A Modern Mother

Lost and found

Sometimes you don't know you have given something up until you have found it again.

Perhaps lost is a better word. Left behind. Somewhere between the marketing lunches and toys on the carpet.

If I squint I can just make out bits of it -- A baby born. Patting backs and encouraging burps at 2 am. Husband sleeping soundly in another room. A sister born before the first can talk. Is that another?

A long hospital stay. Cotton between my brain. I just want to take a nap. A long one.

Oh look. Here it is. A family with three beautiful children. And they still want to hold my hand. Hooray!

Photo credit: Robert Crum

W is for...

Alexandra came out of reception today with chocolate smudged on her face and a ripped open package of Maltesers in her hand. Half were still stuffed in her cheek, bulging like a hamster.

Who's birthday was it today? I asked knowingly.

I'll give you a hint. It starts with a wah, she said slipping her slightly sticky hand into mine.

William?

Should teachers yell in the classroom?

In a perfect world, of course not. But it happens. A lot.

At my children's school, a very popular public school in the Chilterns, many of the teachers yell. We all know about it. It's the kind of school where parents are very, er, hands-on. There are lots of older mums that gave up careers as bankers and lawyers to stay home with the kids, and when the children reach school age, they find they have spare time and energy.

I am one of those mums (minus the spectacular career). I'm a chronic volunteer -- lunchtime supervisor, clubs, committees, PTA. The school actually gave me a Christmas present this year. I have been around and heard an ear load over the past few years.

Friendships come from the least expected places

There's an apple orchard not far from here. I found it a couple years ago, I was driving down a country lane, the kind where if you are not paying attention you find yourself head-to-head with another car, and need to back up into a passing place. I saw a hand-written sign that said "Apples" and pulled over. There weren't many apple orchards in San Diego, and I thought the girls would enjoy seeing the origin of one of their favourite fruits.

We pulled into the farm and made our way to the old barn, a barrel of rainwater gleaming in the waning September sun and a whisper of Autumn in the warm breeze. As we timidly walked in through the open door, the heavy sweet smell of ageing fruit engulfed us.

Who the hell is HSBC giving my details to?

Warning -- this is a rant.

I got a phone call today from a young chap who sounded like he was in a call centre based in the Midlands. I could hear others talking in the background.

"This is HSBC, is this a good time to talk?"

No, it's half-term you idiot. "Not really."

"I just need to confirm some details with you."

Huh? You called me.

He went on to give me the first three characters of my post code, and asked me for the rest. Then he gave me my birth month, and wanted me to fill in the blanks.

The blog nightmare

OK, this is proof it has to stop.

Last night I woke up around 3 am. The sheets were damp. My heart was racing. It was all so real.

My worry? I had a blog somewhere that I needed to update. I just couldn't find it. I couldn't remember what clever name I had christened it. Tired Mummies? No. Mummies on the run? No. Mums on Medicine? No. No. No.

Oh, where was it? I knew it must be in need of a new post and it must be time to respond to comments. Where, where, where?

OHMYGOD -- I'm Scottish!

I think I'm turning Scottish. It's true. Been sleeping too long next to a Scot and it's rubbing off.

Consider this, today I suggested a venue for lunch based on a voucher. My friend wanted to go to a restaurant that unfortunately didn't have a 2-for-1 coupon, and sensing my frugality, she offered to pay my way. I wasn't even embarrassed.

Last weekend, when temperatures dipped below freezing and winds were high and knocking down trees, I caught myself reassuring our eldest "but at least it's dry."

I have a drawer full of 2nd class postage stamps. I got them on sale mail order.

Should schools close when it snows?

We woke up to nearly five inches of snow covering our garden, the trees, the rooftops. It was really quite magical. Like being on holiday.

But it's Thursday, a school day, and we were not in the Alps. We were waiting for the email from school. Would it, wouldn't it, would it, wouldn't it. Be open, that is.

Our head teacher is from Scotland, and made of stern stuff. Yes of course school was open. Enough teachers were in, there was ample food in the freezer for school dinners, they could have a snowman competition on the field. Life, and studies, would go on.

But should it? Despite our bad weather reputation, we don't get that many snowy days in the UK. Should we just get on with it, or should we let the kids have a bit of fun while they can?

My hands are full

I was harrassed into this by Emma, Bush Mummy, More than Just and Mother, Everyday Mama Drama and Home Office Mum.

I didn't want to do it. But here it is. A random photo of me and my brood.

It seems like just yesterday. Living large in La Jolla (pre credit crunch). A stroll on the beach. A babe in each arm, and another at my feet.

Sheer bliss <cough, cough>.

If feel sorry for me, don't. Here's a screen cam of the beach that was at the end of our road. Just checked the weather in La Jolla -- 23C today. Did I mention we are enduring the worst snow storm in 18 years!

So remind me again, why do I live here?!