The GREAT SECRET of motherhood

Becoming a mother is a life changing experience.  Suddenly a whole new world opens up to you.  You begin to speak in a whole new language and you learn the GREAT SECRET.

The GREAT SECRET is revealed to you though experience.  No one draws you aside and whispers it in your ear.  You are a mother for three days and you know it, you LEARN it!

For those people who have not had a baby and would like to know this secret (and feel that having a baby to discover it is a bit overenthusiastic) I will share it with you.

An ordinary person thinks that these are just for cleaning a baby's bottom.  The fools!  The great secret of motherhood is that baby wipes are amazing.  Their uses are manifold.  They can clean stains from almost anything...they can eliminate smelly stains for anything...they can clean make up off in one wipe...they can remove marker from interactive whiteboards.  That is why mothers continue to have them in their handbags long after their babies are out of nappies.  Baby wipes can cause any stain* to vanish.  

This causes me to ponder...isn't God a bit like an everlasting supply of baby wipes?

* I have not tried to remove any and every stain with baby wipes and so please do not sue me if they don't work on that 3 year old red wine stain on your cream suede coat....but I would be pretty sure that if you had the wipes in your bag and used them within 5 minutes of the spilling incident the results would be impressive.

Secret Places

The urban farm is one of Beatrice's favourite places.  She is a frequent visitor as Thursdays with Granny Leona and Granda Brian often follow a "feed the ducks, go to the farm, then the market and off to Dalchoolin" sort of pattern.  We were only introduced to it at the start of the summer and shared this wonderful little secret with Josie today.

Bea has developed a particular rapport with Billy the Goat.  She accepts his name as simply his name.  I on the other hand always have a little smile that emanates from the satisfaction that quirky word play brings.  He has recently been put into an enclosure with his brother Paddy.  Paddy has a beard and looks exactly like your imagining of a Billy Goat Gruff.  Billy and Paddy fight like siblings do, often with little head butts and loud, slow releases of breath.  Bea quite deliberately favours Billy.  He is the goat she loves and the one she wants to feed.  Thankfully, Josie was on hand today to distract Paddy.

The livestock is limited, but not just to two goats...there is a third called Archie, a shetland pony, two curly pigs, one enormous fat pig, numerous flavours of chickens, ducks, rabbits and guinea pigs.  Often "the lady" Anna is on hand to help with the petting of the rabbits.  Today however, there were only young teenage girls wiping the rabbits' fur with disinfectant wipes so we had to suffice with sticking little fingers through chicken wire to stroke them.

This secret rural oasis is, for those of you who watch a lot of Cbeebies (as I do) a cross between Big Barn Farm and Mr Bloom's Nursery.  You can wander through poly tunnels and look at the tomatoes, peas, beans, carrots, potatoes, corn, pumpkins and the like growing.  You can buy fresh eggs and you can wander through the orchard, between bushes dripping with gooseberries, plums, apples, raspberries and blueberries, looking for a little cottage to play in.

If you get lost, it is signposted...and it's name...well, that should be obvious...

The house provided considerable entertainment today to two little girls and to two mummies who were eavesdropping....

Josie...."Can I have two spotty drinks please?"

Bea... "Sure....pour, pour, pour, pour....there you go"

The next conversation is illustrated....( and you ought to be able to tell, unedited)

"I'm picking my tomatoes.  This is my tomato tree"

"Here Jose have a tomato"

"Er, no.   I'm going to the house"

"Wait for me"

There is so much that is good about this special, little secret place.  It is packed with so many interesting things to see and do and is generally populated and staffed by people who are Mr Tumble's friends (see the Cbeebies thing keeps giving!)  It is small enough to be easy to visit and large enough to be a big adventure for a 3 year old.  It is free, which means you actually want to buy grain for the hens (you are allowed to bring your own carrots for the rabbits or goats) ...and you feel almost benevolent if you buy the freest of free range eggs or a giant hanging basket.  This may just be a secret I don't want to keep.

Betty and the Lost Slipper

The summer had officially begun.  Husband was safely returned from Summer Camp and suitably rested.  The sun was forecast to be in the sky and so it was time for an adventure.


We decided to take the bikes to Lisburn for lunch.  It was the first time that Betty, my beautiful cruiser of a bike (seriously, look at her...all pearlescent pink with flames on the chain guard, saddle and handles, not to mention the detachable wicker basket on the front!) * had been given a proper airing since before Bea was born.  She had of course taken part in the obligatory cycle to the park and for ice cream, but thrice in three years really doesn't count.  Beatrice was almost beside herself with excitement, bouncing on the spot declaring "I love lunch in Lisburn" which was certainly prophetic as she has never been to Lisburn for lunch!

Bea was not cycling there herself, but travelling in ibert.  Being Bea, she demanded a twirly skirt for the occasion.  Lola obliged.  We were joined by Granda Robert and Granny Gina.  Our little convoy invoked a considerable amount of hilarity from those we passed (probably a combination of ibert and the wicker basket) and comments including "My word, it's the Von Trapps"

This being Bea's inaugural jaunt to "the Point" we had to pause to admire some of the landmarks along the way, like the big fish.  But after brief moments off the bike, her demands of "Let's go" and "Daddy go faster" forced us back into the saddle and off again.

We had planned to stop at the Loughkeeper's Inn, a hostelry of much local notoriety, for coffee en route.  As we slalomed through hoards of people walking along the tow path, and may I add, overtook several groups of cyclists, we wondered if there would be room for us at the Inn.  We needn't have worried.  It was closed.  Indeed the sign said, "closed for holidays, 11th, 12th and 13th July".  I was never fully convinced that the owner of said establishment possessed great intelligence, but surely only a business numbskull would close the only coffee shop on a major tourist route on a public holiday.  Anyhow, the Ramada hotel about a quarter of a mile off route (up a slight incline) was open and willing to provide refreshment.

Then back on the bikes.  With only one more little stop for Bea to stretch her legs and blow bubbles before we reached our destination.

 

The Loughkeeper's Inncident should have given us warning...but as we arrived in Lisburn, with our eyes fixed on "the Point" and husband practically salivating at the mere thought of a steak, we noticed that it was closed.  There must be somewhere open in the town   city (no sorry, I can't, I don't care what the queen says) town to offer us food.  The only problem was that the town was up hill.  With my eyes fixed on the goal I actually ascended the mountain small hill fairly easily and we discovered "The Street" in which to eat.

It is probably best not to mention at this point the incident with the toilet door.  Moving on.  The return journey began with Beatrice doing her best nodding dog impression in ibert.  This precipitated a stop at Shaw's Bridge to allow her to lie comfortably and snooze on the grass.  Naturally, once the motion of the bike stopped, so did the slumber and she enjoyed fifteen minutes sprinting up and down hill and collecting wildflowers.  Those fifteen minutes may not seem long, but were adequate time for every muscle beneath my waist to lock into position, which took five minutes back with Betty to unlock.  Still our pace, significantly slower than the normal Seath speed, afforded us even more overtaking opportunities, until we reached Dargon and then my speed stopped.  I'm convinced everyone else thought they were cycling backward and in Whitehouse Park I had to tell them all to go ahead fearing that, at my speed, gravity would pull them off their bikes.  But still, I did it...cycling every inch back home.  Once separated from Betty, I couldn't move for half an hour, but who could ask for more than half an hour in the sun with an ice pop anyway.

It is difficult to find words to describe just how much entertainment this photograph has brought my husband.  The juxtaposition of my evident exhaustion against the boundless energy of the two year old sliding with joyous abandon.

My recovery was aided by a lovely warm bath, and after tea I braved the wastes of Tescos for dog food, milk and bread.  Meanwhile, husband and daughter created a story / game in the back garden.  It went something like this....

(Husband plays role of "the groom" and has most of the dialogue, daughter is "the bride")

"Oh no!  Someone has lost their glass slipper!  I must find out who it belongs to."

"I have searched every house in the village and this is the last one.  I wonder does the person who owns the slipper live here and will she be my bride?"  (Knocks door)

(Bride opens door)  "Hello"

"Is this your glass slipper?"

"Yes"

"I shall have to try it on to see if it fits you."

(gasp)  "It fits!

(The bride and groom hug)

(Bride rushes off saying "shops" and kicks off a glass slipper.  She rushes giggling back to her cottage.  The cycle repeats)

Seriously, the cycle repeated about 50 times.  I have it on video three times and it had been going on LONG before I returned.

Thankfully, for husband's sanity, the game was abridged today after the tenth cycle and they went hunting for friendly snakes in the jungle instead.

His patience was rewarded with the arrival of his new bike.

*  I have not yet mentioned Betty's dice shaped air valve closey things, nor the detachable tassels for her handlebars, nor the fact that her name is painted on her chain guard ..."the Betty".  Despite all of this, perhaps even because of it, the reason I love Betty is that when I am on her, no one could ever mistake me for a serious cyclist.

Midsummer

Today is the day that the sun stands still.


The word "solstice" is a latin combination of "sun" and "to stand still".  So from our perspective, on this longest day, the sun stands still in the sky.

Midsummer is thought to be a time of magic, when evil spirits are said to appear.  Oddly, unlike at Hallowe'en, the shops seem to be void of spooky tat with which to decorate our homes.  Perhaps the retail beast should be alerted to this previously untapped "festival" so that they can make the most of a potential money-spinner.   To thwart them (evil spirits, not shops), Pagans often wore protective garlands of herbs and flowers.  Today Beatrice and I made a Midsummer garland.  I do not believe that it has power to stop evil spirits....thanks but if it is all the same I'll continue to trust Jesus for that one....but we thought it would be a fun craft for a rainy day.


How do you fill the longest day?  We met Miriam and Grace at Ikea, where along with the plastic flowers for the wreath, we also purchased toy food.  Then we headed to the Ulster Museum to see dinosaurs, Sleeping Beauty's spinning wheel, the polar bear, the princess dresses, the giant shoe, the dolls house, the sad men on the boat and to paint a still life.  Unfortunately, the tree with the bat and badger inside was shut.  We then shared lunch in the restaurant and reflected on the amazing changes that have taken place on the university campus since one of us frequented it's aged cloisters.  Back at home, the wreath was made and a cafe was opened.  It has been serving felt food and tiny plastic goblets of water all afternoon,  until we decided to pull on our wellies and go splashing about in the not insignificant puddles created by this afternoon's torrential rain.  It occurred to me that this is MIDsummer.  From tomorrow the days are "on the turn" and we begin the lovely downhill to Christmas.  But how can this be the middle of summer....summer hasn't even started?  The summer holidays are yet a week away.  We still have caravanning, Castlewellan and Birthday Parties to attend!  And excuse me if I have missed it, but where is the summer weather?  From my perspective the summer hasn't even begun, let alone reached it's zenith. Which brings me full circle to "perspective"

If today is the longest day, tonight will be the shortest night.  Unless of course you live in the southern hemisphere, in which case the reverse is true.....or if you live on the equator where all days are equal.  And of course, the sun does not stand still today.  It is us who are moving after all.  


A timely reminder that our perspective can create something wholly convincing and yet fundamentally untrue.  So, when my circumstances seem to indicate the contrary, I shall endeavour to ignore my perspective and trust in the unchanging love of God.  But for today, when I can easily thank Him for the longest day filled with His love and kindness to me, when I can easily count my myriad of blessings, I shall enjoy the view from this perspective.

The Word According to Beatrice

It has been one of those days that has been filled with the odd and adorable sayings of Bea.


This morning, when asked by her Daddy what she would like to do, she replied, "I'm going to a Masquerade Ball"  When questioned about her knowledge of masquerade balls she informed us that her Auntie Heather had told her all about them.


We went downstairs and I asked her if she would like to watch our wedding.  She replied, "Yes, when Mummy and Daddy got married.  Mummy was a bride and Daddy was a broom"


At tea time, she bounced into the kitchen, announced "Beth is my best friend" and then returned to whatever was occupying her in the lounge.


At bedtime, after being sick in her bed, she needed new pyjamas, so I pulled out a Princess top.  Beatrice observed, "my jamamas are all pink and sparkly and sleeping bleuty"  Her pillowcase and sheet also needed changed.  As I was doing this she reflected on the event that had just passed (being sick)..."Mummy, my tummy went all round and round and then it just spurted out of my mouth.  I am feeling better now.  My tummy is being quiet".  As she snuggled under her clean quilt she said "thank you Mummy for making my bed all lovely and pinky".  I melted.


Just as she was about to drift off to sleep, she turned to me and stated, "Mummy when I'm a big girl, I'm going to be a bride.  Not just big, but biggerer."


Finally, it was with great delight that she spread some gossip on Monday.  "Mummy?"  she asked.  "Yes" I replied.  "Do you know what Granda Robert called Granny Gina?"  "No".....(pause for effect)..."He said she was a humdinger".  I looked at a huge smile and two mischief filled eyes that were searching my face to ascertain if this was a compliment or something very cheeky.  Knowing her Granda Robert, it could have been either.

Maeve Binchy

I love reading Meave Binchy so much that when she writes a new novel, I rush to buy it and then have it sitting on the bookshelf for months, if not years.  It sits there unread.  From time to time I will touch it, stroke the spine, look at the cover and put it back.


You see I am addicted to books (Boden dresses / pilgrim jewellery / ribbons)  I find it incredibly difficult to walk out of a bookshop empty handed, especially a proper bookshop (although Tesco now offers some degree of competition)  So I find that I collect books, picked in the main because of the quality of their covers.  I know the old adage is to "never judge a book by it's cover" but I am very superficial and I do.  The first thing that attracts me is the artwork, followed by the title, followed by the presence of a sticker (Richard and Judy's book club guaranteed purchase, while Galaxy and Costa Coffee awards merit closer inspection)  An author I've enjoyed normally also ensures investment.

I love books.  I love how they look on bookshelves.  I love how the smell.  I love the smooth, quality card of the cover.  I love the feeling of cracking the spine on a new paperback and feeling how far I've gotten into the book as the spine wrinkles and ages as I read.  I love folding a page corner before I go to sleep.


I can give a book away if I've read it and enjoyed it.  If I've loved it, it must stay forever.  Perhaps in the attic where, although I can't see it, I am comforted by it's presence should I ever need it again.  So you see, I could use a "kindle" but I could never love it.  It just isn't the same...it isn't really reading a book.  You absorb the same knowledge, but you miss the connection with the book....the relationship.


I am doing my best to pass this addiction on to Beatrice.  She does seem to love books too.

Anyway, back to Binchy.  This book passion means that I have a bookshelf filled with "to be reads".  When you start a new book you are never quite sure what it's going to be like.  Will it deliver it's promise, or will it disappoint?  There is always a risk.  It could be the next "Prayer for Owen Meaney" or "Night train to Lisbon".  The former I enjoyed, forced myself through in parts and when I reached the conclusion thought "Wow" and read it over again immediately.  The latter I detest.  It is trying to  to defeat me....I have been reading it for over a year...a paragraph at a time...I will finish it, but I may be very old when I do.  With Maeve, she is so formulaic that I know exactly what I'm getting.  I know I will cosy up with completely believable characters that I will care about, I will start to speak with a softer Irish accent and I will love every paragraph of the book.  Her books feel snug, comfy, homelike.  So I keep her books as a gift to myself.  I will read most of the to be reads and then, when I feel the need, I will crack open the new MB and indulge myself in pure, unbridled reading pleasure.


I know they aren't academic or high brow....but they are escapism, relaxing and jolly good reads.  I love them and I firmly believe that enjoyment is what reading is about.


I have just spent the afternoon in bed finishing off a Cathy Kelly.  She has a bit of Maeve about her and I am delighted to spot another of her books on the to be read shelf.  But to conclude, I shall include her life lessons....

"Be kind to other women.  It really works - most of the time.  And even on those days when it doesn't, it'll make you feel better inside.  And on the outside, actually!  Because spite carves out things in your soul and it carves out things on your face too, the sort of lines that dermatologists say are from the sun or smoking, and are really from spite."

"When you're annoyed, don't speak from that place inside yourself that nurtures all past hurts.  That will just make it all worse.  Speak out of love and a desire to make things better."

"Sometimes you can't fix it.  Other people, for example; you can't fix them.  You just have to decide whether it's worth hanging around until they fix themselves - or if it's worth hanging around even though they may never decide to fix themselves."

"Get down on your knees every day and say thank you.  Even if you don't feel grateful all the time, practice it, and one day you will appreciate all the good things."

So today, despite a runny nose I am thankful for a handsome husband, a spirited daughter who loves little more than singing in the rain and jumping in muddy puddles.

Every dog has it's day

We are a family of five.  Daddy, Mummy, Beatrice, Dilly and Beanz.


I am quite good at remembering birthdays and I am getting better as Bea demands to know "whose birthday is next?" in the vain hope that it is hers.  She almost knows the chant by heart now....Seth, Granny Gina, Chloe, Josie, Granda Robert, Jenny and Joanna, Alana, Max and....ME!  


Quite randomly, in May or June we invite friends round.  If I happen to have baked a cake it becomes Dilly's birthday.  The date for this event is very fluid and does not necessarily happen every year, but tomorrow will be Dilly's birthday.  Particularly because two of Dilly and Beanz special friends (fans) are coming...Jacob and Beth.  Despite the addition of this birthday into the list, pushing hers back even further, Bea is quite accepting of this event.


Thus, this morning I baked a cake.  Beatrice baked in tandem.  Rather than co operating with me, she created her own cake independently following no particular recipe, but frequently warning Daddy to keep away because the "sharp thing is very sharp and it would cut your fingers"


The oven was filled with my cake.  Bea's cake wouldn't fit in her princess oven, so she has set it in the sun to cook.

She calls it "Apple tart with salad".  I hope that my cake tastes better....it is good to live in hope....






PS...Beanz never gets a birthday.  I imagine that he does not feel particularly deprived or unloved as he still gets fed and is, at the end of all things, only a dog.  I do not think that this would be an advisable way to raise children however...such blatant preference for the Joseph dog could lead to all sorts of sibling jealousies.