Thames Valley Mums Blog

Lost and found

Sometimes you don't know you have given something up until you have found it again.

Perhaps lost is a better word. Left behind. Somewhere between the marketing lunches and toys on the carpet.

If I squint I can just make out bits of it -- A baby born. Patting backs and encouraging burps at 2 am. Husband sleeping soundly in another room. A sister born before the first can talk. Is that another?

A long hospital stay. Cotton between my brain. I just want to take a nap. A long one.

Oh look. Here it is. A family with three beautiful children. And they still want to hold my hand. Hooray!

Photo credit: Robert Crum

Feeling quiet

I know I've been really quite recently. I will be back on top blogging form soon I promise.

For a week and a half after our honeymoon I was going to bed as soon as I'd read Ella a bedtime story. That's about 7.30-8pm. Yes, really. Call it jet lag, call it post-marital fatigue. I call it bliss actually. However, sleeping so early leaves little time for any other activity (such as blogging).

Then, after we'd got back from an Easter camping weekend in Corfe Castle, Dorset at the excellent Woodlands campsite I got the tragic news that a beautiful friend of mine, Ali, had died in a car accident, along with her boyfriend.

My girl's got heart

Yesterday, Ella and I were settled on the sofa sharing a fleece blanket.

She had just finished playing with her virtual Pony on her Dad's Nintendo DS (which she has negotiated part shares in). I was slipping into the salty sea air of Coastliners (you haven't read Joanne Harris? Do).

A soft silence snuggled around us.

After a few minutes, Ella mused "I wonder what I was born for, Mummy".

Feed me grapes

What is it about being ill that makes you want your mummy? I have a sore throat, I ache all over, my brain feels like it has been wrapped in a duvet, and my nose has regressed to the constant snotty drip of a toddler.

All I want is a gentle Angel of Mercy to mop my brow and roll out sympathetic platitudes on the hour. Better still, every half an hour.

Now that I am the mummy I just have to get on with it. It’s rubbish.

There’s just no margin for lounging in bed calling for grapes and lemsips when you have a child breathing down your next wanting to be entertained. Actually, make that two children (I have my niece staying over this weekend).

Autumn Leaf

Goodness, I have been stirring the pity pot recently. For a good few days after Els returned into the loving arms of her mother (that’s me btw), I’ve been cussing my fate.

I do occasionally have a good old wallow in the fact that poor lil ole me has to give up my only daughter for half the week (sometimes more) like a modern day Demeter.

Els isn’t at all like Persephone of course. She’s hardly been abducted to the underworld. When she’s not with me, she’s in the loving arms of her father. So there’s no real reason to grieve is there?

I know this. I really, really do. But lately I couldn’t help but bemoan my situation. Poor old Part-time Mummy. Denied the joys of full-time motherhood.

The Last Lecture: Achieving your childhood dreams

I'm known for being a bit behind in current events. I come by this honestly (my parents still don't have cable TV) but I'm sure it is made worse by the fact that my brain can only handle so many bits and bytes and mine is on overload with kid stuff.

So when my friend Charlene asked if I had heard about "The Last Lecture" I gave my usual blank look.

If you haven't heard about this, let me explain. Randy Pausch was a professor at Carnegie Mellon in the US. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2007, he gave a moving "last lecture" on achieving your childhood dreams that was videotaped and widely distributed on You Tube. To date, the lecture has been viewed by more than 6 million people.

YOU HAVE TO MAKE THE TIME TO SEE THIS. It is worth all 76 minutes. It is a good reminder of what is important in life.

Note: Randy Pausch died this summer.

This post was written by Susanna, a Thames Valley Mums founder. You can also find her at her blog, A Modern Mother.