Notes from suburbia

Picture the scene....we are staying at my in-laws house in 'Fancy London'.  Gathered around the dining table is The Husband, The Eleven Year Old, The Three Year Old, The Mother In-law, The Father In-law, The Sister In-law and me. The Eleven Year Old:  "I'm thinking of putting the kettle on, would anyone like a tea?" A moment of silence whilst we all take in this golden moment of deep joy. The Husband:  "We have reached the pinnacle of parenting".

During the past few weeks I have tried to ease my sadness through writing but have failed.   And then I sat down tonight and this piece practically wrote itself.   I apologise in advance for any self indulgence. _________________________________________ It is three months since my Dad died; from a heart attack that saw him living his life one minute and laid dead on the floor the next. Shocking doesn’t even cover it.   Maybe we should have been more prepared for his eventual fate.  He had lived the last twenty three years, of his seventy eight years of life, with heart disease and a number of other health concerns that had niggled away at him without stealing his pleasure of living.   But we were not prepared.   He was here.   And now he is gone.   I have no siblings.   I was my Dad’s only child.   His proud to be ‘Daddy’s girl’ who loved him.   Adored him.   Who aches from missing him.   I saw my Dad for the las...

Two weeks and five days ago my Dad died.  It happened suddenly.  His heart stopped.  He was at home. Sat in his favourite arm chair.  Watching TV with his youngest Grandson sat by his feet.  He had just been out to tend to his beloved garden, accompanied by my youngest son and by his wife, my Mum.  He was exactly where he wanted to be, after living a good life.   Two days ago, we celebrated his life at his funeral. We wore his favourite colour, green.  We thought of the good times. There were beautiful flowers and a casket of willow.  This is my tribute to him.       Bri Mitchell 21 October 1936 to 3 November 2014    My Mum and Dad, aged Eighteen My Dad, Bri Mitchell, was one of the kindest, caring, and most genuine men you could have had the pleasure to have known.   One of life’s good people.  As you will see from the photo of him and my Mum when t...

Why is the sky blue?  W hy no Peppa? Why J (The Ten Year Old) doing that Mummy?   Why we going home?   Why I need suncream?   Why Daddy going there?  Why moving my trike Mummy? Why Mummy? Why not Mummy?   Mummy why?   Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?   Yes.   It’s safe to say The Three Year Old has well and truly embraced the ‘why stage’!

“….to over indulge in something…to become tired of it…lose enthusiasm”      Online Dictionary 2014 Deciding to move house. Completing a degree and finding work.   Becoming disillusioned with a current career. Planning and booking holidays. Maintaining a sense of normality in family life.   End of year school events: sports day; summer fair; school disco; Deciding to quit the day-job after sixteen years of working for the one organisation.   Packing up a house.   Planning for the future.   Enjoying time with family and friends. Applying for jobs.   Resurrecting a business idea and developing new ones. Moving house.   Having food poisoning. Leaving a job.   Going on holiday.   This is a summary of the past four months of our lives. The Husband, The Ten Year Old, The (now) Three year old. And Me. Jaded?   Yes a little.   Jaded by everyday living, simultaneously coping with big, life changing ev...

As you are probably aware, a few days ago le Tour de France was in the UK  Not just anywhere in the UK but, for at least some of the time, in Yorkshire. My 'bit' of Yorkshire to be precise.  Yes, the le Tour came to Sheffield!  And not only that, it came within a few hundred meters from our front door. This was incredibly exciting - from our own personal perspective - for a number of reasons... It isn't often that a massive sporting event almost passes by your very own house - we even had 'official' tour bunting strung along our street! It was a real opportunity for the whole family to get involved in the fun, not least the making of decorations - we may have gone a little overboard...(see photos below!!) The local community embraced the chance to celebrate the event together. From the annual festival in the Park extending to run over two days in order to become a le Tour Spectator Hub, to the gathering of local residents to watch the screen...

I am surprised to find myself quoting The Archbishop of Canterbury who this morning described 2013 as ‘… a year of contrasts’ .   Whilst as a general rule I do not hold dear the words of the Archbishop, this phrase describes perfectly how I feel about the past year. There were some challenges ….   a shaky start to the year with my Dad being seriously ill - he recovered, we moved on.   A family gathering during which a relatively small incident threatened the future of important relationships - we talked, we moved on.   A new job that in theory appeared   to be a ‘great fit ‘ for me brought the realisation that sometimes the things that 'should' ‘fit’ don’t always suit us as much as we may think they will.   Inconclusive medical investigations brought relief mixed with frustration, leaving behind unresolved health niggles.   The addressing of our work-life balance: a reduction in working commitments, later brought the r...

Dear J,   Today you are ten.  Ten years old.  It is clichéd of me to ask, but, how did the time pass by so quickly?   I am finding it hard to believe that you have already lived a complete decade of your life.  I am increasingly aware that it is likely that we have already enjoyed more years of living in the same house now than the number of years ahead of us of sharing a home.  I'm not at all sure that I like this idea!  I often wonder of what lies ahead of you, what adventures await?   I have loved seeing you grow from a beautiful baby to an inquisitive toddler and now to being the boy you have become as you continue to develop in confidence and personality.   You really are a wonderful person who is - almost always ;-) - lovely to be around.  So often, you impress me with your thoughtfulness and your generosity, your humour and sharp wit.   Sometimes you and ...

This time last week I found myself in the 'sports megastore' that is Decathlon. Completely ignoring the written instructions issued to me - by the activity centre that The Nine Year Old has now visited - to not spend money on new items,  I found myself spending a serious amount of cash on waterproof clothing and footwear, fleece lined stuff, a backpack and a pull-along suitcase. The reason behind this particular incidence of consumer madness? A lame attempt to ease the worry of the residential school trip that was looming.  Because you see, the thing is this. Us parents.  WE WORRY.  A lot.  Some of us take this to extreme and worry about anything and everything.  I'd like to think that I'm not that extreme but I know that this is mainly me LYING to myself.   I try to play it cool but with little success. By the time I left the Decathlon store I could ha...

    The sun streamed through the tiny gap that sat between the otherwise closed curtains.   With the light of a new day resting upon her slightly parted eyelids, she could no longer deny the reality of the hours that stretched out before her.   What would the day bring with it? She was reticent about fully opening her eyes.   It was almost as if the daylight held a certain kind of power over her that she needed to resist. The hours of the night before had been long and lonely.   Lonely in spite of the warmth of the body that still lay stretched out beside her.     _____________________________________________________________________________   More 100 words - plus the additional four words from the prompt "...the sun streamed through" - over at Julia's Place

Being a parent is great.  Most of the time.  But like other great things, *go ahead, insert your own list of great things*, you can have too much of it.  I'm not talking about those occasions when a soak in a candle-lit scented bubble bath or half a gallon of gin will sort you out.  No, I mean the times when your head is about to explode because you have well and truly had a belly full of being in demand by EVERYONE ALL OF THE TIME!! Usually, what l I need to get over such a gluttonous excess of parenting  is a few hours to myself. And I mean completely to myself.  Not going on a rare and lovely 'date' with The Husband.  or a fabulous catch-up with a good friend.  Just me. On my own.  A chance to clear my head.  To think about no-one else's needs and wants.  No compromising.  No effort to make conversation. No pressure to do anything that isn't exactly what I do...

Recently I was reading an article - apologies that I can't remember what or where it was and yes, I do realise how unhelpful that is - which suggested that we have a choice about being busy.  Busy-ness isn't a condition in which we simply find ourselves to be suffering from but rather we thrust it upon ourselves through the choices we make.  It went further, suggesting that we tend to 'wear' our busy-ness as a 'badge of honour'. This really struck a cord with me.  Until fairly recently, I've often felt proud to consider myself to be a busy person.  A person with lots to do.  A person with so many responsibilities to juggle that I can be left struggling to fit everything in.  It was reassuring to think that with so much to do and so many people to please my life must surely be very full and meaningful and interesting.  Or was the reality more a case of me feeling that I wasn't giving eno...

The clock continued to tick. Seconds became minutes became hours became new days. The days continued to pass.   Light became dark became light became dark again. The Seasons continued to change. Rain poured leaves fell sun warmed new growth.   How could this be? When   I remained as before yet you were gone.  As the world turned.   And shall continue to turn and turn and it is hard to believe that we were we and now I am   me.   With heavy heart still beating on and on inside my chest. The world turns.   And shall continue to turn and turn and I too, will continue.   __________________________________________ This is my offering for this week's 100 Word Challenge for grown ups #Week107 .  Hop on over ...

The Female Parent (aka my  Mum):  "Sheila (recent new acquaintance of the family) thinks you're a very nice person". Me:  "I am a very nice person.  Lot's of people think I'm perfectly charming" (can you tell I've recently been catching up with Downton Abbey?!). The Female Parent:  "What do you mean?" The Male Parent (aka my Dad):  *smirks* Me:  "People generally think I'm ok, some think I'm quite lovely.  It's only you who tends not to". The Male Parent;  *laughs heartily* The Female Parent:  *assumes the look of mild indignance*  but doesn't contest my statement. It's hard to know whether to laugh or cry really....

Here's a question for you:  If indeed you believe there is such a thing as the mid life crisis, would a person know if they were having one"? What are the signs that someone such as my good self - soon to be staring the grand old age of 42 in the face, and contemplating the future - be looking out for?  On typing 'mid life crisis' in to Google, I am presented with these top 5 results: Midlife Crisis Wikipedia Male Midlife Crisis - Live Well - NHS Choices Top 40 Signs of a Midlife Crisis Revealed: Telepgraph, article based on an unreferenced study Midlife Crisis - Depression or normal transition? WebMD What is a midlife crisis? - Divorce Support - About.com The combination of these results would suggest  a number of interesting things.  Firstly, I am too young to be experiencing midlife crisis.  Afterall, according to Wikipedia, 46 is the average age of onset and the good new for...

The Nine Year Old:  "I can do a burp anytime I want. It's easy"

It's been a while. Around six months since I last blogged.  I've missed it.  So I'm gonna start writing again. Simple as. Where did the last six months go?  They were mainly spent (in no particular order): making the conscious decision and effort to be less busy going on holiday seeing friends spending time with family celebrating our second wedding anniversary seeing my Dad being poorly and getting better selling a house trying to regain control of our overgrown allotment thinking about what I really want from life getting my priorities in order wondering if I'm heading for a mid-life crisis (!) continuing with my frustrating battle with chronic sinusitis and daily pain from what is currently being referred to as 'atypical facial pain' seeing The Husband complete the second year of his Radiography Degree seeing The One Year old become The Two Year Old and (finally!) hearing him become more vocal seeing The Nine Year Old become: increasing...

You only get one. You don't get to choose who they are. I'm glad that my Mum is the one I got. _________________________________________________ Happy Mother's Day to my Mum, Joy, and to all you other Mum's out there!

I can see my brover goin to sleep. I can heer musick playin quitly. I can smell delishus cakes bakein in the hot uvan. At home I feel relacxed and peasfull. At home I have my Mum and A***, my Dad and K*** , my brover and a gold fish. I play games and read books. ___________________________________ By The Nine Year Old. ___________________________________ I would like to point out that the penultimate line does not mean that these people and the fish all live together in one house.  Now that, would be a differently poem entirely!!

The prompt for this weeks 100 word challenge is this:-  '...the extreme weather meant...'. Along with these words, and a timely reminder from a friend on Facebook to put out food for our feathered friends in the snowy conditions, I came up with this little story...   Singing for his supper   The extreme weather meant that the tiny bird found himself to be in a bit of a quandary.   His favourite hunting haunts had been adversely affected by the cold white stuff that now surrounded him.    At almost every turn, he found himself face to face with cold wet surfaces that covered up, or frightened away,   the food that was usually so readily available. He had no choice but to sit and wait – curled up as tightly as he could, his brown speckled feathers plumped out, he perched on the tip of a snow covered branch and sang as sweetly as he ever had before...     Find more entries at Julia's Place