Day by Day.

Goodness me, its been a while. To be honest, I don't know if I have any passion left for blogging. I sometimes feel that I'm simply repeating things others have said before, and far more eloquently than me. I feel not all stories need to be told, and yet, here I am, not sure why, but here.

The twins LOVE nursery, and even in just a couple of months have come on leaps and bounds. The staff are wonderful, and overall, I couldn't be happier. Gareth is still a chatterbox, and when we walk to nursery, and pass the Primary School, if there are children out playing, he'll say 'Hi kid, what you doing kid?' Molly is shyer, she talks away at home, but rarely outside. Her grandpa commented the other day that he's never heard her speak. She's started talking a little at nursery, and one of the staff was delighted to tell me that Molly told the class 'my daddy is from America'. Both kids have been assessed by speech and language therapy, and they said everything was fine. We took Molly back for an assessment on her own, because Gareth kept answering for her. She did extremely well, and displayed the understanding of a six and a half year old. It's funny now listening to them have actual conversations with each other, conversations that range from 'Hey! That's mine, get off!' to 'You alright? You need a cuddle?' I don't know where Molly gets her girliness from (it's not from me, that's for sure), but she was inconsolable a couple of weeks ago when her daddy tried to pair her owl top with a pair of leggings instead of the pinafore it goes with. She has also been known to dismiss outfits with a wave of her hand, declaring 'No, not this, it's not perfect.'

Other things, well, we're decorating the living room. I got an absolute bargain of a suite on Gumtree, and it was the push I needed to start tackling the living room. It's all stripped, and my husband has almost finished putting up the lining paper, there's just the fiddly bits round the window, etc left to do. I got the paint half price in a sale (woo-hoo!) and I'm excited about it all getting finished. We're undecided about replacing the carpet, that might have to wait a while. The garden has been sadly neglected, mostly because of the amount of rain we've had. I'm hoping to build a couple of raised beds for veg, and plant some fruit trees and perennials. The roses need cutting back, but I'm not sure where to cut them, and unbelievably, in November, some of them are still blooming. I'm also hoping to take cuttings from some of them, and gradually replace the specimens that are getting past their best. Out front, it's just concrete, but I've planted some containers with layers of bulbs for the spring (never done this before, hope it works), and dressed them with winter-flowering violas and variegated ivy for a little colour in these drab months. Eventually, I'd like to get a large planter, and grow a climbing rose by the front door, underplanted with other things for year round colour. It lifts the spirits.

My husbands employment situation continues to be up and down. At the moment, he's out of work, but has a temporary job lined up for December (thank goodness). We realise that although it's not ideal, it might be that I'm the one who has to work full time (or at least more than I am now) so I'm also looking and applying for jobs. I'd like to try something new, but I'm lacking confidence, so, we shall see. I'd thought about retraining, but in what field, I have no idea, and honestly, while it might sound selfish, if I was to study something, I'd really like to do it for me, for fun.

So, playing, reading, cleaning, cooking, planting, laughing, praying, loving. The pattern of family life carrys on, day by day.

Nursery and Using that Time.

The twins started nursery a couple of weeks ago. They've settled in well, and both love it, during the settling-in period, they cried when I came to pick them up, they were loving what they were doing so much. Gareth, our little extrovert loves going 'to see friends'. Last week, his key worker told me that he was a lovely boy - one of the little girls in his group was crying, and he was stroking her hair (He calls this a 'nice and gentle') and saying 'You alright'. He's a kind boy. Molly is less vocal, but she also clearly enjoys nursery. I can see that its going to really benefit both of them. I love all the simple things about them going, like the fact they know where there own peg is in the cloak room for hanging up their coats and bags, and the art work we get home at the end of the week.

Usually, I'm terrible at finding fun things to do as a family. I'm not much of a one for fun, and usually think time should be spent doing practical things, with maybe a trip to the park, where I pray there won't be other people there. Last weekend, though, we went to the open day at the local community farm. The funds raised from this go towards feeding the animals in the winter, and to paying for repairs that were needed due to storm damage last winter. We all had a lovely time, the twins loved seeing all the animals, and running around a gated play area where there are toys and sand, and a slide. They were both very taken by the farm yard cats that wander around there, although Gareth didn't like it when he was eating his hot dog, and one was right under his feet waiting for bits to drop. There were pony rides, Molly didn't have a ride, because when she was sat on the horse, she refused to hold on, and burst into tears, I think it was all just a bit new for her. The girls were really nice about it, and didn't charge us. Gareth loved it, and keeps telling us that he liked riding on Jack the pony. Gareth and Molly loved seeing the animals, and getting a hot dog and an ice cream cone, complete with raspberry syrup. I got lucky at the tombola, where I won some body lotion, a hand bag, and a bottle of Cava. Three wins from five tickets, not bad for £1.

On the days that I'm not at work, I've been using the kids nursery time to do some clearing out. I've gutted the toy cupboard, and got rid of broken bits of toys, and have large bag of things they've outgrown ready to be donated. I've cleared and organised our bedroom, putting paperwork away in a folder, tidying away my sewing and knitting things (I am determined to do some sort of simple sewing project over the autumn and winter), and clearing out clothes, books, and DVDs. I have things in a bag, and I should just get rid of them, but I wonder if I've been a bit hasty. No room for sentiment in a clear out though. The DVDs included a couple of belly-dancing workout DVDs. I don't have the coordination, and I'm far too British for that undulating, so keeping them hardly seems sensible. There's a top that's a little too fitted (i.e. tight) and low cut, a dress that I like, but haven't fit into in about 2 years. There's the fluffy robe that's covered in blue paint from when I painted the front door, I'll get rid of that, and just wear a cardigan over my pj's if it gets cold, or my satin robe if my husband requests it, although I don't like wearing that too much, I'm always worried I'll drop something on it, I'm more of a flanelette than a satin girl. In that vein, I'm also turfing any non-practical nightwear. Sturdy pj's from now on in, if it's not something I would wear during the evacuation of a building, then out it goes.

These last days of summer, and the early days of autumn will be spent preparing the garden for next year, working out the best way of doing big jobs like chopping and uprooting some hydrangeas, and moving patio slabs by myself. Deciding on what changes, big and small, need to be made, and what will be planted where. When that's done, and the rain and wind and cold come, I will retire indoors, and enjoy the cosy activities of autumn. The baking, the curling up with a book, the crafts. I will find ways of staying busy, and making myself useful. I will earn my keep, and, maybe it's time that I looked for a second job.

Messages of Grace

I'll start with a confession. I wasn't going to go to Mass today. It was pouring with rain, I'd rebuilt the kids' 'tent' (a blanket stretched between 2 sofas) about 5 times. I hadn't slept particularly well. The kids' car seats weren't in the car, and I'd let my husband sleep in. Frankly, it all seemed a bit much. But, my husband offered to watch the twins while I went to Mass alone, and then went to run some errands. Since I just had enough time to make it to Mass, I went.

I'm so, so glad I did. Our parish has been without a priest since the sudden death in May of Fr Jim, the much-loved parish Priest. Today, it was the new Bishop of the diocese who said the Mass. The gospel was the feeding of the five thousand, one of my favourites. The homily delighted and revived me. The Bishop didn't do the usual 'everyone was fed, what a miracle!' approach to this gospel, he concentrated on how Jesus might have felt. He reminded us of the context - that Jesus had just learnt of the death of John the Baptist. He reminded us that Jesus was shocked, and grieving, and had originally went off in an attempt to be alone, and pray, and mourn his loved one. Jesus was struggling, but the people needed him. They needed healing, and teaching, and they needed feeding, and despite his own struggles, Jesus gave them what they needed.

As the Bishop pointed out, God knows our struggles. He is with us in our struggles, and he gives us the strength to do what we need to, whether its a little or a lot. He reminded us that God says, 'I know you struggle sometimes, and I know sometimes you feel overwhelmed, and that everything is getting on top of you.'

But most of the time, you're doing ok. Most of the time, you're doing good. 

In the midst of our troubles, and our insecurity, and from the distorted, flawed viewpoint of our humanity, its hard to remember that God is with us in our struggles. We tend to want to see God as a benevolent fairy, who will click his fingers, and magic our troubles away. But that's not what God's grace is. It's knowing that God is with you in the midst of your struggles that he understands, and is patient with us.  That he is working in us - even if we don't feel it. And it's understanding that God knows we're not perfect, and he knows we struggle, but that  he smiles on us, and walks beside us,  and says 'I know its hard sometimes, but mostly, you're doing ok.'

Summer, Sun, and Sea

We've been blessed with a pretty great summer in Scotland this year, rather than the usual constant-drizzle-that's-a-bit-warmer-than-usual. Kids have been able to play in the garden, I've been able to potter about, and get loads of laundry dried outside. It's lovely.

Last week, my mum very kindly booked us a few days in a caravan in Ayrshire, on the Firth of Clyde. The site was a few miles outside of town, and close to Alloway, a very pretty village, and the birthplace of the poet Robert Burns. We could see fields, cows, and the sea from the caravan. Completely relaxing. I could sit outside, in the sunshine, with a book, and look up every now and then to watch the twins play, or just smile at the view.

There were trips to the beach, we found a beautiful spot called Croy Shore. As were driving one day, I saw a sign saying 'shore, 1 mile', so I took the turn off. A narrow road led down, past another caravan park, past houses. At one point I thought that we couldn't go any further, but we did. Down, and winding, the trees and plants hanging ever closer to the road on each side, until we reached the bottom, and saw the sand, just on the other side of some rocks, and the sea beyond. It was a beautiful spot. Clean sand, and clear water that was shallow for a long way out. We all paddled happily (the twins once they got used to it). I buried my toes under the sand, and watched the water rinse them clean. I pointed out prawns burrowing, and crabs scuttling to the twins. Gareth was a bit nervous when he saw that there were crabs scuttling around as he paddled. Molly preferred to stay near the edges looking for pretty shells, but Gareth dove right in with his daddy, jumping on his back and playing what they call 'Dragon Rider' I could hear him sometimes saying to my husband, 'come on, Dragon!' Molly kept exclaiming that things were lovely, and beautiful, and her favourite! Gareth told anyone who would listen that 'Me Gareth Parr, on my hodidays! Beach, swimming, I like it!'

We pottered, and paddled, and rested. Even when at the beach with the kids, even when moving, it was restful. Looking at nature, gazing over the sea, feeling the sand under your feet. Feeling the difference in the water, warm and cooler as you move. All this is good for body and soul.

Blessings

I had a job interview on Wednesday, and for once, I left feeling pretty good. I did well in the interview, but, apparently, not quite well enough, because I didn't get the job. It's a disappointment, and quite a big one, but we'll keep soldiering on. So, as much as to keep myself from wallowing, and letting the Black Dog snap at my heels as anything else, I'm going to list some of the many ways I and my family are blessed.

We have a house that's big enough for all of us, the boiler works, the roof doesn't leak, we have running water, and comfortable furniture. We have a table, and plenty of food to put on it.

The kids have plenty of toys to make a mess with, we have DVDs to watch, and books to read. We have plenty of clothes.

We have each other, we have trips to the park, and snuggles on the sofa, and songs to sing, and things to imagine. We have giggles, and tickles, and love, and silliness. We have walks by the river, with boats going by.

We have dinner and togetherness when the kids are in bed, we have turns taken making dinner, and seats on the sofa, and hands resting gently on legs. And kisses.

I have my garden, dirt to dig in, salad to harvest, flowers to smell, stroke, and cut. Plans to make, and seeds to sow.

We have each other, we have family and friends we love and are loved by.

And we have a God who gave us it all.

Words Hurt.

'F****in' Bitch' said to me by my beautiful, blue-eyed, kind-hearted 3-year old boy when I wouldn't give him a cookie. I can't blame him, he's heard me say it to myself so many times he must think it's normal.

But it hurts. Words hurt, even if the person saying them is only 3. They hurt because at the back of your mind, they bring up a niggling doubt 'Is it true?' no matter how much we try to tell ourselves we disregard words, I think on some level, they always leave a mark.

It hurts because even now, my behaviour, my language, and my thought processes have a taken a little of the joy out of the world for this child of mine.

It hurts, because it's almost like the saying of it makes it true. Allowing a small child to hear me talk that way, is pretty darn bitchy.

But now, no matter how much I think it, I can't say it. No matter how much I believe it, I can't say it, because it's not about me any more.

And maybe, eventually, I'll be able to drown out the voice altogether, and say, and believe, that I'm ok, that I'm lovable, and that my husband and kids don't require perfection from me, just love.

Wondering

I often wonder, not always consciously, but I wonder...

I wonder how my husband can find me attractive, or put up with my moods, my impatience, my negativity.

I wonder if my children will grow to be stronger beings than I ever was, or if they will inherit my insecurities.

I wonder if I will ever feel like a 'good enough' wife, mother, and general human being.

I wonder if I'll ever write a book, or make a quilt, or create a garden I can sit in, satisfied.

I wonder if I'll ever experience pregnancy and the care of a new-born again.

I wonder what paths my children will take.

I wonder, and live, and wonder.

The Joys of Home and Garden

Apologies that it's been so long. Our home computer has given up the ghost, so I'm limited as to when I can access a computer. How are you? It's beautiful here. Sunny days, and evening showers.

The twins turned 3 last week. They had a lovely day playing in the garden on their new ride on toys, Molly alternating between her new Snow White dress, and her Fairy Wings, Wand, and Crown. Proudly proclaiming 'I'm a pretty fairy princess, and Garthy's a prince!' Gareth jumping up and down with excitement saying 'Birthday! Party! Cake! Yaaaay!' Molly fussing over her new dolly, and Gareth with his musical tractor (this thing plays Old MacDonald, makes noises for the different animals, has a horn and flashing lights, and goes when you press a button, I'm desperate for a shot of it) Enjoying time with family, and new toys, and all the great things that come with being 3.

We are slowly getting through the transformation of the house and garden into ours. I've painted the front door a cheerful, glossy blue. We (mostly my husband), have painted the hall and dining room. A rich, yellowish cream for the hall, and Magnolia for the dining room. We've stripped wallpaper in the spare room. I've been making my husband laugh with the hours I've spent engrossed in paint charts and home ware magazines (free ones only!) and we're almost agreed on the colours for our living room and bedroom. I love our house, and I do not strive for interior design perfection, but I think a lick of paint, some new curtains, a few cushions go a long way to making you feel truly at home. A nice environment makes you feel better, brighter, prouder, and I know that I am  more able to dispel the Black Dog Days if things are nice. Polished furniture and vacuumed carpets make me smile, although maybe that's because when these things are done, I'm not worried about unannounced visitors.

And I've been busy in the garden, cutting back overgrown Hydrangeas enough that the bed below is exposed, but leaving enough height that it offers some privacy from the neighbours. Turning over and breaking up dirt, pulling up unwanted plants and digging out bulbs. It is satisfying this work, even when my hands cramp, and my back aches. There is pleasure in dispelling the overgrown, and creating a clean slate on which to work. I don't even think of the fact that I've pulled up plants others might find beautiful. I found some of them beautiful too, but like my dad always told me 'A weed is simply a plant that's growing where you don't want it to.' There's freedom in that thinking. My plan is to use borders for vegetables, and containers for flowers. Pretty and practical, and easy to maintain.

I'm a potterer and fidget by nature, and this appeals to me. There is no rush, the house can be dealt with a room at a time. Paint can be changed, sticky hand prints can be cleaned from furniture, carpets can nobly bear the marks of being the indoor playground of rambunctious little people. Gardens can grow with our help, and in spite of it. And the days will pass, and the seasons go round, and whatever they bring, there is joy and beauty to be found at home.

Hello, It's Been a While.

It's been a while since I blogged. To be perfectly honest, I've been in a bit of a funk. Things have been stressful at home, my self-esteem isn't that great, and I really just haven't much to say (or I didn't think what I had to say was worth reading).

I'm still not sure if what I have to say is worth reading, particularly at times like this, when I don't have much to say at all, and yet, here I am, writing.

I could tell you about the worry over my husband's unemployment, the tension I feel when the kids are throwing tantrums, and the neon arrow of 'Terrible Mother' seems to have taken up a permanent position above my head. I could tell you about carpets uncleaned, and walls half-painted, of scribbles on bannisters, and meals rejected, of arguments, and stubbornness.

But I could also tell you about love, about people trying. I could tell you about choosing, every day, to do something, anything that make things a little brighter. I could tell you about kindness, even when you don't feel kind, about taking time to rest, and watch children at play. I could tell you about laughter seasoned with frustration, when the twins are joyously asking, for the umpteenth time, for 'More sing, mama!' I could tell you about being loved when you feel unlovable, and about loving when you feel as if you have no more love to give.

I could tell you about life, but it wouldn't be anything you don't know already.

Doing Something Fun

How was your weekend? Gareth loves seeing the trains when we take his daddy to the station, so my husband decided that this weekend we should take the twins on the train. They loved it, and we only went a couple of stops, and then came back. Just long enough for them to get the experience, and no danger of getting bored. It's been so long since I'd got the train anywhere, I'd forgot how much I enjoy it too. Being able to relax, and look at the scenery without worrying about making sure we're going the right way, and how much petrol we have in the car made a very pleasant change. The short journey was also a very scenic one, going along the River Clyde, with the river visible on one side, and fields and trees on the other.

Later, we were planning to go to one of the museums in Glasgow. At first we thought about the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, because it has dinosaurs (raar!) but then we decided it would be nice to keep up the train theme, so elected to visit the Transport Museum by the river, where we could also see the Tall Ship. Unfortunately, Mama (that's me) is a numpty who misplaced her phone, so we couldn't get directions, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what exit to leave the motorway at. In the end, because it was a sunny day, we decided to just come home, and let the kids play at the local swing park.

The kids certainly enjoyed themselves, my husband did, and yes, I did too. If I'm honest though, I really struggle with going into these things with a good attitude. I always feel that there's something more practical I could be doing, and sometimes think in an ideal world, my husband would do the fun stuff with the twins, and I would use that time to get on with household tasks it's difficult to do with 2 little scamps running around. As it is, going out and doing fun things, means having the same chores to do, but a shorter time frame to do them in, and I really have to take care not to get bitter and angry about that. I hate having chores looming over me, but on the otherhand, if we are going to go out, I'd rather go early and get it over with, before wherever we're going is hoaching with people.

I also decided a while ago that I needed to take Molly and Gareth to a toddlers' group regularly. That kind of fell by the wayside in February, because we were all sick. This week though, everyone is healthy, so we'll give it a bash. Again, I have to be careful not to let a bad attitude creep in. I find these things totally intimidating, with their groomed cliques of yummy mummies, and extroverted joining in with the action songs types. But, it's only a couple of hours, and I'm quite capable of sitting in a corner, supervising my children and making sure they behave, and folding my arms and glaring at people for that length of time. Some people say these things are a good way of making friends, but I think to do that, you'd have to go from the time your children were tiny. As it is, I'm content enough to be the twins taxi driver, and make sure they're behaving nicely.

I'm Not Perfect (and That's Ok)

While being a part time working mother has it's perks, it definitely has it's drawbacks too. Child care can still be an issue, and if (like me) you work fewer hours than are needed to qualify for help with expenses, it can become prohibitively expensive. I, for one, rely heavily on family, a very understanding manager, and my annual leave days - rarely are they kept for anything 'fun', 9 times out of 10, they're used to cover a child-care emergency.

Then there's the issue of attitude, I know many women can slip seamlessly into their various roles, but I struggle with that. If one of the kids' shoes has mysteriously disappeared, or I'm worried about getting home at a certain time, or the bus gets stuck in traffic, then it has a knock on effect on my entire day. Maybe (probably) I'm not organised enough. Same goes for home life - it would be wonderful to slip effortlessly into the role of witty, engaging companion, wonderful cook-housekeeper, and all round sex kitten the minute my husband comes home, or the kids go to bed - but, lets face it, it usually doesn't happen. More likely, I'll be pairing socks, declaring I have no idea what the grown-ups are eating for dinner, and putting on my pyjamas at 7.30pm in a vain attempt to preserve my clothes for another day, and reduce my laundry pile.

Anyway, my point isn't to moan. It's to say that no-one (husband, kids, family, work, friends) is going to get perfection from me. We will never live in a show home, matching socks will cause me to give a whoop of triumph, and the laundry bag will never be empty. I'll make frenetic trips to the supermarket when my husband gets home, because we need something, and I just couldn't summon up the gumption through the day to load the twins up and take them. Sometimes I'll be rushing into work, with no chance to start the working day in a relaxed and organised fashion, and I'll be distracted by thoughts of coffee, and lunch, and whether I have any snacks in my desk.

I'm not perfect, and I never will be. But in each role I have I can do my best, I can focus on who I'm serving at that time. I can live my life, and perform my tasks with focus, and intention, and drive. Most importantly, I can act, and think, and live with a positive attitude. I can do my best, but accept that sometimes, regardless of that, not everything will get done, and what is done might not be perfect.

Doing our best is an act of love and service to others, accepting the limits of our best is an act of love to ourselves. Sometimes the former is much easier to grasp than the latter, but I for one know I'm much happier when I understand this.

Gratitude When Feeling Ghastly

The whole family has been laid low by illness. Both my husband and I have taken time off sick from work, and us and the kids haven't really done much of anything. The illness started with vomiting and diarrhoea, progressed to blinding headaches and extreme fatigue, and is now at the stage of The Worst Cold Ever - Nasty cough, I sound like Donald Duck when I talk, and I'm pretty sure with the congestion I have a nose like a prize fighter. My husband has gone into work today, the kids are whiny, I'm not much better, and the house is a total mess. The kids have been sick since last Sunday (grown-ups since Tuesday), and frankly, I'm over it. I'd just like us all to be well, and I'd like a good dose of get-up-and-go.

In the midst of this, though, there is still much to be cheerful about. There's been lots of time for snuggling. The snowdrops are out in the garden. I've realised anew what comfort a clean bed, well-aired room, a bath, and freshly laundered pyjamas can bring. I've realised what a kind boy Gareth is, as he brings his sister grapes to cheer her up when she's teary, or tries to give her a kiss, or brings a blanket each for his daddy and I when asked. Molly might not be as boisterous as Gareth, but she has a big sense of fun, and right now, one of her favourite things is to say 'Bare Scuddy!' and giggle herself silly. The almost enforced rest (honestly, I've needed a lie down after putting on a load of laundry), has been a chance to slow down, and really see how much they're learning every day, and how much they love each other.

There is so much to be grateful for. The 1st of February marked one year in our house - Yay for space, and for the grown ups having a room to themselves. :) We are warm, and have plenty to eat. I have books, and more importantly the ability to read them (ever stopped to think what a blessing that is?). A husband who works hard for us all, and who tells me I'm cute, even when I'm snuffling, my nose is running, and I'm up to my eyes in cold medicine. Family who call to check how we are, and ask if we need anything. Friends, both in real life, and online, who can offer sympathy or the healing power of a good laugh. And best of all, a daddy-God who loves us.

Learn, Laugh, Love.

It's been a fair old week here at the family HQ. My husband got some new glasses (badly needed), we needed some work done on the car (there, there, wallet), although thankfully the work on the car wasn't as much as I feared. I was laid low on Tuesday by some sort of stomach bug which had me vomiting and generally feeling like a wrung-out rag. Wednesday I did a split shift at work, 9-12, then 5-9pm. It makes for a long day, but it was the option for working around my husband's working hours and making sure my brother, who very kindly agreed to watch them in the afternoon/ evening, didn't have the kids for too long. Thursday was a normal working day, it's also luckily one of my husband's days off. Friday was my birthday.

We still haven't heard anything about a nursery place for the twins, and I'm really hoping we get a clearer picture of whats going on this week. It's been almost 2 months since we spoke to the Health Visitor and she said she would put in the referral. I keep trying to phone the office, but I can never get an answer, and with young kids, finding a time to call when I might actually stand a chance of hearing the other person can be tricky.

Gareth is Mr Kind and Helpful. He puts his dishes in the sink after he's finished eating, asks for things he knows his sister likes (grapes mostly) in order to give them too her, and he's started taking her by the hand and trying to lead her around. There are moments when he tries to wrestle and do rough play with her, and she simply isn't having it, then her indignant squeals could shatter glass. Mostly though, they get on very well, even though they have very different personalities. I love hearing them giggling together, and yesterday I heard Molly tell Gareth 'You are funny!'

Molly. Clever girl, and loves to show it. Counting, recognising written numbers, and being able to say what each one is, even when they're in random order. Colours, shapes, and some letters. She's singing more too, which makes me smile, she sings as she plays.

For all the mess, the whining because there's no peanut butter (or peeba baba, as Gareth calls it), the protests because it's the wrong cup, or bowl. The fights when Molly is playing with a toy which Gareth has been ignoring, and he suddenly decides he NEEDS it NOW. In spite of all that, they set a very good example. Laugh more, play more, give each other little things to brighten the day. Never stop learning, help each other out, but don't be afraid to stand up for yourself.

Learn, laugh, and love. Kids are pretty smart, aren't they?

Taking (on) Each Day as it Comes

Well, this healthy eating and exercise thing isn't so bad. I'm starting to quite enjoy the exercising part, although yesterday I nearly fell of the exercise bike while trying to pedal, hold a plastic plate and 2 toy cars, and pat Gareth on the head all at the same time. Some of the kettlebell exercises require quick reflexes when the twins are around too. Like checking a swing part way when they decide to walk right in front of me. Or telling them 'No!' when I'm on the floor getting ready to do some Russian twists, and I can see them getting ready to launch themselves on top of me. Other than that, it's all good. Molly even counts for me while I'm doing my kettlebell exercises. She's also very encouraging when I eat a salad, she smiles and says 'Mamas eating yummy leaves!' Can't persuade her or her brother to try them though.

Even without any noticeable weight loss, I'm feeling the benefits. I feel a bit 'brighter' all round, less sluggish, and my 'women's things' are lighter and easier than they've been in months. Even on day 1, I didn't have to take a single pain killer.

Food wise, it's been easier than I thought. My motto has been 'cut back, not cut out.' Nothing is banned, it's just a case of consuming less of some things, and more of others. Less coffee, more water. Less bread, more veggies. Less cake, more fruit. That sort of thing. This morning I was eating my poached eggs with spinach, arugula and watercress, and thinking 'I like this better than I like eggs with toast.' Not bad for a dyed in the wool carb junkie. Besides, I've found if I start the day well, the rest usually follows.

Healthy habits, really, aren't that hard, it's our minds that trick us into thinking they are. Mostly, I think, it's about realising that our lives are something we participate in, not something that just happens to us. It's about activity, not passivity. It's about getting up in the morning, and with a good dose of determination and humour, humility and flexibility, taking on each day as it comes.

Trying to Start the Year Right

Well, here we are, a whole 2 days into 2014. It's stopped lashing rain and blowing a gale here in the not-s0-sunny West of Scotland, so the start of 2014 is already better than the end of 2013.

I  decided to start the exercise part of my new years resolution a few days before the end of last year. I've been doing some sort of physical activity every day apart from one. Sometimes it's just trundling away on the exercise bike while I say a rosary, but I suppose something is always better than nothing. Exercising in front of the twins isn't as bad as I thought. The only problem is when they want to be so close to the pedals of the bike they're in danger of being hit by them, or when they think of a list of things mummy must do/fetch/fix/or put in a different bowl or cup 7 times in the space of about 20 minutes. They've also stopped napping consistently (sob) so I do need to get used to exercising with them around.

The healthy eating is fair to middling. Like the exercise it's about learning new habits, and re-learning positive old ones that fell by the way side. It's about realising that it doesn't take much longer to chop a few veggies for a salad, than it does to make some toast and slather it with butter.

I'm trying to make myself eat well, and do some exercise, regardless of how I feel emotionally. Like this morning. Both kids woke up through the night, and while Molly settled in next to my husband, Gareth was President of the Wide Awake Club from 1am until around 4.30am. When I got up, I was tired, but I made myself get on the exercise bike and then prepare a healthy breakfast.

And now, it's 2pm, a time when not so long ago the kids would be napping, and if I was tired I could rest my eyes for a spell too. The twins will also be up later than usual, since we need to go and pick my husband up from the train station at 8.30. It's going to be a long afternoon, so the smartest thing to do would be to find something useful to do.

Climbing Your Own Wall

My husband has decided that 2014 will be a year focused on us losing weight and becoming healthier. He says that we have to set a good example to the kids of health and fitness. According to him, it is our job to inspire them.

I did not react positively to this. My initial thought was, that this enterprise is doomed to failure. Inspiration? Me? Nope, sorry, there's obviously some mistake in your thinking, because there's no way I could ever be an inspiration to anyone. Besides, to inspire your kids, they have to see you do the healthy stuff, right? And honestly, I hate exercising in front of other people so much, it makes me want to cry. Not a great starting point.

Then I realised, my lack of confidence, my poor body image, my lack of fitness, all of these are like bricks that have built themselves up into a wall. This wall has made my world smaller, and in turn, because I so dread situations where I might have to do something physical in front of other people, even playing with my kids at the park, it is making my children's world small too.

But walls can be brought down. They can be chipped away at, little by little, day by day, until you can see what's on the other side. And eventually, you can perch on the top, reach out your hand to others, and pull them with you to what lies on the other side.

The Best Gifts Don't Come Wrapped.

Merry Christmas, everyone. I hope you've enjoyed good food, rest, fun, family, and whatever else makes this season a blessing for you.

Between the rain and high winds on Christmas eve, and frankly, my appalling organisation on Christmas day, we didn't make it to Mass. I did make sure we said happy birthday to Jesus at dinner though.

All in all, it was a good day. The kids loved their presents. Gareth is particularly taken with his accordion and Postman Pat van. Molly is loving tucking her new babies into their bunk-beds, but she got a bit mad when Gareth tried to play with them. She yelled 'No! My babies!' My 2 and a half year old is already a momma bear.

My mum and step dad dropped by in the morning, and the twins were delighted to see them. I think my step-dad enjoyed the accordion almost as much as Gareth. The two of them were happily taking turns playing it, dancing around, and generally having a grand old time. My sister came by later with some little gifts for them. A small blackboard and chalk for Gareth to draw on, and one of those sets of pretend, dress-up jewellery for Molly. Unfortunately the necklace won't go over her head, and there's no way of opening it. It's not going to waste though, she put it on one of her new dolls and said 'Princess Baby!'

Dinner was just the 4 of us. I made roast pheasant with chestnut stuffing, roast parsnips, braised red cabbage, home made cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy. It was delicious, although I think I overcooked the pheasant slightly. My husband loved it, and said it was the best Christmas dinner he ever had. Except for Gareth having a little mashed potato, the twins didn't eat it all. It's always slightly disappointing when you lovingly prepare a meal and they reject it, but I reminded myself that they're toddlers, that Christmas is a strange and exciting day for them, and that these were new foods. As we know, new food and toddlers don't go together even on the most mundane of days.

Children have always been the focus and delight of Christmas, ever since that most perfect child, born in imperfect circumstances on that night so long ago. Every child's joy at the magic of that day, is a reminder to all of us at the importance of wonder, and delight, hope, and the anticipation of good things.

God came to us, as a little child. Living symbol of hope, and delightful anticipation. Remembering that birth each year as we do, and seeing the innocent wonder of our own loved and imperfect children is a yearly gift that never grows old, or stale or boring. It is the gift that comes without wrapping, and it's the best one of all.

That Festive Feeling of Failure

So, it's almost upon us. Christmas. I have been preparing neither spiritually nor materially. I've muttered prayers here and there, but with no consistency or fervour. I've purchased exactly one Christmas gift. Cards remain unwritten, and the menu for Christmas remains undecided. I'm feeling overwhelmed, unprepared, and generally a bit blah about the whole thing.

I'm hard on myself, I'll be the first to admit that, but recently these feelings have escalated. How can my family have a nice Christmas if I'm in charge? I see my current lack of enthusiasm as a flaw, and every mistake, both committed and yet to be made as requiring ridicule and punishment. The surety of getting things wrong prompts complete inaction, which in turn leads to lethargy, and yet more feelings of inadequacy.

I had thought, a while ago, about getting my hair cut for Christmas, and maybe trying a home hair colour. Now, I'm not so sure I'll bother. Like I said to my husband the other day, why bother? It's like putting a bow on the trash bag.

This too shall pass. Jesus is the light of the world, and Christmas is a time of hope. A lot of prayer and a little organisation will see me through this, but for the next few days, I think making a batch of mince pies and perhaps putting up some fairy lights are about as festive as I think I'm going to get.

Kitchen Memories

For me, some of the best, most enduring memories, are of kitchens. Not of the kitchens themselves - I couldn't tell you what colour the wallpaper, or tiles, or work-tops were -but of the things that took place there. The sounds, the smells, the equipment. The anticipation of memories yet to be made, and tastes yet to be savoured.

My mum recently gave me a box of kitchen things that belonged to my nannie. Each thing transports me back to childhood. There's the deep, enamel coated pie dish, in which she made her meat and potato pie. There are the small, unremarkable, tupperware boxes she would freeze portions of mince in. The sight of an old, much yellowed Parish Cookbook, transported me back in an instant. She pulled out the foldaway table in the kitchen. I sat, and busily greased the tin for the sultana and cherry cake, and crushed cornflakes for the melting moments (or cornflake biscuits as we always called them). There is the special sieve, with the handle that you press to dust crisp mince pies with icing sugar, like the heavy frost that settles on the brown roofs. Each simple, much used object was a catalyst for a string of precious memories. Of that kitchen, and cooking and visiting with her, but also of my childhood home, and being with my mother in the kitchen. Watching her put carrot and turnip in the food processor for soup, running out and peeking round the door, because I was terrified of the Pressure Cooker. My own, child-fierce concentration as I pressed the tines of the fork along the edge of the apple pie, and rolled and cut rounds of left over pastry for jam tarts.  

I love food, and cooking, and baking. For me, there's a sixth Love Language, ' Seeing your family enjoy their dinner.' Making food for people I love, and seeing them enjoy it, is for me, the most satisfying feeling. It is the centre of my role as wife and mother. The oven is the warm heart from which every other nurturing, home making instinct spreads and radiates through the house.

And I wonder, in turn, what memories my children will take from our kitchen. What bowls they will remember holding sweet mixtures that they stirred and dipped their fingers into?What spoons and beaters they will remember licking? If certain tins, and oven dishes will make them think of certain meals, the way that enamel dish makes me think of meat and potato pie? What smells and tastes will be evocative to them as they grow older? 

Will the kitchen, and what was used there, and what was made there, be at the heart of joy, and love, and family, and memory for them, as it was for me? 

Benefits of Organisation

I cannot believe it's only 5 weeks until Christmas. This year, I had been full of good intentions of being organised, starting the Christmas shopping in September, list making, crafting. I fully intended to be totally organised and able to sit back in December with nothing to do but mull the wine and nibble on a mince pie.

Then life happened, and like the saying goes 'make God laugh, tell him your plans.'

Maybe I'm thinking about all this because we went to the Crematorium yesterday to pay our respects to my nannie, who passed away in 2007, and was, frankly, the most organised woman I've ever known.

So, here we are, almost at the end of November, and I haven't got one present, card, or roll of wrapping paper. I have saved up the savers stamps at the local grocery store, and I've been collecting my coupons each week to give me £40 off my Christmas grocery shop (7 down, 2 to go). I've also made the Christmas cake, and have been feeding it weekly with Port. I'm not totally disorganised, I'm just not as organised as I would like to be. That, however, is nothing new, it's pretty much the story of my life. I like being organised, I fully intend to be organised. I know that without a shadow of a doubt that when I am organised, I'm happier, calmer, and generally not doing things like rifling through the toy box because we have an appointment and need to leave the house now, but one of the kids have hidden one of their shoes.

Being organised just makes things that little bit easier, and that little bit calmer. It leaves more time for fun. I'm also realising that a bit of organisation can also allow you to be a bit more flexible. If it's a nice day, who cares if you'd planned to cook a roast, or make a complicated dessert? If you have stand-by's in the freezer, it's much easier to think 'Ok, let's just have that for dinner so we can go to the park!'

Organization is not something I think we should be slaves to, but a tool that can be used to live a fuller, more free, more fun life.

Well, that's enough of that thinking malarkey for one blog post.

The kids are great fun, and they are nice kids. Molly loves anything pretty. My mum got them onesies to wear over their PJs now it's turned colder. Molly's is pink with sparkly stars on it, and every evening she brings it to me saying 'This! On!' She loves her flower hair clasps, and giggles happily as you put them in her hair. She's even delighted when I wear a pretty scarf, and if I have on something really plain, she tries to put colourful stickers on me. A little girls sheer joy at prettiness is a wonderful thing to witness.

Gareth is the most loving, demonstrative, exasperating, funny little human dynamo you could ever hope to meet. He charges around going 'Woah! Woah!' sings and looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to sing the next part back to him. When he's climbing on me, as 2 year olds do, and a note of impatience is creeping in to my voice, he strokes my hair and says 'Poor, poor mama.'

I honestly sometimes wonder how these 2 great kids can possibly be mine.

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to make some lists, because a little organisation leaves more time and energy for a whole lot of fun.