Snow White and Stickers: 2013 365 Challenge #67

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

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.

***

Snow White, Grumpy, and the “Raw Apple Pie” recipe (thehungryhunterswife.wordpress.com)
Snow White – ‘Best of’ Cosplay Collection (geektyrant.com)

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

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.

***

To Find Success, Learn to Embrace the Climb (warriorwriters.wordpress.com)
Write On Wednesday: Embrace the In Between (beccasbyline.wordpress.com)
To Find Success, Learn to Embrace the Meantime (warriorwriters.wordpress.com)

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!

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.

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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

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

The Sand Pit is Open. Hurrah

Spring Cleaning: Scooter washing

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.

***

“The Amazing Race”: Skydiving and sandcastles in Bora Bora (sykose.wordpress.com)
Sandcastle Airplane! (jaunted.com)

Lazy Day and Lego: 2013 365 Challenge #61

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

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.

________________________________________________________________________________________

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.”

***

Insomnia Defined (everydayhealth.com)
400,000-Piece LEGO Hogwarts School (gadgetreview.com)
Homeschool Fun with LEGOs: A Custom King’s Throne (bugsandstuff.wordpress.com)
Lego Based Hotel Built in Carlsbad, California (archieli.com)
Model Hogwarts made of 400,000 pieces of LEGO (58 Photos) (thechive.com)
LEGO Ghostbusters Headquarters (gadgetreview.com)

Pancakes and a Paddling Pool: 2013 365 Challenge #59

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 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!

_______________________________________________________________________________________

“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.”

***

Cheeky Monkees and Colouring Competitions: 2013 365 Challenge #55

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

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.

***

Video of the Week: Dick Van Dyke and The Vantastix Sing “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” (boneaubryanbrown.com)

Blue tummies, yellow bath: 2013 365 Challenge #54

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!)

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.

***

Cantankerous Caterpillar: 2013 365 Challenge #52

Painted Lady butterfly (Vanessa cardui) to Evelyn Simak

Painted Lady butterfly (Vanessa cardui) – Evelyn Simak

It’s no secret that I battle with depression. Today was one of those days when my shoulder blades itched with the need to break free of my chrysalis and experience metamorphosis To fly away as a carefree butterfly and leave the grump, the anger and the tears behind.

Today was one of those days when I felt suffocated by the demands of parenthood and withered by the self-loathing and guilt that accompanies trying not to yell every second. The kids weren’t even being particularly naughty. When I’ve had a few weeks without proper sleep the depression creeps to the surface and only a solid 4-6 hours of continuous unbroken slumber will bury it again.

On days like today the skin over the bubbling rage is thin and it leaks out. It flashes as a yell when a simple ‘no’ would do and then it’s gone as quickly as it came. Words come too sometimes as if the bubbling pit is linked to my trapped creativity. Although as I write that I wonder if I have read too many literary or sci-fi novels and actually life is a bit less fanciful, a bit more prosaic, and maybe it’s the sleep deprivation waffling on.

Actually I have discovered why my story ideas haven’t been coming so freely recently, aside from germs and sleep deprivation. My two tools – my phone and walking the dog – have been sporadic. I have a new phone but haven’t got round to swapping over to it because every time I think about it the old phone works just fine. And then when I need to write something the phone freezes and won’t let me in. Also, due to illness and poorly knee, hubbie has been walking dog for weeks.

Janet and Emily on 90-Mile Beach, NZ

I needed to escape the house today, before I did any more unnecessary shouting, so I’m walking the dog (and writing as I walk, hurrah).

I’ve had lots of ideas about Claire’s journey. I won’t put spoilers in, not now I know at least one person is interested in how the plot is developing (The lovely Carly over on One Wild Word has written a post about me today. *Blush*.) But I think it’s time to explore Claire’s relationship with other women. Apart from Kim she doesn’t really have friends. Josh might have a new companion for Claire to be initially jealous of then buddies with.

When I think of my own travels the part I enjoyed the most was in the early days, before I was comfortable travelling alone, when I took two girls with me in my car: Janet (an Irish girl) and Emily (a Canadian). The first three weeks in the Coromandel with them was a completely different experience to the rest of my year away.

Me and Mitsy, my trusty rust bucket

Like Claire I didn’t leave school or uni with a strong friendship network – most of my friends are ex boyfriends – and I’ve never really understood why. Claire isn’t me and her travel companion(s) won’t be Janet or Emily but they might be Irish or Canadian. I don’t base my characters on real people but I do write what I know and I do borrow sensations and experiences from my own life. Why not? They’re the most real things I can write about. I take the things from my life and relive them through my protagonist’s eyes, so the experiences are subtly different to my own. That way no one is offended and I get to explore my life through someone else. It’s all good cathartic stuff!

_______________________________________________________________________________________

“Hey Joshy, they’ve got a room with three beds. You wanna share with Chloe and me?” The voice broke off as it came closer. “Oh, didn’t mean to interrupt. You okay? I’m Beth.”

Claire sat mute as the bouncing ball of curly blonde hair burst into the room and galloped over to where Josh stood gazing down at her, a wry smile still on his face. He turned as Beth approached spilling words like a gill after heavy rainfall. His smile widened and Claire felt a tug behind her ribs at the warmth it contained.

It’s only been 48 hours since I left him at Keswick, how pally can they be? A quick mental tally revealed the startling information that she’d only known Josh for just over a week. I guess time is different when you’re with someone 24-7 and experiencing new things. A bit like hostages or people stranded on a broken bus. Not that Claire had any idea what either experience might be like, but she had read about such things.

Silence spread through the lounge and Claire realised Beth was waiting for her to return the greeting.

“Oh. I’m Claire. Hello, nice to meet you. Are you travelling together?” She tried to keep the jealous note of enquiry out of her voice but something in Josh’s smirk suggested she wasn’t entirely successful.

Beth laughed. “Nah we met on the bus. It takes a long time from Keswick, we had time to chat then and on the walk up. You two old mates?”

It was Claire’s turn to laugh although it sounded brittle in her ears. “Not really, I met Josh a week or so ago, at Kielder.”

“You two Sheila’s don’t mind me.” Josh held up his hands, palms forward, and took a step back, as if giving the girls space to discuss him at length.

Beth giggled and Claire rolled her eyes. “Just being polite Josh, that’s all. What made you guys head over to Coniston? There doesn’t seem to be much going on.” She flushed at the note of hostility in her words and glanced down at the iPad on the pretence of turning it off, letting her heavy hair swing across her face.

“We’re booked on a kayak trip tomorrow.” Beth perched on the arm of the sofa and pushed her unruly curls behind her ears. They immediately sprang back, giving her the look of a cheerful daisy. “Chloe and I fancied getting out on the water and the weather’s meant to be grand.”

Oh great. I’m going to have the chirpy threesome on my kayak trip unless maybe they booked somewhere else.

“Are you kayaking on Coniston?” Claire tried to sound interested rather than nosy.

“Sure, there’s a place nearby somewhere.” Beth glanced out the window as if expecting to see the kayak centre nestled in the hostel grounds.

“It’s not far away. I can give you a lift if you like, assuming we’re booked on the same trip.” The words were out before she could stop them. Damn.

“You’re going kayaking Claire?” Josh looked up from picking his nails and raised an eyebrow. “That boss of yours been turning the screw again?”

Warmth flooded through Claire at Josh’s words. Having someone, even a philandering Aussie, know about her predicament made her feel connected to the world.

“No, nothing new from Carl. But, you know, I have to find something for the blog. I even did a Treetop Trek yesterday.”

Something akin to respect appeared on Josh’s face. “You? Little Miss ‘I didn’t know I was terrified of heights’? Good on yer, Claire. And now you have a hankering for some paddle action?”

Claire wasn’t about to admit she fancied winter kayaking about as much as being nibbled to death by mice.

“Oh yes, just call me the kayak queen.”

“Sweet.”

***

Scootering and the School Run: 2013 365 Challenge #51

Glapthorn Road, Oundle in the sun (Photo by Peter Whatley)

Glapthorn Road, Oundle in the sun – but without the mass of scootering children! (Photo by Peter Whatley)

Another day when I’m glad of my deadline buffer. I normally write posts the night before but give myself until 10am the following morning. It’s currently 8am and I’ve only just opened my laptop. Gorgeous wonderful hubbie is downstairs feeding the children. I probably have thirty minutes before there is something urgent they have to ask mummy about… Best get on with it then!

The reason I didn’t start yesterday is because I had a day in the life of a Town Mum and by 8pm could neither stand, walk or speak I was so tired.

I’m used to driving the children everywhere because I live out in the sticks. I think I’m pretty fit but nothing tests your stamina like carrying a 14kg child for about a mile on the school run because he fell off his new scooter almost instantly and wouldn’t get back on. I think my left arm is twice the length of the right one now!

Scootering at the park is much easier than on the school run

Thankfully when my wonderful daughter face-planted the pavement, after being flipped off her new scooter, and grazed her nose and chin she battled on bravely (after a most impressive screaming fit) and did the whole journey, dodging tree roots, uneven paving and about 100 other kids all spilling out from school, half of them also on Micro scooters.

I used to envy my friends for living in town but the school run was a whole new experience. And it was sunny and warm. I can’t imagine what it’s like in the snow and ice! Maybe I’ll stop dreaming up ways we can afford a house in town and stick to ferrying my kids around by car with trips to the park on the way home.

Actually the kids were amazing all day, and were suitably rewarded with ice cream and pizza for tea (in that order!) I ended up helping my friend with a piece of work on the computer for several hours while my two played with her daughter and they didn’t break anything. I found my (2 year-old) son tucked up in my friend’s bed with her daughter (she’s 4, same as Amber) and all they had done was tip water on the duvet. Given her make-up bag was right there it could have been much worse!

Spending too much time on social media and not enough with the kids…

The only bit of the day that left me sad was reading a blog post by Allaboutmanners on how a working mum can stay present and focussed on her children rather than being distracted by technology all the time. I know I’m not getting the balance right at the moment. My kids are always telling me off for checking emails or “just doing this load of laundry” / “just feeding the dog” / “just running the hoover round”.

I used to get more chores done on nursery days (particularly when I had three days a week to do them) and now I feel they rarely get my undivided attention because there are always a zillion things that need doing. I read the blog post on my phone while watching the kids in my friend’s playroom so it caused the worst kind of guilt!

I’ve been thinking about it a lot since and the guilt has diminished a bit. I know I don’t have the balance right, but I also know it is very difficult to remain present for any length of time with toddlers and preschoolers unless that’s your vocation. If my children have my undivided attention they play up against each other, and there is always one that isn’t happy. If I drift off and do work sometimes they moan but sometimes they go and play beautifully together, like they did at my friend’s house yesterday. I may not always make them feel the most special beings in the universe but I do teach them that the world doesn’t always revolve around them and to find their own entertainment. Weighed up in the balance I feel it’s better than an artificial life of either 5-day-nursery-care or 5-day-Mummy-attention. Anyway, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking with it! 🙂

Ooh, it’s 8.29am, look at all my waffle. I’d better find out where I left Claire and move her on to her next challenge, whilst also trying to ignore the crying and screaming downstairs….

________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire looked round towards the door at the sound of voices approaching the hostel. She knew that no one she wanted to see was likely to walk in and still she looked. Just because I’m still in the Lakes doesn’t mean he’s going to turn up. There must be at least twenty hostels in Cumbria and, besides, this isn’t Casablanca.

She turned back to the iPad and concentrated on finding something interesting to say about John Ruskin her trip to Brantwood

I can’t really put ‘bumped into catty old school friend in the most random place today and it turns out she hated me as much as I hated her. Isn’t life funny?’

What else to write though? It was hardly a high-adrenalin activity wandering round a museum or supping a latte in the café.

If I’m going to keep my job I need blog traffic. I can’t give Carl an excuse to call this venture a failure. She thought about making up an adventure but knew she’d get found out in a heartbeat. There might be only ten people following my blog but if I say I walked Striding Edge this morning and I didn’t you can bet they’ll know someone who was up there or I’ll get the weather wrong.

Claire gazed around the hostel lounge, taking in the stylish fireplace and soothing décor, and felt pleased with herself for stumbling across it in the guide book. She’d been flicking through trying to find a hostel that wasn’t a bunkhouse and her eye had stopped at what she thought was the Holy Cow hostel. Smiling she had thumbed back through the pages and was disappointed that it actually said Holly How. I prefer my version.

Claire heard voices outside the lounge door and the hairs on her arm rose. Just because it’s an Australian accent doesn’t mean anything. You’re worse than a teenager at a school disco. Give it up and write your damn blog.

Tapping at the iPad Claire wrote some purple prose about the views from Brantwood and included a couple of inspirational Ruskin quotes. The voices in the hallway grew louder and then diminished, as the new arrivals dispersed to their various dorm rooms. It sounded like a bus-load had arrived and Claire hoped only the quiet ones were heading for her dorm. It had been empty when she arrived and she’d had a sneaky hope that it might remain that way.

I knew that was too much to ask.

Claire bent her head over her phone, searching through her photos to find one suitable for the blog. She heard someone enter the lounge but forced herself not to look up.

The newcomer walked across the room and stood near the sofa without speaking. Still Claire refused to look up. She knew she was being rude, breaking some kind of hostelling rule by not welcoming the new arrival. She heard the stranger clear their throat, then laugh.

“Hey Claire. Saw the rust bucket outside in the car park. Not in Liverpool then?”

Heart thudding, Claire at last looked up and felt a surge in her chest that wouldn’t have embarrassed her teenage self. Her face spread in an involuntary grin as she gazed at the tanned skin and dirty-blonde hair.

“Hi Josh.”

***