mummy-daddy-me-header

Articles tagged with: Parenting

{The Ordinary Moments 15} #24 'An Out of the Blue Phone Call'...

on Sunday, 14 June 2015.

On Monday afternoon I was sat doing some work while the girls were napping when I got a phone call from an unknown number. I never answer these, which drives my Dad mad as his number comes up as withheld and I always ignore him, but most of the time it's someone trying to sell me something or help me claim compensation. I let it go to voicemail and then I listened to the message. It was from our county school admissions team saying they had some news for me. I rang them back, not sure what to expect, and after a few minute phone call I found out that Mads had been offered a place at our first choice school.

When I say first choice, technically it was actually our fourth choice. To cut a long story short (which you can read about here if you are even vaguely interested) in our first round of applications Mads got into a school that we really didn't want her to go to- a school we looked round and didn't think much of at all, a school with a bad ofsted and a school that just wasn't right for our daughter for a number of reasons. For a while I accepted our fate, thinking we would make the best of it, before deciding actually I would fight for what I believed was best for her. We looked up some different schools, visited our new first choice school and reapplied to three different schools, all further away, with our first choice being just three miles away and then the others being a little bit further still.

When it was due to be the day of finding out about our second application, I was straight on the phone to the admissions team, (annoying Mum anyone?!) but was told that I had to wait another seven days for our letter to be sent out. Me being me, and being really impatient, couldn't wait that long so I rang our new first choice school, only to be told that she hadn't got in. I actually cried down the phone to the kind lady in the school office, but to be honest that's nothing new, I am an emotional wreck at the best of times. I then rang up our second choice school, and after a bit of confusion, found out she had a place there. We were pleased, but so nervous as we hadn't even been to see the school, we put it down as a last minute desperate thing as the deadline was looming near. 

We arranged a trip to see the school she got a place in, and we were pleasantly surprised, we really liked the school and felt that Mads would be happy there. A reasonable sized school, about 250 children, and only six miles from where she lived. We accepted that it was fate and slowly began to get excited that she would be starting there in September. Forms were filled out, birth certificates handed in, and we started to tell Mads all about the school she would be going to. 

So when we got the call on Monday, we were honestly shocked and so confused about what to do. We really liked our second place school and had accepted she was going there. After a lot of chatting with friends and family, we decided to visit our original first choice school again just to have one more look, but we were leaning towards staying with our second choice. But upon visiting the school again on Tuesday, I just fell in love with it again. After much discussion back and forth, and changing our mind a few times, we decided to accept her waiting list place at our original first place school. We just went with our gut instinct, and the fact that our first place school had such friendly staff who were so patient and kind with us.

We subsequently found out that the parents induction evening was the next day, on Thursday. So Grandma came over to babysit for the evening and Mr E and I nervously headed over to the school where potentially we will be investing ten years of our family's lives. I felt like I was the one starting school sat there, waiting for the head teacher to begin her talk, glancing shyly over at the other parents. But as soon as she started to talk, I just knew we had made the right decision. I sat there with a smile on my face the whole time, in the little dining hall where my baby will eat lunch five times a week for almost every week of the year. We walked round her new classroom, where she will be in a tiny reception class with just 15 other children. We joked with the head, who told us she would be on hand with tissues on her first day. We met her teacher, her teaching assistant, the PTA committee, and we chatted nervously to the parents who we will be sharing just so many milestones with over the years. We left with a huge wallet of information, and with a comforting hand on the shoulder from that lady in the office who said she was thrilled that these things happen for a reason and after all my worries our baby would be joining them in September. 

And I just knew. And I could tell Mr E knew too. We had made the right decision. When we started this schools process way back in November of last year, never did I expect Mads to be going to such a tiny, small village school. But she is. And I couldn't be happier. It just all felt so right. As we walked back to our car at the end of the evening, Mr E took hold of my hand and said 'It was just great.' And I couldn't agree more. They say things happen for a reason. And I although I am nervous, although it's all been a bit of a drama, I know deep down that it was meant to be. 

So now we enjoy our Summer. That last lovely Summer, of having our girl all to ourself just for a while longer. Where her world revolves aorund us and where we know almost every aspect of her life. A Summer of making memories, of enjoying having no routine and structure. Because September will come around really rather quickly. Growing up is inevitable, and I know that it will hurt when that day comes that I have to leave my girl in that sweet little classroom ready to start the next chapter of her life. But at least we can relax knowing that these things are meant to be. And that she is in a place where hopefully she will thrive.

IMG 4038

I love this iPhone snap of them from this week.

 

 

We Didn't Get The School We Wanted.

on Thursday, 16 April 2015.

Until you become a parent you don't know the true emotion that comes with truly knowing you would do absolutely anything for another person.  That overwhelming feeling of raw love that meant quite simply life wouldn't ever feel the same again.  Of course, it doesn't come instantly.  When my eldest daugther was born and was placed into my arms on that cold Christmas Eve morning in 2010, yes, I had never felt anything like it.  But that true love, that fierce, protective motherhood instinct- that develops over time.  It happens quickly and you only really notice it unless it has reason to show itself.  It may not even be over anything particularly worth being concerned over, perhaps your only just toddling little girl may get pushed over in soft play, but even that stirs a tiny feeling deep down inside.  Those butterflies, that raw emotion, that protectiveness that comes wtih being a parent.  The one that you can't quite put into words, even if you tried.

As parents we just want the best for our children.  The very best.  We want them to be happy.  We want them to have the best start in life.  Ultimately it's about choices.  Do we breastfeed or bottle feed?  Do we sleep them on their backs because that's what they tell us to, even though they go down happiest on their tummy?  Do we give them 'food from a jar' when all their friends are being baby led weaned organic vegetables?  More often than not it's about guilt.  The guilt is a constant part of being a parent.  Are we doing it right?  Are we being the best we can be?

We all have that dream for our children.  That dream of them doing the things we didn't quite manage to do.  The things that may have made us sad in the past, we don't want them to have that.  Name calling, teasing in the play ground, the bullies at school- we pray that they don't go through a similar fate.  We want them to fly.  To soar.  To be the very best they can be.  We want them to have the opportunities that we didn't, whatever those opportunties may be.  Way in the future, I have a funny vision of sitting round a table somewhere with my girl's, just as I myself do with my own Mum today.  We are chatting over a glass of wine, and there are little grandchildren running around our feet.   Of course, that might not be what they want.  Their dreams may be different, they may pursue a completely different path.  But whatever happens, whatever they want to do, as a parent ALL we want is for them to be happy.

As I write this post it's 1.10am.  A few minutes ago I tiptoed into my girl's bedroom, as I have done almost every evening for four years.  Nothing out of the ordinary, except this time I pause a little bit longer when I kiss my biggest daughter.  She has kicked off her covers and her legs are contorted into a funny shape.  Her arms are thrown over her head and her wild, unruly curls are splayed out across her pillow.  I place my hand on her chest and feel it rise and fall slowly.  As I often do, I marvel about just how much she has grown up, it's hard to fathom her as that tiny baby we bought home from the hospital that day.  I remember being absolutely terrified of putting her in the car, even though we live about five minutes drive from the hospital.  We must have checked the car seat about ten times, and I hobbled my post c-section body into the back of the car, just 'in case'.  I didn't even want to let her out of my sight for that five minute journey and sit in the front.  It felt a strange mixture of emotions- utter joy and sheer fear, taking this little being home to start our lives together.  

That strange mixture of emotions is back again.

Like countless parents up and down the country, I have waited up to check on our primary school application.  Refreshing the screen about a hundred times even though it wasn't yet midnight, that strange feeling of emotions that so often comes on my motherhood journey is there again.  And after one more refresh, at 11.57pm we were told the news.  We didn't get her into our first choice school.  Nor our second.  We got into our third and final school, our catchment school, one that we really only put down because we were told not to waste a choice.   My intial reaction was disappointment, real disappointment.  So I cried.  That feeling in the pit of my stomach knawed away at me, making me feel truly upset.  Because yet again, it comes down to that same old thing- we would do anything for our children.

It was inevitable we we were going to get that school.  Deep down I knew we would, but I was still hoping and crossing my fingers that we would at least get our second.  We are lucky to have an education system in place for our children, I know that.  We are lucky for a lot of things.  This isn't about that.  But walking through that school a few months ago, both myself and my husband didn't think much to it at all.  It's under achieving in all areas according to it's reports, but again I don't know enough about the education system to know what this means.  All I know is walking around there, we just didn't get a 'feel' for it like we did with the others.  There were parts we just weren't keen on at all.  It just didn't feel like the vision I had of my little girl going to school, I couldn't imagine waiting at those school gates for her to come out, in her little school uniform, her hair blowing behind her, and her face all flushed red with excitement as she ran to me at the end of the school day.

But fate has done it's thing and Mads will be going there in September.  It's the next morning now and I am a little embarrased to admit that I have shed a fair few tears.  I know deep down how lucky we are that she even has the opportunity to go to school in the first place, but I can't help but feel a huge amount of disappointment.  I have spent the night tossing and turning, discussing possible solutions with my husband- but deep down realistically I know that I need to resign myself to it now and accept the fact.  I need to start seeing the positives.  

Because that's the thing.  That little girl asleep in the room next to me- she doesn't know all of this.  She doesn't know that her Mummy spent half the night crying.  She just knows that come September she is going to 'big school'.  We drive past the school that she got into every morning and she always points out 'the big boys and girls'.  She doesn't know what the future holds for her, what school entails, what she will do all day.  She just is excited and happy about the possiblity of going.  She's completely innocent, unaware of the bad in the world, and just perfectly happy to give anything a go.  She sees the joy and positives in everything.  

So that's what I need to do.  I need to suck it up and see the world through my little girl's eyes for a change.  To be excited about the next chapter of her journey.  Yes it's not quite the journey we had planned for her, but she will continue to make us proud as she does every single day.  I will stand there with all the other mums, waiting for her to excitedly to run out the doors and tell us what friends she has made.  She will pull artwork from her bag that she has done that day and we will display them on our kitchen wall like they are masterpieces and works of modern art.  We will help her with her writing, her reading and her maths, and do the best we can by her, just as we have done every day since she was born.  We will have life experiences, make memories and raise her the way we are already doing so, outside of those classroom walls.  

We will continue to be the proudest parents alive.

Really, I think I am just feeling a little nostalgic and sentimental right now.  These milestones are passing us by at a rapid rate and it's hard to fathom that it wasn't yesterday that we took her out of that car seat on that first trip back from the hospital.  When school seemed like an eternity away.  I'm not entirely ready for this stage of our lives to be over, and I am not sure I ever will be.  But that's life and we will enjoy this Summer and make it a happy few months of memories.  Although I am a little sad about it all, I'm also incredibly excited too.

And come September we will start this new chapter in our lives.  And I know my little girl will soar and grow in whatever environment she is placed in, of that I am confident.  

Because we will continue to support her always.

 

the grove hotel 26

 

{The Ordinary Moments 15} #15 'The Day A Cycle Helmet Made Me Cry.'

on Sunday, 12 April 2015.

As I write this, my heart is beating a little quicker than normal, and my eyelashes are still wet with tears.  Mr E is downstairs preparing a risotto for us all to have for dinner, I am sat in our office supposedly working, and I have two little girls chattering together in the top bunk of their bunk bed, oblivious to the way they have made us feel this afternoon.  

It's late Friday afternoon and a couple of hours earlier Mads happened to spot some of the older children on our street playing out on their bikes.  She has always had a curious fascination with the two little girls who live next to us, as younger children often do with bigger kids, but bar a shy wave or hello if we happen to cross paths outside our front door, that has been it.  I don't know why but this afternoon she asked to go and play on her bike outside with them, and two other older boys who live across the road from us too.  She has never asked us before and being that she has only just turned four we said that she could, but that she couldn't go outside without us being there.

So we duly popped her little cycle helmet on, got out her bike and scooter, and Mr E pottered around our front garden pretending to weed, all the while watching her.  I was supposed to be working, but I stood at the window and I got the strangest feeling in the pit of my stomach.  A feeling of absolute pride watching her out there interacting with children a good few years older than her, a feeling of nostalgia remembering doing that very thing myself when I was a little girl, a feeling of nerves about the fact that she still isn't completely wise to dangers of cars or roads, but mainly a feeling of sadness about just how fast she is growing up.  My eyes filled with tears and I stood there blinking them away.

I watched Mr E lean down and talk to them all and I heard Mads say 'I am playing with the big boys and girls Daddy' while she was stood next to them.  At four, she is completely innocent, she isn't yet at that stage where she was embarrassed that her Daddy was outside watching her.  She said again excitedly 'I am playing with our neighbours' and they all chatted to Mr E while I watched on at the window.  After a while I went outside myself and sat on the doorstep with LL on my lap.   Watching our little girl riding up and down the street, with the retro ribbons on her handlebars very much the same as I had as a child, and her little helmet wobbling unsteadily on her head made me get butterflies in my tummy.  She had the biggest, most innocent smile on her face and above all she just looked so proud of herself.  Her cheeks were flushed red with excitement and she cycled along on the pavement while they all cycled on the road, as we told her she needed to keep on the path.  None of the other children had a cycle helmet on, to be fair we live in a cul-de-sac and although traffic can whizz round the corner, it's not really like you need to wear a helmet.  But Mads, our little girl, she always wears that blue and pink helmet- she's so very proud of it.  And now that helmet made her appear so little and small compared to her peers.    

After an hour or so, we told her it was time to come in, and she started to cry.  Big, fat tears rolled down her face and her bottom lip trembled as she told us she didn't want to. She did it in front of her new found friends, she doesn't yet have that filter that makes her realise that there are some things you don't do in public, melt downs over nothing being one of them.  She was so desperate to stay out but eventually we got her inside.  We stood in the kitchen and all of a sudden LL came up to her with her favourite toy 'Baa' and held it out for her to cuddle.  She said 'Here are Mads', she knew her big sister was sad and she wanted to make her feel better.

I don't know what came over me but I just burst into tears.  The feeling of experiencing this first milestone, combined with the tenderness in which LL gave Mads her toy, reduced me to sniffling like a baby.  I hugged Mr E and said to him 'I bet you think I am so silly', fully expecting him to proclaim that yes I was indeed a complete crazy person. But to my surprise he said 'I feel entirely the same away- I am not ready for this just yet.'  Indeed, now I am writing this some time later after they have both gone to sleep, Mr E and I have been chatting about it, and I am surprised just how much this small thing has got to him.  He says he feels very emotional about it all- about the prospect of learning to give her that little bit of freedom, of the worry, about the fact that his little girl is growing up so quickly.  

I know that it's probably a little pathetic to get so worked up about her playing outside on the street where we live, but I was just filled with so many emotions.  I still am to be honest.  There's no parenting rule book for this kind of thing and it just took us by suprise a little.  I'm so nervous about all the stages yet to come- teaching her that the world isn't always a lovely place, that there are people that could hurt her.  That not everyone is as kind and as beautiful inside as she is.  I am so sad about her losing that innocence, that pure child like innocence- the way she is proud of her Daddy stood there watching her, the way that she ran to me and hugged me because she was just so damn excited to be playing with the 'big boys and girls'.  

Until now, all our playdates and all her friendships have been closely monitored by us.  The little friends that she has made are mainly due to me being friends with their Mum's- they are chums of circumstance more than anything else.  It sounds ridiculous, but I also worry who she will become friends with at school when we are not there to influence it.  No mother wants their children to be friends with 'those kind of children' or worse still, have your child be the one that other parents are wary of.  The other day we were in the park and I was watching a group of three girls- they must have been about 11 or 12 and they looked so grown up.  They were wearing clothes that I would even wear, or perhaps a couple of years ago I would, their hair was styled in top knots and I am pretty sure they were wearing makeup.  They were playing on a roundabout and it struck me how they were so on the cusp of leaving childhood behind- they looked like teenagers and I overheard them on a couple of occasions about boys, but at the same time they were giggling loudly and freely as they held hands and tried to keep their balance.  That innocence of childhood and that beauty of childhood seems to be getting lost much earlier than when I was younger, I dread to think what it will be like in another ten years.

I'm not ready to let her go and while I know, yes she wil always be my baby, I am going to have let her go and become the little girl she was meant to be without me at her side constantly.  September brings her first year at school and a whole new set of milestones.  She's completely ready, but I am not.  I don't want this stage to be over.  I am not ready to leave these days behind.  I know that there's a lot of excitement to come but that doesn't mean I don't feel painfully sentimental about the fact that my little girl is growing up so quickly.  Bizarrely just this afternoon I bumped into the midwife that was there throughout my pregnancy with Mads.  It seemed like yesterday that I last saw her.  She will have seen countless babies born since then, each special and the most amazing gift to their parents.  Each and every one brand new and ready to start their story.

Leaving the hospital for the first time, the first mouthful of food, and the first steps are just different parts of their story.  The story of their childhood.  As is the first time they proudly forget their shyness and play outside on their street with their new found friends.  I did that, way back in the first few chapters of my own.  It's nothing out of the ordinary, it's just another ordinary milestone and moment ticked off the list, something that will happen on many, many occasions...

It's just another ordinary moment that as a parent feels so very bittersweet.  But to a little girl who has talked of nothing but playing out with her new friends, 'the big children' since she came in, to a little girl who has gone to bed with a bit of a spring in her step and a new found air of confidence and above all to a little girl who is feeling so proud and that little bit more grown up than she did when she went to bed the day before- well to her it's the most exciting of moments indeed.

playing outside for the first time

{The Ordinary Moments 15} #12 'Bugs and Hugs'

on Sunday, 22 March 2015.

I have written a few times before about how when my children are poorly, I actually find those times some of the most emotional and rawest when it comes to this motherhood journey.  Of course I don't like them being poorly, no one wants their child to be under the weather, but those times when they need their Mummy the most, are the times that I know I will treasure when they are all grown up.

There's something about them- I know I will look back and remember that slightly sick, sweet smell of Calpol, the feeling of how hot their little foreheads were when you touched them, and how when I wrapped my arms around them and snuggled into them tight, it felt like I was holding on to a hot water bottle.  On Monday morning LL had spent the majority of the night before in our bed.  I lay next to her for ages while the sun came up and her and Mr E were still in a restless sleep, and I just stared at her.  I made sure I took in every inch of her little button nose, all crusty and sore from her cold, and I marvelled at how long her eyelashes were.  I snuggled in close to her and took advantage of the fact she was asleep, and I put my head near hers and smelt her hair, it always smells of honey.

It's rare we stay in all day.  I am one of those people who likes to be busy, I like to get us out and about even if it's just to pop into town or to the garden centre for a cake.  We rarely have days in the house anymore, especially now they are older and we all get a little bit of cabin fever if we don't go out.  PJ days are rare nowadays too, and there's silly things, but since I started blogging I don't remember the last time I had morning TV on that wasn't kids television.  If I am at home there is normally the hum drum of children's programmes in the background or it's off because we are playing a game of some sorts.  

LL has been under the weather pretty much all week- I am lucky that neither of my children are particularly sickly, (touch wood) in fact I can count on one hand the amount of times they have actually been sick since they were past that 'baby sick' stage.  A lot of children permanently have colds or coughs, but again Mads and LL generally aren't really prone to them.  But this week LL has been really out of sorts with a cold, cough and really high fever.  Sunday night was dreadful, she didn't want to sleep in her cot, but she is also one of these little people who just can't settle in our bed, unlike her big sister, so we had a night where the three of us tossed and turned all night long. 

Tuesday was supposed to be a nursery day but she really wasn't up for going.  As it happens I got up and went for a run in the morning with a good friend of mine and as her son goes to the same nursery as Mads and LL, she said she would take her so I didn't have to take LL out the house.  This was a rare treat so LL and I stayed in our comfy clothes and snuggled on the sofa all morning.  Our nursery are pretty good and they said she could switch her hours and go in on Friday instead when she was better, so I didn't have to worry too much about working around her.  Instead I did a few bits and bobs I needed to do and then snuggled on the sofa with her for hours.

I never normally do this.  If we are at home, I am normally tidying or we are playing games, or I am busy doing other things if they are having a bit of quiet TV time, so it's rare we sit for a long block of time anymore and just cuddle together.  It was lovely and she even had a little snooze on the sofa which never happens anymore.  It was just a really lovely morning with her.  And this is what I mean.  These are the moments I will remember.  I remember them with Mads.  These are the moments I don't want to forget.  The way we snuggled together and she buried her little face into my arm.  The way she looked up at me every so often and I could see in her little eyes that she was enjoying this one on one time just as much as I was.  

These ordinary moments.  These non descript times.  These are the ones that will hit me one day and give me a pang of nostalgia, the ones that will come flooding back in years to come and make me feel so bittersweet that my girls are older and don't need me like that anymore.  

These are the ones that truly make me feel like a Mummy.

A Mummy who should from time to time stop and pause and relish these moments a little more than she currently does.

 

Some iPhone photos of our week of bugs...

poorly LL march 15 a

poorly LL march 15 b

poorly LL march 15 c

She fell asleep clutching her Peppa toys that go everwhere with her.

poorly LL march 15 d

 

[12 3 4 5  >>  
Wikio - Top Blogs - Parenting Wikio - Top Blogs
TOTS100 - UK Parent Blogs
TOTS100
 PHOTO-BLOGS
Tots100 UK parent blogs