At time and a season.

I think, as far back as I can remember, my dream was to be a mother. I can't ever recall a time when I didn't love thinking about having babies. I thought about babies, how it would feel to have my own babies and what they would look like, what personalities they would have.
Do you see what I kept saying there? Babies. Love me some babies, little flippy floppy, sweet smelling, velvety skinned people who need me and who are so adorable and snuggly.
I loved the night feedings, I really did. Those were my most favourite time, nobody but me and a tiny person. I hold the memories of those times selfishly to my heart because those were the quiet times that I didn't share with anyone but my 6 babies.
In all the years of thinking about my babies I will say that honestly, I never thought about having children. I didn't. I never daydreamed about a 9 year old with an answer for everything or a 15 year old that not only had the answer but was hell bent on making sure I heard it too.
Here I am with 6 children, 5 offspring I should say because 3 of them aren't children anymore they are honest to goodness grown up people, adults that I gave birth to.
Hells teeth.
Can you believe it?
We have had the birthdays, mine, Elijah's, Jordan's, H's, Isaac's, Seth's and on wednesday will be Dan's 25th birthday TWENTY FIVE!
I have a 25 year old son.
We are, quite frankly,all caked and birthdayed out. I am relieved that Daniel doesn't care for birthdays, I'm not sure I can muster anymore YIPPEE HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Let's eat some CAKE! from anywhere at all.
Slump.
Marvellous thing though, we have a neighbour, who also goes to church with us and every birthday morning we have been awoken by the doorbell and there he is, with a chocolate cake in his hand and a Happy Birthday for whoever is celebrating. How splendid is that? Love thy neighbour is easy when they bring cake.
I feel a bit giddy, almost the way you do when something happens all of a sudden and then it's over and you stand breathlessly trying to work out what on earth that was all about.
I have no babies, not even a toddler, not a pre schooler or a little receptioner. I have big kids and adults. Elijah is still a little boy, he is 7 but only in numbers. He still sucks his thumb, he still loves his raggy old blanket and he still seems blissfully unaware of the world around him.
I find I am a little uneasy about this state of affairs. I'm not sure what I am supposed to be anymore. I'm not saying I don't like the dawning feelings of being a little free to choose what to do with my time, it's quite lovely to be able to say " Night night, bed time, see you in the morning" and not have to physically take them to bed, it's also terribly sad and so I wait for a while and then I go and see them anyway and kiss them, look at them as they sleep. Seth loves to have his face stroked as he settles down to sleep and if, as often happens, he has fallen asleep waiting for me, he is like a little kitten when I stroke his face, he smiles in his sleep and he pushes his face into my hand and every time he does that, I wonder when that will end. When he will stop needing that gentle mother's touch.
I can remember Dan, when he was little loving it when I would tickle his back as he fell asleep and he'd smile and say " I love kinkely backs" I don't remember when I stopped doing that.
I remember Sophie with her line up of night time drinks and her delicious and naughty laugh, she was a hellion at night time, she would take hours and hours to fall asleep and eventually we came to an agreement that as long as she stayed in her room I wouldn't make a fuss if she was awake. I would creep in at 10 or 11 o'clock ready to tuck her in and kiss her sleepy face and there she would be, wide awake with her big blue eyes and a filthy laugh " Ha! I not even tired, I stay in my room though did I?"
I can't remember when I stopped going in to her, I suspect it was around the time I married H and she was such an angry, feisty, spitting ball of rage that when she went to bed I would breathe a sigh of relief that we had made it through another day without bloodshed. How sad that now we are so far away from those days, I can see that if I had gone in to see her and spent some time in there, she might have been less angry and ever ready to fight.
I spend a fair amount of time thinking about all those times that seemed so endless, so relentlessly hard and heartbreaking, those times I felt so alone and so sure that we would never get through them and now, here I am, those times are memories, most of them fuzzy and so distant that sometimes I wonder if they are real, or imagined.
I didn't ever imagine being the mother of big people, I don't think I ever gave being a grandmother a thought because who can imagine that? Heh, I'm sure no-one ever sits and dreams of the day they are a grandma. Do they? Not until the time comes when it is a possibility anyway. What a glorious surprise it is though, to be a Mam-mar. It's impossible to feel anything but complete and utter joy when the front door bursts open and the house is filled by his presence and shouting of "MAM-MAR!! ARE YOU?" when he sees me he says " Oh Mam-mar" as if he has been waiting months to see me again.
I don't feel as though I am old enough for this new life. I look as if I am old enough and am endlessly shocked when I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window or mirror, I quickly settle myself by reminding me that really, what does it matter? I look at my mum and my sister and they are so fabulously perfect and so loved and then I know that this is how people view me. After a certain age and don't ask me what that magical age is, perhaps it is different with different people, being beautiful has a whole different meaning. It no longer means the putting together of hair and make up, has nothing to do with figure and fashion. It becomes all about who you are and how you make others feel. I am coming into my own. At last.
All my young adult years, all my 30's I just felt so hopelessly left behind in the beauty stakes, always felt so lacking and darn it all, fed up with my lot.
Slowly, I am caring less. I look at many women my age who haven't grasped that beauty is no longer about what size your jeans are and more about how cosy your lap is, I watch them look at themselves in the mirror and drag at jowls, lifting eyebrows and lined lips are pursed while they sigh and suddenly, I feel I am winning.
All the people that matter, see me so differently than I see myself. I am starting ( albeit slowly) to see myself the way they see me. I think I can feel my back straighten even as it aches, and my head is held a little higher.
I didn't ever imagine these times, I think I am glad about that because it's all such a lovely surprise.
I find I am a little sorry for those women who try to turn back the clock, those people who think botox, face lifts, skin peels and surgery are the answers to all their woes. There isn't any joy in staying the same. There is a time and a season for all things, how much we would miss if we fight against the life that is ahead of us and try frantically to stay where we are.
I think I will look forward and try to experience everything that is ahead because I am sure there is plenty to look forward to.

The best laid plans....

Funny, isn't it that as soon as you decide to do better the world conspires to call you a liar?

I have just finished reading the most incredible book, ' The hiding place' by Corrie Ten Bloom. Oh what an inspirational book that is, one of true goodness, an example of how we all ought to live. I read and with every page I was so sure that I would change my life, I would think and act differently and not take anything, even the smallest of things for granted. I bought a copy of the book to lend to family and friends so that they can feel so uplifted and moved.

In fact, what seems to have happened is that every fool and his sidekick is in my face making sure that any effort I might make is hampered.

How is it possible that this woman and her family, trapped in a concentration camp can be so positive, so Christ like and yet I, in my comfy home, surrounded by every comfort and luxury am bad tempered and grumbling? Pathetic is what I am.

I am so determined to be better and its so EASY when I alone, when everyone is in bed and I sit here in my quiet with my plans and ideas. I can move mountains and uplift weary souls......right up until everyone is awake and being all normal and loud, no-one wants to join me in my peaceful and spiritual awakening, they want cereal and toast and not THAT cereal and TRIANGLE toast not SQUARE toast. They don't want to do homework or go to swimming lessons because they CAN'T SWIM and for heaven's sake who wants to go to swimming lessons when you can't swim and people will have to talk to you and even *touch* you ( shudder)

I am particularly irritated by H of late, even outside of those 3 days a month when he is unable to be reasonable and insists on behaving in such a way as to incur wrath even in me, ME when I am always so level headed and calm. It's a trying time I can tell you.

I am doing my best and reminding myself that Corrie and her sister were even grateful for the fleas in the camp they were imprisoned in and later learned that the fleas were the reason the guards didn't ever enter into their block and so they were able to read scripture and hold prayer meetings when to do so would surely have meant being put to death.

I bought monopoly today because I want to have cosy evenings playing with the boys, is it very miserable of me to feel almost afraid to even take the cellophane off the box because that whispering miserable part of me is sure that after 5 minutes or more it will all turn to chaos as there will be fights over who gets to be the car and who isn't, most definitely EVER going to be a stupid hat?

Was I always such a half empty sort of person? Like the 2 women who open the curtains and one says " Good Morning God" while the other says "Good God, Morning" I hate to admit that I am more like the second woman these days. I hear other people sing songing their way through the day and rather than feel lifted up, I find myself mumbling ' Oh shut up for heaven's sake.'

Actually I am more a split personality because more than ever I am aware of how good things are for me, I take such delight in small things, feeling cold and then finding a toasty hot water bottle as I stretch out my foot in bed, washing my face and having a hot towel fresh from the radiator to dry my face on....I am enveloped with such joy every time. I'm not endlessly miserable, truly I'm not. I think I just forget to show that I'm not of late. It's unfortunate that the joyous moments seem to be when I am alone ( coincidence? Hmmm it's puzzling.)

Strange that I started to write this over a week ago, before the Haiti earthquake. What a terrible, terrible thing. If ever there was a tragedy that has stopped me in my tracks, this would be it.

I whine, I know I do, I always seem able to find something to complain about and then we see this, we see babies on the street with no family, no home, nothing, fear and death and absolute destitution. It is unimaginable to me, living here with an abundance of everything, more food and heat, water and comfort that we can ever need, taking for granted the water, available from taps in our home, hot water, clean water. Clean clothes, comfortable beds, TV, computers. Life seems so unbalanced doesn't it?

Nothing we do can make a difference, on our own...... as a group, a country, a world it is incredible to see what can be done, each person trying to do what they can, give what they can will make a difference. I wanted to badly to do something and not just put some money in an envelope and pat myself on the back. I want my children to see they have an abundance of everything they need and so much of everything they want.

I think we did asked them to write down one thing they needed, that they don't have.

Seth wrote " nothing"

Isaac wrote " enough chairs" ( it is true that when we have company, someone usually has to sit on the floor! I am sure no-one will die from lack of chairs!)

Elijah wrote " a snowboard" Bizarre as we don't even have snow ( And long may we keep saying that!)

I explained that I wanted us all to give up something, for a week and donate the money to a Haiti charity. The boys said that they would give up their once a week take out food and they did, without a grumble ( apart from Isaac who is going through the most revolting 'practising being a teen' phase) I decided that I would not buy any magazines this week, that sounds such a cop out, like that would be a sacrifice! Oh my goodness, I can't tell you how grumpy I felt by wednesday! I love to sit outside the school and wait for the boys, with a magazine and a hot chocolate, glorious silence and a magazine, reading and doing puzzles and I am really a stickler for making sure nothing interferes with that time! I even toyed with the idea of buying them and not telling anyone, it's not as though they would know, I would still donate the money, who loses out? I do, that's who.
It doesn't hurt us to go without those things we take for granted, my drier broke for 2 weeks and then my washing machine.....it didn't hurt me at all to be reminded that these things are luxuries, not a given right, our lives in this country are so simple, so pampered and sometimes it is good for us to remember that.

Seeing the tragedies in Haiti, being forced to witness how hard life is for so many people. It is also incredible to see how much good comes about whenever there is such a terrible occurrence, people are good, we live in a world where we hear such awful news and can begin to feel as though there isn't a drop of goodness out there and then we see how many good people this world has, how people will drop everything to help those in need and every time, good overcomes the bad. Stories of miracle rescues, babies being handed back to previously heartbroken mothers. I love watching the good and remembering that I have things pretty cushy, that as much as I might complain, in truth, this is a good life.

All this AND tickets to go to 'Britain's got talent' again on Tuesday.

I am reminded that my glass is not half full, it runneth over.

Look me straight in the eye, self.

The Guy in the Glass
by Dale Wimbrow, (c) 1934

When you get what you want in your struggle for self,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.

For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he's with you clear up to the end,
And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,
And think you're a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you've cheated the guy in the glass.

*************************************************************************************

What an emotional week this has been.
When faced with choices and hurdles, sometimes we can look to other people to tell us what to do, where to go, how to choose. We might expect them to make us happy, pamper and stroke our egos, we might believe all the hype about ourselves and feel superior or lofty, begin to think that everyone about us should hold us up and sing our praises.
More often than not, we will enjoy such times and begin to feel that the world is our oyster and owes us a favour or two.
How worrying when we forget that we are all just the tiniest of pieces in a jigsaw, the smallest of stitches in a tapestry and without the rest..well we're insignificant.
Our lives are such that we are given endless opportunities to serve one another, in grand gestures or tiny, almost unnoticeable ways.
There will be a day when we will stand and answer to how we lived our lives and it won't matter how many friends we had, no-one will care how important we were, there won't be any measurement of how popular we might have been.
It will all be about how good a friend we were, how we made others feel important and how often we made others feel as if they were loved, special, cherished.

This post could be so overflowing with cliches, sayings, quotes.

It's nice to be important but more important to be nice.

No-one cares how much you know, they want to know how much you care.

I don't even know what I am trying to say, except I am so thrilled to know that I am loved.
I am unbelievably humbled by the volume of true and unconditional friendship that is given to me every day by so many people.

I am part of the cool group, probably THE coolest group.
Not the way the cool group in school was run, never THAT kind of cool group, this gang, this club, has very strict membership rules.

You have to be a young mother or a grandma.
You have to be married or single.
You have to be rich or have nothing.
You have to work outside the home or stay at home with your children.
You have to be skinny or overweight or somewhere in between.
You have to be dressed to kill or wearing sweats.
You have to wear high heels or crocs.
You have to be religious or an atheist or unsure of what you believe.
You have to own your own home or rent.
You have to be tee total or a drinker.
You have to live here or there.
You have to be honest.
You have to be kind.
You have to take the rough with the smooth.
You have to be funny.
You have to give and take.
You have to serve
You have to be served.
You have to share.
You have to be open.

What a cool group to be in.
No leader, no high ranking, crown wearing superior but a whole membership working towards being the best, the kindest.

To get in you have to be able to look in the mirror and feel at ease. That's a tough entrance exam alright.

Ever think......

About all the time wasted along the way?





The older I get, the faster life flies by and the more I see how much more I could do with my life. I would so love to be able to escape this fog and run with the flow.


I wonder what I would do differently if I had the chance to go back and change things. I don't want to find myself in a corner, with crumbling bones wishing I had been braver.
My insides are so different to the woman the world sees. My blog person is more like the real me, not this stumbling weakling that leaves the house every day. What is it that stops the real me fighting through the village idiot that controls my body?