You Were Here (step999.wordpress.com)
Page 166 of 365 Happy Anniversary (thisdayin.wordpress.com)

Enlightenment: 2013 365 Challenge #206

A lightbulb moment

I had a great discussion with a fellow author recently. We discussed, among other things, my inability to be mean to my characters. In response to my saying, “I actually have a huge capacity to imagine the worst that can happen, especially since having children, I just don’t like to write about it.”

Vozey said,

“Then, look at yourself. Sometimes it isn’t that we are being mean to our characters, than that we are reliving and remember things that are important and painful to us.”

This was a lightbulb moment for me. This was my (slightly edited) response – Most of my Chick Lit protagonists are a version of me, in one form or another. My YA novel, on the other hand, has a lead protagonist that is nothing like me (not intentionally, anyway!) and it was easier to have bad things happen, particularly the kind of things that a 16 year old might think bad (boyfriends, parents and stuff). I really want to try my hand at Middle Grade Fantasy fiction – I love reading it precisely because the bad things that happen are more external than internal.

He also gave me a great pep talk: “Doubt. I’m sure at several points you’ve thought you wouldn’t finish a novel. You did didn’t you? I know I think that sometimes, but I know that I will.”

I’m back where I was five years ago when I thought I’d never write a novel, and yet now I’ve completed two. I can learn to plot, and structure, and be mean. I maybe need to stop using me, and people from my own life, as base templates. Or maybe I do need to stick to YA and MG. I’ve just had to leave the lounge because the programme hubbie is watching got too violent, and still the images linger in my brain. Since having children my (already minimal) stomach for anything violent, mean or nasty is non-existent. Becoming a writer has in some ways made it worse: I can write different endings, people in the real world can’t.

I think, the more fertile the imagination – the more acute the empathy – the harder it is to live in reality! The world can be a tough place to live, I want to make it better, not worse! Perhaps I should learn how to write endearing children’s picture books instead…

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Claire stared at the email until the words blurred. Blinking fast, she checked it again. If this number isn’t set in stone, it means there could be even more on offer. The figure in Carl’s email was twice her current salary, with a bonus to make her eyes water, as and when she completed her tour of all the YHA hostels.

Speculation sprinted through Claire’s mind. This can’t be just because of writing a few blog posts. There must be something else going on.

With a few taps of the screen, Claire loaded up her blog stats. She hadn’t looked in a while, because the paltry figures were demoralising. The graph bore no resemblance to the one she had last viewed. The little bars built exponentially. The viewing figures for that day alone were in the thousands.

What the…?

Scrolling back, Claire tried to see which post had sparked the increase. It was impossible to make sense of the numbers on her tiny phone screen. Her heart fluttered like a new-born child, fast and shallow. Trying to jump down from the wall, the trembling in her legs gave a pre-warning before she collapsed into the sand. Sitting in a tangle of legs, Claire laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks.

What a mess. Why didn’t I check my stats before I resigned? She thought about it, as the chill of the sand seeped through her jeans. Would l have done it? Her eyes widened in horror. Does Carl think I only resigned to force his hand; to get more money?

She thought back to their conversation, when he had asked her why she was leaving, intimating that the lure of a fancy car had precipitated her resignation. All the mirth drained away, and she shuffled across the sand to lean her shoulders against the wall.

Her words came back to her, barely audible through the tinny sound of the amusement arcade music still playing behind her, only partially muffled by the wall. No man, no money, no shiny car or bigger office. Just an opportunity to make a difference; to be me. To live a little in the real world.

Claire shivered and pulled herself up, walking along the beach to the steps. This isn’t just a bigger car. This is a chance to save a significant amount of money, to fund my future. That amount of cash going into my account, while I live in hostels on expenses; that’s life changing. I could help Ruth, I could fulfil any dream, if I only stick it out for a year.

With a jolt Claire realised she didn’t have a dream. Aside from a vague interest in travel writing and an impulsive urge to visit the other side of the world, there was nothing in her future to pull her forward.

Walking blindly, Claire didn’t realise she was lost until the change in sound alerted her. The noise filling her ears was no longer the grating tone of the amusement arcade, but the mellow tones of a man singing, with the twang of an electric guitar.

Dragged from her reverie, Claire looked up and saw she was outside a pub. The sight reminded her of her intention to call Josh; that she’d only gone for a walk to kill time and to get something to eat. Carl’s phone call had driven the thought from her mind, and her gurgling tummy reminded her that she still hadn’t eaten.

Without hesitating to wonder whether going into a local pub alone was a good idea, Claire pushed through the door and found herself in a dim, cosy interior that smelt of sweat and beer. The low-ceilinged room felt crowded, but she was able to get to the bar without making eye contact with any of the punters. The entertainment was set up in a corner, and most eyes were focussed on the singer.

Shouting over the music, Claire asked if the pub served food. With a shake of his head, the barman indicated that crisps and pork scratchings were all he could offer. Cursing her stupidity, Claire ordered a gin & tonic and two bags of crisps. While the barman prepared her drink, she looked around to find an empty table. Her heart rose when she spied one in the corner, shielded from the live music.

Claire wove her way to the secluded corner, praying no one accosted her. When she reached her destination unmolested, her overwhelming sensation was surprise. Are people really polite in Swanage, or are they ignoring me because I’m not a local?

Glad of the anonymity and the loud music drowning out her troubled thoughts, Claire ate her meagre dinner and tried to formulate a plan. Was a dream essential, to enjoy life? She was pretty certain no-one she knew had a burning ambition to do anything more than pay the bills and buy the things that made working bearable. Now she thought about it, the fact struck her as sad. Aside from Ruth, who at least had Sky to focus on, the only person she knew with a dream was Kim, with her ambition to become a famous actress. As unlikely as it was, at least it was a tangible goal.

Thinking about Kim increased Claire’s sadness. She would see her friend in two days, but what kind of greeting would she get? Kim hadn’t answered any of her calls or messages since the wedding. She couldn’t believe their friendship was irrevocably broken, but it was starting to look that way.

If Josh’s wife forgave him for running away to the other side of the world, surely Kim can forgive me for revealing her secret to Michael? It wasn’t my fault he blurted it out to everyone.

All the elation from earlier seeped away, as Claire drained the last of her gin. She was still contemplating whether to drink another and drown her sorrows completely, when a familiar voice hailed her from near the door. With a start she looked up, unable at first to see who had recognised her in this backwater place.

Her searching gaze met a smiling pair of glass-green eyes, and her heart gave a lurch. Conor, that’s all I need. As if I haven’t got enough to think about. She was tempted to drop her head and ignore his hail, but knew it was too soon to burn any bridges. Tempting as Carl’s offer was, it wouldn’t hurt to keep the options open.

She raised her hand in greeting, and Conor threaded his way through the crowd to her table.

“Enjoying yourself? I told you Swanage was a great place.” He leant close, to allow his words to be heard over the music.

Claire inhaled the overpowering scent of his aftershave and leaned back slightly as the man filled her personal space.

“Can I get you another drink?” Conor nodded at her empty glass.

Claire didn’t want to stay; her mind was jumbled enough without being on friendly terms with the man who wanted to be her boss. Unable to think of an excuse without appearing rude, Claire nodded her head.

“Yes, please.”

As she watched him take her glass back to the bar, Claire fought an overwhelming urge to cry.

***

206/365: Smell the books (torc365.wordpress.com)
206/365 Flower (torc365.wordpress.com)

Fewer Beans: 2013 365 Challenge #203

The Time You Have (In JellyBeans)

A while ago someone posted a great video on Facebook to do with how we spend our lives. They took 28,835 jelly beans and showed how many of them we spend on sleeping, eating, watching TV.

The message is that there aren’t many beans left for the important things, and to use your beans wisely. It’s a vivid message and I’m glad I watched it (I rarely watch videos on facebook or blogs because I get too much screen time and prefer the written word for my downtime).

What made the beans message stick, however, was a comment hubbie’s Aunt left on the post, when I shared it. She said that’s why she feels guilty when she doesn’t walk the dog, because dogs have fewer beans. That phrase has wedged firmly in my mind.

Our little Kara as a puppy

Our poor dog spends much of her life trying to figure out what she’s done wrong. Mostly it’s me telling her to lie down and relax even though I’m rushing round the house and she thinks she needs to keep me company (we got her as a puppy when I was heavily pregnant and I called her to me a lot, to make sure she wasn’t chewing anything, so she thinks her job is to follow me round like a ghost.)

Or the kids will send her away before calling her back a dozen times and then complain when she accidentally whacks them with her tail.

Labradoodles are smart dogs (and get easily bored, unfortunately). Ours can count: when there are two adults minding the children she immediately asks for a walk because she knows that’s when it can happen. So then she gets told off for being clever, and for (rightly) reminding us she hasn’t been out. When I’m working at home I have to close my laptop quietly if I get up to make tea because, if I shut it with a snap, she jumps up thinking it is time for her walk. The same goes for coming downstairs in a jumper, or saying “Right!” (all cues she recognises. And for goodness sake never say “Daddy’s home!” unless you want to unleash chaos.)

Lady of the manor!

She gets told off for begging while the kids have their tea, then is fed scraps from the table. She’s allowed to chase rabbits in the fields but not the bunnies at the farm. She’s allowed to dance with Mummy but not to jump up at strangers. And often, when the kids are finally in bed, and she gets her fifteen minutes of quality bean time, the last thing I feel like doing is taking her for a walk.

But, even before my Aunt-in-law’s comment, I made a commitment to walk her every day. I don’t always manage it, and it’s usually the same boring walk (she hates the car). But now I do it willingly. Partly because it means I can tap out my daily blog in my phone, as I’m doing now. And partly because I hear in my head all the time, “She has fewer beans”.

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Claire scrawled her name in the ‘out’ section of the visitor book and turned to face the man who had come to escort her from the building. Conor reached out to shake Claire’s hand and there was a flicker of a wink and the suggestion of a smile. His hand felt warm and smooth in hers and she was surprised to discover his eyes shone like green glass. Sensing her scrutiny, the man laughed, revealing unnaturally white teeth.

“See anything you like?”

Aware of the blush rushing up her neck, Claire dropped her gaze down to her bag on the pretence of searching for her keys, letting her heavy hair fall over her face.

Clearly one for the ladies, she decided. Mr Cheeky was right. Or maybe Mr Smarmy. In no danger of falling for his charm she was, nonetheless, grateful for his support throughout her ordeal.

Jason, or Mr Mean, as she preferred to think of him, had earned his moniker during the hour-long interrogation. Everything from her marketing qualifications (limited), tourism credentials (non-existent), Myers-Briggs profile (forgotten), reason for changing jobs (undisclosed) and recent history (blagged) had been torn apart and challenged.

The remaining individuals had thrown out one question each on cue but Claire surmised that they were there for aggrandizement purposes only. Except Conor, head of marketing and business development and her potential line manager. His questions had been thorough and relevant and sometimes too acute for comfort. It seemed, like now, that he liked to put her on the spot to see how much he could make her blush.

“Thank you for showing me out.” Claire flicked her hair away and shone her coolest smile. No need to give a man like that encouragement.

“It was my pleasure.”

Claire shivered. Even the most innocent statement sounded like a come-on. His words lit an unexpected fire in her belly, and she gritted her teeth. Glaring at him through narrowed eyes, Claire turned and headed for the door.

“Wait!”

Claire looked back, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t you want to know what happens next?”

The eyebrows shot up further. “What happens next? Jason interviews a man, who clearly will be more suited for the role, and I carry on with my life?”

Conor frowned at her words. “Is that what you think? That he gave you a hard time because you’re a woman? And I thought you were smart.”

She turned again and didn’t stop when he called for her to wait a second time. She heard his footsteps as he strode after her and fell in step with her as she walked across the small car park. She stopped before she got to the Skoda, some part of her unwilling to give the man more ammunition.

Facing him, she waited for him to speak.

“He gave you a hard time because you’re by far the best candidate for the role, and if something looks too good to be true it usually is.”

Claire felt a pulse throb in her temples. How long had it been since anyone told her she was good at something? She couldn’t remember.

“If I have my way, he’ll hire you. We need someone like you to bring some life to the company.” He ran a hand through his sandy hair, as if unsure of what to say. “Look, I’m sorry you had a tough time. You have to understand, this is a new organisation. There’s a limited budget and no strategy. But I see huge potential. Jason, Tim, and the others, they’re public sector workers. They came over from the Council to set up this venture. They’re bean counters, regulation enforcers.”

Taking a breath, Conor rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, except you’re the only person to walk in here and get what we’re trying to achieve. Purbeck is an amazing part of the country, with beaches to rival the Continent. But people came here as children, and stayed in caravans with their gran. They see it as old-fashioned, out-dated. It needs an injection of life, of world experience, to show people what it can be. Look at Swanage. I came here when I was a kid. There was life. Now it’s practically an old-people’s home. We need you.”

Claire looked round the car park, unsure what to think. Conor’s passion surprised her. She had taken him to be a salesman, in for the quick buck.

“I need time to think about it. Besides, I’m not sure you’re right. Jason didn’t strike me as the type to take a chance on someone.”

“He’ll come round, leave it to me.”

He gave her a grin that made him look about twelve, then, with a half-wave, he headed back into the building.

Claire stood for a while, deep in thought. When she was sure he was gone, she paced to the Skoda and hid herself inside.

***

The Stangest Thing: 2013 365 Challenge #189

Well done, Andy

Phew! This Sunday, Andy Murray became the first British male winner of Wimbledon in 77 years. People will ask one day, what were you doing during the match? We spent the duration trying to juggle love of brilliant tennis with necessary parenting.

There’s a bit in the Disney movie Tangled where Flynn Rider is fighting with a frying pan against a horse wielding a sword. Flynn says, “You must know, this is the strangest thing I’ve ever done.” (It’s one of my favourite moments in the movie).

Well, this afternoon I found myself watching nail-biting awe-inspiring 30-shot-rally tennis, cuddling a hot, sweaty and mostly naked two-year-old (it was HOT this weekend), while listening to Disney’s Jungle Book in German on the iPad (after daughter found it on YouTube). Bear Necessities, the elephant marching song, all in loud German. I have to tell you, it was the strangest thing I’ve ever done!

Amazing tennis (even watching the last set surreptitiously while doing jigsaw puzzles with a bored and close-to-meltdown four-year-old ). Amazing kids, surviving Mummy and Daddy cheering at the TV. Thankfully little man slept for the last 90 mins. And can I say, Andy Murray? Thank your sweet heart for wrapping it up in three sets (even if it took as long as a five-set match). The children were not going to survive another set!

So, Wimbledon is over. Back to working without distractions. Lucky I don’t have Sky Sports: The Ashes starts this week.

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Claire looked for blonde hair, amidst a sea of children and cages, and felt her heart quicken when she couldn’t find it. Ignoring the pulse throbbing in her neck, Claire turned and searched, standing on her tiptoes to peer over rabbit runs.

“Over here, Auntie Claire. Look, come and see the ducklings.”

Sky’s face peeped around a wooden barn door, and Claire exhaled. Her head spun as the oxygen flooded her lungs, and she strode over towards her niece, trying to smile.

“Poppet, you gave me a fright. Can you tell me first, if you’re going to go out of sight? Your Mummy isn’t going to be happy if I lose you.”

Sky’s bottom lip quivered and she hung her head, her hair falling to hide her face.

“Sorry, Auntie Claire. I wanted to see the ducklings.”

Feeling guilty, Claire dropped to her haunches and brushed the blonde hair away. “Auntie Claire isn’t telling you off, sweetheart. I was worried, that’s all. Show me these ducklings.”

The wobbly lip vanished and Sky’s face lit up. “This way!” She pulled at Claire’s hand, nearly tugging her off her feet.

Claire grabbed the door frame to steady herself. “Hang on, Sky. Let me stand up.”

Sky released her hand, and ran forward into the barn. Claire followed, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gloom, after the unexpected spring sunshine outside. The room felt dank and cold and smelled musty. In the corner, Sky crouched down beside a wooden pen, her hair perilously close to the heat lamp hanging overhead.

“Be careful, Sky, mind the light.” Claire reached out a hand, to tug Sky away, but the girl had already moved.

“Aren’t they cute?” Sky pointed into the cage and Claire peered over the edge. Half a dozen scruffy ducklings huddled beneath the heat lamp. Their grey feathers stuck out at all angles and patches of pink skin glistened in between.

Claire thought they were the ugliest things she had seen in a long time. Conscious of the Ugly Duckling story Sky had read as part of her homework at Easter, Claire hitched a smile on her face.

“Beautiful, Sky. They’re lovely.”

Sky turned and grinned. “Mummy says they’re scruffy and ugly, but I like them. I think their bald patches are funny.”

Claire laughed. With kids you never got it right.

Sky dragged her into the next barn to see if the ferrets were awake. The smell hit Claire like a house brick, and she surreptitiously covered her nose. She didn’t want to be like the posh mummies she’d seen, trying to keep their white jeans clean, or striding around in their pristine Hunter wellies. But, really, the smell was awful.

Sky hopped up and down next to a large cage with hammocks and tubes in sections. The smell increased as she approached, and Claire was glad there was nothing in her stomach.

“The ferrets are always asleep. They’re so boring. And they smell.” Sky wrinkled up her tiny nose, and Claire wondered if she was somehow testing her Auntie to see how much she could endure.

I think I’ve endured enough. Time for coffee.

“Very nice, Sky. Would you like some cake?”

Her niece spun round, hair flying, and grinned. Claire ignored the pang of guilt, as she remembered Ruth’s request that Sky eat something healthy. Somehow she felt she sure she wouldn’t bribe Sky to the coffee shop with a promise of soup and a roll.

I’ll make sure it’s carrot cake.

***

Murray mania (katstock2013.wordpress.com)
Andy Murray wins Wimbledon title (cbc.ca)
Andy Murray (snippett.wordpress.com)
Congratulations Andy Murray! (mrsbongle.com)
After 77 years the wait is over for a Wimbledon champion as Andy Murray beats Novak Djokovic (telegraph.co.uk)
Andy Murray Wins Wimbledon – 1st British Title in 77 Years (guardianlv.com)

The Big Questions: 2013 365 Challenge #152

By NASA, ESA, and the Hubble Heritage Team via Wikimedia Commons

By NASA, ESA, & Hubble Heritage Team via Wikimedia Commons

My daughter is struggling with one of life’s Big Questions (and I’m struggling with answering it!) I love that she is, though, because it shows how she thinks about the world. To me there are two or three Big Questions that are almost impossible to answer in a way that a four-year-old will understand (or a grown-up for that matter).

1. What happens when we die

2. What is outside Space

3. Evolution (it’s tough to put it into one question)

My ‘question’ is number two: I was (and still am) fascinated by what is outside Space. As a child I imagined space as a room and wondered what was outside the room. I couldn’t get my head around a concept such as a void or infinity. There had to be something outside the infinity, outside the void.

I studied Astronomy and Cosmology for Arts Students at University (a great course that must have driven any scientists present completely nuts). The tutor was amazing, using baking and fruit to try to explain the expansion of the universe. I’m not sure I ever really understood it, but I remember some analogy about us being a raisin on the expanding fruit cake in the Universe’s oven. (Apologies, the course was 15 years ago and I didn’t understand it then!)

By Tkgd2007 via Wikimedia Commons

My daughter’s ‘question’ is about Evolution. She says things like, “Before there were deserts, or trees, or anything, how were there people?” Or “How did camels grow, before there was sand and grass?” It doesn’t matter how often you explain Survival of the Fittest or Darwinism, when you reduce it to the level of a four-year-old, it’s a theory that’s full of holes.

Now, we’re not a religious family (apologies to anyone reading who is) and, even though our daughter will go to a Christian school, she will still learn about evolution and Big Bang (I think; I hope!) There is part of me, though, that thinks all these Big Questions probably need an element of faith to understand them. The Universe is too amazing to be explained by numbers.

I told my daughter today that we were once all stars (my science is sketchy, but I do remember something like that). I think that’s a beautiful idea. It might not be very scientific, or explain her Big Question, but it’s a lovely image to hold on to. Her reaction was to dance a twirling pattern across the floor like a twinkling star.

I’m now off to find the Idiot’s Guide to Science and the Universe. I hope there is one.

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire sat, cradling her phone, and stared at the scuffed vinyl floor. She waited for relief to come, but it didn’t. I have a place to stay until my wrist gets better, why doesn’t that make me feel better?

Her mind churned with turbulent thoughts, until she couldn’t distinguish which was most urgent. How am I going to get to Kim’s? I need to collect my things from the Snow dome and the hostel, collect my car – assuming it hasn’t been towed – and get to Cambridgeshire. All I want to do is sleep.

Aware that the helpful nurse was watching her from behind the reception desk, Claire raised her phone and pretended to read messages. It was amazing how easy it was to look busy, holding a phone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the nurse turn away to deal with a new arrival.

Solutions refused to surface from the choppy sea in her head, and Claire was about to admit defeat when the phone began to vibrate. Startled, she looked at the screen, wondering who would be calling late on a Friday afternoon.

Kim? Please don’t let her be ringing to tell me I can’t stay. Claire swallowed, aware of the dryness of her throat, and put the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Kim, what’s up?”

“It’s not Kim, it’s Jeff.”

“Jeff? Why are you calling? Is Kim okay? I only spoke to her a minute ago.”

“Whoa, steady.” Jeff’s deep voice exuded calm. “Kim’s fine. She says you’re coming to visit. I’m glad she’ll have company while I’m away this weekend.”

“I hope that’s okay? I don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly.” Jeff chuckled, an unnervingly sexy sound. “Kim was worried that you’d try to drive the Skoda, when the docs have told you not to. I called to ask if you have Breakdown Cover?”

“Er, sure, yes. Since the Skoda overheated. I don’t think it covers injury though.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain. Some policies cover you for illness, if you’re unable to drive. And you’re only coming fifty miles. If not, I can talk you through disabling the car so that the breakdown guys won’t be able to get it going. You have Relay, I take it?”

Claire tried to process Jeff’s words. He sounded so assured and in control that she didn’t want to question what he was saying. Something niggled at her, though.

“Isn’t that fraud?”

Jeff laughed, a deep, rolling sound, like a timpani drum. “Yes, I suppose so. But you’ve paid for your cover, and you are stranded, even if it’s you that’s broken rather than the car.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Claire tried to think through the pounding in her skull. She wished she had someone smart and competent to sort out her problems. As the thought drifted traitorously through her mind, another yelled out, Don’t be so pathetic. You’re a Twenty-First Century Gal. You don’t need a man to bail you out. A third voice – quieter, more thoughtful – said, Need, no. Want, yes.

Claire murmured her thanks to Jeff and promised to call if she needed to resort to disabling the Skoda. She hung up the phone and flicked through her emails until she found the Breakdown policy. A quick scan lifted her spirits, and she called the helpline number.

“Yes, Ms Carleton, we do offer Compassionate Relay, in some circumstances. Can you explain why you are too ill to drive?”

“I’m currently sat in A&E, my car is on the other side of town and my clothes in a third location. I have a sprained wrist, wrapped in heavy bandaging, and I’ve been informed I am not allowed to drive for 48 hours at least.”

There was silence as the Customer Advisor processed Claire’s impassioned words.

“I see. Please wait.”

Claire ran her hand through her hair and yearned for coffee. Her breathing felt shallow as if there was insufficient oxygen in the room. Eventually the phone clicked and she heard the sound of the line reconnecting.

“Ms Carleton? I’ve checked with my supervisor and we are prepared to offer assistance. We’re not able to help you collect your possessions, but if you can gather them and wait with your vehicle, someone will arrive to take you to your destination within the hour.”

Claire hung up, and surged into action. She felt like Annika Rice with a new challenge. I’ll get a taxi to run me to the hostel and back to the snow dome. Carl will have to just suck up my expenses this month.

With a fresh lease of life, Claire strode from A&E and flagged down a vacant taxi.

***

Learning Happiness: 2013 365 Challenge #141

The Speak Happiness Blog

One of the ebooks on my iPad waiting to be read is a book called Learning Happiness as a Second Language by Valerie Alexander.

I came across the book on the author’s blog Speak Happiness (which goes to show that having a blog can sell books. Maybe I just need to try harder).

The blog is one of my favourites (I recently nominated it in my Liebster Blogger Award) because Happiness is so vital, yet so elusive. It is also one of the more challenging blogs for me to read.

Something holds me back from happiness and I don’t understand why. It stems from this fear that, if I’m happy, bad things will happen. As a result whenever I come across a great blog like Speak Happiness I feel resistance.

While walking the dog recently, after reading a post on Valerie’s blog, I randomly asked myself a series of questions, to try and understand my resistance.

“Am I happier when the kids are happy?”

“Am I calmer when hubbie is happy?”

“Do I feel more in control when I’m happy?”

“Do I want the kids to learn how to be happy, to make friends and be popular in a good way?”

“Do I want their glass to be half full and to always see the positive?”

I answered yes to all the questions in my mind. Then I asked the final question:

“Am I prepared to change, throw off the shackles of my genes and my upbringing, and learn Happiness?”

The answer, of course, is yes. And still… There’s a part of me that welcomes sadness. That sees it as a comfortable place where there are no expectations of me. I remember a boyfriend who used to say “Smile, you boring old scrote.” All. The. Time. I still hear it in my head now, twenty years later. I can’t think of anything less likely to make me smile. Yet I felt there was something inherently wrong with me because I wasn’t smiling. I was 16. Happiness is not a natural state at 16.

My children are good at Happy

Now, as an adult, it’s as if I’ve decided being miserable, guilty, sorry, negative is my prerogative and I’ll damn well do it if I want to. Sometimes, of course, it’s enhanced by a dip towards depression. Lowness that I can’t shift. But the danger is it becomes a habit. Something I get away with. No one tells me to Pull it Together because they know I battle depression.

Maybe sometimes they should. Or I should.

So I want to try. I want to learn happiness as a second language – for the same reason I’d like to learn Italian. For my kids, for me. Maybe what’s holding me back is the fear I will disappear. If I learn Italian I’ll be another voice in the crowd. I’ll be expected to join in, I won’t be different, I’ll have to make an effort. If I learn to be happy no one will notice me anymore. After all, sympathy is attention. If I have nothing to moan about will I have nothing to say?

All these things hold me back. Still, now I have the iPad I at least no longer have an excuse not to read the book. I started it this week and was hooked by the first chapter. By the concept, even, that happiness can be learned, has to be learned, rather than being a natural state. As Valerie explains on her blog (and in her book):

If you did not grow up speaking Greek, you wouldn’t expect to leave home and instantly be fluent in it, so why is it that we expect to suddenly be “fluent” in Happiness if Happiness wasn’t spoken in our homes?

Wise words. And hopeful ones. Maybe it isn’t too late for me to learn.

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“Louth: Capital of the Lincolnshire Wolds.”

Claire read the sign signalling her entry to the town. What is a wold? Whatever it is, it doesn’t look like there’ll be a Starbucks.

Even though she had grown up in the area, or maybe because of it, Claire couldn’t imagine there being anything impressive in Lincolnshire, apart from maybe the cathedral at Lincoln. And it’s raining too much for me to think about driving that far.

When Claire had looked out the window after a night of uninterrupted sleep, it was to see heavy rain clouds and deep puddles. Her plan to visit the Cathedral had been driven away by a strong need for caffeine. A glance at the map revealed Louth as the nearest town and she’d set off without checking what she would find when she got there.

Claire drove down the main street, reading the names of the shops through the rain being pushed slowly away by weary wipers. Luck of Louth, Dragonfly Kitchen, Madhatter’s Tearoom. Where am I, for goodness sake? I feel like Alice in bloody Wonderland. Maybe this was a bad idea.

She came to a small square, hemmed in by charity shops and a large Greggs. Great, I can have a soggy pie or buy some paperback books. I want coffee! Reluctantly, Claire parked the car and shrugged on her raincoat. There must be a coffee shop somewhere. I couldn’t move for them in Stamford and it was no bigger than here.

Not wanting to wander aimlessly in the rain, Claire ducked into the nearest charity shop to ask for directions. She shook the rain from her hood and threaded her way through racks of clothes and books until she located the counter. A lady of indeterminable age was serving a customer with a plastic hood over blue-rinse curls. Claire waited impatiently, dripping rain onto the clean floor.

Eventually the women ceased their chatter and, with many cheery farewells, the customer left.

“Excuse me, is there a café near here, please?”

The lady looked at Claire in surprise, as if she hadn’t noticed her waiting by the counter.

“I’m sorry, dear?” She spoke in the loud tones of the deaf, even though she had been conversing normally with the previous customer.

“Is there a café?” Claire decided two could play at that game, and enunciated her words slowly and loudly.

“Of course, dear. Tina and Lynne’s is just round the corner. They do lovely tea.” She rambled on about the quality of the home-made tiffin, while Claire resisted the urge to say it was coffee she was after and it was far too early for cake.

Gradually retreating backwards towards the door, with a smile fixed on her face, Claire managed to escape the lady’s chatter. She raised her hand and a muttered a quick goodbye, then ducked out into the street, not caring about the rain or where the coffee shop was.

Sod this, I might as well drive to Lincoln. At least it’s on the way to the next hostel. Bugger the rain, I need to be in a city and soon, before I’m stuck in Wonderland forever.

***

22 Things Happy People Do Differently

22 Things Happy People Do Differently.

This is a lovely blog post about simple ways to be a happier person. I particularly liked this point:

Never seek approval from others.

Happy people don’t care what others think of them. They follow their own hearts without letting naysayers discourage them. They understand that it’s impossible to please everyone. Listen to what people have to say, but never seek anyone’s approval but your own.

The Parent I Am and the One I Aspire to be: 2013 365 Challenge #97

Amber having her face painted this morning

I don’t have many words today.

Lack of sleep and residual illness has turned me into at least four of the seven dwarfs. I’ll let you figure out which.

Instead of waffling on as usual, I’d like instead to share two thoughtful and beautiful posts about being a parent: both written as letters to a child.

One describes the parent I’d like to be, the other the parent I am far too often. Again, I’ll let you decide which.

It won’t be hard.

An Open Letter to My Son:

Like some poor, naïve fairytale mother, I’m trying to help you navigate your way through a forest that’s by turns enchanted and haunted. The path is familiar, as if I walked it once years ago, but different, too; overgrown and seemingly impassable in some parts, and unexpectedly clear in others. And as we pick our way through the undergrowth, as we do our best not to trip on twisted roots and sharp stones, I try to remember the lessons I’ve learned from all folktales I used to know.

For example, I won’t make the mistake that Sleeping Beauty’s parents did when sending out invitations to her christening. Unlike them, I’ll be sure to invite the dark fairy godmothers as well as the good ones, because I know that they’ll come anyway, slipping in through back doors and lurking in corners where you least expect them. I’ll let them give you their murky gifts in broad daylight, so that I can look them in the eye while they do so. Then I’ll smile and thank them, recognizing that I have to let life give you the bad as well as the good.

And when I send you out into the world alone, as I know that I will someday have to, I’ll give you something more substantial than bread crumbs with which to find your way back home.

And I won’t make you go to your grandmother’s house alone until I can be sure that you can tell the difference between an old woman and a wolf in a nightgown.

…

I Wasn’t a Good Mom:

Dear Daughter,

Today, I wasn’t a good mom. The morning came too soon after a long and exhausting night. I rolled out of bed and put pants on an hour before you normally woke up. When I came into your room you were ready for me, your hair tousled and your smile crooked. “I up!” You said reaching your arms out to me. “I pay wif toys!”

I didn’t smile, not because I don’t love you, but because I just needed more sleep. And then the day came and you stuck stickers to the couch and I grumbled under my breath. You tried to play tag and kicked me in the chest and I yelled, “BE NICE TO MOM!” I realize now, I wasn’t yelling that at you. I was just yelling at the world. But how could you know that? You couldn’t, and I’m sorry.

And when I went upstairs to go to the bathroom and you said, “NO MAM GO PODDY!” And I said, “Shut up!” It wasn’t my finest hour of parenthood.

I’m sorry I cried when you ate my lunch. The lunch I bought for both of us to feed my feelings. Because my feelings needed chicken nuggets, but apparently so did you. And I’m sorry I put you in time out when you made your plate do a little dance on the table. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you when I put you down for nap, choosing instead to run away and lay in the guest room bed and just dwell in some silence.

…

These are only extracts of the posts. I encourage you to read the full version, and to follow these inspiring blogs. They get me through many hard days as a mother and a writer. I’m off now to use what words I have to give Claire some parenting challenges of her own. It’s far more fun making it happen to someone else!

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Claire swore loudly and heard movement from the passenger seat. “Damn. Idiot.”

“What is it Auntie Claire? Why are you cross? You used a naughty word. Mummy says only uneducated people use naughty words.”

Claire gritted her teeth and tried not to utter any more swear words. She suspected Ruth was unlikely to talk to her ever again after this fortnight away with Sky but there was no need to add teaching Sky four-letter words to her list of misdemeanours.

“Auntie Claire is frustrated, that’s all poppet. Nothing to worry about. I’m just trying to find a parking space within a twenty-minute walk of the hostel.”

I knew staying in Cambridge for the Easter weekend was a mistake. I didn’t want to drive far on Good Friday and all the other hostels in this area are on the bloody coast or miles away, or both. How was I to know it was going to be five degrees outside and no one in their right mind is heading to the beach? She glared, as if the weather was solely to blame for her bad humour.

Trying to keep the rage in her head was a new challenge and it seemed to make driving harder, as if the hindrance of not being able to yell at the other incompetents in their protective boxes affected her judgement. She braked suddenly to avoid a gaggle of cyclists. Damn those egotistical morons. Pay some damn road tax and then you can swoop in front of me and cut me up with the impunity of an HGV. She swerved around a woman dawdling on an old-fashioned bike, complete with wicker baskets front and rear, pedalling as if she was on a country lane.

“Where are we Claire; is this Cambridge? I’ve never been to Cambridge. Mummy says it’s full of tourists and shops and it costs too much to park. Nana was going to bring me but then Mummy got sick and now she has to take care of Mummy. Are we nearly there? I’m hungry and I need a wee.”

The blood drained from Claire’s face. Need a wee? Now? I have no idea how long it’s going to take to get parked. What is a six-year-old’s bladder control like? Is it urgent? I may not love this car but I don’t want pee on the seats, never mind getting the booster seat washed. Claire forced the brakes on her runaway thoughts, realising that her mind had taken on the urgent, rolling interrogation style favoured by her niece. As if every piece of information in the universe needed to be questioned and answered that instant or the world would fail.

Taking a deep breath, Claire tried for calm. “Not long now, sweetie. Cross your legs. We’ll get you to a toilet as soon as we can.”

Claire found herself swept back into the one-way system and cursed the Sat Nav for not keeping up. Useless box of junk. You’re quick to give me the same instruction twenty times when it’s obvious I need to bear left. Now, when I could use a hand, you’re two streets behind. The swear words built in her mouth, demanding to be freed. Claire tried to remember what stupid words Ruth used when she was irritated.

“Fumbling fiddlesticks!”

Sky giggled and the carefree sound released some of the tension in the metal box jammed in by a hundred other metal boxes. Deciding to pursue the happy accident, Claire pummelled her brain for ways to distract Sky from her need to pee and her incessant questioning.

“Did I tell you we’re going to meet friends of mine tomorrow, for a day out at Kings College?” Hmm, okay I don’t suppose Fiona counts herself a friend, but you can give a child too much truth. “They have children, too. A bit younger than you. Hopefully we’ll have some fun.”

Sky swivelled round in the seat, tearing her eyes away from a Disney advert on the bus in the next lane. “What are their names?”

“My friend is called Josh and his wife is Fiona. Their children are…” Claire paused, searching her brain for name cards. “Um, Lily, Sophie and, bugger what’s the boy called? Er Jack? No, what was the name of that dancer on Got to Dance? Lucas, that’s it.” Claire smiled, pleased at her miraculous recall.

“Auntie Claire you said another naughty word.” Sky sniggered and then covered her mouth with her hand.

Claire turned her attention to the slow moving car in front and cursed her unruly mouth. I’m going to have to get a swear-box, otherwise I’m going to have Little Miss Prim pulling me up every five minutes. She decided the best plan was to ignore Sky’s comment and continue with her conversation. “So, anyway, Lucas is the eldest – just a bit younger than you – then Sophie and then Lily is still a baby. Will you help me show them round Cambridge? They’re from Australia and this is their first visit to England.”

“Wow, do they have a pet kangaroo? Do they speak funny, like on Home and Away? Wait until Hazel finds out at school, she’s going to be pea green with envy.” Sky turned and stared out the window, lost in a world of one-upmanship.

Glad to have finally struck on something to stop Sky’s verbal diarrhoea, Claire concentrated on squeezing the Skoda into an on-street parking space two blocks from the hostel. I just have to remember to move it before 9am or I’m in trouble.

***

Fifteen Assumptions That Might Be Useful To Make

Oh this is just lovely! Had to share…

The Belle Jar

1. Assume that you are loved.

2. Assume that those who love you find some kind of value in you and the things you do.

3. Assume, however, that you don’t need to be valuable in order to be worthy of love.

4. Assume that there is no one out there keeping a tally of all of your failings, ready to throw it in your face when you’re either feeling too good or too awful about yourself.

5. Assume that if anyone actually is keeping a tally of all your failings, that act says more about them than it does about you.

6. Assume that you can’t make all of the people happy all of the time; maybe not even some of the people some of the time.

7. Assume that you will, over the course of your life, sometimes anger or disappoint the people you love.

8. Assume that…

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