Up and Down

Now you see there are days - sometimes many, many days in row - that I feel so very low I can't see the wood for the trees.

Some of you may know that historically I have suffered from depression, not treated medically until after my son was born but I believe that it started when I was 17.

The thing about depression is that people even in this enlightened day and age, think it's about just being a bit unhappy. "It's Monday - I'm so depressed!" for example. What really gets me is people who think that having depression is a choice .

Choose to be happy.
Choose to smile.
Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone.
Choose to be positive.
You might not have shoes but there's someone out there with no feet.

Yes, all true.

But.

But.

Do you wear glasses ? Are you say, diabetic ? Do you get sea sickness ?

What if I told you you could positively think your way out of your short sightedness ? Or the non functioning of your pancrveas, or your inner ear messing you about ?

You can't do it. 
I can't either.

I stopped taking the Citalopram some time ago because I wanted to fight this on my own and to be honest, I think I manage pretty well on the whole, given the tightness of money and the stress of having teenage children. I don't tell myself Well Done enough I reckon (no-one else will !) .

Today has been a Good Day. I think that warm sunshine always helps that process. I have made paper plate lion heads in Breakfast Club ; got overly enthusiastic about Prime numbers with my maths group (yes, 73 IS the best number, thank you Dr Sheldon Cooper ! the kids now think I am actually a lunatic) ; heard all about their trip to the local adventure centre (sleepwalking, nudity, incontinence and laser tag - all human life apparently was there !) . In between all the other daily tasks - yes - the ironing is up to date, and the pork chops are looking good for dinner when Mister Champers eventually turns up (the Man With No Mobile has gone to the dentist for an emergency appointment. Oh. Pork chops maybe not such a good dinner choice ...)

Yes; today has been a Good Day. And although it is true that smiling and just plain being nice to people, and genuinely interested in them , is a good way to make yourself feel good, some days, if I'm grey of face and down turned of mouth, it's because I am silently crying. (Sometimes I am actually crying ...sorry!)

But.

Today has been a Good Day.

Bubbles and Bloggers

On Sunday, which was of course Father's Day, I thought a little about my nephew and my nieces.

Due to family circumstances , I haven't seen my elder niece since 1996, never seen my younger, and saw my nephew once, I think about five years ago.

But on Father's Day I thought about my brother, and how he has missed out by not being the person he ought to be, and how the one time I met my nephew we played with bubbles. I had one of those battery operated things that if you pour bubble liquid into it, it will constantly send bubbles into the air, pretty bubbles ... He loved it.

I haven't seen him since and I may never see him again.

Now there are some Blogs that you take to heart more than others and recently I have been reading one by a lady who lost her baby to SIDS earlier this year. 
My own family isn't a stranger to loss; my eldest niece died aged two of heart failure after an op in GOSH on 30 May 1994. I was pregnant at the time. I know that this isnt in any way akin to the loss of Matilda Mae. But I have been thinking of both of them specially as the anniversary has just passed. 

Anyway today I read a related Blog that said Matilda Mae would love to see bubbles. And I thought of J, my never seen nephew again, and the mini bubble machine.

And here's the weird thing. Hubby's off work this week (aaargh!) and wanted window cleaning stuff so I delved under the sink to see if I could find some Windolene.

I didn't find any cleaning fluids but what I did I find at the back of the under sick cupboard (and I wish I had a Smartphone now so I could ad a photo!) instead were... five.. count 'em FIVE long forgotten bottles of unopened  'Rainbow Bubbles'. Bubble blowing liquid in pink and purple and lime green bottles.

So I have taken the first bottle I reached for (and it's bright pink) and after 

almost spilling the lot trying to peel back the foil on top I have blown a satisfying number of bubbles up to Matilda Mae and all the babies just like her.

xxx

Anyway in other news  I know that it is BritMums this weekend and many of my Twitter friends (and I count you, yes you - as such - Pretend Internet Friends - or PIFs as I have come to call you over the years) will be gathering in London to meet each other for the first time.

I've done a couple of Meets like this myself. Ten years ago, the first one was. I was privileged enough to later attend the wedding of two of the wonderful people who were there that night who had never previously met.  To still be friends with others. To later attend a Meet and and be with two people who took the trouble to drive me all the way home ; and who married and fought and died of individual cancers within months of each other.

There are so many warnings we rightly give to our children about  Internet Stranger Danger. Quite right. But my experiences have been nothing but positive. One PIF is now my ' Northern Twin' as we are alike in everything but geography !

Joining Twitter has enriched my on line life. And starting ridiculous diaries like this which have been supported and re-Tweeted by lovely Followers  has been fabulous and for someone with pretty low self esteem, life enhancing.


And I have been thinking about BritMums and all of the lovely clever wonderful talented mum bloggers who will be there. How they will all embrace each other when the "OMG it's YOU!" moment happens and they start talking as if they had always know each other face to face.

So to Aimee, Sam, Jennie to name just three, and all of you going to BritMums, have a wonderful supportive, happy time and tell us all about it when you get home on a high when the weekend is over !

Ibiza Rocks !

Sorting through my dressing table top drawer the other day I came across a buff coloured piece of crumpled paper tucked up into a small square. It must have been torn from a sketch pad as it was bigger than A4 when unfolded.To my delight it was in GirlTeen's childish handwriting, fairly neat and in ink. 

It was long forgotten ,short account of our trip to Ibiza, a full ten years ago from now. She was 7. Illustrated in places with pictures of variously a jacuzzi (I think that's what it is) and pieces of luggage, she reached Chapter 2 before she bored of the project.

Here it is reproduced as she wrote it. For my own amusement and hopefully, yours; an insight into the funny little way a 7 year old thinks.

CHAPTER 1

On Saturday 24th August I was going to Ibiza. I was very excited but worried that I would get shingles. I always get a virus or dessiece when it is an eccation*. Last time I went to Ibiza 2 years ago was when I got chicken pocks.When I went to Menorca I almost caught Singles. At 7:30pm my granddad but not the one who said his hair came of on his milk float,took us to Gatwick Airport. We waited a whole hour to get to the front of the que so we could get our flight tickets.Then we found out 1 of our cases was to heavy so we had to go to letter H and a lady put a sticker that said heavy on it.

*I think she means 'occasion'

At this point there is a an aside in a bubble that says :

Forgotten Message: Mum thought our heavy case would go to Malta.

We got in the britannia and flew off to Ibiza.Mum cried because she hates flights. We arrived at Ibiza and we took a coach to Hotel Presidente in Portanax resort.

Hotel Presidente, Portinatx, Ibiza (as seen on the Thomson website)

We got in the hotel and we were in room 28 on the 1st floor. It was 4.00am.

CHAPTER 2

We woke in the morning for our breakfast got dressed and then went to the welcome party it was boring and now mum wants to go to the market in Ibiza town <these next two words in red with jagged lines drawn round them> I dont! 

At least I got a kidsclub teashirt and cap. After that we went to the swimming pool until 4.00pm and the welcome party finished at 11.00am. 

FORGOTTEN MESSAGE: We met Sophie at breakfast

<Sophie was her classmate. To my horror, one of the more judgemental Mums From The School Playground was holidaying there at exactly the same time as us. Luckily I was in her clique (with gritted teeth most of the time) but I didnt really want to spend my away -from-all-that time with her. We quickly established different daily routines to the family without being entirely unsociable. It helped however that I knew I looked better in a bikini than Sophie's mum did ... >

Me and my mum went back to the hotel presidente and we both had showers.at 6:00pm we went to find my brother and my dad. We found them. 

Now soon I hope we go out to tea

After dad showers if he dosent diasagree.

There is unfortunately, no Chapter 3.But that's a crumpled piece of paper I will always keep and cherish; it brings back many memories that seem like yesterday despite being a decade ago.

Now she's nearly 18, a grown up, headstrong and determined. In a lot of ways though she's still that skinny 7 year old. Well, she always will be to me.

Father's Day

It's Father's Day. 


And the first time ever that the car wouldn't start. 
It's a four year old Ford Focus, for Heaven's sake. It's just been serviced. 
I mention this because R & the Boy were trying to get to Boy's cricket match ten minutes drive away in it and it let them down. 
And here's the thing:
I am in tears over this. 
But R ? He will do what he needs to do. He will find the money we really don't have at the moment to sort it out. 
He always does.
He's my rock.


We met at work in 1989. It was my first proper job after Uni, a temporary one you understand, while I decided what it was I really wanted to do. We were on different sections at the time but there was a major reorganisation following the implementation of a new computer system and our sections merged . R was in charge of the seating plan and he and I ended up sitting opposite one another.
He had a girlfriend at the time, of four years standing. Became engaged to her a couple of months after I met him. I was infatuated with the very aloof Goth guy who was charged with the task of training me. He thought I was 'twee'. I tried wearing black all the time but when Goth Guy's mate suggested I in fact looked like 'Heidi going to a funeral' I realised that was a non starter. 


Although he was engaged to someone else we started seeing each other. I'm not proud of that, but they weren't even living together, he'd been half-heartedly rail-roaded into it, and the thing was, we just clicked. It just made sense. They say, you'll know when you meet The One and I had always wanted to believe that and it turned out to be true. I just Knew. And so did he.  


It is 20 years in August since he asked me to marry him, at dinner in an open air restaurant in Artist's Square ,Montmartre, Paris, in the shadow of the Sacre Coeur, apt as they nickname that beautiful building the Wedding Cake on the Hill.


I am not easy to live with. I am up, and down. I cry. I love. I feel things too deeply. I get frustrated and that can be mistaken for anger. I worry - oh Lord how I worry. But R is my rock. 


He is always there, not just for me (God knows I need it) but most importantly for our children.




I am happy I have given him a son who shares his love of cricket. I know that seeing Boy in his whites even if he does get out for a golden duck, makes him very very happy too. 


He may never have done an early hours of the morning bottle feed, or changed many (any?) nappies. He may have said to me - when in the throes of  chronic pregnancy sickness "I'll help you!" by bringing a chair to the kitchen for me to sit on while I cooked... But.. I can see him now, with our first born, who arrived just over a year after we married, a bit of a shock to us , neither of us with any idea what to do with babies, singing over and over and over as he rocked her in his arms-


We all live in a yellow submarine
A yellow submarine
A yellow submarine


Repeat as necessary. 


And when years later, she was in hospital, on morphine, in pain, telling us she wanted to die, he was there and far far better than me at soothing her. He has one of those voices; he should be a continuity announcer. It was why I think, he was so good when briefly in charge of a call reception unit. He always made the customers listen and you can never win an argument with him. he has this way about him. The kind that gets Jehovah's Witnesses nodding in agreement with him  on the doorstep. Of course that means I often get annoyed with him because I know I can't win. 


But ultimately that doesn't matter at all. 


I cannot express how proud I am of him as a Dad. Calm, rational - infuriatingly so ! - generous, in control even during this bumpy patch we have inexplicably hit. He's not one of those dads who over do it by trying too hard. He's the moral confident silent backbone to our wonderful son and daughter. 


And they love him. And so do I.


But ssshhhh - don't tell him ;-) 

Stanmore No More

Re-published for Scoliosis Awareness Day 29th June 2013

Last week Teen came to the end of a road she (with us along for the ride) has been travelling for about five years. Which given she is 17 is a fair chunk of her life.

In late 2007 I started to notice her posture wasn't what it could be. She'd just turned 13 and at the time was spending many hours on her PC playing The Sims, so I put it down to too much time leaning over a hot computer game. Just the August before we had been to the Canaries and she had seemed all right  then.
But one day in November she came to me and said, "Take me to to the doctor's, I have a hunchback!"
Of course being me my first reaction was denial. "You're fine," I probably said; but looking at her in her dressing gown I knew that something wasn't right. I had probably seen it but not seen it, if you know what I mean. Her right shoulder did indeed protrude more than her left. 
With typical procrastination, borne of fear, we didn't see our preferred GP until after Christmas. I sat there (as I always do in GP surgeries) worried that we were either wasting his time, or that it was going to be really bad news.
He made her bend forward, looked her over, and then went to his desk.
The verdict came in.No doubts. It was scoliosis, a curve of the spine into an S-shape, and she would have to be referred to a hospital consultant.

I didn't immediately come home and Google the condition. I accepted that she had a curved spine and that was enough for now. We had to wait for the referral and I would take it from there.

Ah, the Choose and Book system ! 
When the paperwork came through - I had just two 'choices'. Bear in mind we live on the NE London borough of Havering/Essex border. We had expected to be offered GOSH, or a specialist place. No. My 'choices' were Addenbrookes in Cambridge (a fine hospital but too far away and we had no confidence that the spinal unit was specialist enough) or Wrexham. Yes, Wrexham. In Wales. In another country.
So it had to be Addenbrookes. I picked up the phone to 'Choose'. 
And was casually told that as they 'didn't have the paperwork yet', I should call again 'in about two weeks'.
To say I was frustrated is an understatement.

But there was a lifeline. 
One of the more sensible things I did when I started work was to sign up with my company's private health scheme. I did it mostly because they gave you a cute Teddy bear just for joining. As time went on the policy incorporated my children too. It wasn't a comprehensive private scheme, but it would be enough to get Teen a private consult. The proviso was that the the referral had to be to a private consultant with an NHS practice.

R was immediately on Google, researching scoliosis specialists, and he found  what turned out to be the perfect man for the job. 

A referral letter and a few weeks later, we found ourselves in a different world; the Private Health Sector, at the Wellington Hospital in St John's Wood, right next to Lord's cricket ground. A land where there is coffee on tap, satellite TV in the waiting area - not that 'waiting' is a verb known in this amazing place. 

Teen was whisked through for her X-ray and then we were in the office of the amazing, matter of fact, dry humoured and incredibly talented Mr Stuart Tucker, spinal adviser to the Royal Ballet School.

He looked at the (immediately returned) X- ray results.

"This," he said, "Isn't something that can be cured with a pill."
We were faced with the reality of the situation.

This is a 'normal' spine.




This was Teen's X-ray.

As our health scheme did not cover the actual op being done privately, we had to be referred back to be seen at the Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital at Stanmore (near Elstree/Mill Hill in North London) so that Teen could be operated on by Mr Tucker under the NHS. 

After the verdict I was in a daze. It took me about two days for it to sink in. My baby girl, my perfect girl, needed a major operation. Two in one, to be precise, as she also suffered kyphosis (ie, the 'hunchback'). This stopped her going to her dance classes as she was expected to wear a leotard and she was too embarrassed to go anymore. 

It would be another 8 months of waiting and worrying and a postponed holiday before the operation actually happened. She was never in any pain, thank goodness, but I suddenly understood the breathlessness she occasionally complained of. Looking at how her lungs must have been compressed it's little wonder.

We grabbed a week away together in late October after our pre-op visit to the adolescent unit which promised internet and DVD players and so on. Teen was asked by Mr Tucker if she had any questions. She said,
"What are the chances of death?"
I hadn't even contemplated that one.
"A million to one," he replied. And believe me, you don't disagree with Mr Tucker. He has an omniscient air about him. 
The idea that as he operated on her spine paralysis could ensue fleetingly crossed my mind but I dismissed it. I had faith. 

So in November 2008, in a chilly, post war, in need of rebuilding hospital, in only five hours, Mr Tucker rebuilt her spine and shaved her shoulder blade, to fix her. Ten days later she was home.

I'll write about the op and the stay itself in detail another time. But what I will say now is that if anyone is reading this and is in any doubt about having an operation like Teen's, don't worry. Do it. I'm not sure that back braces and physio are the answer. They certainly weren't in Teen's case. And I look at her now, her 'growth lines closed' as Mr Tucker said just a week ago, beaming and admiring his work and her 'lovely posture' , it was worth the tough time we all went through. 

Shame she can't bend over quite enough to tidy her bedroom properly though isn't it ? 

The Out Laws !

"Don't look at his feet, he's wearing his paper shop shoes!" 

Yes, my Mother in Law (MiL)  and Father In Law (FiL) have arrived.

Every Thursday afternoon for quite a few years now, more or less without fail, my In Laws have come to visit.

As you may recall I cannot drive and we live just over a mile from the Primary school the kids used to go to. When they were both there and I was working mornings only in the school office, I was there, and back, and there , and back, and if one or other had after school activities I was there, and back again. I once walked the best part of 10 miles in a day...although I have to say having a buggy to push is a great aid to walking long distances, speeds you up. 

So once a week, having their grandparents pick them up was a blessing. 

They even used to have them for weekend sleepovers while R and I went out for a meal & a film, or up West,or even on a city break. I can remember the very first time we left Teen -then about three- for just one night. Oh, the exhilaration !

I am eternally grateful to the In Laws. They looked after the kids so I could go back to work part time without paying for child care. Yes,Nana sent Teen to preschool more than once with her shoes on the wrong feet (Teen that is, not Nana, although sometimes I wonder). Yes, Granddad actively encouraged Boy to 'hit someone if they piss you off'. But it was all done with love.

The kids are older now. Teen is practically an adult, and Boy will be a Teen in a few weeks. 

But Nana and Granddad are pretty much still the same.

And every Thursday they come around.

Most of the time Teen isn't even here to see them. She has a life now. Boy accepts their lift from school lazily and gratefully and once home, promptly makes himself scarce. As I am working full time I'm not even home so I have to ensure before I leave for work at 8am that the kettle is full,and the mugs and teabags and spoons are ready. 

They can't function unless they have tea.

Funnily enough, the teabags they offer at their home are PoundLand sawdust, but when they're here, they quite like my Finest Assam teabags. 

"We made ourselves cups of tea," says MiL. I can tell they have , there are tea stains all over the worktop. "You over filled the kettle, you know."

I ignore this.

Teen has usually - if she's even there - disappeared after ten minutes to her room leaving me and Boy to it. 

MiL tells very long and ultimately rather dull stories at great length.

"Elsie knocked on the door yesterday," she'll begin, and I know we're in for a long haul ride.

"She's the one who got all the trees planted. You know, the one that lives with Ken." (Big Ken the Cowboy Plumber as I know him). "She  sent Amy that bracelet that time. Anyway, she knocked on the door, and I said <insert anecdote about someone I don't know of> and that was that...so we had some tea. And Elsie said, what about <I leave for kitchen to start the kids' dinner and make interested noises occasionally>..."

Me(from kitchen): "So how did that work out?"

MiL: "Well, Elsie said that Ken said it couldn't be done. So that was that. And then Phyl's son John turned up so we all had some biscuits."

Once, to please Teen (then a pre-teen) she changed their home answer phone message. It should have been based on Queen's We Will Rock You , except singing "We Will Call You Back ." (I think Teen had seen this on Friends ). It recorded as "We Will/We Will/Rock You Back". Trust me a 70+ year old lady singing this down the phone has to be heard.

She's a Spurs supporter, loves a flutter on the horses, and today bought an obelisk for her sweet peas. This caused friction with FiL since he didn't actually know what an obelisk was and anyway , what was wrong with the rusty metal spear and strings he'd already put in place?

In her late Sixties she upped and went on a tour of Australia with her daughter. FiL wouldnt go. She didn't care. Off she went. Helicopter rides, boats to see the coral reef, the lot. Didn't appreciate any of it, if truth be told, but she did it, and at least has fond memories of visiting the Gabba Ground.

I can understand why FiL wouldn't go. He likes routine. They eat the exact same meals on every day of the week. Sunday is of course, roast dinner day (dinner = lunch by the way. Caused me some confusion when I first started going to their house for meals). Monday is Left Overs , bubble & squeak. Tuesday is pie day. Wednesday is lamb chops. Thursday a roast chicken. Friday is , of course, fish and chips. They go to Billingsgate and buy in bulk to freeze and MiL deep fries her it herself. Saturday is steak. And so it goes, like clockwork. They buy massive sacks of potatoes from the local farm shop just for the two of them and they use them all. Pasta and rice don't figure; the only rice FiL acknowledges is Ambrosia Creamed.They tend their own vegetable plot in their tiny back garden and their carrots really, totally taste like carrots ought to; their radishes are hotter than the sun. 

They aren't keen on immigrants. I think this is not because they are actually racists, more something that is typical of their age group (70s), and because they have seen their local area change dramatically in recent years (high Asian population). That said they live in a street which does a very good street party (although no word on a Diamond Jubilee one which is a shame, I'd trade our Sunday lunch there Jubilee weekend for going to one). All ethnicities come together and FiL's Daily Mail streak vanishes.

They even attended the gathering that Julio and Georgio from around the corner (from the pink and lime green painted house) held to celebrate the marriage of their cats, Prince Lupin and Princess Petunia Sophia. There was a laminated order of service and everything. 

Sometimes FiL is Alf Garnett and I play Una Stubbs. He's far right, I am somewhat left. We do not always see eye-to-eye. He's dogmatic, and stubborn. He always think he's right. R and I do not always agree. It's caused a few ructions. But he's mellowing now I reckon, particularly since stomach surgery he had in February, after never, ever , being ill.

They drive me mad sometimes. Sundays at their house is mind numbingly boring. 

But they are wonderful warm loving caring people who treat me like their daughter and I can be open, honest and rely on them in a way I no longer can with my own dad in particular.

So much as it frustrates me to come home and find them here, I hope that I find them here for many years to come. 

Summer Breeze .. Makes Me Feel Fine...

This wonderful weather makes me feel like a different person. A happy, confident person, who wants to embrace life (while listening to her 101 Summer Songs CD ). 


It also makes me think about all the fabulous trips I have had abroad, where the weather was glorious and the sky awesomely blue and cloudless and how very lucky I am to have had so many opportunities to travel.


The first time I ever flew I had just graduated and was heading to Italy. As the plane took off I was listening to Whitney Houston's Love Is A Contact Sport. It's a track that means a lot to me to this day  - two decades later.


This weather makes my mind wander to sunnier climes and places I have been. I'm not an adventurous person by any means, but I love the idea of travelling. I say 'the idea' because I am useless at it. I once got a nosebleed just getting to Gatwick Airport (there was a lot of traffic and I thought we were going to miss the plane, OK?). 


When the weather's like this, I sit in the sun, fire up the iPod with her Summer playlist, and think of 'far away places with (sometimes) strange sounding names'.


Just a few memories ... 


The Bay of Naples. Having walked through the Quartieri Spagnoli we finally reached Santa Lucia and its fabulous view across the Bay with Vesuvius looming over us, still living. We ate pizza in its birthplace. In central Naples we ran across Piazza Garibaldi because our lives depended on it. The heat and the noise and the buzz of the place (bonkers!) will stay with me for a very very long time...

...as will the beauty of Sorrento looking out on the Med, high on the Amalfi coast. Drinking Limoncello in a bar watching two toddlers -boy and girl - play out a love story from 'Please play (go out!) with me' to 'It's over' without saying a word was priceless.


...Venice at twilight as the lamps light up and you get a huge sense of history, and feel that nothing has changed there, not in centuries...


...Ibiza Town after dark -I wish I could bottle its beauty and its vibrancy  ...


...the Canary Islands - where I have spent my happiest hours

 ... my first sight of la Sagrada Familia which literally made my jaw drop ...

...held up in a tram jam in HK - the driver leaning out of his window, happily eating a tray of noodles... dinner at the the Revolving '66 with a dessert that included dry ice...


...the cable car to Sentosa Island, Singapore. I apologise to the couple I freaked out by making it sway unnecessarily as I tried to take photos...


and...Paris ...the wedding cake on the hill - the Sacre Coeur - in the shadow of which , having dinner in Artist's Square, where twenty years ago this Summer, I was proposed to and I accepted.


There's so much more to say. I have been very lucky. Sometimes lately though I feel very sad that these adventures might just be all over and far, far behind me. It's likely I will never fulfil my dream of visiting New York City, or see the Golden Gate Bridge, or sun myself in the Maldives. 




But at least in the meantime I have a shedload of happy memories to keep me going.