The Big Move

I am in the process of moving house.

Ten years worth of accumulated junk is being sorted and packed into boxes to move a couple of miles across town.

There are advantages and disadvantages. I will be nearer to my mother who still stubbornly refuses to consider moving herself, although the days of having the luxury of choice are quickly disappearing and I fear for her future. On the down side, it is further away from schools and my youngest child will need driving to school for at least the next year until he takes the next step up to secondary education.

I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, we could do with a fresh start but on the other, I have been here a long while - this is the longest I have lived anywhere since leaving home.

My husband has always hated this house and it has never been lucky for us. The house has a troubled history and it has always felt uneasy living here. I have never experienced that warm feeling when entering the house that says you are glad to be home.

In the early days of living here, a lot happened that remains unexplained that led us to having the house ‘cleared’. It is much better these days but the feeling of an energy that exists outside of the family still lingers. There is one room in particular that always makes me shiver and no one can sleep in. If I am honest, this house has just never worked for us and it will be a relief to leave.

Financial and other restraints have prevented us from making the move before and much as my sane and rational side says that bricks and mortar cannot influence your future, psychologically a move should be beneficial to all of us.

However, ten years is a long time and my youngest son has known no other home so there are a lot of memories here but I believe you carry these with you rather than leave them behind.

I think it can be good for children to know that you can make a change and it will be alright. I have made some big moves in my own life and they have always turned out to be for the best.

Everyone should move every few years in any case, if only to clear out the junk!

This will be another chapter in our lives, a new beginning, and although the next house is smaller, I am looking forward to being two minutes away from the beach. I can look out of my front window and stare at the sea. Inspiring stuff for a writer.

It is perhaps fitting that I have just published an eBook, dedicated to the town I now live in (http://www.apexpublishing.co.uk/pubdetails.aspx?Num=267).

We move next week. I am ready (well almost!).

On friendship

    

            “Why would she do that?” my daughter asked about a so-called friend who had been messing around with another girl’s boyfriend.

            “She’s supposed to be a friend.” The old cliché ‘all’s fair in love and war’ came to mind but the simple truth is that girls can be heartless when it comes to affairs of the heart, and ever was it so.

            Years ago, when I was not much older than my daughter, I can remember my best friend at the time taking up with my boyfriend and the first I knew of it was when I turned up at his house and she opened the door. I cried for about a week and cut them both out of my life. I moved on to a better relationship and he did the same thing to her six months later. I forgave her and she remains to this day, one of my closest friends.

            I’d like to tell my daughter that relationships, with girls as well as boys, improve as you get older but I have found that grown women can be every bit as devious, calculating and unpleasant as my daughter’s (ex) friend. Millie nearly fainted from shock when I told her that I could count my true friends on one hand. For someone, like herself with in excess of 1,000 ‘friends’ on Facebook the idea that I should admit to having so few seemed inconceivable.

            Yes, I know a lot of people. I have a lot of acquaintances. I am in touch with people from school, university, work and the school run. I am on speaking terms with our neighbours and I know my children’s friends’ parents well enough to pass the time of day. But my true friends, who I could call on if need be, at any time of the night or day, remain in single figures.

            I tried to explain: “You meet many people on your journey through life, some stay with you for a time, others fall by the wayside fairly quickly, but only a few will travel with you until the end.”

            Millie didn’t really understand and I didn’t expect her to. Even though we have moved house and she has changed schools and knows all about ‘moving on’, she still expects the people she is friendly with now to be in her life in 10, 20 or 50 years time. And, just maybe, one or two of them will be.

            I can count my true friends on one hand (well, maybe two) and my hope for my daughter is that she is able to say that when she reaches my age because the passage of time reveals those who truly are our ‘best friends’.

     

Growing Pains

When my children were babies, I will admit that I sometimes found it tough. The constant round of changing nappies, washing and feeding combined with lack of sleep and limited free time, meant that I often looked forward to the future when they would be more independent. 

Now that they are older and able to go out on their own, I have different concerns, from reckless drivers to paedophiles, not to mention alcohol, drugs and (in the case of my teenage daughters) boys! I now realise that whatever their age, the worry never ends. Being a parent means that you are destined to be anxious for the rest of your life.

I still want to keep them safe but I also recognise the fact they also need to go out in the world, experience life for themselves and make their own mistakes.

There is no short circuit or quick fix. And no amount of trying to instil in them what you have learned in life is going to help. As parents, we can advise them but they have to work things out for themselves.

Sometimes, this hurts. You, as much as them. None of us wants to see our children go down the wrong path or make bad decisions but sometimes all we can do is stand by and let them find out for themselves. And be on hand to pick up the pieces when things do go wrong of course!

My eldest daughter has caused us many sleepless nights already and I am sure that she, and her siblings, will continue to do so.

But I am a great believer that given the right upbringing and influences, no matter how far they stray off the path, they will find the right way eventually. 

So, whilst it is difficult to send the children you have nurtured and cared for off into the unknown, you have to let them go.

And if we have done our job well, hopefully they will come back. Stronger, happier, more independent and capable people.

Boys will be boys

It is an established fact that boys are different to girls.

Ok, moving away from the obvious, I mean given the same parents, upbringing and influences, boys will generally seek out more masculine pursuits than girls.

This is, perhaps, why my 10 year old son has injured himself for the third time in as many weeks.

Firstly, it was his arm, the result of getting stuck in a tree –happily he escaped with wounded pride on having to be rescued, but no broken bones.

Then he hurt his foot during the final match of the season (Achilles tendon to be precise – which has blighted the careers of more than one professional footballer). This not only put him out of the second half (luckily his team still won) but curtailed all sporting activities for a fortnight.

This week, having returned to full health (and school), he slipped on the newly laid Astroturf and hurt his back resulting in him being immobilised for a further two days.

Then there is his collection of (toy!) guns. When my son was born, after two girls, vowed that I would never let him play with guns. This went out of the window very shortly after his second birthday when it became apparent that if we weren’t prepared to buy him the aforementioned toy, he would improvise with whatever came to hand.  We relented and he now has a Nerf arsenal worthy of a small arms dealer. (I should add that my son remains one of the most gentle boys I know and would not intentionally harm so much as a spider.)

Added to this is the sheer joy he gets from taking things apart to see how they work, even though he has long since found out that they don’t always go back together again! Lately, he has come to the conclusion that the toy manufacturers don’t always deliver and he has started designing his own games, cars and toys (ok, yes, guns too!). We have diversified from Lego and Meccano into elaborate creations handcrafted from wood and metal. If the football career doesn’t play out(!), I can foresee a career as a designer.

My girls love shopping, my son hates it. I have just taken him on the bi-annual trip into town to buy enough shorts, t-shirts and sandals to see him through the summer months. A similar trip takes place in the autumn.

My daughters have inherited their parents’ love of books whilst their brother has just enough attention for a Simpsons comic.

The girls like rom-coms, he prefers action thrillers.

I could go on. The last month of injuries has confirmed what I always thought to be true; boys are definitely different to girls. 

And as the doctor said when I presented him with the latest injury: "Boys will always be boys."

(Not so) green fingers

A strange event occurred last weekend. I decided to try and turn the abandoned wasteland at the rear of our house into a garden.

Now, anyone who knows me will, at this point, be laughing loudly. I am not known for my ability with plants. In fact, no matter how hard I try to look after them, watering, pruning, feeding and yes, even talking to them encouragingly, they eventually repay my kindness by dying.

Knowing that we are not the best when it comes to gardening, hubbie and I have opted for the safe approach; a large grassed area we call a lawn. It actually doubles as my son’s football pitch which is perhaps why it is rutted and full of holes for most of the year.

The remainder is what could best be described as a cottage garden; or weed patch to the uninitiated!

But every now and then I have the urge to create something beautiful to look at through the window.

So, last weekend found me weeding and mowing and raking and planting. Yes, planting. I even dragged hubbie to the garden centre where we spent a pleasant afternoon marvelling at the ability of others to grow things.

I carefully selected the unlucky plants that would be coming home with me. The cost of it all nearly had me heading for the nearest park under the cover of darkness – they surely wouldn’t miss a few!

Back home, my plants looked pathetically inadequate to fill the space they had been chosen to occupy but I am told that they will grow!

Several rubbish sacks (yes, I know that the bin men won’t take them away if there is even one twig sticking out – I sent hubbie to the tip)  and one bad back later, I was pleased to find that we still had an ornamental fence underneath the undergrowth.

I scrubbed weather worn containers and planted geraniums and pansies and one or two other things that promised to grow well with the minimum of care.

By Sunday night, I was pleased with my handiwork.

Now if it will just stay that way until this time next year, everything in the garden will, as they say, be just rosy!

Has anyone seen my mother?

Some days I wonder where my mum has gone. Not in the physical sense – I know exactly where she is, in the same house that she has lived in for the past 65 years (and steadfastly refuses to leave).

No, I mean in the sense that the direct (some would say rude), immovable and inflexible old lady I am frequently presented with bears no resemblance to the patient, kind, smiley woman who brought me up. 

In recent years, my lovely mum has become a Jekyll and Hyde character and more often than not these days, Hyde wins the day.

Never one to shy away from speaking her mind, she now does so at the top her voice in the most public and inappropriate places. Like at a family dinner, when she ‘whispered’ to me that the lady at the next table really shouldn’t be having desert and it was no wonder she was so fat!

I know that everyday life is becoming increasingly tough for her…

Her limbs have started to stiffen and simple tasks that she once took for granted have become increasingly difficult, painful even. I watch these changes in my mum and realise that we are all powerless against the will of Mother Nature.

Happily, my mum has always been in sound mind but just recently there has been a subtle change. She is a little bit more forgetful than usual and doesn’t remember things I told her yesterday. On other occasions, she tells me that same thing several times and gets annoyed when I point out that she really doesn’t need to phone me ten times a day to tell me about great aunt Bertha’s varicose veins.

I do try to understand things from her perspective but it is hard to support someone who is so prickly all the time, a bit like trying to cuddle a porcupine.

I know that, for her, the world has become a difficult place and my once fiercely independent mother would suddenly rather stay at home than venture out in it. Opportunities that she would have jumped at in the past are viewed as a series of obstacles to be overcome and are just too much trouble.  And I can’t print her response to my suggestion that I get a wheelchair so that I can take her out more easily – you can imagine!

And yet, on other occasions, we still have a laugh together, mum and me.  So I know that she is still there – the woman from my childhood. Sometimes these days, I just have to look a bit harder to find her.