Category Archives: Parenting

Weather and Whining: 2013 365 Challenge #89

Thomas the Tank Engine

Thomas the Tank Engine

Our day featured too much weather and whining.

We took the children to see Thomas the Tank Engine at our local steam railway this morning. He doesn’t run very often (he’s actually going in for an overhaul in May and will be out of action for a year or more), and he was meant to be running today, as it’s a bank holiday weekend in the UK.

Only no one told them.

We checked the website diligently, because disappointing two and four year old children is a very bad idea. And still, when we got there, Thomas was clearly just outside his shed and not hooked up to carriages. You know that sinking feeling you get as a parent when it’s all about to go pear-shaped?

Thankfully the kids took it well as we were still able to ride the steam train to the next stop, a large park near a lake. The plan was to visit the park, have lunch in the coffee shop, and catch the train back two hours later. Only the kids were in that sort of mood today: You know the one. A thousand questions a minute, usually the same question repeated over and over and over and over. Even the kindly guard got a bit wild-eyed after ten minutes of trying to answer the barrage.

Then the whining started.

Our steam train today

Our steam train today

When we got to the station the snow was hurling down: tiny, freezing specks of misery. It’s a ten minute walk to the park and littlest Martin started crying before we left the platform.

If I’d been engaged as a parent this morning, instead of desperately writing my post after devoting yesterday to Dragon Wraiths, I would have thought to take their scooters. I didn’t. So we had the classic situation of one child wanting to do one thing and the other vociferously advocating another. One parent wanting the screaming to stop and the other one ready to hurl the kids under the next train.

Amber's Photograph of Bunny

Amber’s Photograph of Bunny

The problem with the steam train is it only runs three times a day. We had a choice of catching the return leg of the one we’d just vacated – a wait of half an hour – or persisting with the park plan and risking the chance of screaming children for two and a half hours. We opted for the former as the lesser of two evils, with a promised trip to a different park on the way home. A cup of tea and a biscuit later and we were all a bit calmer.

But boy they were in whinge mode.

Why is whinging directly proportional to the amount you’ve paid to do something? It cost us twenty-five quid to ride on the train for half an hour and have a cup of tea with UHT milk. We let them play in the little park at the station for a while, but it was so cold. Then little man refused to have his nappy done and even my enforced calm was starting to fray. Hubbie was holding on through gritted teeth and playing in the park to pass the time.

Before we knew it, we were in the car heading home (the promised trip to the big park cancelled due to bad behaviour) and it was only midday. Now I don’t mind spending money on a trip out with the kids but it needs to eat up more than two hours of time!

Big kids can have fun too

Big kids can have fun too

Anyway, sorry for the rant. There were good bits too. The kids loved bouncing on the old sprung seats of the train carriages, chatting to the friendly guard and playing in the tiny park at the railway station. There were given a pound each to spend in the shop (which only had one thing for sale for that price) and they came home with some wall stickers. So that used up an hour of time while I cooked lunch. I think next time I’ll do a bit more planning. Or check the forecast.

Auditioning for a Bond Movie

Auditioning for a Bond Movie

__________________________________________________________________________________

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 pushed the pedal to the floor, remembering the expression on Fiona’s face when Josh broke the news of their planned Cambridge trip. Stella the Skoda groaned in protest and the needle swung round to 75mph. Damn you, car, I need speed. She looked at the piles of snow spilling onto the inside lane of the motorway and eased her foot back. Alright, car, you win. Just because the stupid cow looked at me like I’m a marriage wrecker, that doesn’t mean I need to wreck you too. Poor Stella.

The world outside the window spread in unrelenting grey. Sky merged into snow-covered fields until Claire felt like someone had hit select-all-erase on the world. The only splashes of colour came from cars speeding past her in the outside lane, and they were mostly silver.

The lanes and the grey and the moving cars began to blur together. Claire blinked several times and wondered who had filled her eyelids with grit. Might be time for coffee. It had taken over an hour to drive the first dozen miles from the youth hostel to Ashbourne. Although the roads had been clearer from there to Derby and on to Nottingham, it was only when she reached the M1 that she felt able to breathe. Glancing at the dashboard clock Claire was shocked to see it was past midday. Scrap that. I haven’t got time to stop. School finishes at three. If I’m late to pick up Sky, my sister is going to disown me. Or worse.

She tried to calculate how much further there was to drive and wished she’d left earlier. Funny how six hours seemed plenty of time to do a three-hour journey. Damn this damn snow to hell and back. If I hadn’t promised Ruth, I’d be driving to the airport and boarding a flight to the Maldives. Screw Carl and his stupid vendetta.

Inhaling deeply, Claire tried to untwist the ball of panic growing in her gut. Her eyes blurred and, as she blinked them back into focus, she saw the red lights of a lorry braking ahead. Crap. Don’t tell me there’s been an accident at Catthorpe. That’s all I bloody need.

The traffic slowed and gently ground to a halt. At least I don’t have to worry about over-heating. If this heap of junk starts steaming in sub-zero temperatures it deserves everything it gets. She patted the dash quickly. Sorry car; didn’t mean it. Don’t fail me now, I beg you.

Claire looked at the endless line of red lights and wondered if it was time to call her sister. Or at least Mum. Maybe Kim’s home. Sky would be thrilled if Kim picked her up from school, especially if her hair’s still tomato-red. As she pulled her phone towards her and readied a text message the traffic began to move. Like a queue of women waiting for the loo at a festival, the lines of cars fed slowly forwards. At last Claire was on the A14 and the final stretch home.

Please, no more accidents. I just need to be outside the school gates at 3pm. She raised her eyes to the god of motoring and hoped he was listening. That’s all I ask. I’ll give up Starbucks. Anything. Just make sure I’m not late.

A single ray of sunlight broke through the clouds ahead and bathed the scene in a warm glow. Claire felt her heart jolt, as if she had indeed received a message from the Gods.

Okay, I’ll take it. But, can I just, you know, cut down on my Starbucks? Rather than a complete ban. That’d be marvellous. Thanks.

***

Related articles

Tricky Question of Cashflow: 2013 365 Challenge #87

"Driving to see the Pigs"

“Driving to see the Pigs”

I’m trying to justify the first big (relatively speaking) expenditure to support my writing. So far I’ve done all my own proof-reading (never a good idea), ebook preparation and cover design, sourcing cheap or free stock photographs from istockphoto. The most I’ve spent on a stock image is about ten pounds (although I’ve purchased a few).

However, after getting some constructive feedback on the first chapter of Dragon Wraiths recently it was highlighted that my cover doesn’t fit with my target audience. I like the dragon pendant image, and it goes with the story, but It didn’t cost me anything so I don’t mind redesigning it and hopefully boosting sales (which won’t be hard!)

Photo2834 (2)

“Look Mummy, no hands!”

After some research I’ve realised that YA books in my genre generally have a picture of a girl or couple on the front. So  I decided today to see if I could find an image that might do the trick. It’s hard getting the search terms right – I tried ‘first kiss’ and ‘teenage embrace’ and got some dodgy images, even on istockphoto! Since when did ‘first kiss’ mean between two scantily clad girls? I’m getting old!

Eventually I found the perfect shot. Unfortunately people-shots equals extra cost, as the model needs to be paid too.  And I had forgotten to put the price-filter on that guarantees I don’t fall in love with a picture I can’t afford.

Idiot.

When I clicked into my ‘perfect’ shot I nearly fell off my chair at the price. The smallest image is ten times what I pay for the images I use on the Two-Hundred Steps Home books. If I want to be able to set the book up for print-on-demand in future I need to fork out nearly £200 for the high-res file. In comparison I’ve made about a tenner so far from sales of the book!

Didicar Fun

Didicar Fun

I know anyone serious about writing needs to spend money, it’s just hard to justify when my husband and I are both unemployed. If I search long enough I may find another – cheaper – image that is equally striking. Or I may not. And if I change my cover I might make the money back in sales in a few weeks. I spent more money going to London for a job interview, so why balk at spending it on this?

Besides, the small image is slightly less than what it costs us to send two sprogs to nursery for a day. We tried to put them in nursery today, as we lose next Monday (bank holiday), but they were full.

So I may buy my perfect shot and consider it money well-earned by taking the kids to the Farm for four hours in the freezing wind. Time to take a gamble. Speculate to accumulate and all that! Okay, decision made. I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow… I’m so excited! I love doing book covers and I really love this image… Can’t wait to share it!

________________________________________________________________________________

“So, you’re becoming Mum for two weeks? How does that feel? Thought you hated ankle-biters.”

Claire willed a smile onto her face but suspected Josh could see the fear lurking beneath. “It’s fine. It’s only for a little while. And Sky’s six, that’s old and sensible isn’t it? For a child?”

She turned to Josh with eyes wide and pleading. He laughed, the sun catching highlights in his hair. He seemed to have discarded his Stig-of-the-dump disguise since Fiona’s arrival and Claire was conscious of a desire to feel how soft his clean hair felt under her hand.

“Depends on the child.”

Dragging her thoughts back to the conversation, Claire tried to remember what question Josh was answering. Oh yes, Sky.

“My niece is, um, a little bit highly strung.” She remembered the phone-calls interrupted by Sky’s screaming; the sweat-drenched awakening – the one night she had looked after Sky by herself – and couldn’t suppress a shiver.

Josh wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulders and hugged her briefly. They both knew Fiona was watching from an upstairs window, as she sat feeding Lily. “You’ll be fine. Keep her entertained, keep her exhausted, and keep a ready supply of chocolate in your pocket.”

“Is that your advice as a parent or a doctor?”

His laugh jumped up like a spring lamb. “A parent, obviously. As a doctor I couldn’t possibly recommend chocolate-bribery. Talking of which -” He turned to face Lucas and Sophie, who were rolling around in the snow, making angel shapes and throwing icy handfuls at each other. “Okay, you two. We’ll be heading in shortly. Five minutes.”

He turned back to Claire. “It’s all about managing expectations. And when that doesn’t work, bribe them!”

They stood in silence. The air between them felt heavy, with the unseen shadow of his wife, and the louder presence of his two eldest children now stuffing snow down each other’s necks. She wanted to ask him how the reunion had gone, how he felt about the past, but the words seemed frozen by the icy wind swirling round the Hall.

“We fly back after Easter.” Josh spoke as if answering a question and Claire smiled at his intuition. “We couldn’t get flights before that and it seemed silly to leave straight away. It may not be the best time to visit the UK but as Fiona has never been we’re hoping to see a few things while we’re here. We went to York for a few days and we were heading for Cambridge when this happened.” He gestured at the snow still lying thick on the ground, despite the bright sunshine.

Claire felt her pulse quicken. “I’m heading down that way myself, today or tomorrow. That’s near where my sister lives.”

“Maybe you could show us round, as a local? Can you get us into a College? To Kings?”

Claire laughed, despite the goosebumps popping up along her arms. “Anyone can visit Kings, you buy tickets at the gate. But yes, I guess Sky might like to come and meet Lucas and Sophie. What about Fiona though?” She swallowed. “I get the impression she’ll only be happy where there is 15,000km between us.”

Josh ran his hands through his hair and looked over to where the children were rolling a ball of snow to make a snowman, both of them pushing at the ball that was already bigger than Sophie.

“Fiona’s fine,” he said eventually. “You can’t imagine how hard it was for her.” His voice pleaded with Claire to understand. “She had no idea. Until she rang Christie and they said they’d never heard of me. She didn’t know what to think.”

I’m sure she did. She thought you’d left her for someone else. And then I turned up at the airport confirming her suspicions. She must have realised how similar we look. Easy to think Josh had replaced her with me – a slightly younger model unencumbered by children. He wouldn’t have been the first or the last.

Claire glanced up behind her, expecting to see an accusatory face pressed against the upstairs window. The panes of glass stared blankly back at her.

“It’s just one more day.”

She felt Josh’s hand in the small of her back and willed her body not to react. Funny how forbidden fruit always appears juicier. Gritting her teeth, Claire turned and looked into his earnest amber-flecked eyes.

“Sure, why not. I’ll show you where to get the tastiest Greek burger you’ve ever had.”

***

Related articles

Thankful Tuesday: 2013 365 Challenge #86

Remembering Summer

Remembering Summer

Today I am thankful.

Grateful to my husband for getting the kids dressed this morning while I had a shower. Appreciative of the lovely ladies at No. 1 – a drop-in centre run by the Oundle Baptist Church – who entertained my children while I had a chance to catch up with my Mummy friends. I’m grateful to the library for letting my kids run riot and read books loudly, without once saying shush. I’m happy with myself for packing lunch boxes and with my children for eating their sandwiches. I’m immensely thankful for the amazing ladies at Rainbow for another 90 minutes of marvelous craft. And for their assistance in the creation of painted flower pots, woolly sheep, decorated bunny biscuits, easter bonnets and pretty eggs.

Finally, I am grateful to the lovely agent who rejected me today with this email:

You and your book sound absolutely marvellous and, though unfortunately we are unable to represent you ourselves, I think other agents will be interested and I do wish you the best of luck elsewhere.

I’m not sure I would have been happier if it had been an email telling me to send the full manuscript. In fact I can safely say I am happy that it wasn’t. The rejection (even if it’s all lies) has given me a spring in my step whereas a request for the full manuscript would have spun me into despair, as I’m well aware the remaining 200 pages are not as polished as the first fifty read by the agent.

Feel the warm sun

Feel the warm sun

At the end of my carefully planned and perfectly executed day I feel more positive than I have in weeks. The kids have had fun, I’ve had a nice chat and hubbie came home in time for baths so I could walk the dog. During my walk I made a plan to sharpen Dragon Wraiths and hopefully elevate its position in the Slush pile. I feel rejuvenated.

After today I understand why parents sign up to things like baby yoga, swimming, tumble tots, musical minis and so on. I’ve always felt we cover most of those activities at home, or the kids do it at nursery, and therefore I don’t need to spend more money on expensive classes. But now I get it. It’s structure. My day today was structured. I didn’t ask the kids what they wanted to do (as I do normally), I TOLD them what we were going to do, with a caveat that we’d review the schedule at lunchtime if we were tired.

I used to think giving them choice was good parenting because they were learning to make decisions and it meant if they later didn’t enjoy it I wouldn’t take full responsibility. Now I see they like knowing what’s going on as much as I do. Maybe not all the time. But starting the day with a plan and a motivated Mummy occasionally might make all our lives easier.

Now what the hell am I going to do with them tomorrow?

______________________________________________________________________________________

“Mummy, Lucas pushed me.”

“Lucas, we don’t push. Say sorry please. Sophie, don’t provoke your brother. I saw you snatch his Transformer. Give it back and apologise.”

“No! Won’t! It’s my turn. Lucas isn’t sharing. You said we had to share our toys.”

The younger child stood with her arms wrapped around her chest, bottom lip stuck out like a shelf, while her brother glared and held his hand out for the stolen toy.

“Share, yes, but we don’t snatch. That’s not acceptable behaviour. Give the toy back to Lucas or you will get a timeout.”

Claire watched the domestic drama unfolding before her with something akin to horror. She shivered as the scene dragged out memories of her own siblings. Being the youngest she realised she must have sat, as Lily was doing now, on her Mother’s lap, watching as Ruth and Robert yelled and fought. I’m glad I don’t remember. With only two years between them, she and Ruth had mostly been allies. Robert — six years older than Claire — considered himself above childish games by the time she was old enough to join in.

Too busy being the school swot and doing his flute practice. Teacher’s Pet.

Claire considered Josh’s children, with their sun-bleached surfer hair and nut-brown skin, and thought they were far too like him to worry overly about homework. Except Josh is a doctor, so he must have tried hard at some point. And what does it mean anyway? I worked my butt off at school and now I’m facing the sack and reading kids’ books to kill the time.

The two children were still squabbling but quietly enough that Fiona chose not to intervene. Claire listened closely, hoping to glean some nuggets of parenting insight for her two weeks with Sky.

“They’re not normally this bad. They’re bored. We’re used to chucking them outside to run off their fidgets. I didn’t pack for this kind of weather though: We don’t really get snow.”

Claire jerked her head up and gazed at the other woman. It was the first time she had said anything voluntarily to her since they’d met up in the hostel, despite them all sitting down to dinner together. Josh had manfully kept up a stream of anecdotes and idle observations while Fiona stared at Claire through tired eyes.

Searching her brain for a sensible response, Claire cleared her throat and replied, “it’s not normal this late in the year. Last March we were in t-shirts and cracking out the barbeques. Then it started raining at Easter and didn’t stop until autumn.”

“We don’t get much rain either. No wonder you Poms talk about the weather all the time. You get so much of it.” The corners of her mouth raised in a tiny smile before her attention was dragged back to peace-making between her eldest children.

Claire became aware of the tremble in her hands. Fiona intimidated her. She was so poised, and beautiful, and always calmly in control of her gaggle of kids. The prospect of having one small person under her care for a couple of weeks had Claire waking in terror.

“Does it come naturally? Being great with kids?” Claire heard the words and was shocked to find she had spoken them. Fiona looked surprised too, but not offended.

“I wouldn’t say I’m great with them. It’s different with your own anyway. They’re not ‘kids’ they’re your kids. They have personalities, ones that are infuriatingly close to your own. So you understand them and love them for it. It means you clash too — they know how to press your buttons, that’s for sure. And no, I’m sorry to say, being a parent doesn’t come naturally. You have to work at it, like anything else.”

Fiona’s words surprised Claire. Ruth always makes out like being a Mother is the most natural thing. How she wanted kids more than anything and loved Sky from the minute she popped screaming into the world.

“How did you know you were ready for kids? You and Josh?”

“Ah, there’s never a right time to have kids. If you’re in a relationship you think will last, and you both want kids, then you just take the plunge. No one is really ready to be a parent. You learn on the job.”

“Did you give up your career? I think Josh mentioned you’re a doctor?”

“I haven’t given it up, no. On the other hand I have been on maternity leave three years out of the last six, so I’m not legging it up the career ladder. I have the rest of my life to do that, but they’re only little once.” She looked at Lucas and Sophie, who were running round the sofas screaming and giggling and occasionally wrestling each other to the ground. She smiled and caught Claire’s eye.

“Thank goodness.”

***

Related articles

Parenting: Snow Fun. 2013 365 Challenge #84

Snow Monster

Snow Monster

Another snowy day survived. Thank god it’s Monday tomorrow and the darlings will be at nursery (assuming it’s open. Please let it be open). I’ve had a great day with the kids today but three days at home, trapped by the snow, are taking their toll.

The snow that fell overnight was softer, and drifted. No good for snowmen but great for snow angels and snowball fights. The dog especially loves catching and eating snowballs out of the air, until she resembles a snow monster.

My mistake was starting one of the random books I bought in my last charity shop visit.

The Divide by Elizabeth Kay. It’s brilliant. About a back-to-front world where magic is real and humans are imaginary. I’ve come to realise that MG fiction is about my level right now, although there do seem to be a lot of things dying in this novel considering it’s for middle grade kids. It’s written with enough subtlety, adventure and fascinating characters that I don’t want to put it down (Maybe I should see if I can write MG fiction – I might find it easier to edit a 40k novel rather than a 100k one!).

Snow Angels

Snow Angels

Anyway, good book = bad parenting. I want to read quietly and the children aren’t used to letting me do that. I decided that reading would be setting a better role model than standing at the computer all day consuming blogs and losing time on Twitter. It might be, but it doesn’t mean they leave me alone any less. They only go off and play nicely together when I want them to eat their dinner or leave the house in less than five minutes.

When my husband and I stumbled into bed at 10pm, exhausted and aching from pulling sledges and making snow angels, helping prepare home-made pizzas and playing fully dressed in the bath (it seemed like a good idea at the time), we both said to each other: “Another day survived.” No one died. (Littlest Martin tried quite hard to do the latter, having fallen off the bed, the sofa and the window sill. That was when he wasn’t having one long, endless, unexplained tantrum. They joys of being two.)

It reminded of a blog post I read recently on the Mumsnet blog network about parenting becoming a ‘thing’. In her post Neurotic Parenting (and Salmon) Lisa Parry writes about the difference between ‘being a parent’ and ‘parenting’:

[B]eing a parent means getting to the end of the day without needing to take Ben to A&E with anything too serious and giving him a couple of saucepans to hit with a wooden spoon. Parenting means doing stuff to stimulate him in a thoughtful fashion not because, you know, that’s just what you do with babies. It means following a theory – attachment parenting or Gina Ford – and entertaining the possibility that every single thing you do can have repercussions.

She goes on to discuss possible causes for the shift, quoting Nora Ephron’s ‘Parenting in Three Stages’ (which I think I might read)

Ephron thinks it could have been a consequence of the women’s movement – in a backlash against it, some women elevated parenting to a job and as parents can be quite competitive, the whole thing snowballed. One of my oldest friends who juggles her own business with her one-year-old thinks it could have been brought about by late motherhood: women leaving work as highly successful individuals and then managing their babies how they managed an office with timetables and targets. She may be right.

Endless Tantrums? Moi?

Endless Tantrums? Moi?

Whatever the causes it does seem to me that it’s no longer enough to keep our kids alive, healthy, happy and with an ability to read and write by the time they leave primary school. Parenting has become competitive and complicated and parents rarely pull together either in real life or online as often as they should. I have my own theory: I think we’re all so worried that we’re not shaping up to some ideal ‘supermummy’ image that we have to justify our own decisions and actions, forgetting that every child, parent, family and life situation is different. To validate our own choices we must therefore condemn the choices of others. At a time when you’re tired, vulnerable and isolated it’s difficult to see that there can be as many good versions of being a parent as there are babies in the world.

I don’t know what the answer is, I certainly don’t manage my house like an office. It took twenty minutes to get the kids in shoes and coats this morning. I do know that I’m relieved to have come out of the insulated hole, the tiny frame of reference you have when the babies are young, to realise that there are more important things in the world than whether my baby can do sign language or yoga. Not having to take him to A&E on a Sunday is a good start.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire looked at the looming snowdrift crowding the road ahead. The snow pushed through winter hedgerows like marshmallows caught in a giant’s teeth. Snow in Manchester was grey and wet, like dirty slush-puppy. She’d never understood how a few inches of snow could bring the whole damn country to a halt. Now, seeing how the wind had whipped the snow ahead of it like a pack of huskies, until it buried most of the country lane, Claire understood how people became trapped in their cars. And died.

“Come on Stella, keep going. It can’t be much further.”

She had been driving for an hour since leaving Youlgreave hostel, against the advice of the hostel manager who clearly thought she was nuts.

I think he might be right. This wasn’t my cleverest idea. I don’t even have a blanket in the car, never mind a flask of tea or a shovel. I’m guessing this doesn’t count as an ‘essential journey’ although the police who advise against non-essential travel are never specific.

Thoughts twisted through Claire’s mind like eddies of snow as she concentrated on the half-concealed road ahead. Her eyes itched and she needed a wee but she suspected if she stopped the car it would refuse to start again.

I do not want to walk anywhere in this weather. Especially not with my rucksack.

It felt as if the landscape was closing in around her but it was hard to tell with the world turned to white. The first stretch of road had been flat and exposed and she prayed that rising hills meant the hostel was somewhere up ahead. Trees draped over the road, their branches bare and stark against the white sky. Claire felt as if she was driving through a tunnel. I really hope there’s a light at the end of it. And a steaming mug of Earl Grey.

At last a house materialised out of the white and Claire felt the knot in her stomach ease slightly. The need to pee took over. Driving into the village the road was clearer; more slush than snow. Claire considered abandoning the car and walking the rest of the way to the hostel but she was sure the cold air would enhance the call of nature. I’m damned if I’m going to squat for a pee in a snowdrift.

Stella the Skoda slipped and span on the slushy road, the back end swinging out towards parked cars. Knuckles white and brow furrowed, Claire wished she was back in her bunk reading Hunger Games rather than living her own adventure. Not that negotiating parked cars in the snow is really the same as fighting for your life against your fellow man. Well, only a little bit.

Eventually the Hall came into view. Claire had no time to marvel at the stately building tucked in amid the snow-laden trees. She slid the car into what she hoped was a parking place and scrambled out. Not waiting to retrieve her bag she scuttled into reception and searched for a sign. When she couldn’t see one she felt a flutter under her ribs. Come on, come on.

A head popped up from behind the desk and a smile greeted her pained expression.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, toilets please?”

With a bemused smile the woman pointed to a door round the corner and Claire fled.

***

Related articles

Saturday Every Day: 2013 365 Challenge #82

Mummy daughter craft

Mummy and daughter craft

It has been Saturday in our house for five months. Since hubbie was made redundant last October everyday has felt like the weekend. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes frustrating.

Today was one of the good days. Normally Friday is my day to take the kids to Play and Learn at the local primary school, followed by a trip to the library.

Well, I say normally but I’ve probably done it once this year. Instead I’ve been writing posts first thing and then we have done a different activity like the Farm or zoo. I deliberately finished yesterday’s post before bedtime so I could make up for weeks of being Crap Mum and be Supermummy today. I failed.

Ingenious creation of a caravan

Ingenious creation of a caravan

Before I even made it out of bed I read an email from a reviewer of DW, informing me of a typo on the first page, and it foolishly plunged me into the bog of eternal self-rebuke. Yes, typos happen but not on the first page and not in a self-pub with something to prove. I broke. Darling hubbie ended up with the kids while I cried and cleaned the kitchen floor: What else do you do in a crisis?

I took over at 10am and thought about doing the usual day trip, or even taking the kids to town to buy them new waterproofs, seeing as winter looks set to hang about for a while longer. But it’s Arctic outside today: any ideas of being outdoors vanished in a gust of snow when I poked my head out the front door.

I want this trailer when I go on holiday!

I want this trailer when I go on holiday!

So hubbie and I ended up doing Relay Parenting, as I like to call it. I took the baton until lunch, playing cars and taking the dinosaurs on holiday to a (quickly sketched on paper) seaside resort. Hubbie took them for afternoon milk and video while I snuck upstairs to read for an hour. Then we did Divide & Conquer: he took little one to the tip while I did craft with Amber.

I really enjoyed helping her make a paper shell necklace and an underwater scene complete with sock octopus (thank you Charlie & Lola magazine!)

It felt like a good day.

Until I told Amber how nice it was to do craft with her and it had been a while and she replied “because you’re always working mummy”.

Ah, hello Guilt. Do come in.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Youlgreave turned out to be a cheery little hostel with spacious rooms and a homely feel. The bunks had individual lights and Claire curled into the corner of hers as a mouse might his winter nest. She pulled a paperback from her bag – one of several she had treated herself to at Sheffield station – and let the world slide away.

After what felt like minutes, but was nearer to an hour, her phone chimed to say the sync was complete. Claire sighed and put down the book, her mind still caught up in a world of Games and tributes. She opened her email and scanned the list, hoping for nothing new. When she saw the email from Julia she had to stop herself launching her new phone out the window. I’d forgotten about the bloody challenges. Don’t let a mugging stop you Julia, you carry on regardless, heartless cow.

Reading the email, Claire felt her lungs fill with anger. Callous bitch.

Claire

I heard about the accident. If you will wander round like a hoyden, these things will happen. Carl said if anything was stolen you will need to claim on your own insurance due to the event occurring outside office hours.

Please find below your task for this week. As you only saw fit to undertake one activity from my previous list I have not researched any more than this.

Your next assignment will be sent on Thursday owing to the office being closed for the Easter weekend. Carl asked me to inform you that you are still expected to stay in hostels over the bank holiday.

Julia

http://www.peakhanggliding.co.uk/

Claire didn’t need to open the link to discover what Julia’s maliciousness had concocted for her. The bitch knows I’m scared of heights. Hang-gliding? She has to be kidding. I’m almost impressed that they want me to resign this badly. Well, tough.

She laughed, her eyes crinkling in mischief. Pulling out an envelope from her bag she retrieved the letter inside and smoothed it flat, before taking a picture with the iPad.

Dear Julia

Please find attached the Doctor’s Note I received, following the severe physical attack I suffered while working for your organisation. I have been advised to avoid any activity which may result in a worsening of my condition. I am sorry to inform you that I am certain Hang-Gliding will fall under that category.

I will notify you when the doctor deems me fit for physical exertion. Until then I will continue in my assignment to the best of my ability.

Kindest regards

Claire

Claire stroked the Doctor’s Note before slotting it into the back of her paperback. Best forty-pounds ever spent. Then she tucked her phone and tablet back into her rucksack and curled up in the corner of her bunk, feeling as if she had done Katniss proud in her skirmish with Julia.

***

Related articles

Baking and Body Art: 2013 365 Challenge #80

What happened to painting the paper?

What happened to painting the paper?

I made the mistake of thinking I could write my post with the kids around this morning. Yesterday’s post that is – so with a 10am deadline. They watched two hours of TV and I just about managed to write the top half. With much pleading and trying to watch them cut paper, scooter, sweep and bounce at the same time, I managed to write the 750 word installment by 10.45am.

Never again.

No matter how exhausted I am I have to make sure it’s written before bedtime if I know hubbie’s working the next day. Oh how I have taken him for granted these last three months!

Body Art

Body Art

Anyway today hasn’t really recovered. We’ve done cutting and sticking, scootering and bouncing, painting on paper, painting our hands, painting in the bath. Cleaning the bath. More TV. Story reading, cookie baking (much squabbling over who was in charge of the bowl) and teddy tea parties.

Now at 5pm I’m finally free to walk the dog and think for five minutes together without trying to decipher two simultaneous conversations. I’ve tried really hard not to tweet every ten minutes or check my email today but since we put the PC in the kitchen that’s been hard.

When I did switch the screen off and sit down to the teddies’ tea party the game lasted all of three minutes before they were off onto something new. So I tidied the playroom, loaded some laundry and took the cookies out the oven. Maybe they get their short attention span from me?

Temporary truce

Temporary truce

I’ve always been scattered in my approach to getting stuff done – it was on most appraisals when I worked for a living – and generally it used to be okay. What I lacked in efficiency I made up for in lists and long hours. In those days I had enough sleep to remember everything that needed to be done.Today I realised I haven’t done a piece of artwork for a friend that she needs next week! Damn that short-term memory loss caused by sleep deprivation!

These days my scattered approach leads to grumpy kids and half done chores all over the house!  I’d like to say I’ll change but I think maybe I’m just at the point where I’ll pay for the kids’ therapy instead.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Claire stood behind the Skoda and fought the urge to weep. “It’s Monday: I can get a new phone today. I need to go to Sheffield. What arsehole parks like that?”

The hostel car park was the size of a postage stamp. Claire had been fortunate to arrive the night before just as someone was leaving. Now the Skoda was so tightly wedged in she had no hope of reversing out without damaging someone’s car. It was tempting.

Who would know? She looked up at the buildings all around. Someone’s bound to see, knowing my luck. So, do I go in and wake a bunch of backpackers to find out who is blocking me in or wait until everyone wakes? She inhaled and the morning air froze her nose and throat.

“I want my phone!”

She laughed as her childish shout startled some pecking pigeons. Slumping against the back of her car, Claire tried to decide what to do. Her brain still felt muffled, as if it was floating under water. The doctor had said it might take weeks for her to recover from her concussion.

I’m not sure I’ll notice when it’s healed. My mind seems permanently foggy these days. Think Claire, think.

And then it came to her. She remembered reading in the hostel notes that it was close to the train station. It seemed crazy taking the train when she had a car but it would be nice to leave the Skoda behind for a while and pretend to be a normal person again.

The walk improved Claire’s mood and she was almost smiling by the time her iPad told her she had arrived at the train station. She stared at the dirty-white temporary buildings and the single railway line.

Train station is a bit of an overstatement. Bugger. God knows when the next train will chug through here. They’re probably still run by steam.

As she thought the words she heard the unmistakeable sound of an approaching train. Stuffing her iPad into her bag she ran for the platform just as a two-carriage train pulled in with a whoosh of brakes. Claire tugged open the door to the nearest carriage and jumped on board. A dozen calmly-seated suits turned to stare as Claire tumbled into the carriage, red-faced and panting. She smiled automatically and slid into the nearest seat, eager to hide her rosy face.

With a jolt the train pulled away and Claire prayed it was actually heading for Sheffield and not Manchester. Please don’t let me end up there today. I’m bound to bump into someone I know and I look like something the cat threw up.

She pulled her fingers through her tangled hair, wishing she had taken time to shower and dress properly. There had been only one thought on her mind as she left the hostel and that was to get a new phone.

Outside the window trees and fields flew past, before they passed through Grindleford station and disappeared into a tunnel. Claire stared at her reflection in the dark window and wondered when she had stopped wearing make-up. I guess it doesn’t matter if we are headed for Manchester: I don’t suppose anyone would recognise me.

The train emerged from the tunnel into a grey landscape and her image vanished. A voice echoed down the train calling for tickets. Claire dug in her handbag for her purse, feeling her heart thudding against her ribs. I’ve never boarded a train without a ticket before. I hope he’ll let me buy one and not make a fuss. She felt the heat return to her cheeks and wondered if it would have been less stressful to wake a hostel full of people to ask someone to move their car.

Why is nothing every easy?

***

Related articles (random links that looked interesting!)

Easter Craft and a Sunny Park: 2013 365 Challenge #79

Balancing boy 'All by myself'

Balancing boy ‘All by myself’

Today started slow after the slough of despond yesterday. Thank you to everyone who liked the post: it helped drag me back out the self-pitying doldrums. Sometimes I just need to grow up and accept that life is hard! Thankfully hubbie took the kids long enough for me to write my post and have a shower this morning so I started the day feeling half human.

It helped that the sun put in a rare appearance. I was able to chuck the kids outside to play in the sandpit and on their bikes and scooters. Daddy did gardening, so I could make some tweaks to my Dragon Wraiths book cover knowing the kids were being watched. It hasn’t resulted in any new sales but it made me feel better.

Easter craft (they ate the chocolate nests!)

Easter craft (they ate the chocolate nests!)

I took the children to a local preschool in the afternoon to do Easter craft. I wasn’t sure whether to go or to leave the children out in the sun, as the forecast for tomorrow is rotten, but hubbie made the decision for me by having the kids dressed and shod by the front door in record-quick time. I think he was ready for a few hours’ peace!

We spent a wonderful but hectic two hours making chocolate nests, chicks, bunnies and Easter cards. My children love craft but generally end up painting everything brown including themselves so it was lovely to have them follow instructions and make specific things. Although that always leaves the problem of what to do with their creations! I have drawers stuffed fulled of pictures and paintings but nothing is named or dated!

Hurrah no muddy dog to clean

Hurrah no muddy dog to clean

Aaron and I even made it to our village park this afternoon. I’ve missed our trips to the park. It’s only a short walk away and it’s a lovely one with slide, swings, playhouse, zip wire and climbing frame. I push the kids on the swing and throw a toy for Kara. We all get exercise and I don’t have to rub down a muddy dog.

For the last six months though it’s been far too wet with most of the equipment lethal or out of order. We walk to the park only to end up sheltering in the playhouse waiting for the rain to stop. It makes parenting harder than it needs to be.

The kids had a final mad run round the garden (they were ‘tidying up’!) when they were meant to be eating their dinner. I didn’t have the heart to call them in: with the forecast for wet and snow again tomorrow, who knows how long it will be before they can run around in socks and tops again?

________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire lent against the door of the Skoda and gazed up at the dark building set against winter trees and leaden sky. I can imagine how this might make you think of Gothic horror and mad women in the attic. It’s pretty gloomy.

“Amazing building, yah?”

Claire jumped at the sound of the voice. She turned and saw a snow princess walking towards her. She blinked, wondering if her concussion was more severe than the doctor had suggested. As the woman strolled nearer she realised it was a beautiful blonde wearing cream snow gear, wrapped up against the chill. Claire looked down at her Helly Hansen jacket and wondered when it had become so shabby.

“One expects to see Mr Rochester doing a rising-trot up the lane, doesn’t one?” The woman smiled, dazzling Claire with her even white teeth. “Hullo, I’m Catherine. You can come in and have a gander if you like?”

“What? You live here?” Claire shook her head, gritting her teeth against the pain.

Catherine laughed, a cascade of chiming bells. “Wouldn’t that be super? No we’re here for the weekend for a wedding.”

Claire tried to imagine staying in the house. “I think I’d be worried about Bertha Mason setting fire to my bedroom while I slept. Is it very dark and spooky?”

Another tinkling laugh followed Claire’s statement and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

“Hardly. Come in for an espresso and see for yourself. You can park your car.” She looked at the Skoda, noticing it for the first time, and raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. Claire’s cheeks flushed hotter and she turned away, letting her hair drop over her face. She listened mutely to the instructions on where to park before climbing into her seat.

I could just keep driving. I’m not that interested in seeing the Hall that inspired Rochester’s house. Does it matter if I am rude to a complete stranger? She looks like it would bounce straight off her super-ego. Claire thought about the blog, the chance to have something different to write about and sighed. Maybe I should accept. How hard can it be to be civil for half an hour?

 

Claire entered the building and stopped in the hallway. She felt her jaw drop and shut her mouth with a snap. “It’s tiny. I was expecting some rambling mansion. This isn’t Thornfield Hall.” She thought about the place she had imagined during A Level English. Her teenage dreams of being rescued from boarding school by a brooding stranger.

“Wait until you see the roof. Tell me then if you can’t envisage Bertha jumping off.” Catherine’s eyes blazed and she tugged Claire’s arm to lead her through the house.

Claire had an impression of dark beams and ornate ceilings before she was blasted by a gust of arctic air. Huddling into her jacket, she squinted against the wind and looked at the view.

“Wow.” The vista stretched all the way to the hazy-blue horizon, miles in the distance. In the space between hills huddled together beneath the grey winter sky, wearing trees like ruffled blankets. A low mist clung to the valley, like the smoke billowing from a crypt in a vampire movie. Claire shivered.

Catherine strode to the crenellations and peered over before turning towards Claire. “Come and see the lambs. They’re so cute, frolicking around like babies.”

Claire walked a step closer to the edge and felt her heartbeat quicken. I don’t know this woman from Adam. Why has she brought me up here? Images of the attack the day before swam into her mind. What if she’s crazy and wants to push me over the edge. She might be channelling Bertha’s ghost for all I know.

When she came no nearer, Catherine’s brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t like heights,” Claire responded, trying to keep the wobble from her voice. “I need to get going anyway. I have stuff to do.” She realised how rude that sounded. “Thank you so much for showing me round.”

The girl sighed. “That’s fine. It was super to have someone else to talk to. My family have gone fishing and I can’t stand it.” She pulled a face. “Slimy, wriggling things.”

Claire felt her heartbeat slow at the woebegone look on Catherine’s face. That damn mugging has me jumping at shadows. Maybe some people do just want to chat because they’re lonely. She looked at her watch. There was plenty of time to get to the hostel before reception closed.

“Did you mention something about coffee?”

***

Related articles

The Dreary World of Self-Doubt: 2013 365 Challenge #78

Coffee Art

Coffee Art

Hello self-doubt how nice to see you again. I started the day with such positivity. I went to Costa to write my Claire installment and spent a splendid hour wedged into a comfy sofa drinking a rather artistic flat white (it seemed a shame to spoil it!).

Then I did the usual chores: a two-hour supermarket shop, dishwasher stacking, floor vacuuming and lunch preparation. Okay I didn’t really do the last one as we had pizza.

My wonderful husband tidied my larder which had got so cluttered with lid-less Tupperware and random party paraphernalia there was no room for food. Life was good.

Then I sat down to work on Baby Blues, after two hours of ‘social media stuff’ (tweeting, commenting on blogs, reading blogs, retweeting interesting articles etc). I managed thirty minutes of editing before giving up in disgust and taking the dog out for a walk.

My Writing Den today. Lovely

My Writing Cave today. Lovely

I have read so many blogs about how to write, how to edit, how to market, how to manage social media, what to do and not to do as a self-published author I’m ready to run down the road screaming. It feels like being a new parent all over again. You know, that time when you realise ‘parenting comes naturally’ is complete bollox and you consume every article you can lay your hands on searching for answers only to come back with more questions.

My biggest problem, as a parent and a writer, is that I like to be told what to do – within certain parameters. I want to be given a fairly detailed brief with clear goals and deliverables. Like at school: write this essay or this one, choice of two. You have your brief: deliver. I’m good at solving problems. I’m not so good with choices. Or weighing up conflicting advice.

A friend recently told me about a new TV show discussing ways to get kids to sleep better, because she knows ours have never been all that great at sleeping. And because I complain about lack of sleep a lot. But we’ve been through so many sleep training methods and none have worked. When the children are happy, physically tired, well fed and not ill, they sleep great. Usually that’s when worry or snoring keeps me awake instead, but that’s just god’s wicked sense of humour.

Gorgeous Hubbie tidied my larder today. Now that's love.

Hubbie tidied my larder. Now that’s love.

Unless I know something is definitely going to work better than what I’m already doing, I’m not interested any more. I’m going with gut feel and to hell with it. It’s taken four years and a lot of tears to get that self-confidence as a parent and it’s still pretty ephemeral. I’ll be wallowing in parental guilt and self-doubt within ten minutes of picking up the kids. [actually it was less than that.].

Now with the writing I’m back at the beginning. I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing. There is SO much advice but most of it merely serves to convince me I’m no more cut out to be a writer than I am a parent.

Well, it’s too late to send the kids back and nor would I want to. But I might have to seriously consider if I can sacrifice another four years to find peace of mind as a writer. Do I really want to embark on a career that has no answers and the only way I will know if I’ve done a good job is if my 5-star reviews out-number my 1-star reviews? Jury’s out, but the feeling in the courtroom is no.

________________________________________________________________________________________

“Michael? It’s Claire.”

“Claire, you’re okay. Thank god. I was so worried. Where are you? What happened? The police were going to call me back but they haven’t yet. I’ve been frantic.”

“Whoa, slow down.” Claire inhaled to calm her skipping heart. “I’m fine. I was mugged.” Michael made a guttural sound but Claire ignored him. She needed to get her words out and be done.

“The police found me just as I was coming round and took me back to the hostel. I’ve got a lump on my head the size of a duck’s egg and my hair is matted with blood, but apart from that I’m good. I was lucky.”

She wanted to hang up before Michael could speak again but he was already talking. “I’m so glad the police found you. When you called and then the phone went dead I didn’t know what to think.” He inhaled and released a shuddering laugh. “I thought. Well. Never mind. I’d seen on Twitter that you’d just left the pub and I thought you might be walking somewhere. You should take more care.” His tone took on the preachy note of concern that always set Claire’s hackles rising.

“I’m not a child and this isn’t exactly inner-city New York. I was unlucky, that’s all.” She thought about him tracking her every move. That’s a bit creepy. “What does Debbie think about you following me on Twitter?”

“It’s none of her damn business.” His voice scraped at the soreness in Claire’s head. She tried to puzzle through his bitter tone but her thoughts were still muddled. She shook her head and pain rattled through it like pills in a bottle.

“Ow!”

“What? Are you okay? Have you seen a doctor?”

Claire laughed. “Yes I saw a GP this morning. I’m fine. Mild concussion that’s all. It hurts to move.”

“Come home Claire. You’ve proved your point. Come back and have a proper sleep in a proper bed.”

The affection in his voice weakened her. She slumped against the side of the phone box and dropped her head. “I don’t have a home to go to anymore. Besides, it’s not about proving a point.” As she said it she realised it was true. Part of her was actually looking forward to having Sky for a week or two, to explore the East Coast with her and write about it on her blog. “And the beds aren’t that bad. You know that, you stayed in one of the hostels I’ve visited. With Debbie.”

“We’re back on her again are we? Let it go, Claire. There is nothing between us, there never was after I met you.”

“Ha!” Claire winced as her voice reverberated around the confined space. She lowered her voice. “So it wasn’t you and her I bumped into at the airport?” Swallowing down the metallic taste in her mouth Claire cursed herself for rising to the bait. I promised I wouldn’t discuss it. Why couldn’t I have just sent him an email?

“We were coming back from a wedding.”

Claire’s stomach dropped down to her shoes and the breath stuck in her throat.

“An old friend of Debbie’s,” Michael continued, as if his words hadn’t left Claire’s ears ringing. “Debbie didn’t want to go by herself and I said I’d go. As a friend.” He emphasised the last three words, as he might to a difficult child. “You know where my heart lives.”

There was silence on the line. Claire could hear her heartbeat dancing an Irish jig, could hear her breathing rasping, her breaths making wisps of vapour in the freezing air. Inhaling deeply through her noise Claire immediately wished she hadn’t as the scent of Saturday night bodily fluids floated up from the floor of the phone box. Switching to breathing through her mouth, Claire searched the fog in her mind for words.

A loud hammering on the glass broke the spell. Claire looked up into the face of an old man wrapped up in several dirty jumpers and coats. He had a small scruffy dog at his feet and he was gesturing at the floor of the phone box. Looking down Claire realised what she thought was a bag of rubbish was actually the man’s possessions.

“I have to go Michael. I’m in a man’s house.” She realised how bad that sounded but didn’t have the energy to explain. “Thanks again for the knight in shining armour bit. You always were good at that.”

She hung up the phone and pushed her way free from the tiny box, gulping in the fresh morning air.

***

Parties and Playdough: 2013 365 Challenge #76

Apparently this is Mummy (it started as an alien)

Apparently this is Mummy (it started as an alien)

The highlights of today were parties and playdough (and obviously NOT the rugby).

My daughter is getting quite creative with her playdough, although she still likes to copy pictures and get ideas from others. I think her model of Mummy is a good likeness, what do you think?

Amber had a birthday party to attend this afternoon, so we had a quiet morning at home. I took the playdough shift then hubbie tooking the hide-and-seek / den-making shift while I did housework in my pyjamas (doesn’t every body?)

My beautiful party girl

My beautiful party girl

The party was great. It was a Yogabugs party, a new one on me. It’s like a yoga class for kids but done through interactive story-telling  so the children are totally absorbed. Who knew that you could get twenty kids to give their attention to a complete stranger for nearly an hour? Only the parents got into trouble (mostly me) for making too much noise. I haven’t been shushed three times in twenty minutes since I was at school.

Amber loved it. She sat directly in front of the lady running the group and did everything asked of her, being a shark, a turtle, a fish, an oyster and a mermaid. I’ve never been to a birthday party with so much calm. At least normal service resumed after food, as the kids ran up and down the empty village hall for twenty minutes, giggling.

Amber made me laugh when she opened her party bag and said “there’s not much in it.” It was a gorgeous bag, with a windmill, some tattoos and a lovely bracelet, as well as sweets and cake. But there was no plastic tat. Kids love plastic tat, the cheaper and nastier the better. I’ve contemplated filling party bags with beautiful wooden toys before but awful, bright, plastic toys win every time. The minefield of planning a party for a four-year-old! I’m sure it doesn’t get any easier.

Cute little Yoga Bugs stretching high

Cute little Yoga Bugs stretching high

Cute Yoga Bugs being sleeping star fish

Cute Yoga Bugs being sleeping star fish

________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire sat back in the chair and winced as the dazzling spotlights stabbed viciously at her eyeballs.

“Can you turn the lights off?”

“How will I see to clean your wound?”

“I thought cops had superpowers.”

The woman laughed. “No. Not that I’ve noticed. Now hold still or I’ll handcuff you and take you to A&E.”

Claire chewed the inside of her cheek and tried to be still. The policewoman dabbed at her head and Claire twitched as if she’d been electrocuted.

“Bugger, that hurts. Sorry. I’m holding still. Promise.” Claire chewed her cheek harder and dug her nails into the soft flesh of her palms.

“It’s only an antiseptic wipe. We’re not sure what they hit you with. It wasn’t anything sharp, you don’t need stitches. The first aid kit has some Steri-strips which I can use. You should still see a doctor.”

“I’ll go in the morning. Right now I just want to sleep.” Claire felt blindly for her tea and nearly knocked it off the table.

“Here love.” A much friendlier voice came near and her tea was pushed into her reaching grasp.

“Thank you. At least someone is sympathetic.” Claire smiled at the hostel manager then winced again as the policewoman resumed cleaning her blood-smeared scalp.

“I’d be more sympathetic if you would be a better patient.” The woman frowned like a school teacher and Claire shrank into her chair.

She’s no older than I am, why does she have the ability to make me feel about five. At least the other one’s gone. I don’t need a teacher and a headmaster making me feel like an idiot.

Claire looked at the clock on the wall and was shocked to see it was nearly midnight. “I’m so sorry, you should be tucked up in bed by now too, shouldn’t you?”

“Nah, it’s Saturday night. We never finish before dawn.”

“Really? There’s that much crime in a tiny village like this?”

The woman chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

Claire squeaked as the woman dug in with her antiseptic wipe and then pulled at her head to get the wound straight for the Steri-strips. Come on Claire, don’t be a wuss. She tried to take her mind off the procedure and let it dwell for the first time on something that had been bugging her.

They said my boyfriend called them. Now was that Josh or Michael? And how did either of them know I was in trouble? She wanted to ask but didn’t want to distract the policewoman from her work. The cut was just below the hairline on her temple but she still didn’t want a noticeable scar.

As if reading her mind the policewoman stood up and said, “There we go. It shouldn’t scar. The more a scalp wound bleeds the shallower it is. This isn’t much more than a graze. You were lucky.”

Lucky? Right.

“Girl got mugged last week and they beat her so hard they damn near broke every bone in her face. All because she didn’t have any money in her purse.”

Claire shivered and pulled her coat tightly around her. Okay, lucky. Got it.

“Er. You said my boyfriend called you.” She looked up at the policewoman and noticed for the first time that she had hazel eyes. It made her face softer, more approachable. “Only, you see, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

The woman smiled, revealing little dimples that instantly made her younger. “Well, someone cares about you very much. He left his number so we’ll call him and let him know you’re okay.”

“But how did he know I was being robbed?”

“He said you rang him and he heard the scuffle before the phone cut off.”

Images of the attack swam through Claire’s mind. She vaguely remembered yelling something that had caused her phone to light up and reveal her location in the dark. At least there was an upside to her stupidity.

Poor Michael, having to phone the police to rescue his ex-girlfriend. A picture of the last time she saw him waved in her mind like a protest flag. Well, serves him right. Still I should probably ring and say thank you.

“I’ll call…. Oh no, bugger. My phone!” Suddenly the reality of the attack sunk in. “My bloody phone! What the hell am I going to do without it?” A hollow sensation exploded in her stomach and spread like a black hole.

“You’re lucky it was a good one. If it hadn’t been they might not have run off.”

“You don’t understand. I need that phone. It’s my only way to keep in contact with the world.”

“There are payphones you know.”

Claire laughed, then, a bitter scornful laugh. “Payphones? Are you serious? Can you tweet, email or Skype from a payphone? Does it tell you where you’re meant to be or have all the numbers of your friends and family stored in its little memory? Can you use it as a torch, camera, music player, magazine and paperback?”

Her breathing became rapid and the edges of her vision darkened in panic. The iPad. I still have my iPad and it’s synched up. She inhaled a long shuddering breath and concentrated on what needed to happen next.

“I’d like to report a theft please.”

***

Related articles (all about playdough because it’s great!)

‘Unable to stop Mothering’ Sunday: 2013 365 Challenge #70

Happy Mothering Sunday

Happy Mothering Sunday

It’s Mother’s Day here in the UK today. It’s always an odd day for me. We’re a loving family (most of the time!) and supportive of each other as often as we have the energy, so a special day of appreciation isn’t really required. That said, the idea of Mummy having a day off is always bandied about, as if it’s a possibility with two small children and when said ‘Mummy’ is a woman who doesn’t know how to be taken care of.

The day began with two small children standing outside my door with flowers waiting to be told they could come in. So cute. Although I think my little man was hoping to share in my chocolate egg treat. He didn’t want to leave the egg behind to go downstairs while I had a lie-in and later, when he came up to find I’d eaten it already, he was bereft.

It’s lovely to have a lie in, although I get them quite often these days as hubbie lets me go back to bed to finish my post.  There are some advantages to us both being unemployed! Today, though, I had a cream egg and a gossip magazine 🙂

My gorgeous Mother's Day cards

My gorgeous Mother’s Day cards

Then I was up, stacking the dishwasher and making pancakes as per my usual Sunday ritual, because I don’t know how to be anyone else and these things always need doing.

We went to the Farm, because it was too darn freezing to do anything else, and had great fun on the didibikes with Mummy and Daddy showing the kids how it’s done. At Grandma and Grandpa’s I got to take care of my Mummy, making tea and lunch while the grandparents played with the kids and watched the rugby. Home to feed the kids and cook a roast dinner for the grown-ups and that was Mothering Sunday for me.

I like to think that my failure to be ‘taken care of” or ‘pampered’ on Mothering Sunday is because I take ‘Mothering’ in its literal sense and I mother everyone else! I can only really relax when I’m by myself. Kids are back at nursery today so maybe I’ll squeeze some reading in between the novel revision and post writing. In the meantime I need to get on with my post and find some new way to torment Claire! 🙂

__________________________________________________________________________________________

“Plague Cottages? Chatsworth House Sculpture Gardens? Seriously Claire, what part of High Adrenalin Activity or Celebrating the Outdoor Lifestyle did you not understand? People don’t want to read about the rich and the dead and it hardly fits with either the YHA or the Coca Cola brand. Are you deliberately trying to flunk the brief?”

Claire held the phone away from her ear as Carl’s voice whined out like a washing machine on spin-cycle.

“Oh you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You know I’m fulfilling your ridiculous brief to the letter. My followers are increasing steadily, I’m writing about every hostel I stay in and the places of interest in the locality. I can’t jump off a cliff every day, even if that would make your year. Particularly if they forgot to tie the rope.”

Claire inhaled and tried to regain control of the conversation. She looked around the layby she’d pulled into when the phone rang and wondered if there was any chance of finding caffeine in walking distance. Who knew how long her boss would rant at her on the phone and she’d left Eyam hostel without breakfast to escape the overpowering women who had turned up in her room after dinner.

She sighed audibly; a mother tolerating a difficult child. “Look Carl. You tell me exactly what I’m not doing and I’ll do it. I’ve never missed a brief or target and I don’t intend to give you the satisfaction of suggesting I’m doing so now.”

She scanned the horizon again, hoping to see a trucker’s café or something. Anything. I miss my hands-free. Who drives a car without it these days? She vowed to get a cradle for the iPhone at the next opportunity.

“Well I don’t know,” Carl blustered, “you’re the Ideas lady. Go read some other blogs with thousands of followers. Find out what they’re doing that you’re not. Inject some bloody humour into your posts for Christ’s sake. Julia says it’s like reading the Daily Mail.

Julia. I might have known Carl hadn’t actually read the blog himself. What is it with her? Did I offend her once, in this life or the last?

“If Julia is such an expert maybe she can devise some new activities. Better still, why doesn’t she come and finish off the brief, let me get back to what I do best.” As she said the words Claire felt a prickle run across her scalp like an Indian Head Massage.

I’m not sure I want to go back.

She shook off the traitorous thought and concentrated on keeping warm as the temperature plummeted in the stationary car. She didn’t dare leave the engine running in case it overheated without the fan and she couldn’t put the fan on because she’d never hear Carl over the noise. Not that that would be a bad thing.

“I’ve told you before, I need Julia here. But yes I’ll ask her to locate some activities for you, seeing as you seem to have forgotten how to carry out basic research.”

Bollocks. That was stupid. Now Julia has a free rein to make my life hellish. Idiot Claire, next time keep your mouth shut and your temper under control.

“Lovely. I look forward to embracing Julia’s input. Perhaps she could spare a day out of the office to join me in one or two of the activities?” Claire smiled, hoping her saccharin-sweet expression would wing its way to Manchester to make Carl itch.

“Good. I’ll tell her to get onto it straight away.” The phone went dead.

Bugger. How to shoot yourself in the foot with a twelve-bore.

Claire rammed the car into gear and turned the key hard enough to break it. As the engine fired into life she imagined Carl’s body prone on the road in front of her and wheel span as she shot out of the layby in search of vengeance. Or at least coffee.

***

Related articles