My girl

She has the biggest brown eyes and a cute elfin face.
She has a huge laugh which she throws around with great abandon.
She is smart, she is adventurous, she is spirited.
She is everything I could ever dream a daughter of mine would be.

But she is so so stubborn.
She will throw her beloved Baby down on the floor in anger just to prove to me how serious she is about not doing what I ask.
She gets so angry, so very angry and will cry and rage and fury will wrack her little frame.
She is defiant, willful, wild.
She throws teenage-sized tantrums.

Tonight we sat on her bed together. We read a story, chatted about our day, made plans for the week ahead.
She allows me to stroke her hair. A cuddle even.

But only for a moment.
Then she gives me a look, then a smile, which melts my heart.
It's a single moment but it sums up everything about us.
She makes me so fiercely proud of the independent little girl she is.
She is demanding, tiring, testing sometimes.
But she is vivacious, passionate, full of life.
She is just perfect.
She is my girl.

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A 7 year old's version of Dirty Dancing

We had friends around for tea on Saturday.

Except 'tea' turned into a late one and they didn't leave until 11pm.

Which didn't actually matter because it was one of those impromptu get togethers where you have The Best Time.

We ended up all crammed into the back room, 4 grown ups (2 of them rather drunk, neither of them were me) and 4 children dancing like lunatics to an 80s album hubby stumbled on.

We were playing 'first one to guess the artist' and grooving along to them all.

Then Cars comes on by Gary Newman and we're all pointy fingers at each other and doing the old 2 fingers across the eyes dance.

My 7 year-old is horrified, standing there staring at us all.

He pulls me to one side.

"Mummy, look at them. They're all swearing in there. Do you think they know?"

God love him.

I write this post for Blogger Dad who has launched the adorable new site Things My Children Say for, well, exactly this sort of story.

To be truthful I could probably populate his site for the next year with the downright bizarre, hilarious and embarrassing things my children say. Maybe you should get your oar in before I take over . . .

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An interview with my children

Your blogs have been on fire this week!

So much inspiration to tap into.

I've already copied Adrenalyn's post about confessions which threw up some interesting comments (and by interesting I mean, bwahahaha you're all worse than me).

And by 'copied' I mean I recognised a fabulous idea and ran with it. Ahem.

Now I'm going to pay homage to Laura, who interviewed her 5 year old and I thought it was just brilliant.

So tonight I interviewed both of my children: Dan, 7 and Mia, 4.

How old do you have to be to drive a car?

Mia: 17. I don't know why, I just know

Dan: 17. Because my cousin is 17 and he's having lessons

When Grandma babysits, where do you think Mummy and Daddy are?
Mia: Going for a walk

Dan: At the cinema

What do you think the Queen looks like?
Mia: Blonde hair with a dress and a crown. A bit like Cinderella

What does your brother/sister do to annoy you?

Mia: Teasing me. Giving me a wedgie.

Dan: She butts in all the time saying 'bum face'.

Where do babies come from?

Mia: Your tummies

How do the babies get inside tummies?

Mia: You eat them then they come back out

How much pocket money do you think you should get per week?
Mia: 60hundred pounds.

Who is the cleverest … Mummy or Daddy?
Mia: Mummy cause you're the prettiest.

Dan: Both. Because you both went to middle school and high school and stuff.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Mia: A tickle monster

Dan: A fireman.

If you could be anyone else who would you be?

You. I mean the cat. No Ariel. I don't know.

Dan: Bill Gates.

Who do you think is in charge of the country.

Mia: You.

Dan: The Queen.

If you had children what would their names be?

Mia: Donkey and horsey.

Dan: Nathan and Charlie. NO girls.

Who is Barack Obama?

Mia: Don't know. Can't even say it.

Dan: The President.

Who's your best friend in the whole world?

Mia: Daniel. Cause he's my brother.

Dan: Now ask me some more. Ask me questions about superheroes. Come on mummy, don't give up now I want to keep going. Come on, think think think . . .

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This will be why my mother wears a wry smile these days

I am forever harping on about the fact that my daughter is not a girlie girl.

She is a tomboy, no two ways about it.

She would rather sit pulling the heads off her dolls than come to the hairdressers with her mum.

If I offer she gives me a look like I've asked 'darling, would like me to remove your head with a rusty old saw?'

Trying to tame her hair is impossible. If I manage to get a hairband or a slide in that morning, she will return with it lost or broken or utilised for some other purpose and she looks like the backcombing fairy has paid her a visit.

She 'tolerates' me putting a dress or a skirt on her only for so long. She actually says to me "You want me to wear that?" like she's 15 and oh god mum, get with the programme won't you.

I asked her recently if she wanted to start a class in something now she's nearly 5. Dance? Gymnastics? Swimming? It was met with a roll of the eyes and: "I only want to do rugby".

Yes, I have blamed many things for my daughter not being girlie.

But the only person to blame is me.

Witness this school photograph of me when I was just a few months older than Mia is now.

Can you spot me?

I'm the one with the wild, untamed pigtails, the aggressively folded arms and - hidden from view - the scabs on both knees.

My poor poor mother.

But I do live in hope. Hope that my gorgeous little tomboy will one day blossom into a lovely young woman - just like her mama. (Ahem)

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Confessions

I was reading a post on the lovely Norwegian Adrenalyn's blog about confessions which I thought was just brilliant.

Subtitled: "Because I just haven't told the Internet enough embarrassing stuff about myself" I chuckled along as she reveals that she dribbles in her sleep, pees on the toilet seat and that she owns a tee shirt with the words 'Who needs big boobs when you’ve got an ass like this?'

She is just ace isn't she?

So I read it laughing to myself and thought, boy I'd never be able to make a list as long as that . . .

How wrong I was. Damn you Adrenalyn.

1. I snore. I don't think this requires any other explanation other than to say that, like most mothers I spent MONTHS feeding babies, mopping hot brows at silly o'clock while still having to get up at 6am and then even when they were fine and sleeping soundly, still waking because, well were they sleeping or was something wrong . . . You know the drill.

Now I get a full nights sleep and I enjoy it.

2. I steal the children's chocolate stash. Actually it's worse than that. I hide it until they've forgotten about it and then scoff it myself.

I am actually helping them. Not doing me much good, but I do eat it in secret. Oh, there's confession number 3 . . .

4. I buy shoes and never wear them. I bought a pair of sky high (well, sky high for me anyway) shoe/sandal type things which I LOVE, but really, when will I wear them? I work at home. When I go to business meetings I need to be comfortable or I'll turn into Mrs Angry Pants and I go out of the razzle, well, I don't go out on the razzle.

Let's just hope my daughter ends up the same shoes size as me because this is her inheritance.

Maybe I'll wear them tomorrow to work . . . (ie my front room . . .)

5. I swear like some tacky character from a movie when I'm in the car on my own. I can't help it, it's like a release.

6. I tell big fat blatant lies to my children. They bring soooo much artwork home from school and preschool. And it's always covered in glitter. Or bits of painted pasta. And it sheds E V E R Y W H E R E. So I tell them I don't know where it is when they go looking for it. 'It'll be where ever you left it' I say.

Yes, yes I know, I'm hanging my head in shame . . .

Come on, you know you want to, tell us all your confessions. You'll feel better for it...

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Wordless Wednesday: My daughter's new best friend

Meet Daphne.

It's been a long journey of deaths and explaining why we flush dead fish down the toilet and then stopping them from trying to flush live fish down the toilet, but finally, finally we are here.

The children had a fish bowl and a fishy friend each for Christmas, but the black hand of doom has hovered over them since that day and we have watched as one after the other (along with the replacements brought in) have all ended up floating on the surface of the water.

Seriously, isn't keeping a goldfish supposed to be the easy option for a pet? Isn't it supposed to ease them gently into the whole death thing?

Mia: "Mummy, when this fish dies can I flush the toilet?"

Dan: "No it's my turn, I want to do it."

Mia: "Well I'm going to watch it every day to see when it floats."

'When', she says. Not 'if'. Sheesh.

Cue half an hour of squabbles and the poor fish has only just been added to the bowl.

And to think my mum wanted to buy them a rabbit . . .

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Bloggers for Haiti

Today I took my son bowling, we went for a nice meal together then sat cuddled up on the sofa together.

Tonight I will tuck both my children into a warm bed and they will be safe.

This morning English Mum sent me an email asking if I, along with a group of other bloggers, would like to get together to do something for the people of Haiti.

But really help them, help a family survive, help a family give their children warmth and shelter.

The essence of her email was: Let's get off our ASSES and do something about really supporting the people of Haiti.

Let's not just talk about it, write about it etc: let's DO something.

And that is exactly what we are doing.

We want to buy one of these boxes to send to Haiti. Hell, we'd like to be responsible for sending LOTS of these boxes to Haiti.

And so we are supporting the work of Shelterbox.org

and encouraging as many of readers, commenters, friends and family to donate through a Justgiving page.

As I write this we have just made enough money to buy one of the boxes - and I don't know about my fellow bloggers but I feel a huge wave of achievement.

Now let's buy some more.

Each Shelterbox costs nearly £500 and contains urgent supplies for disaster relief, including:

• A 10-man tent designed to withstand extreme weather conditions
• A stove for heat
• Cooking and dining equipment
• The containers themselves can be used as a waterproof cot for a small baby
• Thermal blankets for warmth
• And a children's pack, including drawing books, crayons and pens.

One of these packs could save a family. Read about them at Shelterbox.org

Every single pound counts, so please please don't feel you can't make a difference, because if we all join together we can.

If you've stumbled on this post do something: even if it's to spread the word.

Tomorrow my family were going out for Sunday lunch at a local pub, but instead I am donating the money it would have cost us instead.

I've told the children why and Dan also wants to give

his last 3 weeks worth of pocket money (plus the money he made from shovelling snow!)

If you feel you can join in, then please create a post on your blog and encourage your fellow bloggers to do the same. Make sure you include a link to the Bloggers for Haiti Justgiving page.

And if you don't want to join in this fundraising activity that's fine too. Just as long as you do something, anything. These people need us and, as I always tell my children, treat others as you would have them treat you.

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A child of the 80s

When I was a teenager I thought Simon Le Bon and Duran Duran were perfection.

I wore New Romantic blouses, pixie boots and too much make up. Imagine me looking pretty much like the first picture in this look back post.

I listened to Japan and Visage, but never Spandau Ballet or Adam Ant.

Then I met my husband to be.

I was 16 he was 15, we were at school together and he so wasn't into that sort of nonsense.

He was all Simple Minds and Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

Then he played this song and it reminds me so much of us meeting and starting out on this 18-year-journey together.

It's a song very much of its time: The Breakfast Club, Molly Ringwald and taping the Top 40.

We don't have an 'our song'. We didn't play a cheesy love song at our wedding. But this song, whenever this song comes on the radio we exchange a look and it takes us right back to the days when our greatest worry was whether we'd get home in time to watch Weird Science.

This post is for Brits in Bosnia who tagged me in a new meme she's invented called the Stories and Songs meme in which she challenges us to name a song which reminds you of something. It doesn't necessarily have to be your favourite, just one with a story which instantly transports you back to a time and place.

And I'm only passing this on to then men this time around. Four men who I know love their music and so, I'm hoping, will not throw darts at my profile picture for being tagged:

Dan @ All That Comes With It

Selfish Blogger

Dad Who Writes

Single Parent Dad

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Time with your children is never wasted time

Today the children and I had a full blown snowball fight.

Me against them. In the freshly fallen snow outside our house.

The snow was still falling and gave that satisfying 'scrunch' underfoot and we were wrapped up cosily in large coats, large gloves and our snow boots.

We went out to clear the road. We had a job to do.

Instead we played 'snow war'. I got a bit too competitive and landed a juicy snowball in Mia's face, delivering an icy cold slap to her cheek, her ear and a large deposit of snow in her hood.

I stood for a second feeling like the world's worst mother. But then she laughed, that huge infectious laugh brimming with joy and all was good.

I could see people looking out of their windows at us, smiling, chuckling to themselves. I'd like to think they were just a little bit jealous.

We came in wet, tired and our bright red cheeks burning as they are suddenly hit with the hot air inside the house.

I have been moaning and whining all week about the snow and the fact that the school is endlessly shut and I'm having to work into the wee small hours because I can't get anything done during the day when the children are here.

I take that all back.

Today I fully appreciated being a mum to two wonderfully adventurous, playful, excitable children.

And I will happily stay up until the witching hour tonight in the knowledge that my day has been filled with fun.

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Trees

About half of you are going to read this and think I'm utterly mad. I'm prepared for that.

I just wanted to say that I adore trees.

I think they're the most magical, awe-inspiring everyday visions no matter what the season. And we all take them rather for granted.

I'm really lucky as we live on the doorstep of some fabulous National Trust properties with the most wonderful avenues of trees with their comfortingly sturdy trunks, and beautiful arching limbs.
And just a stone's throw from our house there are Horse Chestnut trees, ancient beeches and grand old oaks; old, gnarled and twisted but really quite beautiful.

My children think it's hilarious: 'Oh no, mum's going on about trees again! Quick let her take a photo and then she'll shut up'.
But I'm pretty sure they're hooked too.

One of my favourite trees is in our back garden. It's a 8-year-old silver birch and it was a wedding present from my mum.

And one of my children's favourite trees is a climbing tree. It's not the prettiest of trees but it offers up large arching branches for their little hands to grab on to and convenient little footholds to boost them higher into its canopy.

The next time you are outside, look to the skies. Look to the branches and the newly budding leaves. Look to the height and the age and the misshapen roots.
And maybe you'll think to yourself 'actually, Tara's not that daft after all'.

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The one where I learn to appreciate the little things

Just recently I have been rooting through lots of old photos (thanks to that meme) and getting all teary eyed over pictures of my children when they were babies.

They're 4 and 7 now. Not babies. They don't need me to dress them or strap them in their car seats or hold their hands down the stairs.

They can shower on their own, brush their own teeth, make their own breakfast.

They play Monopoly (and thrash me), invent 'stuff' and tell me when dinner isn't up to scratch.

I don't have babies any more and I kinda miss it.

I miss them needing me, I miss the smell of their baby heads, I miss having to wrap them up all snuggly in their buggies to protect their delicate skin from the weather.

I miss holding their little bodies in my arms, I miss stroking their downy necks, I miss the peaceful joy of those quiet moments in a darkened room just before they drop off.

Every now and again Dan calls me 'mum' and a little alarm goes off in my heart because I want to always be 'mummy'. Mummy means he's still my little boy.

They're growing up too fast.

My son has started asking about 'sexecation', my daughter knows who Hannah Montana is.

Where have my babies gone?

And I know there will be mums and dads out there thinking 'blimey, I can't wait for that stage to be over it's driving me nuts' - well don't.

Because one day you will be in my shoes.

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It snowed

The snow came, most unexpectedly, and I had to try and juggle working from home with having both children off school.
It was tough - I felt like the worst mummy in the world when I had to tell them I couldn't come out and build a snowman or roll them in the snow or even lick the snow (Mia's bizarre idea).
Mummy had to work.

But we did snatch a cold hour in the garden.
And they insisted I take photos "in case we forget". Yeah thanks guys, make me feel even worse!

Because it's never ever too cold to trampoline.

In the summer these held little candles which lit up our evening barbecues. Sheesh.

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Girls don't need as much sleep as boys

When I was pregnant and when both my children were babies I survived on very little sleep.

I functioned as normal. I held down a full-time job. I ran the house. I coped.

Hubby marvelled at how I could get through the day having been up in the night weeing or feeding or comforting.

I said: "I guess girls just don't need as much sleep as guys".

Oh boy is that statement coming back to haunt me now.

My 4 year old little girl will not go to sleep.

She's not naughty in the slightest. She brushes her teeth, kisses her brother goodnight, has her bedtime story and gets under the covers.

But then she will chatter to herself, read, draw, talk to her dolls, flip through her photo albums, rummage through her bedside drawer - anything, everything to avoid going to sleep.

I suppose it doesn't matter, but I just want her to get a good night's sleep. Her older brother needs a good 11 hours, but Mia? From 7.30pm when they both get into bed, little 'busy' noises can be heard in her bedroom until - on one occasion - gone 11pm.

I am pulling my hair out.

"Mummy, I'm. Just. Not. Tired" she sighs, punctuating every word, rolling her eyes and reaching for her make up box.

Her body language says 'now can you leave the room, stop bothering me and go about your own business. I'm busy'.

Mia, you're 4 my lovely, not 14 I feel like saying.

Last night I go up at 8pm and she's got all her new Polly Pocket dolls and clothes in her bed. IN her bed. For those not in the know, Polly Pocket bits and pieces are very small and very easily lost. And she's got loads of the damn things.

She gathers them up into the tin they call home, painfully slowly, then puts them on her bedside cabinet and gives me a teenage: 'I'm soooo bored' look.

"Mia" I say "it's time to sleep honey. It's time to give your body and mind a rest so you've got lots of energy to play tomorrow at school."

"But why? Why me? I'm not tired and I've got things to do."

I go back up at 9pm.

As I walk in the room, she snatches the covers over herself and pretends to be asleep.

I pull back the covers. She's wearing her dressing gown and her slippers. Also her fairy wings.

We exchange a look and she just smiles at me and there is a faint giggle around her lips.

I silently remove the clutter (under her dressing gown she is also wearing 4 belts), tuck her back in and stroke her cheek to remove the stray hairs from her face.

"Mummy. Why aren't' you in bed?"

"I've got jobs to do my love. I've got to get your school things ready, make the packed lunches, make sure Dan's uniform is all ready."

Eyes wide, she perks up. "Can I help?"

"No Mia, it's bed time. You are going to be so tired in the morning if you don't go to sleep now."

She tuts and the look in her eye says she's interpreted that sentence as: 'It's bed time but you can stay up and do whatever you like for as long as you like as long as mummy and daddy don't catch you'.

I go back in at 10pm. She fast asleep with 6 cuddly toys under the covers with her. One of them is actually bigger than her.

There is ink on her white bed covers and I'm seething. Then I notice she's written a note on a little piece of pink paper and carefully placed it propped up her lamp.

It simply says: 'Mia'. Except she writes it MiQ. There is a big kiss under it. And I think to myself, this little girl is just wired differently and I should embrace it. She is still exploring and discovering and who I am to stand in the way of that?

And I should absolutely not lose my temper when I'm trying to prize the covers off her at 7.30 tomorrow morning as she's telling me to 'just leave me alone'.

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Your favourite photo. A new meme

In my last post of 2009 I put up a bunch of old dodgy photos of myself and had so many flattering comments I only wish I had done it sooner.

Really, is it that easy? I post a bunch of embarrassing pictures and am rewarded with a clutch of wonderful comments?

Well I liked it and it gave me an idea for another meme.
And before you roll your eyes and run for the hills, this is a meme I'm hoping it's one you'll like. It will be like the last one I created - the Picture Perfect Meme - when tagged bloggers were asked to have their children draw a picture of them. I will again pull them together in a fabulous photo gallery of all entries. And by 'I', I of course mean Erica who did all the hard work so brilliantly last time and I claimed all the glory. Cough.
Also, I have so many tags and awards I've shamefully neglected this is my way of making up for it.

So. What is your favourite photograph. And why?

It's as simple as that.

It can be your wedding day, your children, walking in the park/on a beach/hand in hand. It can be your backgarden on a frosty morning, a holiday photo, the day you met someone famous, the day you met your other half.

It can be a lost relative, a family gathering, a picture of you in your youth.

Post it, say why it's your fav then invite someone else to do the same.

I absolutely love photos and actually cannot complete this task. How to pick out one photo? So I will pick out the first one I took this year instead:
Our day walking in the woods on the first day of 2010: Starting as we mean
to go on.
We just love being together in the fresh air, tramping up hill and down, hunting out the best stick, finding the weirdest tree and coming home
with our legs slightly aching but our lungs filled with fresh air.

To start this off I am tagging all those who have tagged me recently. As always I've totally changed the original meme I was tagged with and gone my own way. Soz.

Laura at Are We Nearly There Yet Mummy

Rachel at Really Rachel

Melissa at Smitten by Britain

Hot Cross Mum

That Girl 39 at 40 Not Out

Pippa at A Mother's Ramblings

Diney at Older Mums are Fun ...

And I also tag:
Erica at Little Mummy
Muddy at How I Like My Coffee

Rosie at Rosie Scribble

CK at Clark Kent's Lunchbox

Tracy at I Hate My Message Board

Kat at 3 Bedroom Bungalow because she needs something to distract her.

Kim at (Anti) Social Development: Because she promised me a photo of her prom dress ...

And most importantly Alice at Dulwich Divorcee as she 'forgot' to do the last meme and I promised her faithfully that she would be top of the list for the next one.

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Friends

When my son started going to nursery at the age of 7 months, he met Heather.

They journeyed through various classrooms together, a close knit little duo who played, laughed, cried and grew together.

These two young children were inseparable, something which is quite unusual at such a young age.

At the age of about three, the nursery split Dan and Heather up and put them in different classrooms. It didn't go down well at all. The staff had to regularly take them by the hand and ensure one could visit the other's room at some point in the day.

Today, they are both 7 years old and that bond is still there.

Dan is a typical 'lad': loves sport and fighting, hates girls and kissing, wants to impress his mates and has serious issues about kissing his mum at the school gate.
And yet, he still wants Heather at his parties, he still wants to visit her, he still wants to be her friend.
Theirs in a lovely friendship; a bond born of real chemistry and of a shared history.

My daughter has not experienced anything like this. She has acquaintances, people she will play with, people she likes. But nothing like this.

I wonder how many others children grow up with that sort of friendship? And I wonder how long it will last?

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