Category Archives: Parenting

Feelin’ the Positive Vibe: 2013 365 Challenge #68

You can never beat the good ol fashioned cardboard box

You can never beat the good ol fashioned cardboard box

La Maison chez Martin had a more positive day today. We got some sleep (until daughter wet the bed for the first time at 4am but, hey, you can’t have everything). An old friend/colleague got in touch to say he might have some contract work for me (or hubbie if I get my way!) and we went out as a family. It was only to the supermarket and Costa but sometimes that’s enough. I even managed to walk the dog without getting lost in the fog, although I didn’t manage to make a start on my Claire post as we bumped into a friend of Kara’s – a crazy boxer-labrador cross called Beamish. He likes to collect 12 foot sticks and carry them home so Kara didn’t get to run with him that much but it was nice to have company.

I guess all the positive has to have an opposite and today it’s the writing. I didn’t really like my Claire instalment yesterday – I couldn’t seem to create the cave scene with any authenticity. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited a cave and I haven’t been to the Blue John Cavern at all. I relied totally on their website and good old Tripadvisor. I’m also at a complete dead-end for today. Claire has about a week before she picks up Sky for her Easter break and things get interesting again but I’m stuck with what to do in the meantime. There are only so many day trips and hostel descriptions you can do before it gets boring!

The bliss of sleep

The bliss of sleep

The other part of writing that wasn’t great today was picking up Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes for the first time in six months and realising it’s crap. I mean properly rubbish. I haven’t looked at it since writing and editing Dragon Wraiths in an intense seven-month period (for the Mslexia competition) and since writing 56,000 words of Two-Hundred Steps Home.

Of course it’s wonderful that the two projects in-between have obviously honed my craft but it makes me feel sick to think I sent out queries for Baby Blues and someone asked for a partial. Even if they take 8 weeks to get back I’m not going to be able to knock the rest of the manuscript into shape by then. Of course it’s unlikely they’ll ask to see any more but I do know the first fifty pages are better because they’ve had a lot more revision. I don’t know how much better as I’m scared to read them! 🙂

What I need to do, but somehow can’t manage to make happen, is join a critique group and/or locate a Beta reader in the business. It’s all very well having friends read – they’re great at spotting typos and continuity errors – but they don’t have the knowledge or desire to tell me the honest and brutal truth. I KNOW that good critique and beta readers are essential to a writer’s business, what I don’t know is how any writer ever brings themselves to give their unpolished work to someone. You’d think I would prefer it to sending my manuscript to a brutal agent but an agent is just going to ignore it or at worst send a pithy one-pager.They won’t tear apart a year’s work line by line without hope. You see I’ve had a mixed experience of critique and it’s left me doubtful.

I received one critique of the first chapter of Baby Blues (my first ever critique) and they didn’t find a single positive thing to say. I was ready to give up writing for good: not because I’m thin-skinned (although probably that’s true too) but because I figured they knew more than I did and I was just plain rubbish. Then I had a second critique on the same first chapter and received a nice balance of constructive criticism and positive praise on what was working well.

The question is: was the first critique right or the second? Am I a writer or a doomed-to-fail amateur. If two people can read the same chapter and have two completely different responses how can I find a beta reader or critique group to trust? And, more to the point, how on earth do I find time to do critiquing in return? Arrgghh so many questions. If I thought being a parent was tough, with too much conflicting advice and no clear path, then being a writer is just as hard. Actually I guess the two are pretty similar. Maybe I’ll write a blog about that! 😉

Anyway, enough rant. Time to go and search the brain-cells for that hidden inspiration…

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“Ruth? It’s Claire.”

“Claire? Why are you calling: Is everything okay?” Her sister’s voice rose in agitation. Claire buried herself deeper into the armchair, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks and the defensive words bubbling up into her mouth. Besides, how could you defend the indefensible?

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a rubbish sister. I called to see how you are. I didn’t want to phone so soon after the operation, in case you’re resting, but I haven’t been able to get hold of Mum. I was worried.”

“Mum’s here with me and you know Dad; he never answers the phone if he’s by himself in case, God forbid, he might have to talk to one of us for more than a minute.” Ruth chuckled then coughed. The sound made Claire shiver.

“You are okay though?”

“You mean apart from having a hole drilled in my skull and some of my brain removed?”

Her voice was hard to read. Claire felt goosebumps rise along her arms and huddled deeper into her jumper. Maybe this was a bad idea. She sat without responding, unable to find anything adequate to say.

“Sorry, Claire, I shouldn’t joke. It’s driving Mum nuts. You know how she is. She thinks I’m being unduly frivolous. What can you do but laugh though?”

Claire thought privately that she’d probably be curled in a corner sobbing and hoped no one ever had cause to find out.

“You’re very brave. I’d be scared witless.” The words were out before Claire could censor them and she immediately regretted her lack of control. Ruth didn’t speak and Claire wondered if she was realising for the first time that she ought to be scared. Then her sister sighed; a low sound like a gust of wind on a deserted shore.

“Of course I’m scared. Terrified. And I’m not brave. I have to be strong for Sky. She doesn’t really understand. All she knows is that Mummy is poorly and had to have her hair shaved off and that Nana is looking after both of us. It will be harder for her when I have the chemo and I’m properly sick.”

Claire felt a lump in her throat and shook away the image of her sister with no hair. Somehow it brought home the reality of cancer more than any words had done. She tried to make her voice matter-of-fact when she spoke.

“That’s why I’m calling. How do you feel about Sky coming travelling with me for the school holidays? Give you a chance to have some peace and quiet in the house. Well as much as you can with Mum fussing round.”

“Travelling where? She doesn’t have a passport.”

Claire laughed. “The Fens can be a bit different but I don’t recall needing a passport to go there.”

“Oh. What’s in the Fens? Isn’t it just endless fields of flat nothingness?”

Claire had no idea. She hadn’t thought that far. A glance at the YHA map had shown the nearest hostels to be around the east coast and she’d figured that small children liked the seaside. There were only a handful of hostels so they’d have to stay a few days in each or travel a bit further afield. It seemed hostellers were more interested in the Peaks and Lakes than the Fens.

“It’s got sea and sand and space, what more do kids want?” Claire heard the doubt in her voice and hoped Ruth didn’t notice.

She did.

“Are you sure you’re going to cope with a small child for two weeks? Sky is quite… full-on you know. Besides, I’m not sure about her being away. She’s only little.”

“She stays with Mum and Dad doesn’t she?”

“That’s different. It’s just down the road and she’s used to them.”

“I am her Auntie.”

There was a pause and Claire smiled ruefully as she imagined the thoughts going through Ruth’s mind. I haven’t been much of an Auntie up until now. She decided to get the attack in before her sister did. “Look, I know I haven’t spent as much time with Sky as I should have done. See this as my chance to make it up to her.”

“Well. If you’re sure. Have you booked? It’ll be rammed. And the first weekend is a bank holiday: The whole world will be off work.”

Claire felt a hollowness form in her stomach. She hadn’t thought to book. So far she’d stayed in whichever hostel had space: the hostels had all been clustered together.

“I. Er. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” She pulled out her iPad and opened a new note.

Book hostels for me and Sky ASAP.

Otherwise we’ll have to stay with Mum and Dad for Easter. Claire remembered last Easter, when she had taken Michael to her parents’ house for the long weekend. It had been a disaster.

They’re going to remind me of that every minute. Bugger that.

“Leave it with me. It’ll be fine.” She repeated the words, as much for her own benefit as for Ruth’s. Then she said her goodbyes, hung up the phone and pulled out her YHA guide. She began dialling immediately and prayed for a miracle.

***

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Snow White and Stickers: 2013 365 Challenge #67

Son's creative stickering

Son’s creative stickering

Happy World Book Day (for yesterday).

Of course by ‘World’ I mean the UK. A bit like the World Series I guess. My daughter went to nursery dressed as Snow White (they were meant to go as their favourite book character but she’s a bit young to have a favourite). It was blissfully easy as my mum bought her the Snow White dressing up costume for Christmas (and Father Christmas made sure she had the book).

Incidentally if you’re a writer have a gander at the WBD website: they have some great storycraft videos. I haven’t watched them all yet (and it looks like they’re aimed at children) but there are some good names listed.

Little lad had to stay home from nursery today due to chicken pox. Frustrating when we paid for the vaccine but I guess nothing is guaranteed. It wouldn’t be so bad if he felt ill but he was full of bounce. I had to take him to the Gallery with me to drop off paintings, then to the supermarket, then have him help me clean and vacuum. He wasn’t very impressed. But then he’s just as grumpy at the Farm or the park so there’s no winning right now. One of the parenting phases where you keep muttering to yourself “this too will pass”.

Daughter's more precise stick application

Daughter’s more precise stick application

I bribed my daughter into nursery with a promise of stickers when she got home, as she didn’t want to go without her brother. It was interesting watching them both do their sticker sheets this evening.

My son piles the stickers up any which way, having fun and being creative (while I sit on my hands and try not to intervene). My daughter places them carefully and individually. She’s more like me.

Despite my writing and painting I’m quite OCD when it comes to things like colouring, sticking or block building. I can’t build a tower unless it is symmetrical both in design and colour. My daughter is learning to do the same. She has to copy a picture and do it precisely. It would probably be better if she learnt more from her brother. There’s a lot to be said for not giving them 24/7 attention, letting them do things their own way!

My own mother was very hands-off and it used to frustrate me as it felt like lack of interest. Now I appreciate it for what it was (mostly): giving me room to be my own person. Even if that meant wearing bright pink with red or a Garfield sweater and a pale pink puffball skirt.

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Claire looked through the list she had compiled of possible things to do before checking in at Bretton Hostel and made notes against each one.

1. Eyam Village. Place that sacrificed itself to slow the spread of the plague. Might be a tad depressing, particularly as rain seems to have washed all colour from the world and flushed it down the drain.

2. Bakewell. Home of the pudding. Not exactly high-adrenalin stuff. Not sure Carl would approve (pudding sounds yummy).

3. Walk the Hope Valley. Like the hope bit, but not the walking. I hate this rain, it seeps in your skin and soaks you from the inside out.

4. Blue John Cavern. Is at least indoors. Not sure it counts as high-adrenalin either unless it turns out I’m as scared of being underground as I am of being high up. Apparently lots of steps so might be able to have a pudding after.

Claire read through the list again and decided it had to be the cavern. She could feel the rain hammering against the window, feel it splattering her skin and sinking into her bones even through the glass. This is proper Manchester rain. Who knew they got it in Derbyshire too, poor sods. I hope it’s warm in the cavern.

“Well good afternoon everyone, thank you for coming to Blue John Cavern. I hope you’ve brought good shoes and sturdy knees. There are over two-hundred steps down and back up so if you’re in poor health please let me know before we leave.”

Claire tuned out the rest of the guide’s introduction. Two-Hundred Steps echoed in her brain. It was weird to hear someone say the name of her blog, even if that wasn’t their meaning. This was a good choice then: at least I have today’s title sorted.

The guide beckoned them forwards and explained that he mined for semi-precious stones when he wasn’t working as a guide. Claire looked around, half-expecting to see something sparkly stuck in the rock face. She was still looking behind her as she shuffled forwards and nearly slipped on the wet steps.

A surreptitious glance took in the rest of the group. A couple with a little girl. Rather them than me. They’re so going to be carrying her back up the two-hundred steps. Bugger that. Next to them stood an older couple who, at first glance, Claire thought might be a bit old for such a physical tourist attraction. Then she spotted the well-worn-in hiking boots and the fleeces tied round their waists and she forced herself to revise that opinion. Look at Maggie. She could easily walk me into the ground and come back for a second bash. Claire looked around expecting to see more people and saw only one more couple, in their twenties, holding hands.

I thought it’d be busier. I guess it must still be term time, and I suppose it is quite a lot of money to spend wandering round a hole in the ground. Still, it beats wandering round outside in what is basically a giant mist-shower with all the hot water gone. Claire shivered and pulled her jacket tighter. As they descended deeper into the cave system she began to wish she, too, had an extra fleece tied round her waist.

They followed the guide in single file down a narrow corridor. The weight of the hillside pressed down on Claire’s head. She wondered if she did in fact need to add claustrophobia to her list of new fears. Behind her, bodies pushed her forwards; preventing her legging it back to the car park. She was trying to decide whether to squeeze past the canoodling couple when the confined space opened into a large cavern.

Claire gazed around in confusion. Where are the pointy things, stalawhatsits that they were always going on about at school? It looked more like a giant had sneezed inside a cathedral and sprayed every surface with multi-coloured snot. It was certainly cold enough to be a church.

She tuned into the guide’s voice but he was rambling about the history of the cavern and the intricacies of mining, so she zoned out and looked at the people. The young couple were standing at the back, whispering to each other and giggling. The older couple stood either side of the guide, asking intelligent questions and turning occasionally to take a photograph. The little girl had both her parents running as she tried to get past barriers and fall down holes. Her infectious laugh echoed round the room, until it sounded like a whole preschool of kids.

And so it went on. Claire oohed at a giant petrified waterfall, ahhed at a rock balancing like a ballerina and eventually was rewarded with her stalactites and stalagmites. She glanced at her phone and tried to calculate how long they had been underground. The tour was meant to be an hour long and it felt as if they’d been below ground for twice that. Shocked to see it had only been forty minutes, Claire wrenched her attention back to the guide who seemed to be telling them something. Then the room went dark.

What the hell?

Claire froze, scared to move a muscle even though she knew she was nowhere near any kind of drop. Her heart thumped out a base beat that seemed to echo off the walls around her. Then the little girl began to wail and the guide turned the lights back on with an apologetic laugh.

Ha bloody ha.

By the time Claire had climbed up the steep, narrow stairway to the surface, pulling herself up by the handrail, she felt like she’d completed a tough spinning class and a 10km run. The mother with the little girl came behind her, having climbed the whole way up with the baby on her hip. She was still smiling.

I hate her. They must give you extra muscles in the delivery ward.

Claire blinked as she returned to the car park, even the low grey cloud seeming bright after the gloom of the Cavern. In her mind she jumbled words around, trying to work out how she was going to turn the trip into something entertaining enough for Josh’s faithful followers.

In the interim, it’s definitely time for cake.

***

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Climbing and (Dreams of) Quitting: 2013 365 Challenge #66

Pavement chalks work better in the wet

Pavement chalks work better in the wet

I don’t have many words today (or at least no repeatable ones) so I’ll keep the top bit short.Actually I’ll share a couple of great blogs that I have read today, one about writing/life, one about parenting.

I follow some amazing blogs and get great inspiration from them. I received an award recently and have to nominate 11 blogs  when I come to accept it. It won’t be hard. The aspect of becoming a self-published writer that I love the most is reading loads of inspiring/funny/helpful/entertaining blogs. Not all about writing. Just blogs. Great ones. In fact I think I’ll do Claire’s post today on blogging just to keep with the theme!

Here’s my little roll call of interesting articles:

To Find Success, Learn to Embrace the Climb

This is from Kristen Lamb’s Blog. I quote her often, usually to do with writing or social media advice. However her post today (and the one before about Embracing the Meantime) have wider application than just writing. If you have any dream, any ambition, there will be the wait (the Meantime) and the climb.

Talking about her time at university, Kristen describes her awful newspaper delivery job and how she envied the ‘trust-fund’ kids who didn’t have to work a midnight-6am shift, 7-days a week in all weathers, to fund their education. She then explains how she discovered, years later, that many of those same kids didn’t finish university because, even though on paper they had everything, they hadn’t had to fight for it. They hadn’t had to live on hope.

Hope was all that kept me going, the sheer force of will that told me that, if I endured, if I hung on and didn’t quit, that life would be better. I had to climb the mountain. I wasn’t delivered by helicopter, and I was so much better for that.

British kids - not so sunny today but still in the sand pit

British kids: raining today but still in the sandpit

It made me realise that, no matter how rubbish life is, someone always has it worse. Actually, I didn’t need to learn that as I am grateful every day for what I have and I know I’m pretty lucky financially and emotionally.

Kristen’s real lesson to me was not to rush the climb. I’m frustrated now that I can’t spend more time writing, that I can’t help with household bills because I’m not selling books. Instead I should see this time as great material for future books and, above all, a period that will make any future achievements so much sweeter. (The To Find Success Learn to Embrace the Meantime post was an even more important lesson about not being impatient. “Meantime is everything and if we don’t learn to enjoy it, we miss out on the largest part of life.”)

The second post I read today that made me smile was a parenting one. Now, before I post this I must add that the lady who writes the blog, Amber, is the funniest, best parent I know on the internet (I obviously don’t know her personally). The disclaimer at the top of her post is spot on: this is her on a really bad day. Don’t judge.

Parenting. I Quit.

When I’m at the bottom of the pit of despair (otherwise known as circling the drain) I daydream about quitting. I envision myself walking out the front door, down the front steps and onto the street. From there I hitchhike and somehow wind up backpacking across Spain. There are wildflowers and country villas and all kinds of lovely things. Complete freedom. Alone.

Oh yes please. 🙂

She also says:

People have long compared parenting to having a job. You hear quotes all the time like “the hardest job you’ll ever love” and stuff like that.

Well you know what? Parenting isn’t just hard.

This job sucks. I quit.

Ahhh, there’s the rub. You can’t quit. Ever.

I loved this post because it’s exactly the feeling that traps me some days. I’ve had god-awful jobs before, ones I wanted to leave, ones I couldn’t leave because rent/bills/mortgage needed to be paid. But ultimately there was a choice, even if it was a limited one. I could write resignation letters, I could dream up the big exit. With parenting there’s no out. 364 days out of 365 you don’t want out. But some days you would love to just say “I Quit”. And you can’t. Ever. But what you can do is read great blog posts like this that make you realise you are not alone and that this day, too, will pass.

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Claire woke from her snooze to find the lounge empty. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the sky shone pink and orange, like a child’s painting. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and prayed she hadn’t been snoring or sleeping with her mouth open.

I wouldn’t trust those kids not to put a spider in my mouth or something.

She shuddered and swigged some water from the bottle by her feet. A hollowness in her tummy informed her that it was dinnertime.

Bugger that. Nothing would entice me into the dining room if that’s where all the kids have gone. I’d rather drive back to Manchester for a McDonalds.

She could feel something digging into her hip and discovered her iPad was still stuffed down the side of the sofa. Pulling it out Claire groaned as she realised she hadn’t posted her daily blog update.

Better write something, even if no one is reading it.

She swiped the screen and loaded up her blog page. There was a flashing star in the corner and Claire clicked it, not knowing what it meant.

“Pingback? What the hell is that?” Her voice echoed in the empty lounge.

“It means someone’s mentioned your blog on theirs and linked with a URL.”

Claire dropped her iPad at the sound of the unexpected voice. Craning her neck she realised someone was curled up behind her reading a book. She could just make out a shock of purple hair in the gathering gloom.

“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. Shouldn’t you be eating dinner with the others or something?”

“I’ve been sick so they’re letting me off dinner. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for the info.” Claire tried to work out if it would be rude to end their conversation there. The youth – she wasn’t completely certain if it was a boy or a girl – flashed her a smile then dropped their head back down to the book.

Claire returned to her blog to see who had pinged her or whatever the accepted verb was.

The Travelling Doctor. Who is that?

A twisting sensation in her gut that had nothing to do with hunger told her exactly who it was but she clicked on the link anyway to be sure.

The Travelling Doctor has a confession to make. My recent posts from Christie Hospital Manchester were, shall we say, slightly fictitious. I made an error of judgement shortly before I left Adelaide. A tragic, irreversible mistake that cost a small boy his life. I was cleared of wrongdoing but in my mind I was guilty. And I did the worst possible thing.

I ran away.

I left my beautiful wife and children and ran off with my tail tucked under to lick my wounds like a crook dingo. My return to sanity came at the hands of a crazy chick called Claire. She’s also running, although she never told me what from. Or who. She’s conquering her fears too, thanks to a wicked work assignment that has her visiting each of the Pommy YHA hostels inside a year. She also has to get up to high-adrenalin hijinks to build up her following.

Well I watched this plucky Sheila, who is afraid of heights, abseil a 50ft waterfall. She swore like a fisherman but, still, it doesn’t get braver than that. Except maybe swinging through trees at Go Ape by herself.

Anyway, please spread the word faithful followers. If it wasn’t for Claire and her trusty Skoda I’d still be running. Without her friendship and support I wouldn’t have gone back to my wife and asked for forgiveness. The least I can do is tell people about her long journey, Two-Hundred Steps Home.

Claire stopped reading and put her hands against her burning cheeks, glad the kid behind her was out of view. She browsed through the rest of Josh’s site. There were only a few posts written as if from Christie Hospital and they were pretty vague. Before that there were posts from all over Australia and other parts of the world. He’d worked in India and Europe, New Zealand and South Africa, where he apparently met his wife in a hospital.

Blimey. What an amazing life. How has he crammed it all in? I’ve barely left the UK and then only for beach holidays or business trips where the most I saw was the inside of a taxi.

Claire clicked back over to her site and thought she’d made a mistake. Her visitor chart had a spike like Cleopatra’s Needle and her followers had increased by two dozen. Wow. It must still be the middle of the night in Australia. What gives?

She clicked back to Josh’s blog and looked to see how many followers he had.

Nine-hundred-and-twenty-seven? What? How do you get nearly a thousand followers?

As Claire watched, her visitor stats climbed and she gained a handful of new followers.

Crap. Now I’m going to have to start writing something interesting.

***

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SAHM Going Crazy: 2013 365 Challenge #65

A fraction of the toys used before 9am

A fraction of the toys used before 9am

The kids had started and abandoned about half a dozen games by 9am this morning. I couldn’t keep up. I was a doctor’s patient, a builder, an applier of stickers, a mechanic and a referee. Eventually (I blame the broken night’s sleep) I said “Shall we watch Mr Tumble?” and put the TV on for an hour’s peace. As soon as the TV was switched off I was torn two ways again, trying to do Lego and Bob the Builder building, magic spells and phone conversations.

I’ve been up less than 2 hours and I’m an inch away from running up the garden screaming. There have already been tears! Some days as a SAHM (Stay At Home Mum) are about not falling apart entirely.

I never thought I’d say it but I really miss my job. I miss being useful and appreciated. I miss going for a pee by myself and having access to unlimited hot Costa coffee. I miss the days where I sat at my desk at 8am and didn’t look at the clock until 6pm because I was too busy. I miss meetings, debating marketing plans with adults (well, mostly adults. Sometimes my kids are more rational.) I miss producing reports and presentations and doing something different every day. I miss being listened to and getting to the end of a conversation without interruption. Mostly I miss ‘going to work’ and ‘going home’. Having boundaries between parts of my day, between being on duty and off duty. And of course I miss getting paid!

My Bob Builder boy fixing the stairs (because Daddy hasn't!)

Bob Builder boy fixing the stairs (because Daddy hasn’t!)

Oh well, we’re off to the Farm with any luck, to see some tiny lambs and maybe feed them a bottle of milk. The sun is shining (the tank is clean!) and we’ll all feel better for getting outside.

I just have to stop my son trying to fix the broken banister so I can get him out the door. Some days even that seems beyond my ability. I miss the days I could scoop them up and plonk them in the car seat and they didn’t answer back (and I never thought I’d miss those days! Just goes to show.)

Anyway, sorry for the rant. Normal happy super-mummy will resume soon.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Claire huddled into the corner of the sofa and pushed her headphones deeper into her ears as a burst of laughter swirled around the room. Even the strident tones of the Red Hot Chili Peppers couldn’t drown out the excited chatter of forty teenagers; or at least the ones not plugged into iPhones, game machines and MP3 players.

In my day we played cards on school trips, or wrote postcards home. Or snogged in the corner. Well, not me, obviously.

She remembered the heavy plastic personal stereo she had owned as a child. The batteries would last one CD, maybe two if she was lucky and didn’t skip to her favourite song too often. For photos it was a 36-exp film, with each photo chosen and taken with care. Next to her on the sofa two girls were giggling over pictures on their smartphones. Judging by how long they’d been doing it they must have taken at least a hundred shots.

I think I’d prefer it if they were all snogging. At least it would be quieter and I could write my post in peace. Isn’t there meant to be a games room in this place? Why aren’t they all down there drinking illicit booze and having crafty fags out the window?

Now she thought about it they all looked far too keen and healthy for hormone-stuffed adolescents, as if they’d rather be dangling from a cliff face than swigging cider out of a 2-litre plastic bottle.

God I feel old.

Claire arched her back like a cat and shifted position. She cursed as her calf tightened and cramped. Twisting awkwardly to free her leg Claire leant forwards and pulled on her foot to stretch out the offending muscle. Her skin prickled as she sensed someone watching her. She looked up and her gaze jolted against the lake-blue eyes of a handsome lad of fifteen or sixteen. He seemed to be scrutinizing a point just below her chin. Claire looked down and realised the boy was staring straight down her cleavage.

Cheeky git. I’m practically old enough to be his mother.

The thought settled in her mind like silt, muddying her tranquil mood.

Oh crap, now I really do feel old.

She glared at the lad who merely chuckled and carried on ogling. Conscious of the heat flooding her cheeks Claire raised an eyebrow in censure then, with a calmness she didn’t feel, turned to gaze out the picture-window at the scenery. It was a magnificent view, framed by a multi-pane window with an arch at the centre. Apparently she could see Mam Tor, whatever that was. Certainly she could see distance and the hills pulled her mind free of the bustling room.

It had been a good day. She’d stopped by Holmfirth after leaving the hostel early, spending a nostalgic hour wandering through scenes from Last of the Summer Wine and remembering Sunday afternoons with Uncle Jim laughing loudly from his beaten-up leather chair. After that she drove to Edale hostel, tucked in at the foot of Kinder Scout. The woman who checked her in had convinced her to walk to the top.

When will I learn? Claire massaged her tight muscles and pulled her face down in a frown. It belied the sensation in her chest, which was closer to happiness than irritation. She tried to analyse the feeling, wondering where happy might have come from after the emotion of the week.

Maybe that’s it. It was nice to spend a day by myself. No one to wind me up or give me grief; no one judging me. Just me and a stupid hill, a few blisters and the wide blue sky.

Claire gave up writing her post. She slid the iPad down the sofa next to her and flicked the music onto something more soothing. Eyes closed against the late sun coming through the window she settled into her seat and drifted away.

***

Sunshine, Spring Cleaning and Sandcastles: 2013 365 Challenge #62

Spring Cleaning: that's the playhouse roof done

Spring Cleaning: that’s the playhouse roof done

The sun came out today. Hurrah! How much better we all feel for some warmth on our skin and an afternoon spent in the garden?

Today was all about Spring Cleaning. The kids love playing with sprays and cloths so they cleaned windows, their scooters and the playhouse roof.

We have a sandpit in our decking so that was cleaned, removing leaves and other detritus, so the kids could use it. It’s in the shade but they didn’t care.

And even though it was sunny they still wanted to jump in Muddy Puddles so Mummy made one!

I thought I’d just post photos for the ‘top section’ today as it was so lovely and sunny, and the ‘Claire’ section is a bit of a whopper.

Getting the Sand Pit ready for Spring

Getting the Sand Pit ready for Spring

The Sand Pit is Open. Hurrah

The Sand Pit is Open. Hurrah

Spring Cleaning: Scooter washing

Spring Cleaning: Scooter washing

Spring Cleaning: Scooter washing

Spring Cleaning: Scooter washing

Impromptu Muddy Puddle

Impromptu Muddy Puddle

The sun is shining and my kids want a muddy puddle

The sun is out but my kids want a muddy puddle

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Claire squinted at the overly bright lights and cursed her stupidity for the twentieth time.

“Remind me again why we spent twelve hours drinking cocktails?”

Josh muttered through closed lips, “’Cos you were trying to cheer me up? Or help me forget or something?”

“Did it work?” Claire scanned the Arrivals board and tried to ignore how the room span as she tilted her head upwards.

“I’ve forgotten most of last night, if that’s any good.”

“Not exactly. Have you figured out what you’re going to say?”

Josh shook his head then clutched at Claire’s arm and groaned. “Dunno. Did we talk about it? You were going to help me.”

“We talked a load of bollocks, I remember that much. Until happy hour at The Liar’s Club. Then it all goes hazy.”

Josh emitted a wet gurgling sound and Claire wondered if he was being sick. Then she realised he was laughing through his teeth. “I can’t believe you took me somewhere called the Liar’s Club. You’re one mean chick.”

“At least you’re laughing, even if you do sound like a blocked drain. They serve the best cocktails, that’s all.”

“I remember buckets of rum. And that Sheila you said was a fella. Looked like a chick to me.”

“You were too pissed to notice more than a magnificent pair. I distinctly remember an adam’s apple bobbing where it shouldn’t have been. Besides, chatting up anyone, male or female, the night before your wife and kids arrive is not a great plan in anyone’s book.”

Josh threw Claire a look that was part reproach, part remorse. His already pale face turned a shade greyer and he looked around the crowded hall. “Think I’m gonna chunder. Where are the gents?”

Claire quickly scanned the room and spotted the sign. She dragged Josh towards it, urging him not to redecorate the polished white floor. She could feel Josh shaking as she tugged on his arm and his face was becoming so pale it was translucent.

I wonder how much is hangover and how much is nerves. Maybe getting drunk was a bad idea. After twenty-four hours of flying the last thing Fiona needs is a husband giving off Brewery-Fumes. At least he’s clean and shaven.

She’d insisted on Josh making himself presentable before they left for the airport. Claire felt guilty enough about the hangover, although she had to admit the marching band doing drill practice in her head was happily drowning out thoughts of the imminent reunion and her part in it.

Josh emerged from the toilet looking sweaty and drained, but his eyes appeared less wild. When he spoke his voice was clearer. “Can we swing by the duty free? I think a spritz of aftershave might not be a bad idea.” Claire nodded and handed him a pack of mints and a bottle of water.

 

Claire stared at the gates and willed her stomach to behave. The tightening knots seemed to be causing the blood to pulse round her body in rapid and panicked bursts. She could feel her hands trembling and wished she could sit down. They had positioned themselves in view of the gate but far enough away that Claire could remain unseen once Fiona came through. She glanced to her left to see how Josh was holding up. He had stopped pacing and was standing with his arms tightly wrapped around his midriff, staring without blinking at the exit.

As Claire watched, his eyes dilated and his face grew rigid. Claire turned to see a woman come through the gates with a baby on her hip, pushing a trolley with her free hand. Two small children gripped the trolley, one either side. The woman looked tired but still very beautiful, with her dark chestnut hair brushed and hanging round her face. She scanned the waiting crowd in a continuous sweep until she saw Josh. Her mouth opened as if in greeting, then she continued to push the trolley towards him, not rushing or showing any other emotion.

Claire watched the woman approach and felt as if she was gazing in a mirror. Oh God. That’s why he tried to kiss me. I’m the image of his bloody wife. Charming.

Josh took one step towards Fiona then paused, his arms dropping to his sides. Claire drew back into the café behind her and prayed for invisibility. The children both saw Josh at the same time and let go of the trolley.

“Daddy, Daddy!” the eldest cried out as he ran towards Josh. He threw his arms around Josh’s legs. The younger child ran to her mother and hid behind her skirt. Claire could hear the grief-drenched cries of a distressed toddler.

Poor Josh. Claire saw tears streaming down his face. Please let his wife give him a better welcome.

Fiona came to stand in front of Josh and there was a pause as their eyes met. Then Josh leapt forwards and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. Claire could see his shoulders heaving with sobs. The child on Fiona’s hip started to mew like an injured cat and Claire realised that the baby probably had no idea this man was her Daddy.

Claire was about to leave when Fiona looked over Josh’s shoulder and saw her watching. Her eyes widened with shock and what could only be anger. Claire could almost read her thoughts as she tried to work out who Claire was and what role she had played in her husband’s disappearance. Claire tried to communicate the truth: that she and Josh barely knew each other but would count themselves friends for life. That Josh needed his wife. That Claire felt a cavernous hole widening in her chest at the sight of their love.

She looked around for something to write on and spotted a napkin. Borrowing a pen off a man doing the crossword, Claire scribbled some words on the white square.

Josh loves you. Nothing happened between us or with any other woman. He’s hurting: he blames himself for the child’s death. Forgive him, help him forgive himself.

Claire

Looking at the swirling crowd of people, Claire tried to decide if she was brave enough to take the note over herself. What else to do with it? If this were a Victorian Novel I could give an urchin a shiny coin to deliver it for me. Her searching gaze caught sight of a familiar face and, with a jolt, the answer came to her. She hurried over, thanking the Universe for offering her a random event on this awful day.

“Charlie? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Why hello Miss Carleton. You here on business?”

Claire glanced down at her crumpled shirt and jeans and laughed. “Thankfully not. Just here to pick up a friend, only I’ve received an urgent call and I need to leave. Are you heading back into the city when you’ve collected your client?”

“I’ll be heading back on me tod, Miss; they haven’t turned up. I didn’t get no call but it seems they missed their flight.”

Claire beamed and thought the Universe really did come good sometimes.

“If I was to offer you beer money, could you take some good friends of mine anywhere they need to go?” She shone her widest smile at the driver.

He laughed. “For you? Of course.”

Claire fished in her purse for some money and handed it to Charlie. She gave him the note, praying he wouldn’t comment on the napkin it was written on. He merely took it, folded it once, and smiled a toothy smile. She pointed out Josh and Fiona, then thought of something.

“Damn. I don’t suppose you have car seats, do you?”

“As it happens I do, Miss. Two, at least. The lad’ll have to sit on a bag.”

“Charlie, you’re an angel.” She pecked him on the cheek, took one last look at the family tightly hugged together, then turned and strode away.

***

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Lazy Day and Lego: 2013 365 Challenge #61

Lego: Lots of Adult Patience Required

Lego: Lots of Adult Patience Required

Had a lazy day at home today. I’m still struggling with awful insomnia, averaging 2-3 hours’ sleep a night. I’m taking St John’s Wort so hoping that will kick in soon and let me sleep.

Husband had work and DIY to do so I had planned to take the children into town (I have new paintings to drop at Art in the Heart) but Aaron was in full stomping NO territory and it just didn’t happen. I didn’t actually manage to get him dressed until 10.30am and then I forgot to make sure he was ‘pointing down’ in his nappy so had to change his entire outfit an hour later when he peed all over it at the lunch table.

The only thing I managed to do all day was pull together a 50-page partial manuscript to send to an agent who had requested it (for Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes ironically) and I only managed that by sitting the kids in front of the TV for an hour and ignoring shouts of “come sit with me Mummy.”

I feel like this is a good opportunity to reset the balance and fess up. In case anyone thinks I’m some kind of super-mum because my kids do craft and baking and go to the Farm and the Zoo: I only do those things to survive. I get bored if I can’t do something creative from time to time (hence painting and craft), I go crazy if I’m stuck in the house with them for more than two hours together (hence Zoo/Farm) and some days the only way not to yell is to be out in public where I’m likely to try harder to keep my mouth shut! Sometimes my kids beg to spend the day at home and I just can’t. I look at the clock and see twelve LONG hours until bedtime. Driving to the supermarket uses an hour up just in the car there and back. A trip to the Farm eats into three or four, maybe even five if they sleep on the way home.

From Here You Can Almost See The Sea - the picture I'm meant to be taking to the Gallery

From Here You Can Almost See The Sea – the picture I’m meant to be taking to the Gallery

Today, though, I was too tired to even drive. I lay in the paddling pool with them and read stories. I sat on the sofa with them for two hours after lunch while Aaron fell asleep watching Peppa Pig and Amber played on the iPad. I managed to crawl off the sofa and build Lego with Amber while Aaron slept some more (I never normally let him sleep for more than an hour as it makes bedtime hard, but today he slept for 2-3 hours). So, no super-mummy in this house! Just a normal SAHM getting on and getting by.

I went to bed last night without even starting my post. I think the insomnia might be partially due to using my creative brain from 8pm to midnight and then expecting it just to switch off. Also I’ve been working hard at Twitter and my mind flashes like a strobe light with all the snippets of information. Time to take a step back and let the brain rest.

Even so, I wrote two pages of notes just as I lay down in bed last night as I had the next post floating in my brain. Typical, as normally I have no idea what is going to happen to Claire next. I guess leaving her hanging off a cliff as it were does help the creative flow! Kids had me up every two hours between them so actually I needn’t have worried about setting myself up for a good night’s sleep! Thankfully it’s Saturday (hurrah!) and they’re watching TV with Daddy this morning so I can play catch up.

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The Skoda closed in around Claire like a coffin. She looked out across the damp, grey Castlefield car park and wondered how far she could run before he caught her. This has gone from Miss Marple to bloomin Diagnose Murder. Her brain screamed Get out of the car before you’re next. Her body remained stubbornly glued to the plastic seat, all control over her muscles gone. Josh sat mute and still, the echo from his words still reverberating round them.

Claire inhaled slowly, filling her lungs with the scent of smoke and fear. It calmed the racing thoughts and brought her logic to the fore. Killed a child. Not murdered a child. An accident. Maybe he ran a child over or something. It doesn’t make him a bad person.

She wanted to ask but was afraid to hear the answers. She forced her head to turn and face him and the sight of his slumped body, of the tears dribbling down his stubbled cheek, drove everything but sympathy from her mind.

“Tell me.”

The words made them both jump; her voice sounded impossibly loud in the silence.

Josh began to speak, slowly at first, then faster and faster as the pent-up words rushed forth like a burst riverbank.

“It was a patient. A child. The same age as my eldest. The young children are the hardest. They’re so accepting of their fate. So cheerful. Uncrushable.” He paused as if trying to decide where to start. “I missed something. I should have ordered a test and I didn’t. I was cocky, I was sure. My Registrar overruled me and ordered the test but it was too late.”

Claire felt her stomach twist and her breathing speed up. She forced herself to listen without comment.

“The parents were so…. nice. Accepting. They’re worse than the ones that rail and rant. They thanked me. Thanked me. For doing everything I could to save their child. But I didn’t. I failed them. I missed something.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed loudly. “There’s this fear, when you’re a doctor. It keeps you awake at night. Did I do something wrong? Have I done everything I can? It’s good. It keeps you on your toes, keeps you focussed. But I’d lost the fear. We had a new baby at home and there wasn’t much sleep.”

How many kids has he got, Claire thought but pushed the irrelevance aside.

“I was trying to help Fiona, trying to be a good father. Sick kids just make me want to hold mine tightly and never let go. But I keep thinking, was my judgement impaired? The inquest cleared me but, in my heart, eating me up like the cancer that killed that child, I’m to blame.”

“But if they cleared you?”

Josh turned suddenly, his skin mottled and red. He leant towards her and shouted, the words raking at her like claws. “You don’t get it. I blame me. Every night I see that tiny face, those enormous eyes gazing into mine. The mother looking to me for answers, certain she would find them. And I failed them. I let their child die.” He slumped back into the car seat and dropped his head into his hands. His words were muffled. “I had to leave. I couldn’t look at my own children any more. I don’t deserve them.”

Emotions swam around Claire like darting fish. Gut-wrenching sympathy, confusion, panic at Josh’s outburst. Mostly she felt sorrow. Sadness for Josh and his pain. Distress for the family who lost their child. Grief at her own insignificant meaningless life. How could I ever stress about clients and deadlines, about Carl and getting sacked? It was all pointless. No one will die if I don’t do a good job.

She reached across and stroked the side of Josh’s hand, unable to find any words of comfort that wouldn’t sound paltry and pathetic. She wanted to tell him he would always be one of the good guys. That working to save lives, even if he didn’t always succeed, was a noble thing. That Fiona was lucky to have him for a husband and his children needed their Daddy back. Her throat remained closed and all she could do was send silent support.

She thought about Fiona, left with at least two children to care for, wondering where her husband was. Getting on a plane to fly half way round the world, just her and the children. And I worry about taking Sky in a hostel for a week. Honestly girl, you’re pitiful.

Claire dredged her mind for the right words. Her job was all about finding the right phrase but her brain remained blank. In the end there was only one thing to say.

“Let’s go get drunk.”

***

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Pancakes and a Paddling Pool: 2013 365 Challenge #59

A Paddling Pool full of Teddies: Spot the Children...

A Paddling Pool full of Teddies: Spot the Children…

Today started with pancakes and paddling pool fun. When we haven’t had a chance to get outside for a while because of the nasty weather (our kids hate the cold) we inflate the paddling pool and fill it with soft toys.

Thankfully we have a big playroom as they spend most of the time running round the edge of the pool and diving into the teddies. Daddy rather loves it too.  It’s about the only time I am at peace with the three laundry baskets of cuddly toys that clutter the playroom. The kids played ‘spot the child’ by hiding under the teddies. Can you find them both?

Pancakes for Breakfast (gets hubbie out of bed!)

Pancakes for Breakfast (gets hubbie out of bed!)

Pancakes is one of the plus points of hubbie being unemployed. When I need to get him out of bed early I make pancakes. I’ve discovered there isn’t much he won’t do for a couple of stodgy thick maple-syrup-soaked circles of batter. Suits me. They’re easy to make and they contain less sugar than the usual breakfast the kids have, even with the syrup.

Daddy has taken the kids with him on his errand run this morning so I am of course torn between work, cleaning and dog walking. Think I will combine one and three by taking the dog on the 45-minute circuit and trying to come up with my bombshell/cliffhanger last post for February.

We’ve got a birthday party this afternoon – my favourite kind: DVD and pizza at a friend’s house. I’m sure it’ll descend into bedlam as it will consist of four families with ten children between them all who have known each other for years. I’m going to make flapjack with the kids and do a bath-with-hairwash before we go so I’ll probably be propped up in a corner trying to keep my eyes open!

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“Josh, what’s going on?” Claire had been watching the door to the lounge for two hours and the words launched themselves across the room without her volition. In her head the words had sounded hard-hitting but out in the open they whined like a nagging-wife. She inhaled through her nose and watched silently while Josh crossed towards her without making eye contact.

An aroma of smoke, cheap aftershave and sweat came with him, making Clare feel lightheaded, as if she’d been working late on an assignment for weeks on too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

“How’s your sister.”

“Okay, thanks. The surgery went well and she came round from the anaesthetic demanding tea and toast.”

“That’s good.” Josh nodded and looked around the room.

“Where are Beth and Chloe?” Claire winced at the sarcastic tone in her voice.

“I left them at Coniston. It’s complicated enough without them.”

“What is?” Claire wanted to stamp her foot. “What’s it all about Josh. You send me a cryptic email; expect me to stay on here just because you wish it, with no explanation. What gives?”

“I need… help.”

Claire felt as if she’d stepped off a curb. It took a moment for her to answer and when she did her voice was sceptical. “Help with what? I haven’t discovered anything you’re scared of. Certainly nothing I could assist you with.”

“I need you to help me tell a story. You’re good with words.” He let out a sigh and his shoulders slumped. He dug his hands into his pockets then pulled them out again. “Can I sit down?”

“It’s not like you to ask.” Claire patted the sofa next to her but Josh chose the one on an angle. He perched on the edge of the seat, leaned forwards and rested his elbows on his knees. He was close enough that Claire could feel his breath on her face. She guessed his lunch to have been spicy pot noodle and wondered if she could sit back without offending him.

His eyes were dark with worry and something else. Fear. A strong desire to hold him and shush him began to build in Claire’s chest. She ignored it, settling for loosely clasping his hands, mirroring his posture. She waited while he sat, head low. His hair flopped forwards and she would have pushed it back except it was too greasy to touch.

“You’re the closest thing to a friend I have.” Josh’s voice came, muffled, through the tangle of hair. Claire’s eyes opened wide but she kept her lips closed. He raised his head and pinned Claire with an intense look, as if urging her to listen without judgement.

“I’ve been running. Hiding. And now there is nowhere else to run. My family…” He swallowed and looked down again. When he raised his eyes they were red. “My family think I’ve been working. In a hospital in Manchester. Christies. I needed a fresh start and they think that’s it.”

“The haircut? The shirt?”

“Yes. I Skype when I’m in a city and can scrub up, but mostly I tell them I’m too busy.” He caught his lip between his teeth and looked over Claire’s shoulder.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since Christmas.”

“Oh.” Claire wasn’t sure what to say. She tried to imagine how she would feel if a family member disappeared for three months. Then she realised she’d only spoken to Robert once since Christmas and came to the conclusion she probably wouldn’t notice.

“So, you’ve been lying to your family and hiding overseas. I’m sure we’d all like to do that from time to time. Why the sudden urgency and where do I come in?”

“I need to tell the truth, or at least some of it.”

Claire wanted to say, which bit? The fact you’ve been living like Stig of the Dump trying to bed every woman you meet or the bit where you only shower and shave to convince your Mum you really are a hot-shot doctor in an English hospital. She remembered his advice when Ruth had called with her news. He really is a hot-shot doctor. Why the pretence? Forget Days of Our Lives, I’m turning into Miss Marple. She caught his anxious gaze and realised he was waiting for her to respond.

“Why now? Did you suddenly wake up with a conscience?”

Josh reeled from the words, his head snapping back as if from a physical blow. He dropped Claire’s clasp and ran a hand through his hair.

Claire’s eyes narrowed at his reaction, wondering if her words had been too harsh. She had only meant his lying to his Mum but now she wondered if he had more troubling his peace of mind than he had let on.

Josh cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. He folded his arms and looked over to the window although the dark skies outside meant all that could be seen were reflections of the hostel lounge.

He cleared his throat again, freeing the words. “Fiona is flying over with the children. She’s going to be at Manchester Airport in 48 hours.”

“Who is Fiona?” Claire felt a flutter in her gut but ignored it. She didn’t want to be Miss Marple anymore.

“She’s my wife.”

***

Ikea and Family: 2013 365 Challenge #56

The School House Hostel, Dargville NZ. More colourful (and less comfortable) than a UK YHA!

The School House Hostel, Dargville NZ. More colourful (and less comfortable) than a UK YHA!

Our strategy for survival today was to take the kids to Ikea. I don’t know why we thought that was a good idea on a Sunday but there you go. Ikea was heaving. I spent a large amount of time hiding in one of the kid’s rooms watching the kids pretend to go to sleep.

My hubbie’s Auntie and Uncle live near our local Ikea, about an hour away, so the day was made special by a lovely catch up and some cake. All topped off by a visit to grandma and grandpa on the way home. It was nice to have a day with a plan instead of sitting home and moping. Hopefully it will give us all strength for nursery drop-off tomorrow which has become tortuous recently (both kids sobbing). It makes me sob too because, even though I am working I’m not earning money and it’s hard to justify them getting so upset. Except we all need time apart and generally, once they’re settled, they have a great time doing craft and playing with their friends. Still I’ll be glad when one of us is earning some money. It isn’t going to be me anytime soon, certainly not with Dragon Wraiths. I knew it wouldn’t sell easily without marketing but no one even took up the free download coupon offer! Ha ha. Back to querying agents for sure!

The front cover for Two-Hundred Steps Home Volume 2

The front cover for Two-Hundred Steps Home Volume 2

On the Claire front, I have been very disappointed in Beth and Chloe. They were introduced into the story to help Claire bond with women, but they were too giggily, too loud, too young maybe. They soaked her on the kayak trip and excluded her at the hostel, almost causing her to lose Josh’s friendship too.

I wonder if Claire needs to meet someone new to travelling so she can have a sense of superiority. Not in a smug way – I think she’s beginning to learn her lesson on that front – but to show her that she has learned something on her journey already. She needs a buddy to support her while Ruth is sick and with Josh it’s complicated.

Alternatively she needs to befriend an older woman who can mother her and impart advice. Claire is the baby in her family and is used to coming last and not being heard. Her mother is distant and unemotional. Claire could meet a surrogate mother (maybe even a couple?) who will teach her what family love should look like.

I am actually planning a few days ahead for the first time – only because I’d quite like to end ‘Volume Two’ (i.e. February) with a bit of a bombshell. I’ve already done the front cover for the February Volume (did I mention I rather like designing covers?) and I think it would be good to have a hook so anyone reading it is drawn back to the blog. The first volume just reached 100 downloads today (yippee!) so I know the ebooks are worth the effort. It’s tough though because I find the idea of selling myself hard and I don’t want to do things just to get readers. Still, everyone loves a bombshell, right?

I’ve also discovered that I really want to take my family to stay in a YHA hostel. All my research has shown me what great buildings and locations are on offer and how much more appropriate it is as accommodation for us than a hotel. Being able to cook breakfast and dinner and have sofas for the kids to jump on. Besides it would be great research! I’ve yet to convince hubbie so I’m thinking of taking the kids on my own – get a feel for what Claire might experience if she ends up hostelling with Sky.

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Claire caught her lower lip between her teeth and let herself into the dorm room. She had hoped for a private room so she could get her head straight and concentrate on Ruth, but the hostel didn’t have any left. At least it’s a single-sex dorm. Her last conversation with Josh rang through her mind. Men are more trouble than a room full of creative directors.

Peering round the door Claire thought for one hopeful moment that the room was empty. Then she heard strains of David Grey playing quietly and the happy bubble popped. Pushing the door wider she scanned the room, relieved to see only one bed with obvious signs of occupation. A grey-haired lady sat crossed-legged on a lower bunk writing in a journal of some description. The music was coming from an iPad on the bed next to her.

At least she isn’t a twenty-something Swedish girl. She doesn’t look like she’ll come stumbling in at 2am reeking of vodka.

The woman raised her head as Claire closed the door behind her. Her face lit up with a warm smile and Claire felt herself smiling in return. “Hi, I’m Claire.”

“Maggie. Pleased to meet you.” The woman nodded down at her iPad. “Will the music bother you, shall I turn it off?”

Claire’s eyes widened at the unexpected politeness. “No, it’s fine. I haven’t heard David Grey since I was a student. It’s rather nice.” She headed for the bunk tucked in the corner and kicked off her shoes. She needed to put something on her blog, even if just a paragraph, and knew she needed to get onto it before sleep dragged her down. Her eyes felt like a horde of partygoers were bouncing around inside them and prodding at the walls with their beer bottles.

Staring at the blank page Claire tried to remember what had happened that day. The kayak seemed a lifetime ago. All that resonated was the call from her sister and the implications. Without stopping to let her subconscious talk her out of it, Claire decided to write from the heart. Isn’t that what Josh told me to do. He’s a man of hidden depths. Maybe I should listen to him. David Grey’s voice swept through her, the words tugging at her stomach. “Life in slow motion somehow it don’t feel real, Life in slow motion somehow it don’t feel real.”

She began to type.

 Life in Slow Motion

I am sitting in Grasmere hostel listening to David Grey. The lyrics Life in slow motion, somehow it don’t feel real are resonating deep in my gut.

A hostelling life is a life lived in slow motion. Some days I don’t move more than ten miles from hostel to hostel. The highlight of my day is a smile from a stranger. I have left the speeding motorway of city life and I feel as giddy as if I’ve stepped too quickly off a travelator at the airport. I went kayaking this morning and watched, bemused, while larger-than-life girls splashed water at each other with their paddles. I found myself seeking a quiet corner of the lake to absorb the sound of bird song and admire the reflections of the hills broken apart by ripples.

Since starting this adventure I find I walk more slowly, breathe more deeply, sup my Earl Grey tea with appreciative pleasure. This blog is meant to record the excitement of a life lived outdoors; the thrill of hiking, biking, abseiling and rock climbing. What I hadn’t appreciated until today was the simple joy of silence. Having received some bad news I was grateful to climb into my basic little car, drive along quiet winding roads and let my mind be still.

 

Claire read through what she had written, unsure whether it made sense, fearful that it made her seem like a hippy. Her eyes itched with tiredness and unshed tears. The music had moved on from Life in slow motion to From here you can almost see the sea. The haunting melody took her back to university days – battling hangovers and fatigue to churn out essays so that she could go party with her friends. Back then she hadn’t appreciated David Grey, he sounded far too maudlin, but her flat mate had been a fan. Now, lying back on her hostel bed staring at the underside of the bunk above, she felt serene. A nagging thought that she was losing her mind whispered in her ear, but not loud enough to keep her from sleep.

***

Cheeky Monkees and Colouring Competitions: 2013 365 Challenge #55

My Entry into our unofficial Colouring Competition

My Entry into our unofficial Colouring Competition

Busy day. Started at 4am and never really recovered. Took my daughter to Cheeky Monkees, an indoor play centre, for a birthday party and spent an hour being a hamster in a cage with a bunch of four-year-olds. After the fifteenth time down the bumpy slide I was ready to crawl in the ball pit and go to sleep. The problem with birthday parties that start at 10am is that you’re pooped by the time you get home and it’s still only lunchtime!

We watched Bedknobs and Broomsticks with the kids during our quiet time, but we think they’re a bit young still. Amber recognised the Professor as the Dad from Mary Poppins but that was about it. The Cartoon bit was much shorter than we remember! I wonder if sometimes these old things from our childhood are better off left there, although they do love Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and of course Mary Poppins. My daughter can confidently say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (can’t believe I spelt it right on my first attempt!). Not sure if that’s a recognisable developmental stage but it sounds impressive!

Hubbie's Entry into our Colouring Competition

Hubbie’s Entry into our Colouring Competition

By 2pm we were climbing the walls so took the kids to our local Garden Centre, Dobbies, to see the fish (they have an aquarium) and have cake.

While we were having cake the four of us indulged in some colouring with the sheets and crayons they provide. My husband and I rather enjoy colouring and can get a bit competitive although we try not to show the children! My challenge was to make new colours with the four basic colours provided while my husband went for texture. It keeps us amused at any rate!

Had a repeat performance of the Peppa Pig Rocket Incident when it was time to go, with little man sobbing uncontrollably at having to leave. He needs to run and it’s been snowing all day so we hadn’t been outside. In the end I calmed him with a promise of scootering and walking the dog. We duly bundled up and braved the light snow and he promptly face-planted on the pavement and had to be carried most of the way round, complaining that the wind made his face freeze and his nose run. It is just so bitter; my daughter spends half the day saying “I miss summer.”

Don’t we all.

I try very hard not to wish time away. I know the present is precious and summer will come when it’s ready but we had such an awful summer here last year it feels like winter has lasted ten months already! It pretty much rained from the day the water company instigated a hose pipe ban last Easter! Let’s hope they don’t do the same again this year.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

“I have to get going.” Claire pushed up from the sofa then stumbled and caught herself on the arm.

“When did you last eat?” Josh looked up and it seemed like he was staring from the bottom of a well. Claire was glad she didn’t know the memories consuming him. His face was a thin mask over a deep pit of pain.

“I had the hot chocolate when we finished our kayak. I’m not sure after that.”

Josh checked his watch. “It’s 6pm. You need to eat lady.”

Claire frowned. “No, I need to leave. I’m not meant to be here, I’m booked into Grasmere tonight.” She looked around the lounge as if trying to locate her rucksack before remembering it was loaded in the Skoda already.

“You’re leaving? Must you move every night? It’s not great, you know. You’ll never meet people, get the hostelling vibe, if you check out at 10am every day.”

“I met you didn’t I? Besides, I’m not here to meet people, I’m here to work. I have to get round 200 hostels and then I’m free. It’s meant to take a whole year but I didn’t sign anything. I just want to go home.” Her voice trailed off and she was conscious of a whiney tone in it last heard coming from Sky’s mouth. She inhaled deeply and forced a smile. “Besides, it looks like I’ll be taking a week or two out to look after my niece.”

“Surely she can stay in the hostels with you? Kids love that sort of thing and from what I can tell most of the YHA ones are kid-friendly. More’s the pity.”

Claire got the impression the last words were added because they were expected rather than from heartfelt belief. She shook off the thought and responded to Josh’s words.

“Look after a child in one of these places? It’d be a nightmare. She’d probably fall out her bunk-bed and end up in A&E. Besides, there are hardly any hostels near my sister’s house.”

“You have a car don’t you? Sheesh girl it’s all problems and no solutions with you.”

Claire bristled at his tone, chewed over some choice phrases to respond with, then decided she didn’t have the energy for a fight. She tilted her head slightly and looked him in the eye before turning to head for the door.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. My head’s all over the place.” Josh hurried to keep up and walked to the door with Claire.

“So, where to after Grasmere?”

“Why, are you worried that you’ll bump into me again or do you think you’ll get tired of the gruesome twosome?” Claire glanced over to where Beth and Chloe were playing charades and giggling.

“They’re just having fun, Claire, lighten up.” Then he seemed to remember their earlier conversation. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a jerk.” He ran his fingers through his hair, cursing as they caught on a knot. “I, er, look, let me give you my email address. If you have any questions, you know, about your sister, you can drop me a line.” He patted his pockets for a pen.

Claire pulled out her phone and loaded a new contact. “Fire away.”

Josh recited his address, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He reminded Claire of a guilty school boy giving his contact details to a copper.

She finished typing and stood waiting to see if Josh had anything else to say. He merely stood, hands still concealed, shoulders hunched. He looked up at her through his tangle of hair, his expression inscrutable.

“Well, bye then. Maybe see you again.”

Josh nodded and gave a half-smile. “You take care, city girl.”

Claire nodded once and walked away without looking back.

***

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Blue tummies, yellow bath: 2013 365 Challenge #54

Bath Paints: made with cornflour and food colouring

Bath Paints: made with cornflour and food colouring

Out of sheer desperation I came up with the idea of Bath Art today.

Aaron was refusing to exit the Peppa Pig rocket they have at our local supermarket (after being a complete star all during a weekly food shop and lunch at a busy supermarket: Who knew it was still half term in our local town?)

As I toyed with the idea of breaking my own rule and putting another £1 into the Peppa Pig toy (it is cool – the rocket spins and there are buttons to press which illuminate different planets on a map of the solar system) I began going through a list of other more appealing activities to tempt him home.

The conversation went something like this:

“Playdough?”

“No!”

“Painting?”

“No!”

“Football?”

“No!”

“Space-hoppering?”

“No!”

“Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?”

“No!”

Bath Art: An experiment (next time maybe I'll just use paint!)

Bath Art: An experiment (next time maybe I’ll just use paint!)

That was the point at which I knew I could ask “Chocolate Cake?” and he’d say “No!” because he’s going through that phase. One of the ones your brain erases, like childbirth, because otherwise you’d never do it twice.

Actually, when Amber went through her ‘Why? / No!’ phase (as I like to call it) Aaron was already six months old so it was too late to send him back. Now I have a why/no toddler and a sulky teenager four-year-old.

Joy.

So my beleaguered brain remembered something I’d read on a parenting blog somewhere about making paints and taking them in the bath. Genius. At the time I thought the woman was mad but I was all out of other ideas on four hours’ sleep.

I made the paints out of cornflour and food colouring. Don’t know why I didn’t just use poster paint except I’m not a big fan and I had no idea if it would stain the grout/bath/children. As it turns out, food colouring stains grout/bath/children too, although not permanently thankfully. A second bath of bubbles eventually washed off the blue tummies and mostly erased the yellow scum tidal mark. Got rid of all the hot water too but that was a small price to pay on a day when it was bitter outside and Mummy and Daddy had zero energy.

Bath Art 2: Aaron's End (please ignore filthy grout!)

Bath Art 2: Aaron’s Masterpiece

At least I managed to write half an installment while walking the dog this evening (before my fingers became too cold to tap-tap) so hopefully it won’t be too painful to write the rest when the kids are in bed. I will have to search for a possible continuity error though as I’ve been writing recently about Ruth as Claire’s ‘little’ sister but I think Claire’s the youngest.

NB I was right, Claire is meant to be the youngest, so have changed one word in an old post from ‘little’ to ‘poor’. The challenges of writing and publishing on a daily basis!

I’m sneaking five minutes now to write this bit while the kids watch Mike the Knight with Daddy. I can’t stand Mike the Knight. If he was my child I’d be horrified, although I guess he always comes good in the end.

Oh, it’s finished. Time to go…. Ah. Both kids want Mummy to put them to bed. It’s going to be one of those nights. TTFN.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

“Still sulking Claire? Aren’t you a bit old to be acting like a silly schoolgirl?”

Claire looked up at Josh and tried to make sense of the sounds coming out of his mouth. Sulking, school girl, Sky, Ruth, sister. The words marched through her consciousness without leaving a mark. She felt rather than saw Josh lean over and peer into her face.

“Have I really upset you? Is it because we soaked you at the lake today? You looked cute: like a little kitten who’d toppled into a bath.”

Claire looked at the phone cradled in her lap and tried to absorb what Josh was saying.

He sat next to her on the sofa and his voice washed around her like a warm wave. He talked into her silence but the words barely registered. Something about it being lonely on the road and that maybe running away was the wrong thing to have done.

 Run away. I’d like to do that. I’m sure Ruth would too.

“You can’t run away from cancer,” she said, her voice alien and weak.

“What?” Josh’s response was curt. The harsh tone surprised Claire, momentarily dragging her out of her bewilderment.

“What?” She echoed him without understanding.

“You said you can’t run away from cancer, what did you mean by that?”

She turned to face him and fell into the blackness of his eyes. Shaking off feelings she couldn’t process, Claire said quietly “My sister has a brain tumour. They’re operating in the morning. She needs me to look after her six-year-old daughter for a week or two at Easter while she has chemo. Is there anything else you need to know?”

Josh moved to the edge of the sofa, his face white. “Did she say whether it was primary or secondary? What part of the brain is it in?” His voice was clipped and business like. “Where is she being treated?”

“Addenbrookes,” Claire responded, finally hearing a question she could answer. “How do you know to ask all those things?” Claire had sat mute as her sister broke the news, her brain empty and cavernous.

“Oncology is – was – my specialism.” Josh spoke the words as if they pained him.

“What’s Onc-whatever you said?”

“Treatment of cancer.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was.”

Claire looked at Josh. He’s not much older than me. What gives? Part of Claire wanted to pursue the thought, but curiosity about Josh’s past was soon swamped by her present worries. She wished she could recall everything Ruth said on the phone so she could ask Josh what it all meant. As hard as she tried to remember her sister’s words only two sentences were chiseled into her memory. I need you to take Sky and It’s malignant, they’re going to operate tomorrow.

Josh and Claire sat together on the sofa, close but not touching. Around them the hostel bustled with chatter. Beth’s laugh echoed from behind them, where a raucous game of Trivial Pursuit was underway. Each lost in their own thoughts, the two almost-strangers sat in silence.

***