tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72131387272488698512024-03-14T03:03:48.266-07:00methusula mumUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger149125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-27995333912907361712013-11-03T17:04:00.002-08:002013-11-03T17:26:40.677-08:00Methusula mum shares exactly how old she is on TV<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am really pleased to publicise the fact that older people can adopt but did Sky really have to zoom in on absolutely every single wrinkle and chin roll?<br />
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I also would have preferred them not to have shown so much of my parents house as it doesn't really represent my lifestyle as a busy mum in London. I hope it doesn't give the impression all adopters are affluent.<br />
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<a href="http://news.sky.com/story/1162826/adoption-myths-deter-older-parents">http://news.sky.com/story/1162826/adoption-myths-deter-older-parents</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-52659380419436877292013-10-01T12:06:00.001-07:002013-10-01T12:06:30.505-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She has been elected to school council. I wonder if David Cameron's mum felt as proud when he was elected Prime Minister. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She woke up this morning and said she had dreamt that she was elected with her best boy friend, James. Privately I thought James stood a chance but she was heading for disappointment and spent the walk to school giving her all the reasons why it was no failure to fail....</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-36884192897764763762013-09-30T01:52:00.001-07:002013-09-30T01:52:05.199-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Exhausted on saturday night after a barn dance ( yes, strange thing for me to go to even if I was in the country and not in Hackney) my six year old daughter, in the middle of some conversation or other says: 'well, you are a bit mad mummy.' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'No, I"m not! What on earth do you mean?' I expostulate. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'She looks at me considering, 'Well, you are lying in bed watching television at night in sunglasses that are tied together with paperclips.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I try to explain that they are the only ones I can find that have prescription lenses in them and I can't afford new ones. She looks at my sadly, 'yes, but you call them your google glasses....'</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-64691954978936269982013-09-30T01:51:00.001-07:002013-09-30T01:51:04.173-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Exhausted on saturday night after a barn dance ( yes, strange thing for me to go to even if I was in the country and not in Hackney) my six year old daughter, in the middle of some conversation or other says: 'well, you are a bit mad mummy.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'No, I"m not! What on earth do you mean?' I expostulate. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'She looks at me considering, 'Well, you are lying in bed watching television at night in sunglasses that are tied together with paperclips.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I try to explain that they are the only ones I can find that have prescription lenses in them and I can't afford new ones. She looks at my sadly, 'yes, but you call them your google glasses....'</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-31261962730975485722013-01-15T15:13:00.001-08:002013-01-15T15:13:11.251-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 1px; line-height: 0px;">IfIf</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 1px; line-height: 0px;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">If baked playdoh just isn't modern enough - get a 3D printed sculpture of your child's artwork. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: 0px; line-height: 0;"></span><span><a dir="ltr" href="http://t.co/Jk1uBKhd" style="color: #f96d15; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="http://crayoncreatures.com/">crayoncreatures.com</a></span><span style="font-size: 0px; line-height: 0;"><a dir="ltr" href="http://t.co/Jk1uBKhd" style="color: #f96d15; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="http://crayoncreatures.com/">/</a></span><span><span style="font-size: 0px; line-height: 0;"><a dir="ltr" href="http://t.co/Jk1uBKhd" style="color: #f96d15; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="http://crayoncreatures.com/"> </a></span></span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-56007737507930069062012-11-26T06:28:00.003-08:002012-11-26T06:33:16.907-08:00Methuselah Style Mentors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UdPP9J6TFV0/ULN8cqY88QI/AAAAAAAAAjY/eqGPbRQRo9M/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-11-26+at+14.26.06.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UdPP9J6TFV0/ULN8cqY88QI/AAAAAAAAAjY/eqGPbRQRo9M/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-11-26+at+14.26.06.png" width="261" /></a></div>
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advancedstyle.blogspot.co.uk<br />
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The mentoring that every methuselah mother requires......<br />
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It's easy to lose ones style way when middle-aged spread meets harassed mummyhood. Here's some inspiration that the future is not all elasticated waistbands, though some of the brighter birds here have some quite frighteningly lurid plumage.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-45659739887921113972012-09-15T17:15:00.002-07:002012-09-15T17:15:49.360-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-80014026415673163052012-04-16T04:36:00.002-07:002012-09-15T17:27:14.817-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>'So go on then, what's your worst word?' </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She had just accused me of saying her bunches were 'cute.' </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'You hate the word 'cute 'you said it was your worst word, even worse than 'nice', and I hate the bunches, they are NOT cute,' she shouted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hmmm, well yes - I can't deny it - I had said that I hate the word 'cute', but that because she was using it to describe an extortionately priced plastic pony in neon pink that she wanted to put in the shopping trolley. As far as I am concerned 'cute' is a word used by Mattel and Zapft copywriters with nefarious desires to brainwash my child. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I had also used to the word 'cute' to sell her something. We were already ten minutes late for Breakfast Club and her hair takes twenty minutes to brush out. I'm truly embarrassed that she caught me out, as a copywriter I usually try to steal my words from better sources. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"And</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> what's your worst word?' I asked. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Distraction is an excellent thing when trying to tease a comb through a child's dreadlocks. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her answer was quicker than an ask for ketchup: 'no' and 'but'. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I suppose her choice is very normal but I was astounded that she even had a mental filing system that could index best and worst words, let alone spit out specific searches Google-fast. She must get really sick of hearing ' no,' to have the answer that fast. It's a</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> bit depressing, I thought I was doing quite well at trying to be positive. Sometimes I even try and look as if I am thinking about it rather than just saying 'no' when she suggests going to the park in the middle of the night - it's so much easier to chat about the possibility than deal with the tears. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'And what's your best words?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Yes' and 'Mmm,' she says - quick as a flash. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> 'Why Mmmm?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'It shows you're thinking about it...'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hmmm, I thought 'Mmmm' just meant I was making Bisto. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I really am amazed she listens so well and hears these words. But this is the girl who counted the stairs as a toddler saying ' shit, shit ,shit.....' - because that's how I usually ran down them when I was late in the morning. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought I was doing so well to have modified all swear words out of my language. Now it seems the bar has just been raised a bit higher. They f*** you up, your mum and dad, even when they don't say f*** any more, they just say 'no.' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />But then, life is full of 'no's', so maybe I'm just helping her practice ways to ignore them....</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-16868192728218981312012-04-07T14:44:00.000-07:002012-04-07T14:44:25.569-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today is Good Friday. I took O into the village to buy stamps and we happened upon a group singing hymns by the river. We joined in and were given Hot Cross buns afterwards, which almost made up for the embarrassment of singing without accompaniment in public, while people walking their dogs stared at us as if we were some crazy cult.</div>
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“I don’t get it,” said O as we walked home, eating the buns, “So God was the Dad of Mary, yes? And Mary was Jesus’s mother, yes? So how can God be the Dad of Jesus too?”</div>
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“I thought God was a She,” I said, harking back to an earlier <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7213138727248869851#editor/target=post;postID=3133306151853734884">conversation</a> as a diversionary tactic, away from the complications of the immaculate conception. My mouth was full of Hot Cross Bun, but that's not really an excuse - there’s never a good time to answer a hard question.</div>
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I have a friend who told his toddler right from the start that Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy were just fibs made up by adults. I want to be truthful and give answers with integrity but she’s making me appreciate just how trivial my mind has become – I’ve given up even questioning the big questions.</div>
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“I don’t know, lets find out,” might become my mantra, in future.</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-31333061518537348842012-03-14T15:29:00.001-07:002012-03-14T15:31:26.768-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were wandering home from school today and she looked up at the sky and said:but how does God know where we all are and what we are thinking - how does she do it?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-87476452926273509382011-12-05T15:17:00.000-08:002011-12-05T15:45:46.659-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.6px; line-height: 16px;"><i><b>Mamihlapinatapei, and other fascinating words</b></i></span> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 24px;">I have been thinking about the language of computers and whether it would be good for X to learn one. I have also been working hard to untangle the language of researchers at the global company TNS. These very clever people seem to have a remarkable ability to tie up single sentences in more knots than you would find in a macrame pot holder. Meanwhile X has been playing hard with language. She and her best friend (I love her, mummy) </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 24px;">have started to speak a language all of their own. X has now started to speak it to me. I was so flattered to be included that I started speaking back to her in jibberish. Now we walk down the road jabbering nonsense to each other. I say nonsense but mainly we intuit what each other is saying. We laugh a lot in this language and don't use it for snapping and whining. If ever I was lost for words with her it might come in handy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 24px;">It occurred to me that one of the reasons that X might be so interested in speaking a foreign language is that almost all her friends are bilingual and have a 'special' language which they use with their mothers. T speaks Finnish to hers (no father around) , S speaks Icelandic (father doesn't speak Icelandic), N is only just learning English over Russian (no father around), and her best friend A ( I love her, mummy) speaks Danish to her mummy. I could go on- there are so many examples. It seems such a shame that X's fascination with language at this key moment in her development (this is the time where children naturally learn language) is going to waste as I only can jabber with her in make-believe meanings. Maybe we should learn a new language together. I do try to speak a bit of French but my French is woeful.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 20px;">I did learn one new foreign word today: <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>mamihlapinatapei,</b></i></span> which is apparently <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yaghan_language" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #08526d; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Y</a>agan for <i><b>"the wordless yet meaningful look shared by two people who desire to initiate something, but are both reluctant to start." <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.2px; font-style: normal;"> </span></b></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 20px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.2px; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Good, eh? We haven't made up that one yet, but then I'm not sure we've ever seen two people looking at each other in this way. Maybe they were and we mistook it for British reserve. </span></span></b></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 9px; line-height: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I arrived at work depressed having read a newspaper on the bus. X's future just seems so grey when you look at the economic future and the lack of opportunities for children as they grow. Then I arrived at work and got really excited- suddenly the future seemed full of possibilities again. <br />
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The other day someone at work had sent around a petition (the intranet email stream at Digit is one of the best things about working here- it is so inspirational ) to get children coding in school. I signed the petition ( <span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica,Verdana,Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><u> </u></span></span></span><a href="http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/15081">coding in schools petition</a>- sign it too! ) and thought what a good idea. But last night a brilliant creative technologist, David Rosser, and designer Christine Winkless had taken the campaign further. They developed a poster to help the campaign. See their poster and read about their idea to teach children coding in schools on the Digit blog: http://blog.digitlondon.com<br />
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It really inspired me, especially when David said:" if I was taught coding at school I would be so much better now- I didn't even start till I was 17!"<br />
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I know what he meant- all my career I wished I had understood earlier how art and writing was used commercially. My teachers thought that everyone at our school would be teachers, doctors or work in government, they had no idea about anything creative at all. Had i known it might have changed my attitude to life and work.<br />
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I believe that discovering that you can make a perfect colourful circle or flower out of a few things you type in is something even X, aged 4, could get into- she loves using my computer. Hell, maybe I could even get into it too! <br />
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%20http://neilperkin.typepad.com/only_dead_fish/2011/12/teach-our-kids-to-code.html%20">PS: neilperkin thinks it's exciting too!</a></div></div><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-86045640299346111102011-12-01T13:55:00.000-08:002011-12-01T14:04:49.425-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Making Meanings </b><br />
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The process of adoption and the process of online dating are similar for the prospective parent in some ways. I know because I have done both. The thing that really struck me is that both required -for me- a large amount of faith over experience.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There may be people who go onto online dating sites without feeling that love has let them down in some way, but most are striped through with desperation and disappointment like a humbug. Similarly, though there may be people who feel that it is better to adopt than have their own children, for the vast majority it is desperation at being childless that gets them into a situation where they have to fill out forms saying what they can or can't cope with by way of challenges. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
As a prospective adopter I had to overcome a shell of cynicism lacquered layer by layer over years of hopes that had fried to a cinder so that now it was almost as indestructible as the shell on a beetle that could survive a nuclear explosion. But once I started to examine possibilities of matches I was amazed at myself, the way that I started to make meanings just on a photo about why a child might be 'meant to be' for me. One baby looked a bit like the illustration on a book I'd liked as a child. I laughed at myself for dreaming up such spurious meanings but I also couldn't help myself.<br />
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When I met my daughter it was special for being so beautifully, pure of such made up meanings. It was purely her looking at me and then turning away to look at the cat- which was far more interesting. I was glad that somehow I had managed to avoid cloying up the meeting with manufactured meanings and preconceptions, though I have no idea how this happened. I think it was because the situation leading up to me meeting her was so fraught with legal and other issues that I really didn't think it was going to happen. I was in such a spasm of cynicsm that I really didn't think I would run off with her, even though I had been allowed to meet her. My mind was frozen with amazement. The meaning I have made on this, in retrospect, is that I am glad it felt so pure of artificial meanings.<br />
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I was thinking about the need for humans to make meanings because X is still making up meanings regarding daddies and the lack of them and I don't know whether to say more might confuse further or not. Meanings are slippery little fish. The meanings she is making about daddies aren't so wide of the mark as they were. She doesn't think her daddy has been stolen by the police any more. Now she thinks he is in Africa - this is something to do with her hair and something I said about it. But she doesn't seem too bothered. We had a three year old to stay for a sleepover last weekend, It was fun, she slept in our bed with us. We all spent a large amount of the night tripping to the loo but they both managed not to wet the bed, which was a first for X. In the morning, over breakfast, X asked her friend if she had a daddy. The little friend said she didn't. X said she didn't either. They both seemed pleased with this state of affairs. "I've got a just got a mummy too," said X. "You either have a mummy or a daddy but you don't need both." Our visitor agreed, nodding her head and adding: "my friend at nursery hasn't got a mummy or a daddy - but it doesn't matter because he's got a scooter."<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-60726657040875628432011-11-28T07:38:00.000-08:002011-11-28T07:53:11.034-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7eAE2c0jCCU/TtOuMNI14QI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/XyQdC3jJdt4/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7eAE2c0jCCU/TtOuMNI14QI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/XyQdC3jJdt4/s1600/images-1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>The metaphor of her name may become the metaphor of her life in some way.</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What's in a name?<br />
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If you are called Sky I imagine it may impact on your image of yourself. If you were called Crystal you might have a totally different self-image. If you are called Faith would you be different than if you were called Charity? I am guessing, as there are so many visual connections, these noun names inspire more meaning than the difference between being called Anne and Jane. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">X realised that her name has a meaning today. She explained to me that she is like it- though she didn't seem sure how. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I expect that this metaphor will grow throughout her life. I can imagine boyfriends writing love letters about it, friends sending card with pictures of it, her going to places where she decides it has special meaning for her. It was nice to be there when she first understood the metaphor and to tell her once again that it was her tummy mummy who gave it to her. </div><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-56130135482724131072011-11-17T01:32:00.000-08:002011-11-17T01:57:32.307-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>i-Prodigies </b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Take a look at these incredible children: </div><div style="color: magenta;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1816864019" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</a></div><div style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehDAP1OQ9Zw&feature=youtu.be">the TED speaker and app developer</a></div><span style="color: magenta;"> </span><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><u><br />
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<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2011/jan/18/angry-bird-bubble-ball-itunes" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">the game developer</a><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2011/jan/18/angry-bird-bubble-ball-itunes"> </a><br />
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<div style="color: magenta;"><a href="http://www.wimp.com/musicprodigy/" style="color: magenta;">musicprodigy</a></div></div><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><u><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%20http://www.wimp.com/musicprodigy/" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></a></u></span></span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And I am thrilled that X has got to two sentences per page in her reading. She can read 'can' and 'man', and -on a good day,even 'cannot'! Given that at 18 months I was told she had a developmental delay of 6 months- a third of her age - I am, if anything, even more amazed by her progress as I am staggered by these children. And today I am going to think about all those children, teenagers and adults who struggle to do up their own shoelaces. When I was adopting I remember saying to the doctor that I didn't think I was up to looking after a child who would never be able to tie their own shoelaces. I had forgotten what tricky little blighters shoelaces are. I had it all wrong back then. I really had no idea what I could cope with or not. That's what makes the list you are given asking you to tick which disabilities you can cope with so impossible. You have no idea what you can cope with or what a disability might entail. You just hope you rise to whatever parenting challenge you are given. And I think I would find a child who was already a TED speaker a pretty challenging child as well.........<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-70760861983202990642011-11-16T06:43:00.000-08:002011-11-16T06:47:39.025-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>YAAAAAMS</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She had yams and scrambled egg for tea last night. J, her much-loved childminder, (and one of the happiest woman on the planet) told me proudly that she ate the lot. It was an awful, awful lot. I know because it came out in a technicolour yawn all evening and well into the night. Actually, not technicolour, very pale. Yaaaaaaaa-m she roared into the potty we had by the bed, over and over again. She was so, so good, not a spot spilt anywhere. And it just went on and on. I felt so useless, just rubbing her back and saying good girl over and over again, as if she was a dog. Finally, at about two, she fixed me with steely eyes, over the top of the potty and said: tell her not ever to give me so much again. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But this morning, just as I (laid low with sleep deprivation and a stinking cold) was thinking of </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">wantonly giving up a whole days pay and staying in bed and watching daytime tv X was ready to go again. If she couldn't go school she wanted to be back at J's, hanging around with me just wasn't cutting it So I delivered her back to J, told her not to give her so much of anything X didn't want- but plenty of water- and trudged off to work.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It wouldn't surprise me if it put her off yams for life. Last night they didn't just disagree with her- they violently argued....</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri,Verdana,Helvetica,Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>The TNS Digital life site I have been working on has just gone live!!!</u></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri,Verdana,Helvetica,Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="https://twitter.com/#%21/search?q=%23tnsdl">https://twitter.com/#!/search?q=%23tnsdl</a></u></span>> </span></span> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-77204581740933197352011-11-09T13:14:00.000-08:002011-11-09T13:24:45.082-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>TWO LITTLE STORIES</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So the little girl who is too scared to speak at school tells me that she stood up and told the class all about the fairies she and her cousin made from spoons. But maybe she is making it up - not sure. As a novelist might say, it is an unreliable narrator telling the story. Apparently at least one person in the class asked a question: why did she make them? And she replied: because I wanted to. The debate may take a while to reach Paxman standards but I was impressed with her determination to stand up in front of everyone: she set of to school this morning waving the fairies like magic wands. I remember the first time I made a presentation as a graduate trainee and how nervous I was. She isn't that shy as it appears I don't think- she just chooses her moments. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were watching tv after story time tonight and X piped up: "Oh look, there's the lady who picks up K from nursery." And it was - the well-known presenter who happens to be friends with K's mother. To X it's not important she's on the telly what's important is that she picks up her friend. I'm not surprised X has this attitude as she is used to seeing herself on her mothers computer all the time on You Tube. It is interesting that the availability of seeing oneself in digital glory on You Tube might be actually lessening the impact of fame on tv. I can't help hoping so- it might lessen the lure of mindless Big Brother celebrity status. </span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Drawing the line -and I'm not talking arty fun. </span></b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a challenging morning with X displaying to the entire congregation that I have no authority over her whatsoever. I took her out of the service twice to give her talking to but it didn't modify her behaviour and she wrestled with me at the altar. It was all rather undignified. I got so angry that I told X she wouldn't be allowed to go to a party later. This was stupid as I was pleased she had been invited. I didn't know whether to follow through with the punishment or not. It was a mess. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tend to shirk taking authority but I also don't want my child to be disrespectful. I find the balance hard. This is also confused by the fact that X is highly opinionated and disrespectful with me but is so unconfident at school and in new situations that she rarely speaks and I am constantly told she needs more confidence. Maybe her teachers would feet differently had they seen the way X demanded my communion wafer at the altar and created a riot when I wouldn't give it to her. </span><br />
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</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My issue was voiced the other day by her friend K's father who said, in his soft Trinidadian accent: "I want him to understand the boundaries but I don't want to stunt his spirit." However, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> screaming at the altar was the boundary for me. I had to draw a line.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spoke to my mother and sister about my behaviour- and X's. I moaned to my mother that it is harder as a single parent as she feels she has a more equal relationship with me than other children as she gets involved in choosing more with me: what tv we watch, eat, and the like. "Yes, well, lets just say we all got a bit worried when you insisted she have an opinion over which new car you bought and she was only two," said my mother in a soft yet important way that indicated this had been discussed quite a bit. But then my mother has only to whisper and all her children sit up straight, even though we are all now over fifty. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I talked to my sister. Our conversation was naturally informed by our own upbringing: "I totally know why you don't want to be authoritarian," she said, "but every time I've held back from taking control with my children it has come back and bitten me in the bottom later."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hmmm, talking of biting, I had an email from the Ex this week reminding me of Big Biting Incident in which X bit the-soon-to be--Ex in church which led to him acting like a modern-day version of Mr Murdstone and our relationship unravelling as fast as the hem on a Primark dress. But-just for the record- I still feel that once a child has said sorry and clearly means it then that should be The End of the matter. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I'd been talking to my mother and sister </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> X had been having a quiet poo and a little think: "If I'm not allowed to go to the party does that mean I can have the present for myself?" she asked, eye firmly fixed on the main chance. Oh, and by the way, she now wants to be called Tinkerbell- Angelina, which doesn't strike me as a name for a shy retiring wall-flower. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Did Tinkerbell-Angelina learn any lessons today? Not sure. All I can say is that I tried my absolute best to exert quiet authority and insist on respect and it was exhausting. It is so much easier to be yelled at or just do a bit of pointless yelling. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But Tinky-Angie taught me a lesson the other day when she told me that she thought K's father was the best daddy she knew. I asked why. "Because he tells him off when he's naughty." This little fairy seems to be asking for some stronger discipline, it seems to me. Out of the fairy-horses mouth, with bells on. </span><br />
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Just so I never forget<br />
like the rest of the world she likes to <a href="http://youtu.be/bCTt4ImVywc">sing Adele</a> in the car. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-25518634219211723362011-11-03T08:17:00.000-07:002011-11-03T08:49:46.095-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><br />
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="color: magenta;">It's never too late to adopt.</h3></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We are on the BAAF blog- check it out <a href="http://baafadoption.blogspot.com/2011/11/its-never-too-late-to-adopt.html"> <span style="color: magenta;">here.</span></a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-37566009691054168132011-11-02T13:04:00.000-07:002011-11-02T13:04:31.462-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>MY FILM </b></span><a href="http://youtu.be/RpCkaDrsYUk"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>JUST WANT TO BE LOVED</b></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> WAS SHORTLISTED FOR THE BAAF ADOPTION WEEK FILMS. </b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many congratulations to the winners- anything that publicises the fact that there are still 65, 000 children in care is fantastic.</span><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-46132836743054577392011-11-01T15:47:00.000-07:002011-11-01T16:09:31.164-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HvvKJ-kr0Gw/Tq6VudCG3cI/AAAAAAAAAZc/PQxKYG17HDg/s1600/225px-Diwali_Diya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HvvKJ-kr0Gw/Tq6VudCG3cI/AAAAAAAAAZc/PQxKYG17HDg/s1600/225px-Diwali_Diya.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Thanatophobia and everlasting darkness at diwali, the festival of lights. </b></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I suffer from thanatophobia and have done so all my life. In my teens it kept me awake most nights. I feel very ashamed of this phobia. I live my life in total awe of those who manage to get on with life while not screaming internally: "don't panic, don't panic," like Jonesy in Dad's Army. The idea that I won't be there, there will be no <i>me</i> one day is a tragedy I just cannot get beyond. I realise this means I have a towering ego, especially as I do so little to deserve an immortal place in the world, but I have tried every day of my life to stop taking it all so seriously and have never succeeded. I think it is totally amazing that we don't all cluster in a huddle at work and cry together about it. But, believe me, it is tedious to live ones life as a series of last moments. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I sometimes think that I got into the habit of flagellating myself about death as a means of whipping myself into some kind of action to create something lasting. I seem to remember the phobia starting just before I got to my teens- about nine- when I discovered that Michelangelo spent years painting the Sistine Chapel. Around then I decided my life would be wasted if I didn't at least try to create something before I died. Dying without an everlasting achievement became a Really Bad Idea. But thanatophobia has been a total failure in terms of propelling me into creativity. There I have been, hanging on a thread a spittle in the jaws of death for the last forty years or so, and the best I have come up with is a couple of hair and cosmetic commercials. And one would have thought that if I was so scared of dying I would take better care of myself. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Having a child has changed the phobia. To start with it made it considerably more real. I now have a genuine fear of dying that is laced with guilt. I took X away from potentially younger parents. To become close to one old person and then that person die would be Very Bad for her. In an attempt to absolve this guilt I rewrite my will about once a year, I have life insurance to make sure she will have plenty of money, should I die, and I harrange my close friends and family on a regular basis about how I would like her to be looked after in an 'emergency'. I have a feeling that adopting a child, even when in a pair, makes this attitude more common. We are taught to consider wills and what will happen to our adoptive children, should we die, before we have even got them. I admit it, I am slightly obsessive about 'emergency' situations. with long notes to schools, minders and close friends about where, who and how X would be best off in the immediate days after I am knocked down by a bus. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On the other hand, for the first time since a teenager, the fear has modified. I now enjoy every single day just for little things. I can almost live with the fact that I won't leave behind an act of greatness as she will still be in the world. It no longer bothers me there won't be a <i>me</i> one day as there will be a <i>her</i>. I am not sure why this makes up for it as it isn't as if she is 'a part of me', there being no genetic link. It is not logical at all, but - hey- why break the habit of a lifetime? My first boyfriend said it was impossible to quarrel with me: he just couldn't follow the logic of the argument. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I've been thinking about all this because of what happened on saturday. The day started serenely making goulish halloween lanterns with X's half sister and her mother. The evening was set to be the very opposite of dark-death phobia. We went to a diwali party: a party for the 'festival of lights'. The house was lit from top to toe with shimmering candles, the women were in colourful saris, we were all given Indian stoles to wear. There was fragrant Indian food, a lavish firework display. I was with people I adore. All was full of golden light. I sat eating supper next to a lady a little older than me who I didn't know. She was clearly intelligent, a spinster who had no family, I guessed - rightly- a friend of the host. We spoke a little about our host, who had made a big decision a couple of years ago, to move from Notting Hill to North London to live with my Indian friend. I mused how sometimes big life decisions can sometimes actually be good. "That's interesting," said the lady, "as I made a big life decision today. I signed the papers for Dignitas. I should be off before Christmas." </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Forgetting death for a moment, there are some moments in life that one hopes one will cope with as they are the mark of who you are. The real <i>me</i>. There is a moment in Notting Hill where Hugh Grant's sister meets the famous actress played by Julia Roberts and she says she knows this is a moment when she should be cool and she is so, so going to fail and then she gets so overexcited about meeting the star that she forgets to leave when she shows her the way to the loo.<br />
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And there was <i>me</i>, in a life-defining moment like this thinking about Notting Hill. Anyway, I hope I didn't fail this moment. I tried not to. I shut out the thoughts squealing in my inner ear and tried to ask logical questions one after another and to actually talk to the lady, as I think this is what she wanted. Se was frighteningly clever and confident, having been a senior producer of famous BBC programmes for her career. She poo-poo-ed religion and therapy so maybe just talking to a stranger, even one as stupid as me, was better than nothing. I lived with her the moments she found the lump in her breast, the problems with her siblings going with her to die. I tried not to run away until I thought I might be sick or faint, especially when she coughed. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I spent the rest of the weekend alternately feeling overwhelmed with fear and sorrow for this brave lady and then wondering why she chose me to share her news. I felt the stench of death upon me. I was glad that X kept me busy with ordinary little day-to -day things. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-61924758336313661672011-10-27T13:07:00.000-07:002011-10-27T13:07:02.841-07:00Volans / The Methuselah Generation<a href="http://www.volans.com/news-views/news/the-methuselah-generation/#.Tqm53v4oMyU.blogger">Volans / The Methuselah Generation</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-65158396186335715302011-10-26T12:31:00.000-07:002011-10-26T12:31:51.170-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BXTNVDNrFvs/TqhcRQDUXxI/AAAAAAAAAYM/yM2JmDfbP5A/s1600/IMG_0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BXTNVDNrFvs/TqhcRQDUXxI/AAAAAAAAAYM/yM2JmDfbP5A/s320/IMG_0303.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAS HAPPENED. </span></b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Something of hers has fallen off. I couldn't be more devastated if it was a limb. She is thrilled, though worried that the tooth fairy might get the wrong room as she sleeps with me. I was too devastated to use it to my advantage and persuade her into her own bed. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Does everyone feel like this about the first tooth? I had no idea. It is just so sudden, even though the dentist had murmured something about wobbles happening soon I was in no way prepared. Is it because I had nice baby teeth and then great tombstones came through that have made every smile a misery ever since? It feels as if she has suddenly grown grey hair. She is mortal, and ageing. I am shouting at the waves but the sea is still coming in, just like that old king.</span><br />
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</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7213138727248869851.post-73450439564509876722011-10-26T01:44:00.000-07:002011-10-26T03:41:50.176-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T0ykDTaQLQM/TqfjGJDcatI/AAAAAAAAAYE/062VLlK3Vsk/s1600/rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T0ykDTaQLQM/TqfjGJDcatI/AAAAAAAAAYE/062VLlK3Vsk/s320/rainbow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>MORNING BLUES TURNED BRIGHTER</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> I hate half-terms when I work.I drag my feet to work like a reluctant schoolboy. <br />
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X , however, is such a girl.This morning she told me to throw away all her trousers as they don't look pretty. I was trying to chivvy her into trousers as they are quicker to put on in the morning than tights. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Getting to the minder was also hampered by the fact that we have to sort the baby too. Sadly not a real baby, despite X's constant pleadings for me to get one, but baby Molly who looks like an extra from a horror movie with her scratched out eyes. She also has an electronic cry which makes my ears bleed and my teeth hurt. As it was raining it took some time to get Molly into the coat in such a way that X could also scooter. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am trying not to mind the fact that when X plays with Molly she isn't playing mummies and daddies she is playing childminders. Molly's mummy is a lady called Edie who is away working. She even has to spend the night away which means we get to mind Molly at nights sometimes. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We were late for the childminder. X was in a hurry to get there to show her Molly as she wants some tips on how to look after her. X was happy there but I went to work in a bit of a dismal mood over half terms where I have to work. On the plus side I thank the heavens that X has a minder who she loves and seems to have a benign, happy interest in all children. There are always smiles there and I am glad X is in a hurry to get there and hasn't so far noticed that most of the other children are having holidays with their parents.<br />
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And then, during the morning, I remembered how much I love working in a studio with pleasant, creative people all around me- and how lucky I am to be able to work among young creatives at my age. I went to a meeting came out and was sent this picture of the view from my window when I was gone by one of those lovely young creatives. </div><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0