Best Friends Forever? 2013 365 Challenge #278

My amazing girl

I need some advice. My daughter came home from school today saying she and her best friends are ‘not friends anymore’. It isn’t a new statement: in the nature of best friends, they fall out all the time. The problem has been exacerbated recently by the poor child having a broken arm. Not being able to play and climb is bound to make a child grumpy.

The dilemma for me is that my daughter’s friend has, herself, another best friend. A slightly older (and much more confident) girl, who – up until they all started school – she spent much more time with.

My daughter only saw her best friend once a week at nursery, and whenever our baby group got together, as I’m friends with her mum. The friend spent the rest of her time with this other girl, at preschool and on play dates.

Like a marriage and an affair, it all went on swimmingly until they were chucked together, six hours a day, five days a week. Now, my daughter has lots of other friends, but they have formed their own natural groups and pairings, and she is used to seeing her BFF as her natural pair. A love triangle is forming.

At a birthday party

My advice has always been for her to play with children when they’re being happy and friendly, and not give them any attention when they’re being mean and grumpy. But at the moment, what I really want to say to my daughter is, ‘make a new friend’. I don’t want her to stop being friends with the other child, but I think it would help to find a girl who doesn’t have a pair, and make a new friendship.

It’s tricky for me to suggest that, as I’m friend’s with the girl’s mother: I don’t want it to sound like I’m dissing her daughter (I’m not, she’s a lovely girl). I just hate to see my little princess in tears because she feels left out.

We went through this at nursery, when the older girls wouldn’t let my daughter join in with their games. Once the older girls left, she really flourished at nursery, even on the days her best friend wasn’t there. So I know she gets on well with the other girls in her class. And, because they’re not her ‘best friend forever’ she does tend to fall out with them less, or care less if they’re mean.

What do I do? Listen and give no advice? Talk to a teacher to understand how significant the issue is? (I’m not sure how much the teachers notice: with a 12-1 ratio, I’m guessing they don’t watch the nuances of friendship ups and downs). Has anyone experienced this love triangle of friendships? Am I worrying too much and it will all blow over in a week? Four is a tough age, and I don’t remember any of that time myself!

________________________________________________________________________________

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:

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire stared at the girl sitting at the kitchen table. She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. Her short blonde hair stood up in spikes from her head and she had a ring through her nose.

As if sensing the scrutiny, the girl glanced up and smiled. “Hi, you must be Claire. Melanie said you were staying.”

Melanie? When did Mum let people call her by her first name? And who the hell are you? Politeness kept the words unspoken.

“Yes, hi, I’m Claire.” She waited for the girl to introduce herself. After a few moments, she seemed to get the hint.

“Sorry, I’m Dotty. Your mum said I could stay for a while. I’m working locally for the summer, before I go to uni.”

Claire blinked, trying to process the information. Her head ached; she wasn’t entirely sure what time or day it was, although it looked like Dotty was eating breakfast which suggested it was probably morning.

I’m going to wake up in a moment and still be on the coach having a bad dream. Mum, let some random girl stay? In my room? For the whole damned summer?

She felt like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in a fantastic world of impossibilities. Her stomach growled and she remembered her priority.

“Is there any food?”

Dotty nodded. “Sure, I baked some bread yesterday; I think there’s still half a loaf.” She gestured towards the counter.

Like a sleepwalker, Claire crossed the familiar kitchen and retrieved what looked to be a walnut loaf from the breadbin. Hacking off a chunk, she smeared it with butter, too hungry to worry about toasting it first.

Claire perched on the edge of the nearest seat and concentrated on chewing the bread, glad not to be able to make further conversation. Her mind tried to place Dotty, wondering if she was some distant cousin or a God-daughter her mother had forgotten to mention. It didn’t make sense: her mother hated having young people in the house. She’d practically held a street party when Claire had finally moved out; the last of the three children to leave the nest.

“I’m heading into Cambridge this morning, is there anything I can get you?”

Claire’s gaze flew over to the young girl’s face and her heart lurched. “Do you drive? Have you got your own car? I could do with a lift to the hospital, if it’s not out of your way.”

Dotty grinned. “Definitely not out of my way, that’s where I’m going. I’m volunteering for PALS before I start my social work degree.”

Claire had no idea what PALS was, but she wasn’t going to turn down a free lift, even if it meant an hour in the car with the girl. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about the fresh-faced brightly smiling woman irritated her.

“Great,” was all she said. “How long have I got? I need to scrounge some shampoo from Mum so I can have a shower.”

“I’m leaving in about twenty minutes. My stuff is in the family bathroom, you’re welcome to borrow what you like.”

The girl stood, rinsed her breakfast bowl, dried it and put it away. With a wide smile, she nodded at Claire and left the room.

Claire munched on her bread and tried not to cry.

***

No girls allowed (gppumpjack17.wordpress.com)
“Bff” (darksideofheaven.wordpress.com)
Friend forever (michellemarieantellg.wordpress.com)
Bullying… (amnaullah.wordpress.com)

Let the Kids be Free: 2013 365 Challenge #275

Inventing ball games in the play room

The kids had a day off school yesterday, in our school at least, because one of the unions was on strike. I’m not here to talk about the politics, largely because I have conflicting views: I studied the nineteenth-century industrial revolution in history and I know how important unions were in ensuring safe and healthy working conditions and fair pay for workers. How unions work now I’m not so clear on.

I know teachers work impossibly hard – my friend, who has three children under six – doesn’t see her kids much in term time as she’s at school until 9 pm most nights and then marking until midnight.

I do know that it rankles that the school can close for a day with little warning and no compensation, forcing some parents to take a day’s leave or pay for extra childcare, but if I take my child out of school in term time I pay a £60 fine. Hmmm

Anyway, I said I wouldn’t discuss the politics. What I found interesting was how people chose to spend that day. My daughter is in Reception (I think Kindergarten in the US?), in her first week of full time school, so I knew it was going to be a down-day: one where she could do what she wanted, without worrying about rules or getting her uniform dirty or anything.

Playing shops

We hung out with friends, went to the park, baked cookies and did painting. My only rule was that she wash her hair (it’s long overdue) and even that resulted in tired tears. (To be fair, we’re all tired. Hubbie and I are dipping down into depression and the slightest thing sets me off sobbing. I feel like we’re all broken!)

That aside, I’ve learned recently that I’m more of a hippy parent than I ever knew. Because I want my child to be free as much as possible. I don’t want to do after school clubs and classes: I want her to be home, running with her brother, being as loud and messy as she wants to be. Plenty of time in the 6.5 hours of school five days a week to stick to the rules.

I’m sure, as she gets older, the balance will change. I want her to do well at school and in exams, as I did, although I want her to have more to life than just her education. For now, though, it makes me feel warm inside to see her playing ball games with her brother, or – as she did this morning – to sit quietly in her room for an hour playing doctors with her teddy bears while the rest of the house slept.

There was a woman in the park yesterday bringing (I’m guessing) her 7 or 8 year old grandchild for a play. It was around 2 pm and she proudly told a friend of mine that they’d already done flute, numbers, writing, piano, swimming, French (I can’t remember the exact list, but something like that) and now they were ‘burning off energy’. It made my soul ache.

Preparing for a rainy school run

Each to their own, and I’m trying really really really hard not to judge other styles of parenting than my own. But a whole new world has opened up to me, now I have been blessed with watching how my children interact and play when left to their own devices. How they comfort each other, sort out their own problems, find new games to play, take turns, share, apologise, teach and learn.

I loved school, I think my children will love school. But for the social aspect, as much for learning. We don’t come from a big family – their friends are all from school and nursery.

We went to the school curriculum evening recently and I have to say I wasn’t that thrilled with what’s to come for my children. Not the teaching – that all looks grand – but the building, the resources and, in some cases, the teachers. The building is old and dark, the classrooms dated and cluttered. The teachers seem rough and grumpy (and not one introduced themselves by name apart from the Reception teachers, who we already knew).

There aren’t so many alternatives round here. I’m going to the fee-paying school open day on Friday, but I’m pretty certain it isn’t what I want: I think there will be more rules, more activities, more expectations, fewer chances for down time, grazed knees, torn clothing, dirt and fun. Homeschooling isn’t the answer, because it’s the social element that’s important. Sigh.

I just have to remember that, whatever choices we make, the kids will be fine. In the meantime, we battle the rain, the parking fiasco, the chaos and commuter-like experience of the school run and hope we’re doing the right thing.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire regarded the airport through heavy eyes, expecting it to look different somehow. Surely the world had shifted on its axis during the long weeks she had been away?

Around her, people greeted loved ones, hurried towards men holding name cards, or – like her – shuffled head down through the waiting crowd, knowing no one was there to meet her.

Why would they be? No one even knows I’m arriving today.

Claire adjusted the straps of her rucksack and looked around for signs to the train station, hoping she could catch a direct train to Cambridge. Her first priority was getting to Kim.

Through every minute of the thirty-two endless hours it took to get home, concern for Kim had kept her from sleep. During the stopovers at Sydney and Dubai, with no iPad for company and no money for food, she had sat cradling her phone praying for news.

There had been just one text from Jeff, telling her that Kim was scheduled to spend a few days in the hospital so the staff could ensure she didn’t make a second attempt on her life. Jeff had had to fight to stop her being transferred to a secure facility.

Poor Jeff. Poor Kim.

That was as far as Claire could think. Her own role in her friend’s drama ate at her like a cancer, until she too felt an eternal sleep might be preferable to continuing to live every painful day.

Hanging in the limbo of a long-haul flight, lost to the world and unconnected to anyone in it, it wasn’t difficult for Claire to imagine what drove her friend to her desperate act. Anything to make the emptiness go away.

The darkness pursued her now, as she shouldered her way through the happy faces. A lump lodged in her throat and she longed for solitude, so she could break down in peace.

“Claire!”

The voice brushed at her back, but she refused to turn and realise it was not her being hailed. Footsteps ran along after her, and she jumped as someone touched her arm.

“Claire, wait! I can’t believe you came through just as I was getting coffee. I thought you might like this.”

Turning slowly, Claire’s eyes opened wide as she took in the reality of her boss standing in front of her holding out a giant cardboard cup.

“Conor. What are you doing here? How did you know I was landing today?”

Thoughts and emotions crashed in her mind like waves in a stormy sea. With numb fingers she accepted the coffee, the aroma seeping into her fuddled brain with all the comfort of home. When did she last have a proper latte?

“I follow your social media. Someone called Jeff wished you a safe flight home, said he’d see you today. It wasn’t hard to figure out which flight you were on, there aren’t so many from Christchurch.”

Claire stared mutely, wondering if it was her destiny to be surrounded by stalkers. The last person to track her down through social media had been Michael. Honesty forced her to admit that her ex-boyfriend’s tenacity had proved useful, rescuing her from a night passed out in a dark lane with a bump to the head. And now her future boss had come all the way to the airport from Dorset, on the strength of a Facebook update.

“Are you for real? What are you doing here?”

“You said that already.” Conor grinned. “Come and sit down, you look bloody awful.”

The words hit Claire like a blow, and the tears began to pour out as if the force had broken a pipe. She felt Conor guide her to a bench and sit her down, taking the coffee from her limp grasp.

For a while they sat and Claire rode out the wave of sadness and humiliation. At last she became aware of a tissue being offered underneath her curtain of unwashed hair. Accepting it, Claire dried her face and blew her nose.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone. You broke down the barrier, damn you.”

“What happened? I thought you were having a great craic in New Zealand. Your blog posts and texts were all about sky diving and rafting, getting drunk and all that. You look like you’ve been in a concentration camp. Did you forget to eat?”

Claire shook her head, unsure whether Conor was berating her or trying to make her feel better. She couldn’t think. She wanted him to go away, but didn’t want to be alone. Feeling the tears building again, Claire dug her nails into her arms, wishing she could rip her skin off and fly into oblivion.

As if sensing Claire’s distress, Conor patted her knee. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. Where do you need to be? I am at your service.”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Claire’s voice sounded heavy, the words hard to speak. Suddenly she just wanted to sleep.

“It’s Sunday afternoon, I don’t have to head back for a few hours. Where can I take you?”

“Cambridge. I need to be in Cambridge.”

Claire saw Conor’s nod through her curtain of hair. He rose abruptly and tugged her to her feet.

“Cambridge it is. Here’s your coffee. Drink it, you look like you need it. And a shower.” He sniffed, dramatically. “You definitely need a shower.”

He grinned and, through the numbness, Claire managed to raise a smile.

***

British teachers strike over pay and pensions (worldbulletin.net)
Nurseries ‘should focus on play – not the three-Rs’ (telegraph.co.uk)
MP: give parents the right to vote over teachers’ strikes (telegraph.co.uk)
Why everyone should support our teachers’ strike. (emmaannhardy.wordpress.com)
Parents’ dismay at ban on term-time holidays for school kids (schoolsimprovement.net)
Why I Went On Strike Today (thebrokenstudy.wordpress.com)
What’s the Right Age for Kindergarten? (usatoday.com)

The Longest Day: 2013 365 Challenge #264

Say Cheese!

Today feels like it’s gone on forever. Uploading photos for the post, I saw a picture of the kids eating ice cream in the coffee shop and was shocked when I remembered that was lunchtime today. Daughter went to school for three hours this morning, and hubbie took son shopping for pyjamas, while I painted a shark (photo tomorrow) and wrote my post.

After school (only a morning session) we had lunch at the coffee shop (because Mummy has forgotten to buy food this week), home for quiet time, and then I took son to the Farm so Daddy and daughter could clean the house, ready for the birthday party tomorrow. There is still a lot to do.

It doesn’t help that I seem to be in a low point at the moment, and have been randomly sobbing for most of the day over trivial things, like not having any reviews on my book yet, despite asking friends who have read it to please at least give a star rating on Goodreads. I know reviews are as much a curse as a blessing, but for me a book doesn’t feel published until it’s had a review.

Enjoying the sun

Then, of course, there are the dismal download numbers for my Dragon Wraiths free promo. I didn’t push it much, because I had other things to do today, but it’s still disappointing when you can’t even give your book away! Thankfully that’s the last free promo I need to worry about, as DW comes out of KDP Select next week, hurrah.

It’s frustrating the random things that seem to crash my brain when I’m already struggling. Stupid things, like worrying that the boys won’t like having pizza and chips for lunch at the party tomorrow, or the mummies will frown at its unhealthiness.

Or reading a blog post this morning about judgmental mummies and realising I can be a bit quick to judge by appearances, despite knowing how stupid that is.

All in all I probably feel about as good now as I did three years ago, when I sat eating fish and chips with my toddler, while hubbie was away in London on a work’s outing to a Dara O’Brien gig, and my waters broke – five weeks early.

Sand shark, sand boat

My mum had to leave behind her half-cooked dinner and take me to hospital nearly an hour away – a hospital I hadn’t even visited, because my tour was scheduled for the following week.

I went in with a book to read and some clean pants, expecting to be there a few hours as was the case when my waters broke early with my first child, and I came home ten days later.

It’s the most surreal time of my life and quite possibly the start of my postnatal depression. There’s nothing like sending a control freak to hospital five weeks early and trapping her there to start a downward spiral.

Anyway, it’s been a long tough rewarding love-filled sleep-deprived three years, but I survived and I have a gorgeous boy to make it worth every moment of pain (as well as a beautiful daughter who is the best big sister in the world). Happy birthday little man.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire waved at the minibus and it pulled up beside her. A tanned man in his thirties beamed at her through the window, before jumping down and opening the door for her to get in.

“G’day, you must be Claire. Welcome to the tour.” He checked her name off against a clipboard, then ran back round the bus.

With a quick glance at the other passengers, Claire found a free seat and gazed out the window. There were only five or six people on the bus and she wondered if there were more people to collect. Her question was soon answered as the driver turned round to address the group.

“It’s just us today, folks, so should be a lovely quiet trip out to the peninsular. None of you are booked on the Albatross Experience, so we’ll spend a short time up at Taiaroa Head and see if we can spot some flying in. It’s the only mainland albatross colony in the world. Then we’ll head out to the beach and see the rest of the wildlife. Any questions just holler and I’ll try and answer them.”

As the bus pulled away, Claire revelled in the silence of a small group. It felt strange to be in a vehicle smaller than a coach, but it was great to be able to see the streets around her as they left the city.

Albatross at Taiaroa Head

Before long they were driving round a bay, heading for the Otago peninsular. The road hugged the coast as they made their way to the albatross centre. Overhead, blue sky blazed in between the pure white clouds scudding past.

At last the minibus climbed up a winding lane and arrived outside a long low building. The wind hit them like a wall as they headed for the bluff. Claire tugged her jacket closer and bent her head into the wind.

“Good weather for flying,” the driver yelled over the noise. “They need good lift to keep them airborne; they’re big birds. Keep yer eyes peeled.”

Claire gazed up at the sky, blinking away the tears dragged out by the wind. She wasn’t so sure she was bothered about seeing a giant seagull and wondered if the centre sold coffee. Tucking her hands under her arms to keep them warm, she stamped her feet and looked about to see what the other passengers were doing. She didn’t want to go inside and get left behind.

One of the couples were shouting at each other and pointing at the sky. Claire thought they were fighting, then realised they had seen something. Following the direction of their gesturing, she saw an enormous bird circling low before disappearing behind the building.

“Wow!” Even though she knew that albatrosses were big birds, nothing had prepared her for just how large.

“Keep watching. It’ll come back out shortly.”

Claire kept her eyes trained on the sky, while reaching for her phone to take a picture. As predicted, the bird re-emerged and Claire grabbed some shots, sure the bird would only be a tiny speck when she looked at the images later.

Buoyed by the experience, the passengers chatted together as they headed back to the bus. Claire wasn’t sure if the couples all knew each other, or were just being friendly. She didn’t feel like talking, so she hung at the back near the driver.

“Right, next stop sea lions. We’ll drive through the wetlands so you can see the sea birds and waders, but it’ll be good to get down to the beach fairly early, the weather often shifts later in the afternoon.”

Claire let the driver’s words wash over her, glad for once to follow along like a sheep. Despite the cost of the tour, this was the real New Zealand and she was happy to enjoy every minute.

The next hour passed in a blur of bird names and beautiful scenery. Claire realised how little she actually knew about any sort of wildlife, as the other passengers discussed this and that type of bird. She breathed a sigh of relief when they finally pulled up at the sea lion beach. This was what she had come for.

Hooker sea lions

“Right. Just some rules before we reach the beach. These fellas are huge, but they won’t attack unless provoked. Don’t get between a sea lion and the sea and, whatever you do, don’t turn your back on them. If need be, run.”

Claire laughed, sure the driver was joking. He raised an eyebrow at her, and chuckled.

“We had an American tourist chased off the beach only last week. They move pretty fast for big creatures.” Seeing her grin, he added, “The sea lions. I couldn’t comment on the gentleman.”

The walk down to the beach tested Claire’s balance, and she tried not to think about how hard it was going to be to walk back up. Her muscles were already sore from the climb up Baldwin Street.

All this tour bus travelling is making me soft.

Suddenly a roar cut through the silence and Claire felt goosebumps rise on her arms beneath her jacket.

“Sounds like some of the young males are getting boisterous.” The driver’s voice came up the hill to Claire. “Should be good viewing.”

As they reached the beach Claire understood what he meant. Out in the middle of the sand, three or four giant beasts roared at each other, heads swaying, mouths wide. Claire shivered and turned her attention to the driver, determined to walk exactly where he did across the sand.

They made their way around behind the creatures, stopping at a hide to take some photographs. Then they were taken up to a grass covered sand dune, all of them following the guide into a wooden hut.

Penguins coming in at dusk

“It’s nearly time for the penguins to come in from the sea. As the sun goes down, they’ll come up the beach in groups; keeping a watch for the sea lions who might be after a tasty evening snack.”

Claire hunkered down to watch, ignoring the quiet chatter of the couples behind her. It was a magical place. She’d never seen such animals in the wild before. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been to a zoo.

Watching the little penguins run in from the sea and make their way up the grassy hillside, Claire was conscious of a deep warmth within her chest. All the years she’d spent inside an office, surrounded by glass and steel, wires and technology, made no sense to her anymore. Here, shivering in a hut on a hillside, watching yellow eyed penguins scurry and scamper for their homes up impossibly steep terrain, seemed more real than anything in her own life.

She had no idea what the future held, but she was certain it wasn’t going to be in a concrete cage.

***

Different Types Of Mummy (youbabymemummy.com)
End of Summer (peoniesandpolkadots.com)

Breaking Point: 2013 365 Challenge #262

Daddy saves the day

Attempting to plait my daughter’s hair this morning was the proverbial last straw. Her hair was shiny from washing and she has a double crown. It’s had me swearing most days since she started school as she’s never worn her hair tied back before and I’m rubbish at plaiting someone else’s hair (especially a wriggly child).

Today I lost it. Full on panic attack, sobbing, hysterics the works. Bless my amazing family: hubbie did the plait, son gave pats and leg cuddles and daughter said repeatedly, “It’s okay Mummy.” However much I worry about the impact my hormonal instability has on my children, there’s no doubt it’s taught them empathy.

It’s also taught them blindness to difference, in a way. Mummy’s behaviour is normal to them, so if they encounter anyone having an episode, be it panic attack, asthma attack or emotional breakdown, they’re likely to remain calm. That counts for something, right?

Given that they’re likely to inherit an element of serotonin imbalance from their parents, hopefully they’ve also learned to give themselves a break: to let it pass and get on with their day as I had to do, with hubbie off to an interview, two kids to drop off and pick up from different places and a birthday party to prepare for.

Self awareness is a blessing and a curse and I’m not entirely sure my kids will thank me for introducing them to it early. But there’s no doubt it’s easier dealing with a toddler tantrum when it comes with “Mummy, I’m sad because…” rather than just screaming rage.

Only time will tell whether that helps in the teenage years. I try not to think about the future too much. So far parenting has got harder rather than easier and nothing I’ve read lets me believe for a minute that that pattern is going to change. Although, maybe at least one day I’ll learn to plait hair. ________________________________________________________________________________

“Are you okay, Claire?”

Claire opened her eyes and looked at Bethan, before closing them tight again.

“No.”

Around them, the aircraft vibrated as it climbed into the clouds. The man behind Claire kept checking an altimeter in his hand and providing a running commentary.

“Ten thousand feet … eleven thousand feet …twelve thousand feet …”

Claire wished he would stop.

“Remind me why I let you talk me into this?” She yelled above the noise of the engines.

“So you could impress your new boss.” Bethan yelled back.

“Maybe I could just buy him a beer?” Claire thought about it some more. “I’ve already done grade five water rafting, hiked across a glacier and kayaked with seals. This probably wasn’t necessary.”

“But just think how cool you’ll look. It was this or the bungee jump.”

Claire’s stomach lurched at the idea. For some reason jumping out of a plane at fifteen thousand feet seemed an easier option than throwing herself off a bridge with a piece of elastic tied to her ankles. This way, at least it wouldn’t actually be her doing the jumping. She was pretty certain the burly blonde man designated her tandem partner would make sure she didn’t chicken out.

“Fifteen thousand feet,” the man announced on cue. “Time to get ready, ladies.”

Claire looked around the cabin at the other passengers. She seemed to be the only one not grinning. Even the seventy-year-old grannie was peering through the open doorway with interest. Maybe you worried less about dying when you’d lived more of your life.

It was the grannie that had swung it, in the end. Bethan’s entreaties had fallen on deaf ears. She’d let herself be talked into the heli-hike and, although it had been beautiful, she wasn’t sure it had been worth the money. This was equally expensive, especially with the extra for the photographic evidence, and Claire was pretty certain she was going to enjoy it a lot less. Then the old lady had turned up, and shame had taken over.

Claire felt numb as she followed the burly man’s instructions, listening intently as he ran though again how she had to hold her arms and what she needed to do on landing.

Then, before she knew what was happening, a body plummeted from the plane. Claire’s heart skipped and her instinct was to reach out and grab at the disappearing figure. Then another person fell, and she realised they had started to jump. Her stomach knotted tight and she thought she might be sick.

One by one the passengers disappeared from view at incredible speed until she was the last one left.

“Let me go back down in the aircraft, I’ve changed my mind.” She could feel the blood draining from her face and wondered if the man would still jump if she passed out.

“Sorry, chick, there’s only one way down. You’ll be fine, no worries.”

He shoved her towards the gaping hole, and Claire just had time to register the blue of the lake and the blend of green and white of mountains before air was rushing past her and she was falling.

Shock pushed all the air from her lungs and she gasped, unable to breathe. The wind pulled at her cheeks and the cold burned her skin. Claire barely registered the ground leaping up to meet her or the other skydivers around them, until her host tapped her on the arm and she looked over to where he pointed.

Falling alongside them was the camera girl. She waved and gave a thumbs up. Claire tried to smile but her face was frozen in a mask of fear.

The camera girl circled them, taking pictures, before changing her body position so she could dive to the next person and photograph them. Part of Claire’s brain marvelled at her casual ease, as if she were walking across a garden rather than plummeting at 200km an hour through the sky.

A sudden jolt told Claire the parachute had opened. She watched as other chutes opened beneath her. She could see some of the people swinging from side to side, spinning in spirals down to the lake. It looked like fun. She waited for her host to do the same, but he didn’t.

Still breathless and panting, she was unable to ask him why they were falling so sedately. Disappointment clouded her vision and she looked at the view below through jaded eyes. Her host clearly thought she was having a panic attack and wanted to get her to the ground quickly and gently.

She wanted to explain she was fine, that it was only the shock of the jump that had stopped her breathing, but there wasn’t time. The land once more rushed up to meet them, and before she knew what was happening, it was time to lift her feet up and let the man land.

Sadness fought with exhilaration and, eventually, elation won.

“That was amazing! I want to go again, now!” Claire looked around for someone to hug, and saw Bethan running towards her.

“Aren’t you glad you did it? How awesome was that? Especially the spinning at the end.”

Claire’s face fell. “I didn’t get to do that, I think Muscles over there thought I was too scared.” She saw Bethan frown, and realised she was being a killjoy. “But, oh my goodness, it was brilliant. Thank you so much for convincing me to do it.”

They walked arm in arm to return their kit and watch the video. Claire wondered how she would drop it into conversation with Conor that she had jumped from an aircraft at fifteen thousand feet. She wondered if he would be impressed.

***

Panic Attacks – Can We Describe Them? (thejourneyofmyhealing.wordpress.com)
Living with anxiety: Britain’s silent epidemic (theguardian.com)
Anxiety …. We meet again. (mumblingsontheverge.wordpress.com)
Quiet People (thedemonawakes.wordpress.com)

Organised Chaos: 2013 365 Challenge #260

What’s the time, Mister Wolf?

I’ve always been grateful that, as a family, we’ve been able to get by without me earning an income: but never more so than today. Even with hubbie available to do one of the child-care drop-offs this morning, it was still a crazy day.

As it was our wedding anniversary, we met in the coffee shop at 9.15 – me having dropped our son at preschool a few miles away, making sure he had packed lunch, coat and slippers, and he having dropped our daughter at school round the corner, running the tears gauntlet I have thus far avoided.

In the coffee shop we sat side by side in the sunshine in virtual silence, hubbie editing his book, me finishing my post and trying to figure out why suddenly everything was in italics, whilst we both listened (not through choice) to two ladies discussing why one had been deselected as bridesmaid. I’ve learned to block out most coffee shop chatter when necessary, but having been deselected as bridesmaid the one and only time I was ever asked, I had some sympathy.

Laundry Mountain

Once my post was written it was time to go home, chuck some laundry in the machine, and strike something off the writing to-do list for half an hour, before heading back into town, armed with a second packed lunch, to collect my daughter, who is still on half days at school for two more weeks. (Yes, I should have just stayed in town, but I didn’t think, and had to go home to collect her lunch).

Then, with no lunch for me because we ran out of bread, we headed to another nearby town to pick up my bookmarks and buy birthday gifts for my daughter’s friends. Finding the printers proved a challenge and the bookmarks barely worth the effort – poorly trimmed with tick marks still in evidence, though possibly my mistake when I sent the artwork.

Daughter insisted on doubling the party gift budget and would not be moved so in the end we left with giant gifts for the next two parties. Please don’t let her make too many friends at school or we’ll be bankrupt by Christmas.

Front of Bookmark

The rather busy back!

After a fruitless search for a shark cake or shark balloons for son’s party this Saturday we went to pick the boy up from preschool: 3pm and I was exhausted. Again thankfully hubbie helped a bit by taking son to the post office while daughter taught me my numbers and letters (!) and helped me prepare dinner.

Hubbie played What’s the time Mister Wolf? with the kids while I cooked tea, then I played with them while he crashed from exhaustion. After dinner he admitted to being poorly and disappeared off to bed leaving me to clean the kitchen, wash the lunch boxes and water bottles, and make sure daughter’s school bag is ready for the morning, before going out for another half hour of ball games.

Finally dragged hubbie out of bed twenty minutes before kids’ bedtime, so I could walk the dog. Collapsed on the sofa at 8.30pm with all my post yet to write! (I ended up writing the Claire part this morning, while hubbie did the school run, and little man sang “Bananas in Pyjamas” on loop.)

With extra help, and no job to go to, I just about managed to survive the day, having done a whopping 60 mins work (not including the 2-3 hours I’m about to spend writing this post!) Could I do all that and have a job? No way ho-say as my kids would say.

So, working mums, I salute you. Hubbie, I thank you (and who knew every cloud had a silver lining when you were laid off?). Dad, I miss you, but thanks for posthumously funding my Stay at Home Mum life. I hope you approve. As a stay at home dad and self employed mechanic, I’m sure you would have understood.

________________________________________________________________________________

As Claire gazed at the scene in front of her, the early start seemed worth every ounce of effort. Like a mystical mirror, the lake stretched out flat to the horizon. Either side, dark trees framed the scene, both above and below the water’s edge, creating an expanding line of perspective towards her. At the vanishing point, the mountains took over; climbing away to the sky. In the distance, Mount Cook and Mount Tasman fought for brilliant in hues of grey, blue and white.

Mt Cook and Mt Tasman

Claire breathed in the morning air, and watched the puff of cloud as she exhaled. She pulled her jacket closer around her as the icy air prized open her foggy brain. This far south, winter had the island in its grip and she was in no mood to linger, despite the beauty of the scene.

All around her, Claire heard the chatter of disinterested tourists. She could see one or two photographers desperate to grab the perfect picture of absolute stillness and reflected symmetry. She wondered how they could stand the influx of tourists, come to take their quick snaps and move on.

How many visitors accidentally snap the perfect shot, not realising others have waited hours and days for the privilege?

Claire looked at the picture on her phone. It probably wouldn’t pass a perfectionist’s eye, but it looked damned near perfect to her: a magical place.

Shame about the noise.

Unable to stand it any longer, Claire headed back to the bus and the travellers who hadn’t even bothered with the walk but were tucking into breakfast in the café. As she arrived at the car park, she saw a girl load her camera into her bag and climb into a rusty red hatchback.

The girl caught her eye and smiled, seeming to say, “Rather you than me on the bus.” She couldn’t disagree.

Autumn colours at Wanaka

Claire climbed down the bus steps, grateful that it was for the last time that day. She felt like she’d done nothing but get on and off the bus, to marvel at one tourist attraction after another until they all blurred together in her mind. She had no idea how she would identify which was which in her pictures when it came time to write the blog. For now she was just happy that she had at least twelve hours before she had to get on the bus again. It felt like escaping from jail.

Wanaka town was bigger than she’d expected; a sprawling collection of buildings spread out along the lakeside. The lake itself shone beneath the blue sky, framed by tall trees still bearing the orange hues of autumn. Claire imagined it must have been spectacular a few weeks before.

A feeling of snow pervaded the air, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the town as a winter resort. It seemed odd that a few weeks earlier she’d been in her shorts: the difference in climate from north to south was much more than she was used to.

Dumping her rucksack in her dorm room, Claire declined Bethan’s suggestion to go for a drink, and walked in long strides down to the shore. Her shoulders itched with a need to get away from people. Following a cycle path, Claire walked around the edge of the lake, beneath the autumn trees, kicking at the fallen leaves beneath her feet.

The further she got from the town the lighter she felt until, at last, the buildings were out of sight and she felt like skipping. It was too cold to sit and admire the view so she kept walking, intent on nothing but solitude.

This is crazy. It’s the beginning of summer at home. Why am I freezing my arse off on the wrong side of the world? Yes, it’s beautiful, but so is Scotland or Wales or the Lake District. Why did I travel the UK in winter only to do the same a few months later here in New Zealand? It’s official; I’ve lost the plot.

Lake Wanaka at sunset

Claire spotted a bench overlooking the lake. Perching on the edge she pulled out her phone and checked the itinerary she had downloaded for the bus trip.

Another ten days until we’re back in Auckland, although at least it will probably be warmer back in the north. She read through the schedule again. I wonder if I could fly home from Christchurch.

Suddenly getting home seemed more important than anything else. Even though she knew there was no one expecting her, no job or car or house to return home to, she needed to be back where she belonged.

Vowing to call the airline company in the morning, Claire jumped down from the bench and began striding back to town.

***

Parents give children same packed lunch every day (thetimes.co.uk)
Back to School (michellehowardwrites.wordpress.com)
The Packed Lunch Dilemma. (wauwaa.wordpress.com)

Being ‘That’ Parent: 2013 365 Challenge #258

‘Fixing the bikes’

I’m afraid I have no more words today than yesterday. Hubbie went to Newcastle this morning, leaving me home with the kids. Not normally a daunting prospect, but a night of broken sleep and, shall we say, a hormonal time of the month, has left me a little fragile.

Today I was that parent. We spent two hours watching Heffalump at breakfast while I set up my free promo for Dragon Wraiths (I’m only doing it in a vain hope it might result in a couple of Baby Blues sales).

After dropping Daddy at the train station we paid a visit to the golden arches, where I surfed the free WiFi and ignored the kids while they ate unhealthy food and fought noisily over their free plastic toys.

More TV, a bit of shouting, a bike trip to the park and some healthy pasta and I survived to hubbie home time. Actually we were playing a happy game of ball in the garden when he arrived, which is always nice for the returning parent, even if tears came soon after.

Now I’m walking the dog while wracking my brain for something to cook us for dinner, and searching my mind for some conflict for tonight’s Claire scene. Oh and praying for bed. So, like yesterday, I’m going to include another of my poems from the Postcards set. I may share them all this week, because they were written about my father and I don’t think about him often enough. He is missed.

Not sure about the saw!

Postcards from an English Summer – June

The narrow winding lane is dapple-dark,

and ends abruptly in a sun-lit scene.

Upon the village green, a cricket pitch

where men in white stand round the batting crease.

Checked picnic blankets in the leafy shade

are weighed down with their sumptuous summer fare.

A breeze of quiet talk weaves round the trees,

pierced by the cries from children climbing there.

An eddy in the languid lazy calm –

An eager bowler marking out his run:

then crack, bails fall, a ripple of applause.

The umpire takes a walk from stumps to leg.

The bowler paces, pauses, thunders in,

throws out his arm: releases the red sphere

at waiting willow. Thwack! Your favourite sound.

The ball sails high into the chestnut leaves.

My senses become dulled in sultry sun,

and as I mourn the space here at my side,

I’m glad that England brought their Ashes home

six months before yours scattered on the wind.

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Come on, Claire, wake up. You’re coming on an adventure.”

Claire rolled over and peered at the source of the voice through sticky eyes.

“Go away, Bethan.”

“Nope. You don’t want to miss this. Sell your fancy boots if you have to, this is a once in a lifetime trip. The sun has even put in an appearance. Come on.”

Claire pulled the covers over her head, then shivered and swore as Bethan dragged them off. Her skin goosebumped as freezing air rushed across her body.

“You are not a good friend, Bethan.” Claire frowned, but swung her legs round and stood up. “How long have I got?”

“Ten minutes. Don’t bother with a shower: you’ll be too wrapped up for anyone to notice, and our tickets get us a free dip in the hot springs tonight. Besides, if you go up with wet hair you’ll freeze.”

“Am I at least allowed breakfast?”

“You can grab something in town. Come on!” Bethan hopped on the spot, finally making Claire laugh.

“What’s got you so excited?”

“What do you mean? This is the trip of New Zealand. Forget swimming with dolphins and chucking yourself off a bridge: this is it. It’s going to be amazing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Claire pulled on her warmest clothes and tried not to find her friend’s enthusiasm irritating.

As the helicopter thrummed into life, Claire regretted letting Bethan bully her into taking part in the trip. They were squeezed into a tiny box and were about to launch into the air: claustrophobia and fear of heights all packaged up in one neat parcel of misery.

Claire turned to face Bethan and wasn’t surprised to see her grinning. With a shake of the head, Claire focussed on keeping her breathing even and urging the greasy pastry and burnt coffee she’d consumed for breakfast to stay put in her stomach.

Glancing out the window, Claire’s tummy flipped as she realised they were already a long way off the ground. She hadn’t felt the helicopter take off at all. The cab was all windows, and she could see the ground over the pilot’s shoulder as the landscape quickly went from flat glacial plain to climbing mountains and then the dirty grey ice of the glacier itself.

They climbed higher and higher, until everything was white. The ground came in to meet them as the helicopter settled down on the ice with barely a bump. As they jumped down from the helicopter and ran across the snow, Claire felt like a spy in a movie, and the excitement began to build inside her.

With a blast of air, the helicopter rose and flew away, leaving them abandoned with nothing in view but white. Then Claire spotted another helicopter depositing hikers in the distance: tiny black specks against the vista. Until then she hadn’t appreciated how vast the glacier was.

“Okay, Bethan, you were right. This is a bit cool.”

Bethan grinned, then bent to help the guide attach crampons to her boots. Claire did the same, cursing at her numb and clumsy fingers. She hoped the hiking wasn’t too strenuous.

When everyone had the proper kit, the group followed the guide across the ice. Claire had little idea what to expect. She knew the caves were a must-see, but didn’t really know why.

When the guide stopped outside a narrow fissure, she almost laughed. Then she watched as the group wriggled inside, one at a time.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve done my small-space terror-inducing experiences already, thanks. Caving, weaselling, I don’t need this.”

“Don’t be a scaredy-cat, Claire,” Bethan called, as she took her place in the queue. “You can’t see the blue ice properly from the outside. Come on!”

Feeling like a small child being continually chided by their parent, Claire did as she was told. The familiar blackness of fear swept over her as the walls closed in. Pushing herself through, glad of the thick jacket and warm clothing, Claire concentrated on forcing oxygen in and out of her lungs.

The cave opened up and all around shone blue. Fear evaporated as Claire drank in the scene, before fumbling for her camera.

“Wow.” Her voice sounded subdued, not echoing as it would in a rocky cave. A shaft of sunlight pierced through the blue, lighting up a dozen different shades. It was like being immersed in an abstract painting.

Claire realised with a start that the rest of the group had walked on and she shuffled after them, nearly dropping her camera in her haste. This was not a place to be left behind.

Back outside, the view of the glacier surprised her. She’d imagined it would be smooth, like a long sheet of ice. Instead it rose in pinnacles, reminiscent of a spiky plant or coral or something seen under a microscope. Fissures and caves could be seen revealing the blue of the oxygen starved ice inside. She wondered how safe it was for them to be hiking around up in the ice and how many people they lost.

Eventually the thrum of the helicopter returning rolled around the mountain. Claire felt a mixture of sadness and relief. It had been an amazing experience but the alien feel of the landscape left her on edge and longing for a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

Bethan chattered away about the awesomeness of it all and her gratitude that Claire had shared it with her. Claire only half heard the words: they triggered thoughts for her that she didn’t want to hear. Just experiencing such beauty didn’t seem enough. The important part was being able to share it: to tell someone and recreate the experience for them; to re-live it through their enthusiasm and eager questioning.

Oh, she had the blog and that was fun, although half the time it felt like her words were dropping into the ether, heard by no one. But this – this amazing once-in-a-lifetime not-to-be-missed adventure – didn’t feel real, any more than if she’d read it herself on someone else’s blog. Yes, her nose tingled from the cold, and her mind fizzed with the imagery. But already it was fading.

By the time they landed she felt as if the experience had evaporated completely, leaving only emptiness behind.

***

Walking on ice: Glacier trekking at Franz Josef (emilymeetsworld.com)
Heli Hiking on Franz Josef (backpackerbanter.com)

Life’s Curve-balls: 2013 365 Challenge #253

My son’s first full day at preschool

Today was a good reminder that, no matter how tough you think life is, it’s always worse for someone else (and it can always get a little harder for you, too!)

When I texted my friend last night, to find out what her daughter was wearing to school, she said she might not even make it to school as she’d had a tumble from her scooter and they were off to hospital. Sure enough, my daughter’s best friend broke her arm and missed her first morning at school. We didn’t tell my daughter, as expecting her best friend to be there was the only thing keeping her calm. As it was she was fine. She ran in smiling and says she cried a little bit when she realised her friend wasn’t there, but she soon made a new friend and came running out still smiling (I, on the other hand, nearly sobbed with pride!)

We stopped off to see the poorly girl after school and my daughter found that much harder: it’s the first time she’s had a friend incapacitated by illness or injury.

To begin with she was brilliant, playing nurse, letting her friend choose the games and telelvision programs. After a while though the novelty wore off. When we left she started crying and said, “Mummy I want my friend back, she can’t play with me properly.”

So what should be such a fun and exciting time for both of them is going to have an extra challenge for a few weeks. And my poor girl, who didn’t want to have to worry about looking after someone at school (having looked after her brother at preschool all summer) has now been asked to look after her friend.

I’m off, Mummy, bye!

Of course it’s nothing to what my friend must be going through. I can’t express how bad I feel for her. After seven years, to finally be within hours of having both children at school, only to have to stay home from work and nurse a distraught child after leaving A&E at 3am. It put my tiredness – after little man was up 1am-3am last night – into perspective. Of course it didn’t stop me being grumpy and leaving childcare mostly to my hubbie this afternoon. Sometimes, even if another’s lot is worse than yours, it doesn’t make yours any easier. It just made me pray that one of our kids doesn’t break something. Fingers and toes crossed.

P.S. I have an author interview live today, over on Paul Western-Pittard’s blog, That Thing I Said. It was fun to re-read it, as I wrote it a few months ago (it says that Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes is on hold as a project – shows how much things can change in a short period of time!)

It would be lovely if you could stop by, not least because there is loads of great stuff on Paul’s blog.

________________________________________________________________________________

“For God’s sake, I told you not to go.”

Josh rushed towards Claire as she walked away from the jet, dripping wet and clutching her neck. She immediately dropped her hand and forced a smile. Irritation fought with gratitude at the look of concern in his amber-flecked eyes. She longed to bury herself in his arms and have him smooth the pain away. At the same time, her hackles rose at his disapproving frown.

“What do you mean? It was excellent fun!” She looked down at her sodden clothing. “Do you mean this? I’m not as wet as I was this morning. I’ll know not to sit at the edge another time.”

Josh fell in step as Claire and Bethan waddled back to the bus to retrieve dry clothes. Claire willed her friend to stay with them as chaperone, but Bethan seemed oblivious to the brewing trouble, as she chatted to a couple of lads from the bus. Claire realised she was on her own.

“I’m not talking about you being drenched, and you know it. You were holding your neck, I saw you. You’ve given yourself whiplash, haven’t you?”

Claire went to shake her head, thought better of it, and folded her arms instead. “It’s fine. Nothing a cup of tea won’t fix.”

She heard Josh tut in annoyance, but he held his tongue.

Claire managed to avoid Josh for the rest of the day. She knew it was putting off the inevitable, but she couldn’t face a showdown. Her body ached with spent adrenalin and pain stabbed from her neck to her fingertips if she moved too quickly. A lecture from Josh would only exacerbate the already-blinding headache flashing in her head.

She was grateful they’d been allocated different dorm rooms and she had almost made it to bed undetected, when he finally tracked her down.

“Claire, please stop avoiding me. We need to talk.” He hurried after her, and she stopped in the corridor, not wanting him to follow her all the way to her room, which – judging by the raucous drinking going on elsewhere in the hostel – was likely to be empty at this early hour.

“Can’t it wait until the morning? I’m beat.”

“Do you need painkillers? I have some prescription strength ones that will help. I know you don’t want me mollycoddling you, I get it. But stupid to suffer in silence.”

“I told you, I’m fine. I took some ibuprofen earlier. What I need now is sleep.”

Josh rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. Something about his body language raised the hairs on Claire’s arm. She felt a declaration brewing, and didn’t want to hear it.

“Claire I–”

“Don’t say it.” She held up her hand. He reached forward and took it in a gentle grasp.

“No, I have to say it, before I chicken out. I haven’t had nearly enough beer.”

“Then go drink some more and let me go to bed.”

“I love you.”

The words rushed out and fell like rocks into her empty heart. Behind them a shout of laughter broke above the general hubbub, emphasising the silence between them. Claire felt acutely aware of his hand holding hers, as she stared at the floor and waited for it to open and rescue her.

After what felt like an eternity Josh spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“Tell me you don’t love me. I won’t believe you.”

She looked up then, and saw a mixture of hope and assurance in his expression. She needed to speak, to end this. Short and sharp, like pulling off a plaster.

“I loved the idea of you: Josh the adventurer, Josh the husband and father. That’s all.”

“I can be those things again.”

He pulled her towards him but she tugged her hand free and folded her arms.

“You still are those things, just not with me. You have a wife who loves you, children who adore you. Don’t throw it away.” Claire thought about all she had lost. Her best friend, her boyfriend, her job, her family. There was nowhere she truly belonged.

“Don’t give up your readymade life for a pipe dream. What if we did get married and have kids? Life wouldn’t be any easier. Far harder, in fact. I’m not a natural parent like Fiona. You think it’s hard now, with her focussing on the baby? You’d be booking me into rehab after a week of looking after three children while my husband sodded off to England to nurse his guilty conscience.”

Suddenly her head crowded with the thought of all the pain this gorgeous man had caused, with his misplaced guilt and his refusal to take responsibility for his life. As he gazed at her like a puppy seeking praise, she felt a hundred years old.

“My advice to you, Josh? Appreciate what you have, before you no longer have it. Go back to Fiona. Beg forgiveness. Try harder. Hire a babysitter and take her out to dinner. Bring her breakfast in bed once in a while. Take the kids to the park so she can read a book or have a bath. And, for pity’s sake, grow up.”

As she walked away Claire remembered another conversation, a lifetime ago, when she’d said the same to Michael.

When am I going to find a man who wants a partner not a parent?

Puzzling over the impossible riddle, Claire headed to her room.

***

Baby’s First Day: 2013 365 Challenge #252

First Day in the World

I realised today, as I sobbed in fear over the ironing board and my daughter’s new uniform, that I’m just as stressed about her starting school tomorrow as she is. And for all the same reasons.

I’m scared about getting something wrong, being told off, wearing or saying the wrong thing, not knowing anyone or where things are.

It’s like going back to school myself, only not, because I loved school. It was where I didn’t get shouted at for being lazy or making a mistake, unlike at home.

I was a Straight-A student, helped by being an October baby so one of the oldest in the year. I liked getting stuff marked and I loved learning. I was bullied, but I hid in the library or worked through my lunch break. I had plenty of friends, well until we all discovered boys.

Daddy’s little girl (even when she’s crying)

Actually I think I only lost my self-esteem and confidence when I started dealing with boys and humiliated myself left and right – having never worked out how to make my father happy. Hopefully my little girl won’t have that problem at least (she has Daddy wrapped around her little finger).

But now? I’ve spent a year listening to the mum’s at coffee morning sharing horror stories about school – returning forms to the wrong place and getting shouted at my the receptionist or told off by the teacher, miscommunication between staff over bullying, needing to escalate problems to the Head.

These are not things that play to my strengths. If the receptionist tells me off, I’ll cry. I’d rather pull teeth than make a fuss (though maybe if my child is being bullied I’ll grow a backbone) and I’m rubbish at forms and fitting in.

First Day at School

Also it’s a C of E (Church of England) school and I couldn’t even bring myself to go to family service today. I’m not an atheist but I’m not a huge one for organised religion either (I do like C of E schools, though, for the sense of community and doing the right thing).

Needless to say, hubbie is taking our daughter in on her first day tomorrow, thus avoiding me increasing her nervousness by my own fear, or upsetting her by getting defensive when she tells me I should have let her wear a skirt (as I’ve discovered her best friend will be.) Evil Mummy only bought pinafore dresses because I thought they’d look smarter and she wouldn’t have to keep tucking herself in. Guess what I’ll be doing tomorrow?

(In my defense, especially as she hasn’t got the blue cardigan she wanted either, there was meant to be a second-hand stall in the summer but I got no communication about it and I didn’t want to buy anything else new!)

Ah well, life is about conquering our fears. I just never realised there would be so many as a parent! I couldn’t home school (my daughter refuses to even let me teach her how to write her letters) so there aren’t many other options. And she’ll love it, I know she will. It’s probably just as well we decided against the public school for now. At least I’m not wondering if I should be wearing Boden when I pick her up at lunch time!

________________________________________________________________________________

“Come on, Josh, I want to go on the jet boat. Where else can I go in a boat that works in only centimetres of water? Stop being a worrywart, I’m fine.”

Claire tugged at his hand, feeling flashbacks of trying to convince Sky to do something she didn’t want to do. Seeing the stubborn look on his face, she dropped his hand and folded her arms.

“Fine. Although I’m surprised that someone who laughed at me for not jumping off a waterfall is worried about a stupid speed boat. You’ve got old and boring.”

She turned away, but watched him out of the corner of her eye; trying to analyse his expression. She hadn’t even been that interested in doing the jet boat ride – that afternoon’s suggested high adrenalin activity – until Josh said he thought she should give it a miss. In his best preachy doctor voice, he had advised her to rest after her near-drowning.

Despite explaining at length that she hadn’t been anywhere near drowning, he had insisted. It was like being with Michael all over again.

Why do people feel the need to wrap me in cotton wool? I’m not such a pathetic or fragile creature.

“You coming, Claire?” Bethan called, as the group split into those going jet boating and the ones remaining behind to horse ride or catch up on sleep.

Claire threw one last look at Josh and, ignoring the knot in her stomach, ran after Bethan. “Definitely. Sounds like fun.”

As they walked away, Bethan turned to look back. “Isn’t Sir Galahad coming? I thought Aussies were as keen to try and kill themselves as the Kiwis are?”

“He’s sulking because I won’t follow his doctor advice and rest after my near-death experience this morning.”

Bethan threw her head back and laughed, her long black hair flying out behind her. “Near death? You capsized a kayak in three feet of still water. Oh dear, he has got it bad, hasn’t he?”

Claire pursed her lips and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

Claire screamed as the boat swung close to the rocks; the gorge towering overhead and blocking out the sun. Spray splashed over them, drenching Claire and drowning out her laughter. She clung onto the seat as the driver twisted the boat away just as it seemed about to crash. Her head jerked with the motion and she felt a sharp pain as something pulled in her neck.

Damn, don’t let me get whiplash, I’ll never hear the end of it from Josh.

Gritting her teeth, Claire massaged the muscle then quickly grabbed at the seat in front as the boat span three-hundred and sixty degrees before tunnelling through the water across to the other side of the gorge.

Ahead she could see the driver grinning, his teeth flashing bright white against his dark tan. Wraparound shades covered his eyes and he had one arm resting along the side of the jet boat, as he nonchalantly span the wheel.

Walls of white rose on either side as the boat bumped over the river; every jolt running through Claire and ripping at her neck, until tears mingled with the spray on her cheeks.

Around her the landscape unrolled in brilliant detail: the deep blue river stretching like a ribbon through the high walls of the gorge, the colours rendered sharp by the afternoon sun. It was a far cry from sea kayaking with seals that morning.

Although I think I’m probably as wet. Maybe Josh was right, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, though I’m not going to tell him that.

Warming her torn muscles with one hand, Claire clung on with the other and willed the ride to finish soon. Only the knowledge of having to face Josh and his smug “I told you so” when they got back made her glad to still be in her seat.

My trip of a lifetime is starting to turn sour. I can’t get off the bus, because I can’t afford to travel any other way now. I can’t seem to get rid of Josh, which a few months ago would have been amazing, but is now a literal pain in the neck. I just want to go home.

Letting the spray conceal her tears, Claire gave in to the wave of self-pity washing over her.

***

Live at Last: 2013 365 Challenge #251

Playing with the all-important balloons!

Today I broke a whole bunch of self publishing rules and published Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes on Amazon, even though I’m still doing a final read through and spotting the odd typo. I know I’m heading for the third ring of indie-publishing hell but I have my reasons.

Partly I need to keep moving forward. I reformatted the Smashwords version for kindle this morning, between writing my post and taking over childcare at 9am. I did then spot some odd pink paragraphs which I’ve subsequently (hopefully) fixed – in between making playdough snakes, facilitating home made pizzas, assembling giant pipecleaner craft, playing hide and seek and a taking a trip to McDs because Dobbies ran out of balloons (and, honestly, Mummy didn’t feel like cooking dinner!)

Pink paragraphs aside, the kindle version looks surprisingly okay for a first pass. I usually get to version five on Smashwords before I’ve ironed out all the kinks. If I’ve learned one thing this year, it’s how to use word styles to speed up ebook formatting. (Now I just have to work out how to make pretty chapter headers, like Rinelle Grey’s books have!)

Finally on Amazon

My main reason for rushing ahead with publishing Baby Blues on kindle, rather than waiting for the paper version to be ready and loading both to Amazon together, is that Dragon Wraiths comes out of the KDP Select programme at the end of September. I can’t believe how quickly this three-month block has gone. I’m going to stay out this time and stop being so impatient: I don’t have the time or strength for decent marketing, so I’ve decided to focus on writing more and better books, knowing that Baby Blues and Dragon Wraiths will always be there as back catalogue.

I will run one last free promo on Dragon Wraiths (later this week, if you haven’t already read it) and that will be it, at least until Class Act is ready next year. The reason for one last promo, even though I don’t get as much return from them anymore, is that I hope it will possibly lead people to Baby Blues without me having to offer that for free to increase its rankings.

(Note to self: put free chapter of BBWS at end of Dragon Wraiths!)

I will, at some point, run a competition to celebrate finally finishing Baby Blues – with a prize hamper including a print copy and probably some chocolate – but it’s going to have to wait a little bit, as I don’t have a print copy available yet. I’ll probably figure out the final details of the comp and post about it some time this week though: I guess I can always have it run for a few weeks, until I get a paper copy of my book. The competition will definitely feature parenting stories or other tales of humiliation, in honour of some of Helen’s experiences in the book. If you know any parenting blogs who might like to feature the competition let me know.

As I put on my Facebook page this morning, publishing Baby Blues is feeling more like a sneak than a launch. But, hey ho, life vs writing and all that. At least it’s finally out there.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire sat, awkwardly holding Josh’s hand, staring at nothing out the window. She hoped he had fallen asleep, but she didn’t want to check in case she caught him staring at her again. If she had to endure the soppy, tear-filled gaze one more time she thought she might vomit.

I don’t understand women who go for the new man, in touch with his emotions. Give me some British stiff upper lip any day. It’s not like I was going to drown in three feet of water with the tour guide right there.

In fact, their guide had laughed at Josh’s panic, forcing Claire to play down her own fear. She suspected more than one nightmare in the future might revolve around drowning and being trapped underwater: not experiences she wanted to repeat. But even she could see, in retrospect, that she wasn’t in any real danger.

Someone should tell Josh that I’m not a sick child he needs to save. The only people he ought to be concerned about are his wife and kids.

And yet she still had his sweaty hand clasped in hers. It had seemed cruel to spurn him: like kicking a cat. But she didn’t need Bethan’s sniggers and eye rolling to tell her she’d made trouble for herself.

“Hey, Claire.”

As if hearing her thoughts, Bethan called to her across the coach aisle.

“You won’t be sharing a dorm with us at Westport, then?” She grinned, as Claire flushed beetroot.

“Pack it in. I take it he is asleep?” Josh hadn’t moved at Bethan’s words, and she hoped he wasn’t feigning slumber.

Bethan nodded, and leaned nearer. “He is rather scrummy. Why don’t you just sleep with him and be done with it? The wife need never know.”

“I’d know.” Claire was surprised at the fierceness in her voice. As Bethan recoiled, she immediately said, “Sorry, that came out sharper than intended. You forget, I’ve met his wife and their children. She isn’t some faceless entity with no feelings. She even looks like me, although that’s where the comparisons end. She’s a doctor, and a brilliant parent. I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.”

“And yet he would. Some fella you got there.”

Claire had to agree, although she felt driven to defend Josh. “He wasn’t like that when I knew him in England. He had some kind of breakdown, I think, and it’s still affecting him.”

“You mean he isn’t just a selfish twat that never grew up, who has run away because life got a teensy bit hard?”

It was Claire’s turn to be shocked at the sarcastic sneer in Bethan’s voice. It reminded Claire that she knew little about her new friend’s history.

Biting her tongue on a retort, Claire was forced to smile. “Show me a man who has actually grown up and I’ll show you a boring bastard who takes life far too seriously.” She thought about Michael and his pompous preaching.

“So, what are you going to do? He did save your life.”

Claire opened her mouth to deny the suggestion, then saw the twinkle in Bethan’s dark eyes. “You cow! It’s so hilarious, sat over there. You try sitting in this seat.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

“Well, why don’t you seduce him then? Get him off my hands.”

“And break the poor little wifey’s heart? I can’t do that. Why don’t you call this woman and tell her you stumbled across her husband at the lost and found. If she really wants him, she’ll come and collect him.”

“Poor Fiona. She did that once already: flying halfway round the world with three kids in tow.”

Bethan pulled a face. “She sounds like an angel. Too good for him.”

Claire privately agreed. It was clear that Josh had fixated on her as the way out of his humdrum life, but Claire knew it was no more than it had been the first time they met: She resembled the wife he used to know, before children had eaten into their lives.

Not that I can blame him for wanting to evade the responsibility of raising children: it’s not something I’m in a hurry to do. But it seems Fiona does all the work.

She couldn’t deny he came across as selfish and pathetic however which way she viewed it. The sooner she sent him back to his wife the better.

Prising her hand free from his, Claire turned her back on the sleeping figure and tried to ignore the weight of his head resting against her shoulder.

If I let a man into my life again, it will be one who can stand on his own two feet.

***

To KDP Select or Not to KDP Select?? (brefaucheux.wordpress.com)
The Meat Grinder: (danigravesvoice.wordpress.com)
Smashwords Authors Lead Top Paid Books at iBookstore (mediabistro.com)
Why there was no post yesterday (and upcoming sale) (amykeeley.wordpress.com)

Being a Grown-Up: 2013 365 Challenge #248

Breakfast out with Mummy

Today was one of those days when I forgot that I’m the grown up.

I had my daughter home alone all day for the first time since my son was six months old (I think, maybe apart from illness).

Even though we had a day full of activities – shopping for school stuff, doing craft, going to the park – it was not a great day. I’m so used to having both children together that I’d forgotten how much more time consuming it is just having one. You can’t send them out to play or sit them in front of the TV. I haven’t had to do nine hours of continuous childcare since the youngest was a year old and able to keep up with his sister.

Staying up late to finish my blog last night didn’t prepare me well for the day. I lay awake with W8-BEN forms and proofreading queries floating through my head and didn’t drop off until 3am.

Followed by cake

My son woke around 5.30am, crying and calling, “Mummy, why did the man take the flowers?” I went in and answered (as only a mother can, I guess), “Because he wanted them for Aunt Polly” (it was from a TV show we watched earlier in the day.) So that was my chance of four continuous hours of sleep gone.

I did try to be a good parent. I barely opened my ipad, except to take photographs and have a cheeky check on my email. I only did twenty minutes of’ proofreading, and shut my laptop when my daughter asked for a cuddle because she missed her brother.

I took another twenty minutes to Vax the playroom, where the dog was sick overnight, and even that had her whining. I tried so hard, but she missed her brother and she was just plain horrid for much of the day. And, on three hours’ sleep, I’m ashamed to say I took it personally. By the time we picked my son up at 5.30pm I was ready to drop them both home and keep driving.

Then, of course, they squabbled non-stop from the moment we all got in: mostly about who would get to sit in the corner of the sofa (their latest battle ground. Give me strength.)

Craft picture ‘for her teachers’

When you’ve missed someone all day it’s natural to pick a fight with them: I do it with my hubbie all the time. But I didn’t have any patience left for the noise. Hubbie was off talking to some person about cars, I hadn’t had three minutes to even empty the dishwasher.

I confess, I yelled. I went and hid in the playhouse. I would have driven away, if I’d had the energy to open the gates to get the car out. I’m not proud, but there you go.

Then, as I put our son to bed (after they’d squabbled over who was going to take them to bed: even though I ALWAYS take our son) I heard my daughter sobbing hysterically downstairs. I admit it only irritated me. I’d given her everything I had and it wasn’t enough. Instead she spent the day being bossy and rude and ungrateful. I’d tried to ask my Mum and my hubbie for help and both had ignored my plea. I’d had enough.

A pipe cleaner swing and person

When I got downstairs, hubbie explained that our daughter is scared about starting school. The wait is making her crazy (she doesn’t even start until next Monday, and then it’ll be three weeks before she’s full time). Being home alone today had driven it home that things were changing, and she wanted to just get on with it and get the wait over with.

I felt awful.

The signs had been there during the day – talking about making gifts for her preschool teachers, her new teachers, wanting her school bag and everything ready. She’d been worried and I hadn’t noticed. I was so wrapped up in my own sleep-deprived misery.

So, with hubbie mediation, we talked. I showed her the list of questions I’ve been compiling for her teacher’s home visit on Friday. I said that she wouldn’t be the only one who didn’t know everything and not to worry.

I tried to be the grown up. It was a bit late, I think. I should have been that person all day. I remember times, as a child, when Mum would hide in the tree house with a drink. I never understood it. Today I understood. Sometimes you don’t want to be the grown-up, especially when you have to be. Mum was a single parent at that time: what excuse do I have?

Tomorrow, I will try to be a grown-up. Today, I’m going to have a glass of wine, think of something for Claire to do, and go to bed.

________________________________________________________________________________

After hours spent worrying that Josh would somehow arrange for them to share a double room, Claire’s relief at being placed in a dorm was short-lived.

I might as well have shared with Josh; he can practically hug me from his bed anyway.

The room was tiny. With eight people and their luggage crammed in, it felt like a train carriage rather than a bedroom. Considering how expensive it was for the dorm, not to mention the deposit for the cutlery, Claire wasn’t impressed.

I thought it’d be cheaper to travel here than at home, given the high volume of traffic coming through some of these places. And who ever heard of paying a deposit to use a fork? Barmy.

Not wanting to spoil her trip by worrying about money, Claire dropped her rucksack on the bed and followed Bethan, Josh and the other people from the bus, out of the room.

Claire could see the beach as they left the hostel. Fine golden sand and clear blue water stretched away from her. She could imagine running straight into the sea in summer. Now, with an autumnal nip in the air, she was content to dig her toes in the sand and soak in the beauty.

She sensed Josh shadowing her steps, as she walked beside Bethan and chatted about the accommodation and where to go for dinner. Bethan kept glancing behind her, a frown on her flawless face.

“So, what is it with you and the moody doctor?”

Bethan lowered her voice but Claire still blushed, worried Josh could hear.

Speeding up to open the gap between them and Josh, Claire leant in close to Bethan and said, as nonchalantly as she could, “He’s just someone I met while travelling in the UK. We shared a ride for a couple of weeks. He lives in Oz and popped over to say hi.”

“Claire, no one flies from Australia to New Zealand to say hi. That’s what phones are for. They certainly don’t hop on the bus with you or follow you round like a lost puppy.”

Bethan’s words caused bile to rise in Claire’s throat.

“It’s complicated.”

The girl snorted in response. “That’s not an answer, that’s a Facebook relationship status. Are you shagging him, or what? And if not, can I?” Her deep, throaty, laugh rolled around the half-empty beach.

“Bethan! Hush, he’ll hear you.” Claire prayed for the sand to open before her and swallow her up.

“So what? He’s delish. Come on, spill the beans.”

“He’s married.” Claire’s voice dropped like water on a fire. If she expected her words to dampen Bethan’s enthusiasm, she hadn’t counted on the girl’s tenacity.

“And? If he was happily married he wouldn’t be here. Has he ditched the wife? Are you the replacement? You must have made a hell of an impression on him in a short time.”

Claire looked round to make sure Josh wasn’t hanging on every word. She could see him further up the beach, in a circle with some lads from the bus. As if sensing her scrutiny, he turned and waved when he saw her watching. She quickly turned away.

“Honestly? I have no idea what’s going on. I won’t deny that I fancied him when we travelled together, but I didn’t know he was married then. Now I’ve met his wife, and his three kids, and being a home breaker isn’t my style.”

“So, what are you going to do? He’s clearly crazy about you and, I have to say, you talk a good talk but I’m not buying it.”

Claire looked across at her friend, trying to read the meaning in her dark eyes.

What is it about travelling that makes you confide in complete strangers? Is it that there’s no one else, or that you’re all in it together. Maybe just the fact that you’re unlikely to ever see them again. Not that that’s worked for me. I’ve bumped into Maggie, Josh and even Bethan more than once.

Claire kicked her feet in the surf and sighed. “What a mess.”

“Why not just bed him and move on? If he’s serious about leaving the wife, there’s nothing you can do about it. If he isn’t, then sleeping with you will bring him to his senses.”

The blunt practicality of the girl’s tone made Claire shrivel. Despite her near miss with the Scotsman, she wasn’t in the habit of bed hopping. And, underneath his current puppy dog behaviour, Josh was still a good friend. She didn’t want to risk that by giving in to his lures. And yet, deep in her gut, she yearned to surrender.

With another gusty sigh she shook her head. “We’ll see,”

For some reason it made Bethan giggle all the way back to the hostel.

***