Childhood Reading : Thoughts for the MS Readathon

‘Ambassador’ is a big word, with grand connotations, that conjures up images of butler-served trays of Ferrero Rocher.  I was honoured to be asked, along with my two children, to be an ambassador for the MS Readathon this year.  I am hoping that in a small way, that I can encourage children to read more books, to raise awareness of Multiple Sclerosis as an illness and to raise money for MS Ireland. 

That’s all fine, except for one, pretty big thing ... 

** whispers ** I haven’t been the best at reading with my children in the last while, at all, at all.  Despite my ideals and good intentions, pre parenthood and when they were babies. 

I feel that I can say it now, as I have redeemed myself somewhat over the last few months.  I chatted to staff in the MS Society in early summer about the Readathon, wrote some thoughts down and got some promotional family pics taken.  For the photo shoot, I rooted out some of my favourite books, including a battered and tattered copy of 'My Naughty Little Sister', by Dorothy Edwards.  The book is about 35 years old and looks every year of it.  It was left outside in a makeshift tent made many years ago - a heavy carpeted affair that was baking hot when dry, but sodden when wet.  I retrieved the book, mould stains and all.  The cover is ripped too, but I don’t like the idea of putting ‘new’ sellotape on it. 'My Naughty Little Sister' really should have been retired to the bin. But it has huge sentimental value for me.

Many moons ago, our First Class substitute teacher was a Mrs O'Neill.  She always brought a 'My Naughty Little Sister' book with her, which she read to the class in the afternoon as a treat.  I can still see her sitting there, her gentle, older lady voice reading.

I must have talked about the book a lot at home and my mother acquired a copy for me, 'up North', courtesy of my late aunt Moira.  I was speechless when I got my very own copy, which, as the current state of the book suggests, was read over and over.

A compendium of the ‘My Naughty Little Sister’ book series was published a few years ago, bound in a fancy red hard back.  I excitedly bought a copy for my nieces that Christmas, writing a personal note inside the front cover.  I can't say that the gifts were received as enthusiastically as when I got my copy, but they hadn't had The Mrs O'Neill Experience.

When my copy appeared again over the summer, I asked the children if they would like to hear a story.  They were enchanted by this manky thing that I had held onto and loved seeing my marks on the pages.  ‘Why did you draw a line under that sentence?’ they asked, as if I did it yesterday.  I told them about Mrs O’Neill.  They listened to the first story and wanted to hear another and another.  We were soon back into the night time reading ritual.  That lovely quiet time.

Funny, on rereading the stories after so many years, I was a bit disappointed that ‘My Naughty Little Sister’, wasn’t actually that naughty and her friend ‘Bad Harry’ wasn’t a bad fella either, if you leave aside the trifle-eating incident ... and eating the work men’s lunch that time.  When I reread them now, I have had little flashbacks to when I read them originally.  Some of the story lines now made me feel uneasy, for instance, My Naughty Little Sister going to visit her grown up friend Mr Blakey, the shoe mender friend and sleeping under his counter.  The writing style now seems antiquated and yet the children loved the stories.  I’ve read them over and over with them.  It’s been a lovely experience for all of us.

So ! To kick off our Readathon, we are going to lovingly put away my jaded copy and invest in the red hardback compendium of ‘My Naughty Little Sister’ books.  It includes lots of stories that I have never read.  I can only hope that we are making similar memories and that the children can find it in their hearts to someday forgive me for the silly voices I make when reading aloud.

The MS Readathon runs from October 9^th to November 9^th.  We are looking for sponsors.  Every little helps ...

September, One Big Contradiction

SCHOOL
I (and I know that I’m not alone) spent the last few days of the summer holidays looking forward to getting back into the school routine. Then September hits and I find myself yearns for the Halloween Break.

It didn’t take long before permanent stains appeared on the once crisp polo shirts – Rules about ‘you must change your uniforms’ long broken.

The lunch supplies in the fridge seem to melt as soon as you shut the door (or is it just that the pesky kids want feeding outside of school hours too? )

The school jumper that was lovingly hand washed and conditioned so that super-sensory boy could have a nice sniff during the week, is still wet come Monday morning.

THE EVENINGS DRAWING IN
I lament the passing of the long summer evenings, especially this year’s weather just didn’t lend itself to late nights outdoors. Of course, that may be because I don’t have a social life that involves late nights ? Darn it. I think that’s it. I can’t blame the weather.

The lament is juxtaposed with an open-armed-welcome that is Children Going To Bed At A Reasonable Hour.  A few months reprieve from the protests ‘but it’s bright Mam, it CAN’T be bed time !!’, protests delivered with such passion that you feel like the worst mother in the world.

CULTURE NIGHT
It’s the sixth year of Culture Night in Kildare, an (almost nationwide) event that encourages cultural bodies to open their doors to the public and provide artistic happenings free of charge. The first year, we had no idea if anyone would be interested in taking part, or attending. It could have been one big, very public flop. It wasn’t. It has grown and developed, with over 80 events taking place this year.

Yet every year, in the run up, I swear ‘NEVER AGAIN.’

I develop a queasy feeling as soon as I return from my summer holidays in early September and that feeling doesn’t leave me until it all kicks off on the third Friday in September. Once it kicks off, a different energy kicks in and I’m already planning ahead for next year. I always shed a wee tear on Culture Night, partly out of exhaustion and partly out of something beautiful that I witnessed, something that made me think ‘This was all worthwhile’.

CAR INSURANCE
Like the rest of you, my car and house insurance policies are for one year. Therefore, the renewal falls on the same date every year, in my case, mid-September. Not having insurance, and the idea of ‘not being covered’ puts the fear of God in me and yet, every year, the renewal notices in the post comes as a massive surprise to me and I’m last minute, gathering all of the bits and bobs.

Finding a bloody postage stamp for the envelope.

The last, last minute call from Nice Insurance Man to say that I forgot to send a copy of my driving licence.

BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES
Despite weeks of thinking to myself ‘I must order heating oil’, ‘I’ll never get caught out again’, I did. Last Friday. On Culture Night morning. Because of the day that was innit, my head was elsewhere and I forgot to call the oil company. I phoned on Saturday and got a nice voice message telling me that the office would reopen on Monday.

There was no special Bat Phone emergency numbers for distracted mothers, with children with sad faces and damp school uniforms. Thankfully, it wasn’t too chilly and we were out and about doing Culture Night stuff, so it wasn’t a big deal. It was lovely to feel the blast of heat when it did arrive though.

Note to self ‘I will never get caught again.’ I say it as passionately as I do when I say that I will never get involved with Culture Night again.

What do you bet that I’ll be having a déjà vu on this, this time next year ?

REGRETTING MY WARDROBE CLEAR OUT
There I was during the summer, feeling all smug, with a decluttered wardrobe. Feeling full of morals that I had donated so many nice clothes to charity. Now, I’m kinda raging.

Maybe it’s part of that Batten Down The Hatches/hibernation thing, but I’ve started to lament the handing over of woolly jumpers, even though I never really wore them in the first place. They don’t suit my ‘Bellew Shoulders’. I like the feeling of knowing they were there if I needed them. There is only one thing for it. I may re-clutter and go shopping.

Actually, I don’t think it’s September that’s the contradiction, I think that it’s me.

Why I Write What I Write

In the past weeks and months, I, like many of you have read about the horrors in Syria, or those trying to escape.  At times, I’ve stopped reading, because the human stories of real people have been too much to take in.  I’ve tried to write about it, to do it justice, but the words just aren’t coming. 

It’s not that I don’t care.  With all of my heart, I do.

I tell myself that in a world of so much sadness, that my writings about the most trivial of everyday things, hopefully delivered with a sprinkle of humour, brighten even one person’s day for ten minutes, then it’s worthwhile.  

I had a fretful sleep last night, after taking my weekly inter muscular injection (and which deserves a blog post all to itself very soon).   I did a bit of reading to settle myself and was drawn to a blog by a friend, whom I mostly knew online, although we lived within miles of each other.  This friend, Margaret Wouters, died last week.  I reread her posts where she talked openly about her various treatments for cancer, dotted among stories about family and the most fabulous photographs of her house and garden, that were worthy of a House & Home style magazine.  I’m terribly sad that she has died, having fought so hard to be well.  I regret that I didn’t get to know her better in ‘real life’, but reading her posts again made me feel inspired by her.  A wonderful archive of this woman’s life.

Because I write openly about my experiences of living with MS, one person has suggested to me that I love playing the ‘victim’ and that I thrive on the ‘pity’ that I get from other people.   When I’ve been told this, I reassure myself that it’s untrue, but at the same time, the saying ‘there’s no smoke without fire’, lingers on my mind.   On a bad day, I worry that, subconsciously, maybe that’s what I’m doing.      

On a recent post that I wrote, I described how I felt that I had lost my ‘Va Va Voom.’  It was the most revealing piece that I have written so far and I thought long and hard before I published it.   And yet, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Writing funny stuff is easy. 

Admitting that you are struggling isn’t. 

The comments, messages and offers of help that I received after I wrote that piece were heart-warming and lovely.  In a way, it was a watershed moment for me, drawing a line under the unmentionable and moving on.  I felt empowered and determined to keep writing.

Margaret’s death notice stated "Je ne regrette rien."  I’m with her on that.  Sleep tight dear lady.

Back to School Holiday Report

I went back to work today after a three week siesta of sorts.  Seeing as it’s Back to School season, I thought that I’d rate my holiday in a school report style.

CATCHING UP WITH FRIENDS 

95% Maith an cailÍn.  A gallant effort was made here, particularly with friends of the Long-Lost variety.  An extra 20% has been awarded for travelling with two children, beating the heads off each other, kicking the drivers seat, fighting over the radio, etc.

LIE INS

A big fat FAIL.  0% was achieved in this area.  Mostly because of the little people.  The only morning they were interested in a lie in was on the morning that they were due to return to school last week.  20% should be awarded for effort for the persistent begging for a lie-in, even if it came to nothing.

READING

(A)   Catching up on unread novels and other grown up reading material, like newspapers.  8 % awarded for the good intentions. 4% of that deducted for the rainforest of unread material.  Tut tut.  How totally un-environmentally friendly/

(B)   Reading with children.  50% awarded for summertime bed time readings, but 25 % deducted for failing miserably at the library Summer Reading Challenge.  One book ONLY read by each children.  Both books and the unread ones now wildly overdue to the library. #ParentalShame

(C)   No, flicking through the Lidl freebie flyer does not count for extra marks  0% (even though there was 70% off, get it ???)

WINE CONSUMPTION

60 %  The early holiday intention to drink a ‘hape’ of wine were largely achieved, with seemingly little effort.  Marks were deducted for the inexcusable purchase of ‘low-calorie’ wine.  Two bottles of the stuff.  Like c’mon !!

ABILITY TO ATTRACT A CRISIS

 78 %  Worryingly high.  Incident A : When you arrive in the door of your friend’s house, after a car journey from hell with devil children and friend announces that she is heading off to A&E with no 1 son who had a nasty collision, involving a smashed tooth and nose.  Okay, no blame could be attributed, but when you feel helpless, you kinda feel a bit guilty.  The biggest crisis that night though, was discovering the afore mentioned low calorie wine.

Incident B : Scalding one’s daughter with boiling tea, albeit accidental was pretty horrific.  It was reassuring to know that her lungs are in fine fettle, as she could be heard screaming in Cork (by phone).  The daughter thankfully recovered more quickly than the mother.

ANIMAL HUSBANDRY

70 %  A vast improvement here, with  regular long walks for mutt and vaccinations sought for both the overweight dog and the scrawny cats.  (Marks were lost here for letting mutt get so porky in the first place).  Further reports will be made in a follow up blog.

GEOGRAPHY

39 %  This mark could have been greatly improved if one had remembered that the ‘N’4 and the ‘M’4 are NOT the same road.  The signposts for ‘Tullamore’ and then ‘Moate’ should have been sufficient to suggest that one was not, in fact, heading for Castlepollard.  The ‘N’ for national and the ‘M’ for motorway should have also assisted in the assessment.  A hard lesson has been learned here on half-listening and half-googling.  Consulting with an old fashioned map is highly recommended, as is refraining from obscene language in front of two children.   One could blame the children for beating the heads off each other, or the drivers excited anticipation in meeting up with afore mentioned Long Lost Friends, but really, Moate ??

DOMESTIC SCIENCE

71 %  Isn’t it great what you can achieve when you put your head down to it ?  Holidays or no holidays.  The decluttering, shining and polishing were unprecedented and let’s face it, are unlikely to be repeated.  The Nigellaesque Domestic Godless feeling was good while it lasted, although there was no low cut slinky number in my kitchen.

SCIENCE

85 %  Awarded for the regular, close examination of ‘science in action’.  A good old poke at Road Kill comes to mind, the stinkier, the bloodier, limbs missing and more maggot infested the better.  A particular badger comes to mind.  Examination of multi coloured/textured chicken poo comes a close second.  What the hell was that chick eating ??  And as for the poke in the compost bin – hours of disgusting fun guaranteed.

PREPARATION FOR BACK TO SCHOOL

75 %  It appears that lessons were learned last year and everything was not left until the last minute. School bags packed and labelled weeks ago.  Oh, that smug feeling of being organised !  Mother of the fecking year award.  All was well until the first morning of BTS last week.  Oops …  No new school trousers for the boy ...  It was KINDA his fault though, refusing to try on last year’s threads all summer, but his thunder face said that it was ALL MY FAULT, his school year ruined, temporarily anyway.    

OVERALL COMMENTS

It appears that Lucina is a well-intentioned young lady, if a tad hyperactive.  It is recommended that she considers a holiday abroad next year, one that involves being tied to a sun lounger with the hape of novels that she didn’t read this year and the ones that she buys in the coming year.  It is also recommended that she brings a babysitter and avoids low alcohol wine as it doesn't seem to suit her

Loosing Your Va Va Voom

Three glorious weeks out of the office and I should be feeling relaxed, refreshed and good to go for the usual hectic autumn period.  Truth is, I’m banjaxed.  I haven't been sleeping well.  I’m wondering if I can do a surge of recharging in the next 48 hours before I return to work, but with two little people asking ‘what are we doing next ?’, it’s looking unlikely.

One of the things that I was most looking forward to on my time ‘off’ was writing.  I was overflowing with ideas for blog posts.  I thought about stock piling a series of blogs, quickly drafting them all, ‘leaving them settle’, to return to them for a final polish over the coming weeks.  I wrote the one that I NEEDED to write, one about my relationship with my step daughter Zara, to mark her wedding day (on the first weekend of my holidays).  I had been thinking about it, and fretting about it, for weeks beforehand, wanting to write it and then to ‘do an Ed Sheerin’ and think it out loud.  It was a public declaration of sorts.  There were a few tears (mine).  It’s funny how I could write something about this and yet I’ve never had the - would you call it ‘courage’ ? - to say those words on a one-to-one.  I’m glad that I wrote it.  It was from the heart and from that place, you can’t go too far wrong.

Since then, I’ve mostly been driving, cleaning and making soup.  All cathartic exercises.  All with my little people on tow.  Driving to visit some of my dearest life-long friends in far flung places across the country.  Talking about my newly established ‘single’ status - It sounds better than ‘separated’, don’t you think ?  Feeling like a failure.  Feeling positive and optimistic.  Feeling exhausted letting it all out.  Feeling exhausted keeping it all in.  Feeling exhausted keeping the brave side out.   

I’m physically tired from cleaning.  The attic, under the sink, wardrobes, the linen cupboards, reorganising the house.  All long overdue, mind.  It’s all that I’m fit for these days.  No deep thought required, but the act is cleansing nonetheless.  Coming across mementos that have taken on a new meaning now.  No meaning now.  Mementos that the children cling onto, that I simultaneously want to let go of. 

Meanwhile, I’m anxious that I haven’t been writing, something that has given me solstice, distance and a new perspective in the last few years.  I missed a deadline for the ‘MS and Me’ blog last week.  I feel guilty, but can’t muster the energy to write it, even though it’s written in my head.  I haven’t even opened last weekend’s newspapers.  Full of atrocities that make the way I am feeling seem self-indulgent, petty and trivial.  

Only yesterday, it dawned on me what I have been doing.  I’m busying myself to run away from reality.  That’s what my working life has allowed me to do, or it’s what I have allowed it to do.  This new found summer holiday free time (albeit with two seven year olds swinging out of me) has created head space that I’m not comfortable in filling right now.  I don’t want to go THERE. 

I haven’t been on form for gardening, which is very strange for me, but actually not that strange, when I think about it.  There is something very primal about working with the soil that only fellow gardeners will appreciate.  I feel that if I did get ‘down and dirty’ that I might dig myself into a hole, cover myself with clay and just stay there.  And aside from that, the weather hasn’t been great. 

I am hoping for a rest over the weekend, one that involves very little cleaning, maybe a bit of pottering in the garden, but eitherway, one that involves spending time with my precious little people, having a bit of craic.  It may be coming into darker evenings now, but I’m looking forward to brighter days.  There shall be hilarious blog posts soon about my new ‘status’ and a handbook of how to cope with singledom in your VERY early 40’s.  There is life in this dog yet.

Post Script :  I wrote this last night, for review this morning.  In the meantime, I’ve been snuggled up with the children watching cute cat and squealing goat videos on Youtube.  How could I have forgotten about the power of t’internet to heal ?   

A Good Old Root In The Attic

I didn’t set out to tidy the attic.  I am on holidays after all.   I was only looking for a long lost pair of sandals.    I’d been meaning to get up there all summer, but let’s face it.  It hasn’t been much of a summer, weather wise, so far so I managed just fine without exposed toes until now.  But I have a little guna that would be lovely with this particular strappy pair, so fashion spurred me along.

Ideally, tasks like attic foraging should be carried out, without little ones being present.  I had to weigh it up – If I did this while Home Alone and fell, I’d be a long time hollering before anyone heard me.  If I wait til my children are home, they will, inevitably, want to ‘help’.  I opted for the latter.

Wrestling the step ladder into the Hobbit House, without breaking a light fitting, is always a challenge.  I was rather proud of my three-point-turn skill in this regard.  The Children  + Ladders combination present its own risks, but I work in a local authority that screams ‘Health and Safety’ at every turn, so I felt well equipped to assess the dangers, prepare a method statement, etc.  The biggest risk was the precariously balanced table lamp, required to quite literally, throw some light on the subject.

Guessing that this was going to be a dusty job, I put on my walking trackie bottoms and runners.  The dog got very excited, as he assumed that we were going for a dander.  Sorry mutts.  Later.

I’ve two attics.  The problem was that I didn’t know which one the afore mentioned sandals were in.  Attic no 1 is stashed full of Christmas decorations and an array of barely used baby mobiles and play centres.  Perfect charity shop fodder.  The problem was that they were all dismantled.  I wasn’t in the humour for scrambling on my hands and knees retrieving the parts, so I left them there, depriving some child of endless hours of fun. 

Two little people were fighting in the hall about who came up the ladder first.  The compromise was that the person who had to wait for the second climb could stay up longer.   I'm getting good at this bargaining malarkey.

‘What’s in that huge black bag Mam ?’  

I pretended that I hadn’t seen the bag that I had tried (obviously unsuccessfully) behind tinselly stuff.

They both seen it.  I’m a terrible liar.  I admitted it.  It was a huge stash of huge teddies. 

The pair rejoiced as the stash emptied onto the sitting room floor.  They wondered how some of their teddies got up to the attic without them noticing.  I wondered too ... and felt a little guilty.  In my defence, I did say that I live in a Hobbit House, so I don’t have much room for ‘stuff’ and they have a huge collection as it is.   However, the teddy-find was a useful distraction, with the first Teddy Hospital being established at Poppy Cottage.  Another find, a seatless doll's buggy, was used as a wheelchair.  I continued with Attic no 1 rummaging’s uninterrupted.    

A series of further three-point-turns and I was in Attic no 2, the bigger, more interesting one.  There they were, my sandals, as lovely as I remembered, in a bag of other ‘summer footwear’, most of which were instantly bagged for charity shops.  I found a bag of clothes too, with a deadly top that I forgot I had.  Made up, I was.   There were lots of pairs of shorts too that I hadn’t even noticed as missing.  Hopefully a late heat wave will let them see the light of day again soon. 

I found a heap of cushions, a heap of them and bags of hard-back books that I didn’t have the heart to send to charity shops, many of them souvenir purchases or gifts, but now looking so tatty that they will someday be assigned straight to the bin.  But not today.  Maybe I’ll get that extra bookshelf for them ?  My boy, AKA, Hawk Eye spotted a Transformer toy, one that transforms into a gun thing that sits on your arm.  It makes noise, a lot of it.  He was thrilled and delighted.  Me, less so.

Every time I appeared from the attic, with bits for recycling/dumping/charity shops, I stood on a teddy, was shot in the back by my son, was run over by a teddy wheelchair, or was tripped up by my oversized dog, ever hopeful that we were actually going walkies.

Seeing as it was my holidays and because it was flipping roasting up there, I stopped for regular tea breaks and yes, on one occasion, a wine and crackers break.  It helped with the dust, you know ?   That yellow insulation is quare itchy stuff, especially when you are a dope like me and wear a woolly top with the trackie bottoms.  A rather fetching look all the same.   

I’m starting to feel itchy again just thinking about it.   A quick shower to wash the imaginary itch off me and it will be time to reunite my sandals and top with the world, methinks.  Then I’ll think about building an extension to accommodate the teddies.  As for the flipping Transformer arm gun thing … I can’t say that my intentions are quite so honourable …

Today, I  chose …

To get up at 7am and pick white roses from the garden, instead of having my much talked about, longed-for lie in.

Fashion over practicality and wore black waxed jeans.  I looked fabulous, while sweating like a pig.

To send my children to a summer camp, instead of hanging with them (and I admit it, it was purely for ME time and not for them to spend time with their friends, although that was a bonus, obviously).

Wine over green tea at lunchtime and felt suitably decadent.

Vitamin D over sunscreen and now feel a little stingy.

A long walk, instead of a run, to avoid further sweating like a pig (although I guess that I could have just changed my trousers).

To only check my work emails once and not follow up on any of them.  Now, that’s progress !

To turn my ‘thinking chair’ into an outdoor writing space – my first al fresco blog, woo hoo !

To generously water my garden, meter-free.  If you Irish Water customers wish to gripe, I’ll swap my septic tank associated bills (e400 this year) with you.  And guilt free too, as I am an eco-bunny at heart and do rain water collection too, okay ?

To trample into the house with mucky flip flops and not wash the floors.  As my Nana Bride used to say, 'unwashed dishes won't melt.'

To weed my flower beds (as much as one could in the heat) and resisted the temptation to go out and buy more plants.

To not fight with the children over their 5-a-Day, or protein intake.  It’s pasta and pesto for tea.  Both red and green pesto.  That’s balance, right ?

To eat a cream pie and not offer one to my children, even though there were three in the packet.

To NOT break up a fight between a hen and a cat, who were looking for crumbs from my outdoor table.  Vicious it was, vicious ! 

To wear flip flops while gardening.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, but my feet now require powerhosing.

To not eat the black bits in a banana to set a good example to the children.  No explanation required.

Wine over food for tea, because it’s my holidays !!