Autumn Equinox - All Change

It is the Autumn Equinox, the second harvest festival and the time when it's clear The Wheel of the Year is turning towards winter. We are on a waning moon that brings endings, darkness and is used to banish unwanted influences, situations and people in spell work.

Yesterday, was my dad's birthday. Particularly poignant given his sister, my aunt, who was such an influence throughout my childhood passed away on Friday. 

Yesterday, I took my son to university.

So if I say the weekend was a bit of a wringer, you'll understand it's not an understatement.

However, it's all good.

At the last minute, I decided to try to book a room for the night in Lincoln. I figured it would take the pressure off and would mean Dave and I wouldn't have to worry so much about the return journey. It was a good plan. Unfortunately, a plan that every other parent dropping their child off also had the foresight to make. In the end I could only find a room in a guest house in the middle of nowhere, or Ragnall as it's otherwise known. 

I insisted we had an early start. Ladies and Gentlemen, you know I am not a morning person. I struggle if there are two 6 o'clocks in one day. Yesterday, there were two 4 o'clocks. We ended up waking up well before time. It meant we were on our way by 7 am. I'm so grateful Dave was with us. He teased and comforted me as needed. He understood and didn't judge. Damn, I'm a lucky woman.

Our journey was interesting to say the least. We had an encounter with the EDL tour bus in the Swaffham McDonalds. Made far more amusing by the fact one of their bright sparks kept pulling the Push door. Yes, we've all done it; but not 5 or 6 times while swearing the door was locked! It's hard to be intimidated by people who have balloon fights and tie said balloons to their minivan.

Boy appreciated the early start when he was pretty much established and unpacked by 1 o'clock. We had lunch together, did the compulsory food shop and then said goodbye. I suspect university life is going to come hard for Boy - he's in a great room - two and a half times the size of his bedroom in the flat, he's sharing with 4 pretty girls and a nice guy, he's pretty much in the middle of Lincoln, on the river and within spitting distance of the university. I hope he enjoys it as much as he can. It's such a hardship! Fingers crossed the course suits and engages him.

Coming back to the Flat this afternoon was hard. I wasn't really an adult until after I had Boy. I was married young, had him, then divorced and, well, never really alone whether I was in a relationship or not. I was a mum. He lived with me. We had an intense relationship. Now he's off. He's flown the nest. Exactly as it needs to be. I would be troubled if he felt he couldn't leave home now. I am so proud of him. 

I kept on saying to him 'I'm a phone call away', 'I can be with you in hours if you need' and 'you can come home at any time.' Thankfully, he understood I wasn't saying that because I doubted his ability to cope. On the contrary, I know he'll be totally fine. More than fine. 

This is all new territory for me. I'm an adult by myself now. Life is going to be what I make of it, without the limitations of my responsibilities to him. It's exciting, scary and wonderful all at once. I am excited, scared and in awe of the Life before me. It's all good. Even if my heart hurts so. 

Getting Ready for University

Did I mention that Dunelm Mill is the Devil's Market Place? It over takes that other Den of Iniquity called Ikea, especially since it's only 15 minutes drive away. When I moved from the house to The Flat, I got rid of a lot of Stuff. And then, I bought a whole load more. Things I didn't know I needed until I saw it and once I brought them home with me, I spent hours wondering how on earth I lived without them.

It's not all silliness. I needed things like lamp shades, blankies, lunch boxes. The little things that have all added up. And mostly things that go with purple. Because I've got a thing with purple decor going on. No, before you ask, I don't know why. I just do. No one else knows why either. Boy has given up and just gives me a look. Dave, well Dave has a thing about lime green, so he has no room to talk.

Things like this: 

Practical and stylish

That folding step ladies and gentlemen is amazing. As you know, I am a short arse. Therefore, being able to get up those 4 inches higher, is ridiculously useful. And look! It folds flat, thus being practical and space saving. 

Isn't it marvellous?

So, when Boy needed a few things for his room and for university, of course that's where we had to go. 

Before we started the move, I sorted through quite a lot of kitchen stuff for Boy. I was lucky that we had an extra crockery set and I kept our old cutlery exactly for this circumstance.  I'd also bought bedding and a new duvet for him a couple of weeks ago. When we went over to Dunelm this afternoon, I knew we wanted 3 pans, a wok and a mattress protector. 

No, I have no idea what happened. I do know Boy was very gracious in that he agreed he'd take some of the old stuff in the kitchen and let me have new purple stuff. Yes, I really did need that purple grater. And the tongs. And the strainer. And the whisk. But I drew the line at the purple can opener, because that would be just silly.

We also got him folding chair and a collapsable laundry basket. He wanted them both in black, like his soul. 

Dear Gods I'm going to miss him.

End of an Era

Ladies and Gentlemen, today is the day when it all starts to change. When everything I've been worrying about starts to happen. 

Today was Boy's last ever day at college. He will be taking his exams in the next few weeks and is then off to university. My baby is all growed up. 

His first school photo

Being all cute and innocent in Trinidad

Both of us hiding the incriminating cigarettes behind our backs. Yes, he was legal age

And more recently

The thing is I love him to bits for just being Boy. He makes me laugh. We like hanging out together. I'm not a traditional parent and he's an awesome son. 

I haven't done the school run for years. He's always been incredibly independent-minded and wanted to take himself off to school as soon as he possibly could. Today, it was absolutely chucking it down and as it was his last day, it felt right.

I'm glad I did. He went off to college, I went and celebrated with coffee and cake at The Window and later on we shared a heated debate on Facebook with other people from across the water about tattoos.

My baby is all growed up and I iz very proud of him. 

*proud mama smile* 

Co-Existing with Other Species

The Palais de Roses is an interesting place to be. You know from your visits here that I have a plethora of new house plants and The Cat and The Boy and a bunch of frogs I've kissed and refused to turn into Princes. Yes, I know Boy is now much taller than me and he's looking forward to his 17th birthday and driving lessons, but he's still The Boy to me, and I suspect he always will be.

But The Boy comes with added extras: friends.

There's his best friend, who quite frankly for all intents and purposes lives here. My couch is his bed most nights. He's so at home here, he puts away the groceries, does my dishes and doesn't mind being roped into gardening duties.

It's not unusual for me to go to bed and there are 2 teenagers stretched out on the floor killing things enthusiastically on the XBox. When I stagger down in the morning looking for my dose of Eine, there can be 4 or 5 bodies snoring gently in my front room.

It's not unusual when I cook, for me to prepare enough food for a few days. Or at least there was when I went to bed. In the morning, the pot is empty. Apparently, they like my cooking. Now when I do the shopping I make sure I get enough snacks in to feed a small army. Let me tell you, 3 or 4 teenagers eat enough for a small army. I'd go as far as to say a Plague of Locusts is nothing compared with a couple of hungry teenagers. They'll go through everything immediately edible and if it's not, they'll get the pots and pans out.

I like da yoof of today. They are lively and fun. They are apologetic if they've got too excited whilst killing things on the XBox and then face the grumpiness of me at 4 am. They'll cheerfully clear off, if I tell them I need some space and come back when I'm sociable. They ask me how my day has been, and tell me all about theirs and the latest encounters with chavs. We have indepth conversations on the meaning of life. I find them generous and caring, behind all the teenager speak. They'll spend hours on the phone with each other. They are loyal to a fault.

These are precious days.

In a few years, these teenagers will be adults. They'll be going off to university, getting jobs, travelling round the world, getting married, having children. That they choose to spend their time here on my living room floor, is just amazing. They fill my house with laughter and fun. I hope in the years to come that that we won't lose track of each other. That they'll continue to visit. Hopefully, with partners and then children.

Pride!

It was a late Sunday evening in February, when Boy came back from his dad's. I was sprawled on the couch and Boy came and sat next to me.

Our conversation started out as the one every mother dreads.

"You will still love me, won't you?" He started.

"Of course I love you." Says I with a sinking heart.

"I mean, you'll love me, whatever..." his voice trailed off.

Oh dear Goddess, thought I. Take a deep breath and face the disaster.

"I mean, you will..."

"Boy, it's late. You have school in the morning, I have to go to work. Spit it out!"

"I'm gay." He says in a small voice.

"Oh, is that all," I say, relief pouring through me. "I thought you were going to say something awful."

My Boy. My wonderful, bright Boy.

It's a feeling words do not adequately express. I am so proud of him. It has taken awhile to post about this, because it's such a personal thing. We have talked about the fluidity of sexuality at this age and that he may change in the future. At the end of the day, it's who he is, and all that matters is how much I love him and how proud I am of him.

Could I have been more proud when he marched with the Norwich Pride this summer? No, I really don't think so.

Pretending to be heterosexual would have been the easiest course for him. But no. My Boy has the courage to be himself. There are adults of my age who deny themselves and I am saddened for them.

This is a new world for us both. I don't have the gay best friend to guide us, and actually that's fine. The Norwich Pride has welcomed us both. It's meant I've had a lot to adjust to, after all, but it's all good. This is probably the best time in this society to be gay. What has been amazing is the support of our friends and family. His dad loves him to bits.

It is such a shame that coming out is such a heartbreaking experience for so many people. This is a wonderful world in which we live and there should be enough space for everyone. There has been so much I've taken for granted. For me to walk down the street, holding hands with the one I love. I can't imagine what it must be like, not to be able to express my love.

In a way it's quite ironic. I am now the black sheep of my family. The marginalised. My birth mother is gay, my son is gay. I'm the only heterosexual. Ach, the shame!

Long Live Lazy Mums

I was reading Northern Monkey's post about the imminent arrival of her niece and she touched a nerve and I ranted for a bit, and when I paused to take a breath I came back here to start writing. This has been something that has been lurking in the back of my mind for ages so it's the perfect excuse to vent.

What is it with mums today? They give birth and pretty much in a couple of days they are tottering around on heels, showing new born baby off in the brand new pram. The Viking and I were queuing in Boots when the baby in front started to exercise his lungs. Newly birthed babies have a particular kind of cry, it's not the fully fledged waah of a 6 month old, they almost sound like a cat mewling. This baby was certainly in his first month, and Viking couldn't understand why I was tutting like a maiden aunt.

The more I think about it, the more I think that mum's aren't encouraged to enjoy the speciallness of the experience of having a baby. Everything is geared to getting her 'back to normal', which to me is both downright daft and bordering on criminal hypocrisy. There is no such thing as 'normal' when you have a baby. They change your body and your life. I feel nothing but sorrow for the women who work so hard to 'get back to normal', who then spiral into depression because their version of normal can never live up to their expectations.

Being pregnant puts great pressure on a woman's body. For 40 weeks, hormones prepare her body for the assault of labour, ligaments and muscles are softened so the pelvis and coccyx can give way to let the baby through. The woman carries however much the baby weighs and probably the same again in amniotic fluid. A solid night's sleep in the last weeks of pregnancy is impossible with junior tapdancing on your bladder which seems to have shrunk to the size of a walnut. Labour is called labour because it's bloody hard work. While there are some women who drop children like shelling peas, mostly, it can be long, painful hours.

So having gone through all of this and then thinking about breastfeeding, some women want to climb back into their skinny jeans and parade their baby about like a winners cup to all and sundry. I think they're mad. I stayed home in bed for a week. A week of trying to rest, to get used to this small, grizzling bundle, who ideas of his own about everything. My husband dealt with the house and other stuff. My midwife strongly advised me not to climb up and down the stairs unnecessarily so as not to strain my joints. I lazed in my jammies, seeing only the in-laws for a short time at first, then after two weeks friends were invited round and invited to leave quickly so as not to tire me and subject my little one to too many germs.

It was special time. It was time that I'll never forget. I slobbed around in sweat shirts and jogging bottoms watched my baby boy air his bare bottom in front of the gas fire.

I don't mean to make it sound too rosy (pardon the pun). It wasn't. There were sleepless nights, sore bits, sore nipples, short tempers, lots of icky nappies, not to mention flabby tummy and stretch marks. There was no expectation of me and from me, that it was anything other than what it was. No tummy 'snapping' back, no parade. No pressure to conform to the motherhood as portrayed by Posh, Mylene Klass etc.

Long live lazy mums, who enjoy their babies, take the time to get to know them and also take their time to enjoy and learn about the changes their babies make. Long live lazy mums who give their bodies the time to recover from pregnancy and labour, who don't try and rush the process. I don't regret being a lazy mum, it was a special time.

SSSsssccccrrrrrreeeeeeeee!!!!

[The sound my nails make as I slip off my learning curve]

I have had a whopper of a bad day. Not helped by the continuing farce that is the radiation scare. Needless to say when I went in today, there was yet another way of processing the calls. Unrelated, tonight I went back in to work to get some training on the ugrades they will be making to the system. It is good how the system is organic and adjusts to meet the needs of the callers, but damn I'm tired.

I've just finished wrapping the first of Boy's pressies. A little something special for him. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow. I still find it so hard to believe that my bump turned into him. I was at a friend's birthday do which consisted of young trendies who were very down on the whole parenthood thing. They spent a lot of time coming up with witty ways to put parenting and children down. Afterwards, I realised how awkward I found the scathing humour. I love being mum to Boy. He is seriously wonderful and I am potty about him.

Hmmm....there should be a punchline with that thought, but it's late, I've had a glass of something naughty and I think I can hear my bed calling. Coming!

Look Out - Maternal Hormones!

I was okay. I kept it together. I was fine. Until....

Boy and I glammed up for this afternoon's Baby Naming. We got there in time, a bit of an amazement considering we are perpetually late for everything, kissed and hugged everyone in sight. Did I mention we are a tactile bunch of people? The Baby Naming ceremony was brilliant. Baby didn't protest too much at all, smiled loads and was incredibly sweet. We had sparkling wine, fruit cake to die for, more kisses. And then I held him.

*sigh*

He didn't mind me at all. He just chewed on my shoulder, pulled my hair and dribbled a lot (I've had worse dates like that). There is just something about the smell of baby, the soft fuzz on their heads, the wide-eyed wonder when they look at you. I look at my boy now, entering teenager-hood and I think back when he was that age. I no longer see the baby in him. Yes, I still get cuddles, but I think he's going to be an affectionate young man. I remember holding him in my arms and looking at the toddlers in the baby and mothers group and thinking 'how will he get from this, to running around like that?'. Now when I look at him, I realise it won't be long before he's doing his GCSEs and going off to uni. My baby. I wonder if he'll ever realise what a priviledge it's been, being his mum?

Parents have it so hard here. Mums and Dads are expected to work 40+ hour weeks, keep a perfect house, maintain a perfect lifestyle with piano, swimming and taekwondo. Do we really take the time to appreciate our children? Are we ever really given permission to acknowledge what a big deal it is to be a parent?

Maybe I am a complete sap, but to all you parents out there who read this, I raise my glass to you. Good on you!

The Reality of Babies

I called in on the blog covering Jennie's story in The Observer, and was completely surprised by the vitriol expressed by the commentors. People have not, in the main, reacted well to Jennie's plea for a co-parent. No immediate offers for the honour of providing the sperm, money and occasional weekend visit.

I go all 'aahhh' at the thought of babies. Tiny baby feet, the joy of being pregnant, the roller coaster of labour, big, big boobs. I spent about an hour and a half in the company of a 1 year old today, who was for the first hour and fifteen mins, asleep. In that time, I realised that actually Jennie really needs to think again about it.

I do feel for her. It must be awful to be enthrall to your biological clock without the ability to sort it out through normal means. 'Normal' being, with a bloke in a committed long-term relationship, or even with a bloke in a non-committed short-term relationship, or even with a bloke and a turkey baster. I think the advice given by one of the contributors to the blog was right, she should get a hamster instead. Damn sight less messy.

Parenthood Perils

I've gave up on the detox last night, when I found a bowl of Thai green curry waiting patiently for me in the fridge. I can honestly say I don't feel any better for it. I'm sure it would have helped if I'd have followed a proper detox plan, so I'm aware that I really shouldn't whinge about it too much. Maybe I'll try again - next year.

Trawling through the on-line papers and blogs, I came across a rather sad story in The Observer. Jennie, a 41 year old woman is looking for a co-parent for her child. Her history is peppered with abuse and failed relationships; and now to make her life complete, she wants a child.

I must admit, I do feel for her. Maternal hormones are sneaky, irrational things. They make you go soft and weepy when you see small babies. Your arms do feel empty. Baby feet just need to be kissed. Having said all of that, personally, I think she's bonkers.

Having a baby by yourself, without proper support from family and sperm donor is seriously hard work. The committment needed to raise a child has to be 100% from both parents; and even with that support, it can be lonely and heartbreaking. And ultimately, why have children when they're going to have to be brought up by professional carers, because you have to go out to work to keep a roof over your head, and food in your mouths? This problem is endemic with two parents, worse for single parent households. Poverty and parenthood go hand in hand. The list against goes on, I've actually pared it down to these few paragraphs.

But it's easy for me to say this, I've had my boy. I don't regret it, ever. And I tell him that I'll be a fabulous grandmama.