My Beautiful 11 Year Old.

My eldest son, now 11.

My eldest son isn't here as I write.  He's on yet another sleepover at yet another mate's house.

The last time he went there on a Friday for a couple of hours whilst his little brother was at his Dance class and I worked late, he didn't actually come home until Sunday evening!

He just tootles along at his own pace, humming his own tune, doing his own thing.

As is right.

It seems only five minutes since the day he turned ten and, oh my, how things have changed since then.

All of a sudden he seems ready for Senior School, which is a good job because he'll be starting there soon!  He's all grown up in some ways and still very young in others.

He didn't want a party this year, but just to be at home with his brother and me.  He asked his Godmother to make him his cake because she does them so brilliantly (think M&Ms secreted in the middle and spilling out when you cut them, something most mums can't compete with).  I pretend to be offended but, really, I just want the best for him and, as a bona fide chef, she undoubtedly is that.

He makes me very proud in so many ways - how he gets on with his work at school, how he works out a tune on his keyboard, how he ploughs through books at a rate of knots, how much he loves. He's very sensitive and kind and yet stroppy as a stroppy person in a strop can be.  Can't imagine where he gets that from ;).

I admire the fact he's feisty and sticks up for himself.  It's something to encourage, not wanting him to be ridden roughshod over.  His comebacks are brilliant.

He has a beautiful singing voice, but is too shy to do much with it.  The thought of it breaking..... well, let's not go there yet.

He is a Gemini.  So we have the both - the one who stands up strong, the other crippled with a lack of confidence.

The answer is generally food.  Like most other 11 year olds, his appetite is his main priority and from what I hear, this is how it will be from now on.  He will be eating us out of house and home this summer and I fear it will be our last as just us.

I will treasure our times down the beach together even more than usual, because he is going off into the big wide world from September.  He has to travel by bus to get to his new school and will be increasingly independent.   He'll be dressed in a blazer, have his own mobile phone and will make a lot of his own decisions.

He'll make new mates for his little brother to torment with hugs.  They will all be embarrassed as hell and, as a result, most of the sleepovers will happen elsewhere (with any luck!).

But while he's here, still with us, still fairly little but almost as tall as me and his world still revolves around us, we are very blessed to know someone like him, very blessed by his company, very blessed in general.

At the moment he's mad about James Bond films, since they started showing them on a Sunday afternoon on TV.  I bought him the whole set seeing as he didn't want a party, but, technically speaking, he's not old enough to watch them all.

And I find myself in a similar dilemma with his new bike.  He now goes off on his own to his friend's house, which is hard when we've been a tight little unit for so long and done everything as one.  But it's impossible to present him with it and ask otherwise.

*Sigh*  We're at that inbetween age, where he still needs his mum, but it's all on his terms now, not mine.

It's all come too soon, but it's here and the tables turning isn't always a bad thing.

Yesterday, he helped me a great deal, by putting his hands on what was a painkful ankle.  He used his intuitive healing abilities to manipulate it a little, told me which way to turn it a bit here and there and before very long, it had clicked back into place.  What a ruddy genius.  I'd been limping all day!

But that's my Beautiful 11 Year Old for you and the wondering what time he'll be home has begun!

To My Darling Seven Year Old.

'Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man.''

(Aristotle) 

The youngest turns seven.  What kind of man will he be?

My darling youngest son turned seven last week.  It seems inconceivable and, yet, right too.  I'm actually surprised he has been so young for so long!

He is shooting up, almost as tall as his much older brother and is definitely the centre of our little family most of the time. 

He remains loud, optimistic, characteristically good natured, a giggler and quite mischievous, but deeply caring and compassionate. 

He still loves his dancing and drama classes and continues to wear out those of us who know him with his constant singing and inappropriate gymnastics. 

Every day with him is a blessing and considering his start in life - with just me and my eldest and all our struggles to just get by in the early days - most of which he has, thankfully, remained oblivious to - he has nothing short of thrived.  

He is an inspiration and to him I say this:

Thank you.

Thank you for coming, for everything you teach me, for the love you show to almost everyone you meet, for maintaining your innocence and zest for life to a degree that is utterly beyond comparison.

Thank you for making me laugh, for the persective you unwittingly and regularly grace us with, for looking after your good health and appreciating it even at your age and for your ability to count the smallest blessings as absolutely divinely given and important.

Thank you for insisting you choose your own clothes and sticking to your guns when you want to wear legwarmers or your jeans inside your socks so they look like them, for turning your nose up at trousers that aren't skinny enough and tops that just don't cut the mustard.  You've always been cool, even before you knew what constituted it.  And, rightfully, you're the one who decides what that is in your world anyhow. 

You'll make a wonderful man - if this is who you're going to be then - energetic, thoughtful and kind and never, ever boring.  You're everything anyone could ask for.   

And should you, one day, consider going out with less girlfriends and making a very lucky lady your wife, let's hope she will wholeheartedly accept your undying penchant for Superhero suits and poo jokes.  

Lots of love, as always, Angel,

Mummy xxx

Today You Turned Ten.

Every year, I swear I won't do it.

Every year, I do it again.

Because it's all you want in the world.

Your mates, your party, at home.

I sigh with resignation but, secretly, it makes me proud.

You're such a gentle soul and ask for so little, it would be churlish to refuse you.

At least, this year, when it was time to sit down with a glass of wine with the last ones having just left, there wasn't a shower door hanging off to discover.  Oh no.  This year, you all stayed in the garden.  We made sure of it.

This year, you all more or less looked after yourselves.  Now that most of you are ten years old or so.

Although it comes as a relief, there's also a sense of loss.  There was no hide and seek - the cause of the hinge-breaking calamity to contend with when you were nine.  There was no Gangnam Style dancing like when you were eight, but, thankfully, there was still lots of loud music.  You're still you.

It's funny how things develop - how you're drawn to the things you are and the other boys you connect with.  Watching you today with some of them who you've known since you were three, there was a sense of satisfaction and love that only having a family can bring.  The continuation is a comfort and joy.  Observing you all grow into men, your innocence still pronounced, is part of growing up for me.  I have never watched children grow up before, but I am witnessing you and your friends do just that.  And it's happening so quickly.

You wanted what has become your usual - to go swimming and to eat pizza.  The same people.  The same place.  The same thing.  Only with the latest Now CD, a remote control helicopter and the Harry Potter books on audio, kindly gifted by your Godmother, together with the Alex Ryder ones and anything else suitable for your reading age of 14.  You're amazing.

It's so simple what a child can ask for - they want each other now.  Your brother tagged along, as always, never leaving your side and driving you mad with frustration.  You worried about him when he was out of your sight, complained he was annoying you when he wasn't!  Brotherly love.  Sibling rivalry.  Whatevs.  We're right in it.  We're in the nitty gritty of childhood.  When things are complicated, hormonal and a on a whole new plane from the 'little' days.

You want your space or 'alone time' as it's called now.  You are shunning all our favourite films and asking for those rated for older children.  Toy Story has been traded for Transformers.  You choose Tron Legacy over the Lego movie and Raiders of the Lost Ark instead of Rio.  I am gutted, but we cuddle up nevertheless.  It's making your little brother mature more quickly.  I grab every possible moment I can before you're both gone.

Motherhood is more enjoyable than ever.  It's all too exhausting in the early days.  By the time we find our feet, you're moving on already!  We have to hold on to our moments and savour them, forming a firm memory of them and hope we are making meaningful ones for you.

Now you are ten, you will be forming your own.  What will you see when you look back?  Will you feel the sunshine that we were blessed with today?  Will you remember the discussion over which toppings to order?  How you read the ingredients of the ice cream you chose for dessert to see if it was safe for your friend with a soy allergy and when you discovered it wasn't how you bought strawberries and cream for him too?

You caught me today - watching you, several times.  I didn't try to be discreet.  I want you to know I was there, doing exactly that, not missing this, the day you turned ten.

Happy birthday my darling boy,

Lots and lots of love,

Mummy,
XXXXX.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who voted this blog into the final five of the Best Writer category of the Brilliance in Blogging Awards.  I am enormously touched, grateful and bewildered, but overjoyed.  When I gave up my job in the city because I kept losing my voice, who'd have thought it would turn up here?!  Thank you, again. XXX

My Darling Six Year Old.

His last day as a Five Year Old.

I wrote this a couple of days ago in the midst of mayhem:

My Darling Six Year Old,

Today is the last day that you are five.  It is such a milestone that it breaks my heart, but heals it and makes it swell all at the same time.

You are an extraordinary little boy and we love you with everything we have, your beautiful brother and I.

I miss you now you are at school, but oh my, you have thrived.  You read and write confidently and well and make me so proud.  Sometimes, you look so grown up you take me completely by surprise.

But that's you all over - full of them!  You were a surprise when you came and you have surprised and delighted everyone who knows you with your infectious enthusiasm for every single little thing since.  You act like you waited twenty years to come and now you're here and you can hardly believe it!  You are excited and happy and make us all laugh and we have finally found your thing - the 'thing' I've known you needed before it actually presented itself.

It's not Sport, despite your ability and like we suspected it might be, but Drama.  You were the star of your Nativity show, bringing deserving comments about your dancing, strong singing and natural performing.  You amazed us all and, as I overheard peoples' remarks about 'that little boy at the front' and watched those in-born jazz hands for the very first time, it hit me.  Of course!  And my joy knew no bounds.  You are teaching me that.

We signed you up for classes at school and your teacher asked how long you'd been doing ballet, when you've never been in your life!  You've just got it kid and you've got it in spades.

That you still want to wear your superhero suits or costumes rather than common clothes at every opportunity says so much about you.  You insist it's because they are more comfortable than jeans, but, really, it's who you are.  You are a superhero.

I think you tried to come before we finally managed it, but I kept losing you.  It just feels that way when I lie with you at night, holding you - when we are peaceful.  And I am grateful that you kept trying and that you came, that you are here and I have this privilege of knowing you and loving you. You are a gift, always have been, are fearless and refreshing and adorable.  And will be six years old tomorrow - the best six years of my life, thank you.

They have been exhausting and exhilarating in equal measure!  May you remain bouncy, cheeky and charming.  May you (please) tease you brother less mercilessly.  May you continue to fill me with wonder and, most importantly, at six years old, still be you.

All my love in the world,

Mummy,
XXXXXX.

The Random Musings of a 50 Year Old.

It pains me to admit to turning 50 last month, but it is a milestone no longer possible to ignore. Copious celebrations marking the occasions over several weeks have seen to that.

However, one of the great things about acquiring age is the 'wisdom' that comes with it along the way.  Here's some of what I've learned.

Thank you Sarah Brewster and the boys!

When someone you love asks you to marry them, you shouldn't say 'No' just because you're only in your twenties and society says it's too young.  It is not too young.  You will never love that freely again.

Plus the dejected man might then slip into the sack of a stalking slapper, smashing your heart to smithereens.

When someone of questionable relationship history asks you to marry them you shouldn't say 'Yes' just because you're heading towards your forties and society says you should by now have been hitched.  Mistake.

Sort out your ingrowing toenails asap.

Travel.

You never see a happy jogger.

Always have a decent hairdresser.

Keep glue and a couple of screwdrivers handy in a kitchen drawer.

Only check how many calories are in something before you eat it, never afterwards.  It's a pointless spoiler.

The most intellectually challenging thing you might ever face is getting your children to want to do what you want them to do.

You're never too old to have your children.

You're never too young to have your children.

Invest in your family for the most decent returns you'll ever get.

Life is full of wonderful surprises.

Everyone has a story.

Ask more questions.

Make less judgments.

The best things in life really are free and you really can have too much of a good thing (except mango - you can't have too much mango.).

As such, all cliches are true.

There is nothing harder than being true to yourself.

But when you walk your own path in life, you meet your own people.

And always trust your gut instinct, no matter what your logic says.  One day, you will understand.

Meditation and medication both save lives.

Independence is overrated.

Those who tell you things you want to hear aren't necessarily your friends and those who tell you things you don't want to hear aren't necessarily your enemies (Terry Wogan).

Some souls you can't imagine can betray you in ways you can't imagine.

Doctors / workmen / people in general treat you with differing levels of respect when you wear smart suits and high heels vs. casual clothes and flats, a little eye make up vs. none, when you're younger vs. older, slimmer vs. fatter, when you're a high earner or a housewife, drive an expensive sports car, nothing or an old Focus and whether you're single, married or divorced.

Little kindnesses go a long way.

Sources of support can be astonishingly unexpected.

Certain individuals will lie in court.

Macho men are not real men, just bullies.

Lust and love are massively miles apart.

Once a woman has her claws into a man, you cannot remove them for him.

RAF Officers are not necessarily gentlemen.

Don't judge people by your own standards.

If it's taking you longer to find a suitable picture for a blogpost than it took to write the whole thing then it's not worth the bother.  It's never done Helen McGinn or Sonya Fran Cisco any harm whatsoever.

If you're trying to put together a collage of certain said celebrations but the whole thing completely defeats you, no-one will ever know.

Decorator's masking tape is SO worth the effort.

There's nothing worse than being in an unhealthy or unhappy marriage.

There is a difference between Domestic Abuse and Domestic Violence.

The moment you feel the need to justify yourself to someone is the moment to walk away from them, head held high.

Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway is a good motto to live by (and a good book by Susan Jeffers).

Chocolate isn't always the answer, but it's usually worth a try.

Some people don't have the privilege of living until they're 50.  Thank you to the friends and family who made my Birthday so memorable and special!  I love you all.

Which pearls of 'wisdom' would you add to this list?

I'm astounded and humbled to find myself shortlisted in the Writer's category for a Brilliance in Blogging Award!  Thank you very much to all of you who voted for me.  You can see the other semi-finalists and vote for those you'd like to put through to the finals HERE.

The Awesome Eight Year Old - Gangnam Style.

The Awesome Eight Year Old held his first ever Birthday party at home - well, a bit of it, before we sloped off  to a local pool for the rest of it.

There were six boys in all, plus the Fearsome Four Year Old who is never far behind, effortlessly holding his own.  There were large pizzas consumed in our garden and then they were all let loose to do as they pleased.

They chose music and dancing, which inevitably ended up 'Gangnam Style' because of the Birthday boy's love of it, even though he can't have seen the video more than once.  We've listened to the song many  times in the car though this half-term week, while we've been holed up in on the motorway a few times.  It undoubtedly saved our sanity, but watching him do his stuff (with the added devotion of his little brother), I swear that he was the happiest he's ever been.

Until the camera came out that is.  Then the leadership skills came sharply to the fore and he turned all serious, telling his mates not to smile!  They talked an utterly alien language about who their favourite singers are - which is a sure sign of being ancient on my part - and absolutely loved letting their hair down.  The dancing was completely spontaneous and I managed to catch some of it on film.  Spot the little one in one of his pretend Power Rangers sleepsuits that he insists on wearing practically all the time presently.

There doesn't seem much to worry about re the 'yoof' of today with this lot - their innocence shines through compared to the original by PSY.

The sound is rubbish because the microphone on the ipad is poor, but be assured the music was very loud indeed! Perhaps you had to be there ....

Happy Birthday My Darling Son!

Dear R,

A mother couldn't ask for more...

Today, you turned eight.  I wish you could feel how much I love you.  You've made me so proud, been so kind and so good, in the face of all your father has put us through.

I know I've been harder on you than I'll ever be on your brother, because, I'm afraid, my darling son, that is often the fate of the eldest and, if it were possible, I would take it all back, but it isn't and that breaks my heart.  All I hope is that, somehow, you'll forgive me as I endeavour to make it up to you.

In the blink of an eye, you will be sixteen.  I thought about this - how long it would seem if we were to double how long you've been here - and it seems so quick, it's almost a crime and, oh, how yearning to turn that clock back isn't helpful.

We can choose to learn from regrets,  however, and, after eight years, the learning continues.  You certainly keep me on my toes, for you are forever changing!

We still call you 'Puppy' sometimes - a name you chose when you were three, that sticks because you want it to.  I am amazed you still want your Winnie the Pooh bedroom, whilst devouring your Harry Potter books and singing and dancing along ('Gangnam Style') to your 'Now That's What I Call Music' cds, but am thrilled too, because the longer you are little, the more you are mine, not yet shunning your mum because that's the cool thing to do be doing.

You're secretly still very small and I remember that crushing moment you no longer needed me to push you on our swing.  Suddenly, that time was over and I never would have almost always insisted on hanging out the washing first, if I'd realised that it would come, but it did and it has now passed.

You don't think about these things when you're a parent for the first time and getting through the day is about all you can manage.  Again, your brother benefits and I feel bad about that too.

But it's your Birthday, time to feel good, to celebrate you and all you are - handsome, articulate, healthy, a fast runner, a gifted cricketer and, as from yesterday too - your chosen activity for your special day, you acquired your double blue Karate belt, which leaves you a mere three from a black one!  A mother couldn't ask for more from her son.

You're sensitive, considerate and intelligent. You're insightful and generous and have inherited your mums Healing Hands!  You will go far, my darling. You're lovely, not really 'the quiet one' as we first thought, but truly quite chatty, plus a great joke teller and every minute with you has been an honour and a pleasure.

I'm sorry for every single second that I've let that escape me during your eight years, because of other pressing matters, when, honestly, nothing is actually more important than you.

I hope you can feel how much I love you.

Happy Birthday, my darling son.

Mummy, xxxxxxxx.

Happy Birthday Beautiful Little Boy.

The maniacal three year old has become a fearsome four year old.

His cute little baby features are gone.  His toddling days are over.  He starts school in September.  He has become a little boy.

When I look back at my Diaries of when he was a baby, it seems much more than four years ago that he was born.  A great deal of water has passed under many a bridge since then.

It seems unbelievable to have survived those first few years with him and his elder brother alone. He woke every two hours through the night for the first two years of his life, having been woken similarly in hospital for two whole days, to check for signs of a Strep B infection which he might have caught from me, but, mercifully, never did.

My friend Sheila likes to remind me that she feared a nervous breakdown was not far away on a few occasions.

But we did it.

We have more than survived.  He is a thriving little boy - always happy, singing songs and blessed with more energy than the rest of us put together.

He is sociable and charming, likes to dress up, make us laugh and play football and bat and ball - inventing or creating or converting anything, such as a toy frying pan and mini skittle to do it makeshift if necessary.  He can be an utter joy.

He can also be a right pickle, but today is not the day to criticize his behaviour.  Suffice to say, one of his Birthday presents is a punch bag and boxing gloves!

We love him.  We're proud of him.  He completes us.

Happy Birthday Beautiful Little Boy.