Tag Archives: mummy

In my hand he held my heart

My love
My love

In my hand he held my heart

Silently I was crying inside. But my son’s entourage was an unusually welcomed distraction, deflecting from the highly anticipated event, the first day of school.

No wonder my son looked slightly on edge, with so much build up. I think he was starting to believe that we were giving him to the Missions. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve said goodbye, but for some reason, this one magnifies that this is the first of many to come.

We all know the stories, but when it’s your own story, it’s raw. And I felt alone.

Well, I would have if my over-the-top, noisy, Italian, and brash father-in-law had allowed me to lament in the moment. But no, he was a running commentator on the day’s event and how my emotions were stacking up. My mother was adding some realism, years of experience as a school teacher; my husband was nonchalant; my mother-in-law was reminded of her boy starting school, but was on a strict warning not to cry, so she looked like she’d sucked a few lemons, straining to hold it together. The circus ensued with the little brother pleading to join the big one. And after a few poses for Facebook, show’s over, and it’s time for school.

In his hand, he held my heart. And we walked on.

I was more nervous than he. Schools do that to you. He hardly spoke, but I knew he was assessing the situation. He does this. And all I wish, is that his teachers get to know him like I do. I haven’t totally lost my sense of reason, he’s still a five year old. I’d have thrown him through the doors when he was two, when the thought of Boarding School didn’t seem so bad, but not today. He is perfect and I won’t be told otherwise.

In my state of delusion, we made it through the grandparents, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and the flash photography. But I saw no one. So consumed by holding his hand and steering him through. There may have been tears and tantrums but we walked silently on.

My nerves grew. I wanted the transition to pass seamlessly. Because you see, I thought he was starting next week and today wasn’t the day for my son to realise that his mother’s still looking for the parenting handbook.

My fly by the seat of your pants approach suits me, but my son needs everything just so. I had to step up and make him as proud of me as I am of him. Ok I got off to a bumpy start, wrong class. Though, I was sure it was that one. The relief when I found his peg and hung up his jacket. If I could have ripped the thing off the wall, I think I would have. I was raw.

Never have I felt so happy yet so sad.

P&RBut there were no tears. I wouldn’t do that to him, I had the rest of the afternoon after all.

And as I’d expected he turned and I let him go. To make new friends, have good days and bad days, dreams and disappointments, and to start making stories of his own.

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The Handover

TrainspottingHere you go, everything I know about parenting.

When you pick up the boys they will be in their uniform. They will look to you for the latest e-number, provide at your peril. I’m flying 40,000 above, toasting my second, dare. I say it, my third glass of champagne, or maybe cava, but its the same dream just another bottle.

On arrival back to the house, the Crescent, please ask P & R to remove their school uniform, place neatly, some clean, others in the wash basket, and change. They will try to scatter and run, a trail of destruction left for you, I’m sorry. They will, no doubt, ask if all the neighbours’ children can come round. Again, clink, clink, at your discretion.

They will repeat the phrase ‘Mum lets us’ over and over like whining dogs. This is not true. They lie. Your precious little grandchildren are liars. I know it may sound shocking, but it is always better to know what you’re taking on. I don’t let them in the woods, or the lane, or go to the shops, or run the streets. They will say I do. They will say Dad doesn’t let them, but Mum does. She doesn’t. They are trying to undermine me. They play on my love for them. Be warned, they will do this to you too.

Treat every word with caution. Careful questioning can usually trip them up and, if needs be, separate them. Divide and conquer usually works on their alibis.

As both are of the male species, feed every two-three hours. This usually addresses most of their needs, and throw in a compliment here or there. You know how this works…

At nighttime, the bloodsuckers really come out to play. They have many tricks to keep you from adult time and a chilled bottle safely nestled in the arms of the top shelf. DVDs, play stations, iPads, iPhones, TV, PSPs, all the devices bought as saviours to occupy them throughout the day, they are now the enemy. These are their weapons, hidden in numerous locations and dotted in pillowcases and mattresses. Go to the mattresses!

Remember don’t let love be a distraction. You’re up and at it again in just a few hours. Age is on their side. Don’t let love blind you. Don’t let those big eyes make you waver. You are being played. Use your first name and stay strong, Nonna, Nana, Granny, Gramma, words like these makes you weak. Good luck! Any problems, I unfortunately won’t have signal strength.

Cheers, and bottoms up!

 

 

 

When I’m not there

It’s not the badge that you wear,
Nor the scroll that you hold,
It’s calling him a star,
It’s who you are.
It’s the time that you give,
The love that you bring,
The heart that you show,
The pain that you hide.
It’s every day that you’re there,
It’s his eyes at your name,
It’s the void that you fill,
When I’m not there.

Thank you.

By Felicity Fox

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Emma and I by Felicity Fox

I was on the lookout. Camped out actually. I somehow knew she’d have to break from the crowd. ‘Toilet, everyone needs the loo, some more than others.’  I’ll probably miss her if I go. No, I’ll wait. Glued to her phone like a safe distraction, out she came. Graceful and beyond beautiful. I, ready to pounce. I’m a polite stalker, so I waited till she’d finished conversing. ‘Emma’, ‘Emma’ excuse me? And she turned, peering down at me. Not the day for wearing flats, but I take my role seriously and I was paying homage to Howard’s End, donning my tie and slacks.

‘Ah, Emma, Howard’s End, Oscars, dresses, Kenneth, Emma, and Nanny McPhee’ knowing so much about her and her, knowing so little about me. So I did what most, I think, in my situation would do, and I shrieked, ‘Nanny McPhee! My kids love you’, and before I could stop myself, I was off. They’re called P and R and they’ve told me to be good or you’d get your magic stick. Not very imaginative. Looking like she’d heard this tale many a time, Her Majesty let me go on.

4 and 6, the loves of my life, blah blah blah. What I should have said is, when mine are doing my head in, I stick on Nanny McPhee or any U-rated film, you know! And I can’t remember any of your recent stuff because I’ve not been to the cinema in donkeys, oh, that’s Scottish for ages. But no, I was being quintessentially polite in my best spoken. ‘Can I get a picture?’ Clicking away, they’re going to love the fact that I met you. “That is nice.” Starring took over; she’s just very consuming. Her imperial accent takes on an authority, her stature and our chance meeting, due to my stalking. I just wanted to enjoy this very rare moment. But if she thought, I’d finished I started again. My boys, my boys, my boys….And to think, I could have asked her so much if I could just stop myself from talking. The possibilities. My, me, mine, and it was time to let her go. “You must find something for yourself because one day they will leave you.” Sorry? ”They will grow up and leave you”, piercing my heart. What? “When they grow up, you’ll need to have something for yourself.” ‘Oh, I know! I laughed, choked, feeling wounded.  She’s wrong, of course. I’ve plenty and it includes, amongst other things, a mortgage, a credit card, a student loan, stories to write, council tax, insurance, 9-5, football, washing…

Emma Thompson

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Love,

Felicity Fox