Happy Birthday!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY my lovely boy!
5 years old. Where has the time gone?

Exactly 5 years ago, just now as I write, a rather handsome surgeon (so I was told afterwards, I never saw much, was far too spaced out on the epidurals) was getting ready to cut me open, have a rummage and pull you out into the world, as you just didn't feel like coming out the other way...

You make me proud to be your mummy every day.

Lots of hugs and kisses xxx

Rant

I have been as disgusted and shocked as the next person at the riots across London and other English cities last week. To my mind, nothing can excuse the complete lack of respect and responsibility from those who took part in the looting, fire-starting, etc. So I was interested to watch Panorama last night which was focusing on how to ensure this type of unrest on such a massive scale can't/won't happen again.
But I was utterly furious at having to listen to various politicians who kept mentioning lone parents as a major factor for young people taking part in the riots.

Reasons for my fury:
1. Yes, there will have been some of those taking part who are from single-parent families, but there will also have been many rioters/looters who are from two-parent families.
2. Lone-parent families DOES NOT ALWAYS EQUAL disrespectful anti-social criminal behaviour. Conversely, two-parent families DO NOT ALWAYS EQUAL respectful, law-abiding citizens.
3. There are a huge number of lone parents up and down the country - and I am now one of those - who respect others property, who don't expect something for nothing, who know what is right and wrong and who instill that into their children too.
4. Not all lone parents choose that life for themselves and their children. They want to work and earn their place in society.

It is desperately de-motivating when you struggle on as a single parent, trying to do your best for your child, to think that you are immediately discriminated against, just for being in a situation you never thought you would be in nor would want to be in.

So please, politicians, or anyone else, please don't judge and generalise.

Rant over. *sigh*

Silent Sunday

Holiday

I got away for a little (4 night) holiday abroad last week, my first one abroad in nearly 4 years. An old friend was getting married in Malta. B and I were both invited, but I decided I needed a well-deserved bit of “me-time” to enjoy the hen night/wedding without worrying about B, so it was decided a girly holiday was the way to go and another friend came as my ‘plus one’.  Here’s a few Malta memorable moments...

1.  Pre-holiday colouring in.  I am very fair-skinned, blue-eyed blonde (typical Scot!) and am not able to tan – just burn. Normally I’m not bothered about being pasty white on hols (it amuses me the disbelieving stares from bronzed locals), but for my friend’s wedding I decided to give in and get a fake tan before I went. I plumped for a spray tan, but hadn’t ever had one before.  I went to a local beauty spa i’ve been to before, with the usual whale music, dark wooden floors, vanilla scented rooms. Very calming, peaceful. Until, that is, I am directed into a small cupboard – sorry, treatment room - with a harsh bright ceiling light, black curtains on two walls and an ominous-looking grey machine in the corner with various tubes and nozzles. Oh, and the most frightening item of all, the packet of paper pants... So after I had deposited all clothes - and dignity – in a bag behind the door, I am instructed to stand spread-eagled in my paper pants while i’m blasted with a cold blast of tanned air, and in a few minutes the whole ordeal... oops, treatment... is over. Phew! Only thing left to do is to somehow get back into normal clothes feeling very sticky and odd-looking.  But at least i’m no longer a spray-tan virgin! The tan got darker over the next 24 hours, but after that settled down and I would say I would definitely get it done again – at least the next time I won’t look like a startled rabbit as the girl comes at me with the spray machine!

2. Flight or Fright? As i mentioned, I’ve not been abroad for 4 years, and i’ve not been on a plane for 4 years either. A fairly long time, especially if you have a “bit” of a phobia about flying! I’ve tried loads of stuff to help over the years:  I’ve read self-help books, been on a Fear of Flying course (pre-9/11 when you were still allowed into the cockpit) and even did hypnotherapy. None of which ‘cured’ me, but which have given me a few techniques to try and use to avoid the serious anxiety/panic which used to grip me. Flying Ryanair for the first time too, I am also expecting cattle-herding and no leg-room to add to the panic.

Dropping some Bachs Rescue Remedy onto my tongue as we board (not any more cattle-like than any other airline, I am pleased to note), we find seats and my friend starts the distraction game until we’re up in the air (take-off and landing worst bits for me). Leg-room not too bad either, although we both have fairly short legs!  A few more drops of Bachs as we taxi onto the runway and we’re off,  my hands gripping the arm rests so tightly as if the plane depends on it to get up in the air. Just as I start to worry that there isn’t enough runway left (yes, phobias really do produce illogical thoughts...), we take off. Then my friend reminds me to breathe...  An uneventful flight follows, my nerves calming, helped slightly by a ridiculously expensive miniature bottle of Ryanair’s finest red wine (pre-midday drinking not good but needs must!).

 I feel very proud of myself for ‘surviving’ the flight with my nerves intact and vow to take B on holiday next year for some fun in the sun.  I know the next flight may not be any better, but at least I know i can cope.

3.  "Man and Wife”.

 I know every bride looks radiant on their wedding day, but she really does look stunning, beautiful. I haven’t seen her for several years as her fiancé and she emigrated a few years ago, so it is emotional just seeing her again. It is an idyllic setting, as the guests face the Mediterranean sea a few metres away, the sun highlighting the cruising boats and yachts in the distance (and the odd annoyingly noisy speedboat). Add in the usual wedding emotions, and the very personal issue of the fact that it is the first wedding I’ve been to since my own marriage went t*ts up (I still struggle to know how to describe this situation...), I am glad I had used what space was available in my small clutch bag for a packet of tissues. A great evening is had post-ceremony, and no wedding with Scotsmen involved would the same without the obligatory “what’s under yer kilt?” revelations... In the 30 degree heat, they are perhaps a little too keen to tell us. *averting my eyes now*

4. Home time. With the early flight out and late flight back, it ended up being 6 nights I was spending apart from B, the longest time apart we’ve had. Luckily, both of us were kept busy for the week, B being looked after by Daddy, staying at Gran’s, with big cousin around too, so plenty to amuse him. I thought he may be a bit off with me when he came home, just while he settled back in to normal routines again, but I got the biggest hug and “I missed you Mummy” which he repeated at various intervals over the next few days.


Bless ‘im. We love our huggles! Long may they continue.

So back to reality now, trying not to stress out about B’s upcoming birthday party, and getting ready to start school. Now where did I put the Bach’s?

Silent Sunday