Christmas Reflections

Another month and I'll be ready for Christmas is how I'm responding when people ask how preparations are going. Christmas is four days away. One excuse is that we've had our kitchen done, including a wall knocked through. It is mostly finished, but there's still some painting to do and the endless dust to try and tame. It wasn't planned, rather an opportunity for a second-hand, but excellent quality kitchen and appliances. Fortunately I'm not cooking Christmas Dinner this year (my first attempt, which seemed to go down quite well was last year). This has meant I've been able to plan a few home made gifts for family. I intended to do this last year, but ran out of time. I get a good feeling making and eating things that have taken time and patience to prepare. It makes me appreciate the delicate balance of luck and skill in bringing a harvest in, baking something delicious or creating something unique that money can't buy.


Whilst I've been stirring the chutney or wrapping gifts I've be reflecting on what is important at Christmas for me. We've just returned from London, visiting old friends and family. There is something incredibly special about sharing a meal with people you have known for years, or even decades. recounting memories, listening to rather exaggerated tales and watching the next generation play. In this case one of the people we saw was a life-long friend of my husband's business partner.  He has had a long list of jobs and a rather colourful life it has to be said. I fondly remember that he happened to be the taxi driver who picked up my husband and I the night things turned from friends to something more. I also managed to go to my old church. The congregation was pretty much the same, if a decade older and it felt like home walking into the building.


Christmas is of course important to me because of my Christian faith, but what is faith without action or response? I feel fortunate this year that we are going to see more family and friends over the Christmas period than other years. There will be food, gifts and hopefully dancing on New Year's Eve. It is spending time with all these people and in doing so acknowledging that even where we have opposing opinions or a different view of the world, they are each an important part of the fabric of our lives that makes Christmas special for me.



I hope wherever you are and whoever you spend time with this Christmas and New Year, you have an opportunity to reflect.  I hope when you reflect you find many reasons to smile at the wonderful people you get to share your life with. 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

If the world had enough sleep

I've realised that over the last couple of weeks, after over four years of sleep deprivation, I am finally getting just about enough sleep.  I have been deprived of sleep primarily by two small sleep suckers, affectionately know as Piggle and Mini-Piggle.  I know that there is a direct correlation between how much sleep I get and how much energy and patience I have.  Fortunately my husband and I can recognise the sleep deprivation influencing each other now and make allowences. 

The other day I began to wonder what the world would be like if everyone had enough sleep.  I wondered if people would be better parents - more the sort of parents they would like to be.  If people would be healthier and less prone to illness because their immune system weren't weakened and they wouldn't feel the need to resort to unhealthy food to give them a sugar fix to get them through the day.  I wondered if there would be less misunderstandings and conflict.  Given the ability for messages to be sent and received instantly nowadays it is all to easy for a inital, uncontrolled response, made worse by tiredness to be sent, increasing the potential for a situation to be made worse.  'Sleep on it' is almost always sound advice.  If everyone got enough sleep would there be less wars? 

I am hoping that getting enough sleep means I have more energy and will ultimately be more productive.  High on the endless list of tasks is attempting to win the war on four plus years of clutter in our home.  I have a feeling though that Piggle and Mini-Piggle maybe already changing tactics from sleep suckers to day time clutterers.

Creativity and celebration

In the past I've though that spending time being creative is a bit of a luxury.  It should either be something you can use to make a living out of if you are creative enough to so do, or a treat if it is something you enjoy.
However, I now think that being creative, whether it is decorating a cake, stitching, painting or constructing something, may significantly contribute to our sense of well being and happiness.  Therefore, my opinion now is that taking time to be creative, without worrying about the end result is a good use of time and should be encouraged.

A craft shop has recently opened in our town where you can have a hot drink and cake at the same time as being creative.  I've been there a few times with my daughters and each time they have had a good time sticking and painting.  I particularly like the fact that I don't have to clean up the mess afterwards.  One of the nicest things about visiting the shop has been seeing the range of people coming in, of all ages. Some who just buy craft materials and some who stay to be creative.  I was also inspired to buy fabric to make my daughter a bag for her PE kit for when she starts school.  She liked picking the colours and helping with the design and I've enjoyed making it.  The mother and daughter who run the craft shop are very welcoming and I hope the shop is a success.

We recently attended a lovely wedding.  The bride is a friend of mine and when I first met her a few years ago her love life was a little turbulent, she hit thirty, was looking for a permanent job and things were looking a bit gloomy.  All weddings are special, but it was wonderful to finally see her married and happy, and also to see how much effort her new husband had gone to to add some extra special surprises to the day.  All weddings naturally take me back to my wedding day.  However, this time I couldn't squeeze my husband's hand and given him a quick smile when the vows were being read.  He had taken the whining toddler to the creche and the pre-schooler on my lap was whispering rather too loudly 'I'm hungry and my bottom itches'.  I didn't get to have a slow dance with my husband as the children were being too clingy, but we did get to dance together as a family.  The day still reminded me of our special day and all the planning.  In particular, all the things people went out of their way to do to make it special.

We made a lot of things for our wedding.  I suppose this was primarily down to me being a bit tight-fisted, not wanting to spend money on invites, orders of service and dresses when I (and everyone I roped in to help) could make them for a fraction of the cost.  One of my favourite memories is both sides of the family decorating the barn for the reception the evening before the wedding, getting to know each other.  My Grannie arranged the flowers for the top table.  Other people cut up fudge for the favours boxes, packed them and tied them with ribbon.  My best friend's Mum put the finishing touches to the cake she had made.  The last hem of the bridesmaid's dresses was stitched.  Flowers were arranged on the tables and the final version of the table plan was printed.  All of these things were unique for us, not things you could buy, created by the people we care about.

Now my older daughter's attention span is increasing, I am re-discovering the joy of taking time to be creative.  I am also reminded of the joy of receiving hand-made gifts and cards.  Be it a pot of jam or my favourite wedding present from a friend's Mum who had been ill over a number of years, yet had taken time to a stitch a beautiful sampler with our names and wedding date on.  Perhaps the antidote to consumerism?  I'm not sure what my next craft project will be.  I still have a PE bag to add the finishing touches to, but what about you?  Why don't you allow yourself some time to be a bit creative?

Hope and expectations

I've been recently reflecting on how much of our lives are controlled by expectations.  As adults we are expected to behave within certain boundaries in our work, by our families and friends, in our day to day dealings with others.  In many cases the expectations are clear and we can choose to meet them or not.   For example, I am expected to be at work by a certain time and work a cetain number of hours per week.  If I don't meet these expectations there will be consequences.

Sometimes we may be expected to do something against our better judgement and then we must choose how to respond.  However, there is more probability of upset and friction when expectations exist that we are unaware of.    This is as true for personal relationships as it is in business when a sales representative promises the earth to get the sale, leaving the supplier struggling to meet the customer' hight expectations.   Being aware expectations of us gives us some room to try and mange them.  A good example is telling my four year old how I expect her to behave before we arrive somewhere.  She then has an opportunity to ask questions and clarify things in her own mind, which generally makes trips easier and heads off some potential problems.  Oh how I wish it was this was this easy in some adult relationships!

Many of our expectations come from our upbringing, honed by our experiences.  I think in life I have in general lowered my expectations in many areas as I've got older.  Perhaps this could be seen as becoming more tolerant, or maybe it is a way to limit disappointment.  I heard a not particularly catchy saying once that 'past behaviour is a predictor of future behaviour'.  I suppose this goes with the saying that a leopard never changes his spots.  Therefore, if my husband forgets my birthday or Mother's Day and I am expecting it, I am not particularly upset.  If he remembers then he has exceeded my expectations and it is a nice surprise.  In the beginning I would get upset at things like this, but a line from a young American wife and mother I saw on a TV programme once called something like 'Submissive Wives' (and no, I don't think I quite fit that description in general), has stuck with me - 'I am grateful to have my husband even if he does leave his dirty socks on the floor'. 

As parents we have a responsibility to teach our children what are reasonable and right expectations in life, but we must be careful to differentiate between expectations and hopes.   A friend mentioned to me recently that her normally very active and physical child wouldn't participate in sports day.  It took me back to my first sports day at school when I remember being tearful and not wanting to enter any races.  I was known as being quite sporty and I didn't know how I would handle the comments if I didn't win.  As my daughter is starting to think about going to school it has reminded me that I need to help her develop the emotional tools to handle failure and rejection so that when she experiences them she is able to pick herself up, put them in perpective, learn from them and not loose any of her self-worth.  Of course there is also a risk of setting expectations too low, but hopefully with practise and experience we get better at it.  On the occasions we get expectation levels wrong, we can still try and wrap our children in the safety blanket of love and keep hoping. 

Thankfully it is very rarely that I have found myself in a situation where I have had to rely on hope and prayer alone.  One that springs to mind is when a friend of ours was being held hostage in Iraq.  After many weeks someone suggested that it would be better for his wife if she at least knew if he was dead.  She had said separately that whilst there was no news there was still hope.  He did make it home alive, perhaps not in the manner that had been hoped, but in this case hope was rewarded.

I won't always live up to my daughters' expectations, and they won't to mine, but I will live in hope that expectations won't get in the way of their hopes and dreams, and many of their dreams will become realities.

Birthday cake conscience pricking

In our house we're gearing up for our daughter's fourth birthday.  Modern day children's parties are relatively new to me.  At the first Christmas one we attended a few years ago I was shocked at the amount of waste generated.  Food, paper, plastic toys, quickly broken.  I'm trying not to get drawn into the competitiveness of it all, from hiring a venue to party bag contents.  But I still want my daughter and her friends to have a fun and memorable time. 

One birthday tradition that is seeming to stick is the cake.  I'd not really decorated cakes until I made her first birthday cake.  It was a large white base with a teddy bear head and paws on it. I was pleased with the end result and it gave me the confidence to ask her what she wanted in subsequent years.   For her second birthday she wanted a digger cake, for her third the pink crept in, although it was a tractor.  This year her request is a pink princess cake.  I quite enjoy the mental planning of ingredients, structure including creating any templates, construction techniques and finishing touches.  Together we've been searching the internet for ideas and videos of how to construct the perfect princess cake. A couple of nights ago we found an excellent series of clips showing us exactly what we wanted.  My daughter likes to know details.  She has a need to understand how things fit together and the logical sequence of things.  Whilst we were watching the cake video part that showed how to cover any mistakes or imperfections in the dress icing with cut out flowers and clever piping (I particularly liked this bit), my daughter noticed a picture of a girl to the right of the video window.  'Is the cake for her?' she asked.  The young girl was in a WaterAid advert, with text saying she was thirsty.  'No' I replied, 'The cake isn't for her'.  'Well why is there a picture of her then?' my daughter responded. 

My daughter knows about injustice.  In her little world it is when she is accused of something she hasn't done.  She's pretty switched on, asking challenging questions as most children her age do.  At some point she is going to learn more about the injustices in our world.  I am waiting for the moment when she asks why we don't just dig people wells so they can have clean water or why we don't share our food and toys with them.   A big part of me wants to say I don't know why. I don't know why it has got so complicated when we have the technology, the knowledge, the skills to make the world fairer.  I don't know why it is taking so long.  Has the majority of the world's population who are better off lost the will?  I've heard some people say that only when we as a country have enough then should we give to the needy.  What is enough?

Wrapping my daughter's presents last night I was torn between being excited at seeing her face as she opens them and feeling slightly guilty at adding to her possesions when she already has so much compared to so many other children.  I realise that this isn't a topic that a few blog paragraphs can adequately address. I understand that there often aren't simple answers.  But that doesn't mean it isn't good to view the world through a child's eyes every once in a while.

Life defining stuff and clutter

I am torn between wanting to keep stuff in case it could be useful in the future, (plus not wanting it to end up in land-fill), and wanting to be as junk free as possible, so that I have to spend less time looking for and after 'stuff'. 

The more stuff you have the more time it takes to look after it, and the more it costs you e.g. two cars means twice the road tax, insurance and repair bills.  If you have small children it can also mean doubling up on car seats, or regular lifting, transferring and fitting of seats in already time-pressed situations.

With modern technology enabling photos, books and movies to be stored electronically, I am drawn to the idea of being able to live with very little clutter.  The time and effort required to reach a clutter-free life is another story though.  I then think of my children and realise that being a bit of a hoarder does has advantages such as being able to produce that large piece of blue plastic for an imaginary swimming class to try out the new goggles, or easily finding old boxes and foil to make a pasta robot as seen on the TV.

As a student I worked shifts in a nursing home, first in the kitchen then as a carer.  I remember the matron, who didn't often get visibly attached to residents, being quite tearful when clearing a room out from a lady who had died, without family to clear the room out for her.  She was upset by how little there was left to show for such a long life.  Do our material posessions really reflect the sort of life we have led? 

I am excited and a little apprehensive about the idea that my children, potential grand-children and many future generations will be able to know about me thanks to the digital media age.  Who knows, they may even read these words. They will be able to see who I was (or who I projected myself to be on the internet), what I looked like, how I talked and moved, what I cared about, how I interacted with others.  They will be able to see what characteristics of mine they have inherited and more scarily, what I did or didn't do to make our world a better place for them.

Vegetable growing

I get a real sense of wellbeing from attempting to grow fruit and vegetables.  There is something wonderful about being in the fresh air, working, watching, hoping and then finally tasting what you have helped grow.  It helps me appreciate the time, effort and expertise that goes into the production and supply of our food.  We're still very much beginners at growing.  We started with a few pots containing strawberries, tomatos and blueberry bushes 3 years ago and are very slowly building up. 

Time is the main prohibiting factor, along with the expense of turning a concrete retangle into my little paradise.  I'd always thought that growing your own was cheaper than buying from the supermarket until a conversation with a friend made me realise that it is actually quite an outlay if you have to buy soil, wood for raised beds, water butts, seeds, not to mention tools. It can also be quite emotional if you've spent hours and days lovingly tending seedlings to have them end up as a snack for a herd of hungry slugs.

Over time the costs should go down, our level of knowledge should increase and our crop output go up.  But rather than measure our success by how much we have managed to grow to eat, I want to measure it by how much happiness and satisfaction the whole growing experience has given us.  However, for me, there is an even more important reason for having our own little vegetable plot than saving money or enabling me to pick the tastiest, freshest cherry tomato I've ever eaten.  The reason to do it is to show my daughters the miracle of nature and hope they are as amazed and in awe of it as me. 

Sharing the weather

We have been incredibly lucky over the last week to have had almost constant company.  My 3 year old has had different play mates everyday. We've had an impromptu BBQ on the beach, spent the day at the local water park, attended an Easter party, last minute guests have stayed the night, neighbours have been round for a BBQ, other little play mates have come round to play.  We've talked, laughed, eaten well.  Good weather, conversation, food and fun - all even better when you share them.

School-mum-to-be worries

My oldest daughter will be starting school in about six months.  We won’t know which school she will be going to for another month.  We hope it is the one round the corner that we can walk to, however, it is a popular school and there are already a number of siblings ahead of her in the queue.  The second choice school we put down is far less popular, but I’m starting to wonder if we might feel more comfortable there as a family.  It is much larger and has a more diverse intake of children . I'm wondering if this means that any effort we can put in as parents might be of more use to the school that is in need of parent contributions when compared to the better off school that already seems to have very active parental support.  I am also worried that my family is a bit too scruffy and unkempt for our first choice school.  

The reality of being a school mum is starting to sink in, as we approach the next big chapter in parenthood.  Aside from the daily problem of having to get her to school on time every day, I am going to have to make small talk at the school gate.   I’m not very good at small talk.  We already attend a number of activities in the week, and whilst we are making some good friends, I am becoming more aware of feeling that I am quite different to the majority of other parents I meet in terms of my priorities and outlook on life. I’m not sure what this is going to mean for my daughter and her school experience.  At the moment I can protect my children from things I don’t want them to see or hear, most of the time, by deciding where we go and who we spend time with.   When she’s at school she’s on her own.  Perhaps these are normal school-mum-to-be feelings.   

Happiness and African babies

A blog I read recently titled “Why African babies don’t cry” http://www.naturalchild.org/guest/claire_niala.html  got me thinking.  It focuses on the African culture where babies are constantly held and fed.  Thoughts on parenting are always going to be contentious, and what I’m going to say next isn’t intending to judge other parents – we all have to do what is right for our families and make our decisions on the best information we have.  In my experience every child is different and what works for one doesn’t necessarily work for another.   I also know that mental illness can affect anyone, regardless of background or circumstances so I am aware that what I am suggesting below is a huge generalisation.   I just had a moment of possible revelation, and wanted to share it.   

 I read a book about a year ago titled “Why love matters” by Sue Gerhardt.  It talks about how affection affects a baby’s developing brain.  I was particularly struck by the focus on how the development of the brain in the first few months and years can affect future emotional well being.  For example, the way we respond to stress which can lead to conditions including anorexia, addiction, and anti-social behaviour.  Without going back and re-reading the book to quote properly, my recollection is that if a baby has an ‘emotionally available parent’, someone who meets their needs and means they aren’t worrying if their cries are going to be answered, who helps regulate their emotions for them when they are too little to do so themselves (e.g. stops them crying uncontrollably or helps them get excited at something), then they are emotionally better equipped as they grow and potentially better able to cope with or even avoid mental illnesses such as depression and addiction when they are older.

I have noticed a number of research projects into happiness - what makes us happy and how to measure our level of happiness mentioned in the media recently.  Apparently the government want to try and measure our happiness and consider the impact of their policy decisions on our level of happiness.   I have heard  people, who have been to developing countries, where people have so very little in terms of material possessions say, that they are some of the happiest people they have ever met.  So what makes some of the poorest people in the world able be so happy?   After reading “Why love matters” and “Why African babies don’t cry”, maybe it is down to how they were cared for as a baby that has made them emotionally better equipped to deal with the negatives life deals them and as a consequence are happier in life in general.   Of course this theory would be very difficult to test.  But if it were true, if we became a culture that actively and practically supported parents in those first few difficult weeks, months and years of being parents, what an impact on society and the public purse it would have if we became a society where babies don’t cry.

The ethics of a hot dog

A number of people have said over the years that I think too much.  I think (there I go) that there are many advantages to having an active mind, particularly when putting my thoughts, ideas and experiences into a wider, worldly context.  However, it does usually make shopping quite a headache.  

I am passionate about fair trade.  I expect reasonable working conditions and fair pay for my work and buying products with the Fair Trade trademark is to me, the best way to try and ensure that the producers of the products I purchase have also received a fair wage for their efforts.

 Fair trade food products are the easy bit of shopping.  Unless it happens to be something like flowers or sugar that are also produced in the UK, so then there is the decision to make as to whether to buy ‘local’ to support UK producers, avoid food miles and have a smaller carbon footprint or to support farmers in the developing whose children may not get clean water or an education without the guarantee given by a fair trade contract. I try and buy some of both, in case you were wondering. 

For a number of reasons there are a limited (although growing) number of products that can be certified as Fair Trade.  This means that when buying food types that aren’t currently certifiable I have to consider different factors.  Local and organic criteria are up there with fair trade in my list of priorities.  What ‘local’ means geographically will depend on the product.  Organic because from my understanding (and a degree in Environmental Change and Monitoring), organic farming methods protect rather than destroy.  Natural habitats, plants and animals, such as bees (that provide the vital pollination service for most food crops), can be harmed or even wiped out by intensive farming methods that use chemical pesticides, insecticides and fungicides amongst other things.  In my experience organic produce usually tastes better, even if it doesn’t look as perfect as non-organic produce.   You may be thinking that my food choice factors means my shopping bill is high.   I guess it is down to priorities.

The other food factor that challenges me, and I am getting to the hot dog bit,  is whether to eat meat or not.  Whilst the thought of eating a dead animal can make me feel a little uneasy if I think long enough, my opinion is that if I choose not to eat a dead animal then I really need to become a vegan and not consume dairy products either.  Cows need to have given birth to lactate and so only females are useful in milk production.  What happens to all the males born?  Without cattle there wouldn’t be a natural source of fertilizer for many food crops either.  My conclusion is that I will occasionally eat meat, but I will choose organic, free range meat where animals have been treated humanely and are allowed to live and enjoy their natural habitat before they are slaughtered.   This means we eat a lot of quorn (a vegetarian meat substitute).  

I was very excited when a few years ago it became possible to buy frozen quorn hot-dog sausages.  They are a quick treat with fried onions and ketchup in a roll and taste even better if we wrap them in foil and take them out in our campervan for an impromptu picnic.  My 3 year old also loves them.  They might not make the healthiest, most balanced meal we’ve ever consumed, but they are healthier than fatty sausages and aren’t a type of food product that can be organic or fairly traded, so tick most of my boxes.  Guilt factor on buying and letting my family eat them – pretty low!  However, the supermarket we get them from has recently replaced the packaging.  I happened to have an old pack in the freezer so I decided to compare.  I haven’t checked the price, but I imagine the packaging change to be part of the supermarkets ploy to increase profit.  The new packet has a slightly lower weight of product in it, and I am guessing the price is the same. But then I noticed where they are produced and packaged.

 Israel. 

 Suddenly our quick snack is not quite so tasty.  Not only are there the food miles to consider, but I do try to either buy from or boycott suppliers or products if I think there is a good reason as my very small way of trying to make a difference.   I am certainly not an expert on Middle East politics, and whilst from what I have read, I don’t believe either side of the Palestinian Israeli conflict is entirely blameless, I think that Israel’s occupation and oppression of the Palestinians is wrong and innocent people, including small children are suffering everyday because of it.   Now I am wondering how significant a quorn factory in Israel is in the scheme of Middle East peace.     

Words that heal not wound

I get frustrated at what I call our ‘sound bite society’.  We have access to more information than ever before at the click of a mouse, but we seem to spend so little time reading and trying to understand complex or grey issues, instead going with the sound bite conclusion.  However, some sound bites or one-liners do seem to stick, and I’ve decided that if they promote positive thought or action then perhaps they are acceptable.  An example that caught my attention on the radio recently was the phrase ‘words that heal not wound’.   If I’m being honest, the amount of thought that goes into the words I speak and how much of a positive contribution they make to the people I interact with probably directly correlates with how sleep deprived or hungry or cold I am.  Another sound bite I’ve stored up is that’ it takes ten positive comments to make up for a negative’ and a third is that ‘you should not be abrasive if you want to be persuasive’.     

Words can be powerful weapons.  Silence, where words are withheld in place of dialogue can be incredibly hurtful.  Unexpected, critical or harsh words can pop a bubble of security or happiness and irreversibly change the dynamics of a relationship.  Words can raise and dash expectations, inspire and shatter dreams.  Of course there is a time and occasionally a need for difficult words, but those times aside, given the immense power words can have, maybe it is time I cared more about the words I speak or write every day.   I know that words I hear and read affect how I respond.  Perhaps I am simplistic in my need for recognition and praise, but if my manager says ‘This is an excellent piece of work, but would you mind just changing this bit?’ I am happy to make the change.  Had he not bothered with the positive praise you’d probably find me complaining about it. 

By instinct, when I am hurt, angry or frustrated the words that I want to speak (or shout) are negative and abrasive. But how much more useful would it be and how much quicker could a situation be improved if I already had eight or nine positives in the bank to cancel out the negative, particularly when dealing with my three year old? Or, how much easier would it be to persuade my husband that I’m right (I usually am....) if we’re not both using defensive, abrasive language and digging our heels in? 

Words can inspire and encourage, nurture and strengthen, bring hope, reassurance and instil confidence.  Words that heal not wound – a sound bite I hope is going to stick in my head for a while longer. 

I’d rather...

I’d rather there were blue hand prints around the sink because we did painting, than a clean sink because we didn’t.

I’d rather the ironing was piling up because we’d decided to go out on a bike ride, than the pile was done because we stayed at home.

I’d rather washing up that seems never ending because we’d invited friends round for a last minute gathering, than there be no washing up because we’d played alone.

I’d rather there was flour all over the kitchen table and floor because we’d made biscuits, than a clean kitchen because we didn’t.

I’d rather the washing mountain kept growing with bedding because we’d had people to stay than the spare room remained empty.

I’d rather our clothes got wet and dirty because we’d been to the woods and jumped in muddy puddles, than they were clean because we’d stayed in the dry.

I’d rather the compost bin was overflowing with peelings because we’d cooked from scratch than an empty bin because we hadn’t.

I’d rather toys were all over the floor and a bit worn and tatty because they’d been well loved and played with, than in resale condition because they’d been ignored.

I’d rather there were blutack marks on the wall than unspoiled paintwork if it means my children’s art work is on show and they know I am proud of it.

I’d rather there were muddy dog prints in the hall and, despite constant hoovering, dog hair wherever you look closely, than a pristine floor but no soft ears to stroke or practical lessons everyday for my children in how to love and care for animals.

I’d rather my conversations and train of thought were often left unfinished than there was no one here to interrupt them.

I’d rather my children push the boundaries with me than don’t, so then they will know where the boundaries are.

I’d rather my children’s demands and tantrums take as long as needed to resolve, than my children learn that whoever is biggest or strongest always gets their way.

I’d rather my children ask the endless ‘why’ questions, than always accepting my first answer if it means they keep learning, including learning how to negotiate and compromise.

I’d rather my children question authority than always submitting to it, as sometimes authority needs to be challenged.

I’d rather we be friends with lots of people, even those whose views we often don’t always agree with, than stay in our comfort zone if it means my children learn about tolerance and that different doesn’t automatically mean bad.

I’d rather  my parenting was seen as weak and my house a disaster by those that judge me, than change my approach if it means my children keep growing up more physically, emotionally and mentally able to deal with all life will throw at them.

Loving the Weston life we’re living (written September 2010)

‘I couldn’t want anything more for my children’ my husband said yesterday evening whilst watching our three year old splashing in the high tide on Weston sea front. I understood what he was thinking. Free fun and fresh air shared with new friends. Just then there was no other place on earth I think either of us would have wanted to be.

The work nearing completion on the Weston sea defences has resulted in a new, beautiful, wide, paved walkway running along the sea front, complemented with elegant stone seating. It was the first time we'd been down to the sea front for a while and I was impressed with what I saw. I sat on one of the stone seats to feed the baby. Next to me a woman was putting on roller blades. A number of joggers passed me along with individual and family groups of cyclists and walkers of all ages. A couple of guys were throwing and catching a rugby ball on the beach. Children were squealing with delight and running in and out of the sea. Dogs were chasing balls on the sand and in the distance the kites of kite boarders could be seen at the south end of the beach. A little boat bobbed on the sea as the sun began to set. So many people were out enjoying such a beautiful evening in a place we are proud to call home.

I think most of my life I have been waiting. Waiting until I’ve passed exams, finished my education, got a job, got somewhere to live, found Mr. Right (salsa classes is where I found him in case you are wondering). Now I have small children I don’t want to wait any more. Waiting for them to walk or talk or start school. I’m enjoying living now. I’m sure most people would like more money or job security or time amongst other things, but yesterday evening reminded me that in the midst of the busyness, worries and frustrations of daily life there is much joy to be had in the small things. A three year olds fascination with a woodlouse discovered whilst blackberry picking in Worlebury Woods, a messy kitchen but home-made gingerbread men, picking and eating home grown cherry tomatoes, my daughters face when she mastered the fireman’s pole by herself in the park and the pleasure of feeling the evening sun on my face whilst watching my daughter have the time of her life on the beach.