Generations of parents

I've often worried about mistakes I made when my children were young. The other day, my youngest daughter wrote a searingly honest post on her blog, prompted by the story currently in the news about a young girl who has run away with her teacher.

I'm sure that if my children sat down with me individually, they could all remind me of things I did that hurt them, or that upset them. I don’t think that will happen, but if it did, I would admit my faults, and apologise unreservedly for all the times I failed.

It occurs to me though, that we are all affected in some way by things that have happened to us during our lives. These things are part of what made us into the people we are today. Past hurts can make us determined to be better parents to our own children.

I was blessed with wonderful parents who loved me and brought me up to the absolute best of their ability. I never doubted their love, and as a young child I always believed that they knew best.

In fact as I grew and started to form my own opinions about things that I knew were not in line with theirs, I did so quietly. I’d learned that my parents had very fixed views about some things, and that it was probably easier just to keep quiet about my own differing views.

It was as a result of my upbringing that when my children reached the age of about sixteen, I started to trust them with deciding when they were going to come home. The question was always “What time will you be home?”, and never an order to be home at a certain time. It worked for us. They often came home earlier than expected, because they knew it was their decision.

It was as a result of the trust I placed in my youngest daughter at the age of sixteen that she got into the difficulties she talked about in her blog. This has affected her all her life, has contributed to the bouts of depression she has suffered from, and has ultimately shaped her into the person she is today.

Whilst I cannot say that I'm glad it happened to her, I can say that I think that it made her a more thoughtful parent to her own teen. She will always have in the back of her mind the problems that might arise if he’s allowed to be in the company of some other adults too much. She will be watching for problems. She won’t automatically trust other parents with her child, as I did when she was sixteen.... and she might not expect her teen to be able to cope with making his own decisions when he is that age.

Perhaps as a result of her experiences, my daughter will be more like my parents were ...she’ll have learned from my “mistakes” just as I learned how to parent from what I perceived to be their mistakes. Who knows? Maybe that’s why there’s such a bond between Grandparents and Grandchildren!

I'm back! ...from holiday and to my blog!

I had a long break from my blog because basically, I was sulking after the website lost my work. It's so disheartening to write for over two hours, and then find it was all for nothing. 

I can't believe that it's already a week since we returned home after a lovely holiday in Cornwall. We stayed in a really nice holiday park near St Austell. We chose it mainly because we wanted to revisit The Eden project...last visited seven years ago, when we spent our honeymoon in St Ives.

Eden was as beautiful as ever, and we spent a very happy day there. I'd recommend it if you haven't been. We were less impressed with The Lost gardens of Heligan, though to be fair, we didn't see all of it. I think perhaps we had visions of something different, and it didn't live up to those expectations. if you're very fit and up to walking longish distances on a very hilly site, you'd probably love it, but we weren't up to that on that particular day. I think you'd need your walking boots as well, though that isn't necessary on the paths that we took that day.

At the end of our holiday, we went to Weymouth to stay with my cousin Lesley and her partner Clive, who are running their first B&B (The Alendale Guest House, in case you want a few days away.)

This was the first time Lesley and I had met. Our other cousin, Trudy, had traced Lesley through Genes Reunited. Trudy's Grandfather, my Grandfather, and Lesley's Great Grandfather were brothers. I don't know what grade of cousins that makes us, but I don't care. We feel like family to me. I don't know how Lesley feels, but she and Clive made us feel so welcome, and it felt just like visiting family we've always known.

Perhaps "genes will out", as they say, or perhaps our Grandfathers are up there somewhere looking down on us and are happy that we are bringing the family back together again. In fact if we brought all the "Fouracres" clan together it would be an enormous get-together. We are a large family, and although I know my aunts and uncles, sadly I haven't even met most of my cousins....perhaps one day...

Genes and all that!

I had two phone conversations today, one with my cousin Ann, who said we are so much alike in our attitudes that she thinks we must really be sisters separated at birth, and the other from our Auntie, who was talking about how much my youngest daughter looks like me, and how when Corinne was small it was just like having me as a toddler again.

It started me thinking  about where my looks and my nature come from, and wondering how much I have passed down through my children to their children. Certainly when I was younger, I seemed to be quite a mix of my parents. People meeting either one of them would remark "Aren't you like your Mum/Dad?", depending on which one I was with. I think it has been a bit like that with some of my children, though not all.

People would say of my eldest son, "He looks just like his father", and strangely now, he looks a lot like his father's cousin. When he was younger, however, his little girl would point at a photo of my Dad at the same age, and say "Daddy!" If Lee had grown a moustache, it could have been a photo of him. The thing Lee has inherited from his dad is his work ethic, and his talent for being able to do practical things around the house and on the car.

My eldest daughter looks like her father's side of the family, in build as well. She is built like her paternal Grandmother. I'm sure she's grateful not to have inherited my build. But in nature, she's like my Mum. Is that genetics? Or the result of her great love for my Mum, a wanting to be like her?

My youngest son looks just like his dad, but could not be more dissimilar in his nature.... That he gets from my mother's side of the family. he's just like the elder of my two brothers.

My youngest daughter looks like me sometimes, but at other times she looks like her aunt and great aunt on her father's side. By coincidence, her great aunt was the mother of the cousin who looks like Lee. What she hasn't inherited from them is her hourglass figure...that is very definitely from me. She's sensitive and emotional, friendly and open. A very definite mix of both her Dad and me.

It's a little difficult to tell what my Grandchildren have inherited yet, apart from my beautiful eldest Granddaughter. She is so much like her Mum and her Mum's family. Physically she resembles her Grandad ..... no bad thing, he's a handsome chap. But from her Mum and her Grandmother she gets a talent for always looking lovely, hair and makeup perfect. She's capable and helpful to her Mum, and that's the only similarity I can see to me. I was the same as a teenager. But I get the impression that's how her Mum was too, so I probably can't take credit for that.

All this leads on to my wondering what would I choose from my relatives if I could steal their looks or personality?

For a start I would want my father's incredible intelligence, and the openness he displayed with his feelings towards the end of his life. I'd like my mum's beautiful face, her lovely high cheek bones, and her quiet friendliness, and her concern and kindness when her friends were going through tough times.

I'd like my Auntie Marion's bubbly personality and sense of humour, and my Auntie Jean's kindness and loving and thoughtful ways.

I inherited my Great Aunt Florrie's build. I hope I didn't inherit her fearsome personality, but I'd certainly like to be as practical as she was, and to be able to cook like she did. She was known in the family for always speaking her mind, and I don't think I do that, but what I remember is the kindness she showed me as a little girl. She gave me my first taste of cleaning for other people, when I stayed with her at the house where she was housekeeper to an elderly man. She told me it was important to clean thoroughly, and reiterated what my Nana used to say "Look after the corners and the middle will look after itself". She had a hard shell, with a soft centre that she didn't show to most people, but all in all, she wasn't a bad person to be compared to!

Early memories

My two year old grandson got me thinking this morning. he apparently pointed at the little photo of me on Facebook, and said "Nana in there!"

That brought back some memories for me; just odd little things that I remember from when I was a child. Probably the earliest memory is of sitting in my pram with the hood up. The trim was the wrong side of the Greek key pattern. My mother told me she put away the pram a couple of months before my brother was born, so I wouldn't think he was in my place, so I couldn't have been more than 15 months old.

I had a dummy as a baby, and my next, very clear memory is of my Nana picking up my dummy and saying "Jennifer" When I held out my hand for it, she threw the dummy in the fire. I don't remember any great distress over that, I just accepted it was gone, and as I didn't know you could buy them in the shop, I don't think I made a fuss. Later though, when my brother was newly born, I remember stealing his dummy, and sitting in Nana's leather armchair with my head under a cushion so nobody would know what I was doing.

Just a few months before my Mum died, she mentioned that at about that time, I would talk about wanting to see the "pignig." They couldn't let me see it, because they didn't know what I was talking about. Fifty years later  I was able to enlighten her. It was the teddy bear's picnic. I think I mixed up an actual memory of my Dad pushing me in a pushchair and lifting me up to show me children playing on swings and slides, with a dream, where the children were bears, dressed in clothes. I know my Dad used to sing "The Teddy Bears Picnic" to me, so that might explain it!

My Grandad died when we were in Germany. My Dad was in the Army. I have three clear memories of Grandad. The first is of standing between his legs for a cuddle. He had thrombosis, so couldn't sit me on his knee. The second is of eating his dinner, sharing with him. Mum had told me he was very fastidious about food, so it didn't really add up, until she told me that at about eighteen months I stopped eating. They discovered that if I thought my Grandad was giving me his dinner, I would eat, so Nana started putting both meals on a huge serving platter, one at each end.

The third memory is of Elsie Shufflebottom. Elsie lived at the bottom of the yard. She always got the best, a share of Grandad's sweets, a bit of his icecream. Worse than that, she was beautiful. She had long curly hair, so long she could sit on it. She apparently only appeared when I wasn't there, and Grandad described her clothes to me ..."Do you know, she had the bonniest pinny I've ever seen!" He would tease me with "Well I'd like to give you some of this, but I promised Elsie Shufflebottom she could have it. Then he'd relent, saying as she wasn't there just then, I could have it instead. I was very jealous of Elsie!

My memory of my Nana is more hazy, but just as precious. It's of a feeling, rather than of a particular event. It's a feeling of great love and security. Feeling safe, and just knowing that she really, really loved me. There are lots of things I do remember. Helping her with the mangle in the back yard, going with her to the town, visiting the indoor market, and having a drink in Woolworths, sitting up on a swivel stool. Her sitting in her chair by the back window in the "kitchen", which was what we'd call the living room now. But the main memory is the one I'd really like my Grandchildren to have of me.. a memory of a Nana who really really loved them.

Birds

Since we lost our lovely old cat, Izzie, last September, Mike and I have started to try to encourage birds back to our garden. It started with a very cheap bird table that we bought on the internet, followed closely by Mike's masterpiece, a nesting box that he designed and built in the garden shed.


He placed them both in our tiny garden, we put some bread out, and we waited, and we waited. Meanwhile we bought a fat ball feeder and a peanut feeder, and hung them on the shed. The fat ball shrivelled and died, and the nuts went mouldy.


Now this might sound silly, but I started to feel very rejected. Why were the birds not coming to eat the food I'd lovingly cooked?...Well OK, not exactly cooked, but still, thought had gone into it. I'd walked outside in the cold without my coat to put food out. Soon I was taking the dustpan and brush out with me to clean off the bird table so I could put more food out, only for it to be rejected once again.


Meanwhile, every Thursday I'd go and clean for an elderly lady, and watch with amazement as squirrels competed with dozens of birds for the food she put out. One day I watched a young fox eating bread that had been put out for the birds. The garden was visited by a pair of ducks, seagulls, and pigeons, as well as a whole host of garden birds, and every week I was treated to the sight of a beautiful red and black woodpecker, who visits just for the fat balls.


One Thursday I came home and Mike told me he'd seen a blackbird on the bird table. Even more exciting was the news that a pair of blue tits had been checking out the nesting box. ...and a robin was regularly visiting the garden.


I felt like a Mum with a fussy child, who had suddenly started to eat the food so lovingly provided. I was keen to get them to try new things, so suddenly garden centres, which up until now had been interesting for plants and stone ornaments and nice coffee shops, became places to go to to look at birdseed and meal worms. I found myself looking through the kitchen cupboards for suet, and currants, anything the birds might like.


The blue tits use the seed feeder and the peanuts and the fat balls. The robin loves the mealworms. And me - I'm like a very proud mum. "Do you know? All the food I put out has gone...I'll have to refill the bird table."


Soon, I hope to be a grandmother...those blue tits are very definitely interested in moving into the nesting box.!

On afternoon. naps

When did it happen? This need to plan my days so I can factor in some time to lie down for a little while and have a sleep? I've always liked a sleep in the afternoon. It started with working split shifts at Barnardo's. The 2-5 break was just right for a little nap. It was something I liked, but not something I actually needed, if you know what I mean. I could work all day, go out in the evening, do a bit of studying, and get up the next day and start all over again. If I ever missed my nap it didn't matter, I don't remember feeling tired, ever, even though on most of my days off I chose to take one of the children into Brighton with me, so I didn't even rest then.

Now the nap is not a choice, it's a necessity. I will lie on the settee, and say to Mike "I'm going to sleep now", close my eyes, and go to sleep. Immediately. In seconds. Worse is the need to plan my day around it. It's odd, because if I go shopping, for instance, I'm fine, not tired, don't need to find a park bench to lie down on. But if I need to work, or do something for somebody, I find myself planning my day in detail, trying to factor in time for that nap.

Tomorrow is a good example. I have three things I have to do. Two jobs for a total of three hours, and I have to take someone for their hospital appointment. Not arduous, really, but already I am worrying about when I will have my little sleep, and even whether I will be up to doing the second job in the evening. The rational side of me tells me not to be so silly. And actually I know that people with full time jobs will wonder what on earth I'm going on about.

Tomorrow will come, I'll just get on with it, I'll be fine. If I don't get a sleep it won't matter.

I think it may be part of a general anxiety about things, that happens when you get older. When the children were young, we were planning one of our pre Christmas special weekends, at my Mum and Dad's house, and my Mum said "But where will everyone sleep?". I didn't understand what she was worried about...we'd find a bit of floor somewhere. Now I know how she felt!

Does the tiger ever sleep?

Does the tiger ever sleep? I'm talking about the tiger that moves into your belly with the foetus, takes up residence and never seems to move out, just directs business from somewhere inside. Sleeping a lot, but waking up from time to time to protect her young.

It starts from the moment you realise you're pregnant... that need to protect from harm, no matter what. For me, with all four of my babies, that meant I had to protect the baby from their father driving too fast.

"But I'm only doing 30mph!"
"It doesn't matter, slow down, it feels too fast for me"

For some reason, I had to also protect them from alcohol. Not that I'd ever drunk a lot of alcohol, but suddenly even the thought of it made me feel sick. And coffee! How could people bear the smell?

Of course, protecting the baby also means feeding it what it needs; Mine needed various different things at various different stages... Bounty Bars, grapefruit ice lollies, fish and chips, and Bakewell tart. The tiger forced the baby's father to drive miles sometimes to get these things, and often, once I'd got them, I'd gone off the idea. Luckily by the time the need for Bakewell tart arrived, I was in hospital on bed rest, and my lovely Mother in Law provided me and the rest of the ward with tins of the stuff... and very delicious it was too!

The tiger slept for a while after the births, but was always sleeping with one eye open, just in case somebody should do harm to the baby. She'd watch like a hawk in case somebody contaminated a teat with an unsterilized finger, or even worse tried to pacify a crying baby by letting him or her suck a finger!

Unfortunately, she slept through the two hours I left my first baby outside the shop across the road. Luckily, when he might have been in danger, the ladies in the shop watched him instead...

School was a very difficult time for the tiger. Handing over control to someone else was difficult at times; after all how could they know how to care for a child they didn't know? How would they know that my child was different? Was more sensitive than the others? Needed more understanding? Might be being bullied?

And when there was a genuine threat to my child,, as when  two of my children were involved in road accidents, the tiger morphed into a wolf, who howled with the horror of what she might have lost, had the cars been going more quickly, or had the drivers had slower reactions. For weeks afterwards, I dwelt on what had happened, thanking God that my precious children were not seriously injured.

Over the years, the tiger/wolf emerged from time to time, mostly as a reaction to bullying. As the children grew into adulthood, I thought perhaps the tiger would move out at last, that I'd be able to relax, but no. At the slightest hint of criticism of any one of my children, I'd feel the familiar stirrings, even though now the criticism was most likely to come from one or other of my children, rather than from an outsider.

The births of my grandchildren were difficult times. my need to protect now also extended to my sons' partners. I worried about them, wishing I could go through the births for them, spare them the pain. After the births, I worried about post natal depression, watched for it, and agonised because I understood what it felt like, and wanted to take it away, kiss it better like I had done with bumped heads when they were children.

And now, when my Grandchildren have to face something difficult, like a new school, or a criticism from a teacher (unfounded, of course!) I feel those familiar stirrings inside, and realise that the tiger never leaves... and she never really sleeps.

Very special times.

Today is the 13th birthday of one of my Grandsons. his mum is my youngest daughter, and today her blog is about the day of his birth.

Whenever one of my children or Grandchildren have a birthday, I think about the beginning, the first time I saw them. Each birth is different, each baby is unique, and each introduction is special.

My eldest Granddaughter was born a few months after the break up of my marriage. My emotions were all over the place. Grandchildren were supposed to be the next generation of "our " family. I went to the hospital, on the one hand thrilled at the birth of this beautiful little girl, yet not knowing whether my husband would also be there, hoping he wouldn't, and hoping he would. I was nervous about how I would react to seeing the baby's other Grandparents there... a very happily married couple. Bless them, I think they understood, and swept me up into the euphoria in that room, including me and not giving me time to think about what might have been. By the time I left the hospital room I felt stronger, so that when I met my husband on his way in, I was able to turn around and take him in to see the baby.

When the next baby was born, I took my friend, who was visiting me for the day. The baby was a little unsettled, and my friend took him, laid him on her lap, and massaged his head (Cranio - Sacral therapy) It was amazing to see how every muscle in his body relaxed. That friend helped make that first introduction special. She was someone to share the experience with, someone to agree that he was definitely the most beautiful baby in the ward!

My eldest daughter's first baby was special because we hadn't expected her to have children. He shot into the world on bonfire night. My memory of that first meeting is of her sitting up in bed, knees raised, with the baby resting on them. She was  just gazing at her beautiful new son. Is it just in my memory they seem to be bathed in sunlight?

Two years later we welcomed baby number two. He came into the world looking a lot like his mother. I remember how thrilled she was to have another beautiful little boy. My memory of him then is blurred. I think I met him the next day when they were home from hospital, but my main memory is a bitter sweet one, of taking him into intensive care and laying him on my Mother's pillow. We put her hand on him, and told her it was her new Great Grandson. She wasn't conscious, but her heartbeat speeded up on the monitor. It meant a lot to my daughter and me that Mum, at the end of her life, seemed aware that he was there.

My youngest son's children next. My Granddaughter was born in Liverpool, and my youngest daughter and I travelled up to see her when she was two days old. Her mother was tired and a bit stressed after a traumatic birth experience in hospital, and having had her family visit the day before, so we didn't want to over tire her again. The baby was awake, and I remember after a while I took her into their bedroom and laid on the bed for about half an hour, just gazing at her. She was gorgeous. She looked a lot like her Mum, and was one of those babies that looked wise, an old soul. I knew I wouldn't be able to see her often, and I wanted to memorise every bit of her lovely little face.

Their next baby was born after they'd moved to Devon. By this time I was very happy in my personal life, having remarried, and my husband and I travelled to see him when he was two days old. I think I expected things to be a bit fraught, but we walked into this wonderful calm atmosphere, this beautiful little boy having been born at home. One of my favourite memories is of watching my husband as he cradled a new born baby for the first time. This was how I'd always imagined being Grandparents should be, though , of course he isn't biologically linked to these children.

I was stunned when I heard there was to be a third baby in this family, especially as the birth was only two months away when we found out. But what a wonderful surprise! As usual, when we got the call to say that the baby was here, safe and well, and born at home while the other two slept, I was thrilled and excited, and couldn't wait to get to Devon. We booked a B&B, and planned our trip for two days later. And then the snow came..... Three weeks later, having negotiated with the B&B owners we were down there to meet baby number three. Once again, I was astounded by the serene atmosphere in the house. I was introduced to the baby by his big brother, who was excited to see us and to tell us about the baby. My Granddaughter was amazingly capable and helpful with the younger children. I looked at the baby's beautiful little face and wished we lived nearer.

My youngest daughter's children now! The eldest, a teenager today, came into the world in a very traumatic way. I'd gone to the hospital expecting to walk my daughter round to get her going after an induction, to find her already in labour, and telling me she "couldn't do it". I feel very strongly that the birth of a child is such an emotional thing between parents, their first few minutes together as a family can never be repeated. So after a while I said I would leave, only to be told that I couldn't, that my daughter needed her Mum. In the end I stayed and watched , and interpreted for them what the monitor and the midwife were saying....except for the bit where there was meconium in the waters. I didn't want to scare them. I think the ventouse extraction may have given them a hint that all was not well. But it worked, and the baby was beautiful, and healthy, and received a very emotional welcome from us all.

By the time her second baby was born, my daughter was living in Walsall, and I'd said I'd go up to look after her son whilst she went in to have the baby. As it involved a 200 mile journey, I travelled up as soon as she was in labour. Five days later (!) the baby was born to two very excited parents. I met him in the waiting room when I went to collect them from hospital. I wasn't aware of anything going on around me as I looked into his lovely little face. Another gorgeous baby to love!

And then, last but not least, a third beautiful son was born last year. I remember he was due when we were on holiday, so I didn't have to look after the boys this time. My introduction to him was when he was three weeks old, in their house. By now they had moved to Sheffield. The post birth manic period had calmed, and we walked in to a house full of toys, and an excited toddler. I remember being very aware of not pushing him out, so my first few minutes were spent with him, enjoying seeing him, whilst itching to hold the latest member of our family, who lay in his pram in the kitchen. When I searched his beautiful little face for clues as to who he looked like, I thought he looked a lot like my own babies. He was just as special as the first, and every subsequent baby, just as loved, and just as welcome.

Every time a child is born into the family, I want to make the most of them, in case this is the last. Maybe this gorgeous smiley little boy is the last?....maybe not!

Internet everyone?

I was listening to The Archers Omnibus online this morning, and one of the story lines was about phone cables being stolen and and the resultant chaos in the village as businesses tried to cope without phones, the Internet, and emergency alarms for the elderly.

It isn't only people who have computers who are affected when computers go down. If the businesses you are using are affected, then you are too. Just a small example was the other day when we had to collect cash from an ATM to pay for a meal because the card reader in the restaurant was down. That was a small thing, but sometimes we realise we are so reliant on computers in order to communicate with other people that when our Internet connection fails it seems a huge disaster.

I got my first computer about thirteen years ago. Within days I was addicted , and wondered how I had managed without it. Actually then, it was a matter of passing the time, surfing the net. These days I use the computer much more for researching different brands and shops if we need a new appliance, checking out places to see, and booking bed and breakfast for the odd break away. On top of that, there's banking, and checking out car and house insurance...the list goes on and on.

I actually have pre-computer experience of how to do these things without going online, but it occurs to me that people in their twenties will have no memories of life before the Internet, and therefore might be quite lost if suddenly they had to spend time without it. I say I'd know what to do, but that won't help if (as I suspect may be the case) the businesses I need to deal with are so tied up with modern technology that they don't have systems in place to allow me to deal with them by old fashioned methods.

And then of course, there's Facebook. I have to admit that I find a break from it quite difficult. I feel cut off from the people I "meet" on there every day. There are people on there that I've never actually met, or have only met a few times, and if it wasn't for Facebook I might not think about them for months at a time. But as I do have contact, I find that it really matters to me how they are, what they are doing, and what their opinions are about various subjects. There are people who were originally random Scrabble opponents, who are now Facebook friends, and I feel as if I really know them. If I lost contact with them I would be really sad.

My children all live a long way from me. Skype has been wonderful for keeping in contact with them. Day to day contact with my smallest Grandchildren means I don't miss out so much on their development, and it isn't such a shock to see how much they've grown when we do see them. On Christmas Day we were treated to a chat with our Devon family, the children showing us how they looked in the clothes we'd bought them. My Sussex Grandchildren have treated us to random calls just to say hello, and I've even had a chat with my eldest son and have seen him in his office at work. How my parents would have loved all that!

So here I am, writing my blog, using my computer, the Internet and Facebook, on one of my several sessions a day sitting at the kitchen table. It doesn't mean I don't have a life outside Facebook, I do, it's just that along with millions of others, modern technology has become absolutely indispensible to me.

I'm a moany old thing!

I like the fact that I live in a country where, provided I have the money, I can buy anything I want, whenever I want. There are shops nearby that will sell me a new kettle ten minutes after my old one has given in and gone to appliance heaven.

If I fancy chocolate, I can even nip into the shop at the petrol station. Forgotten a birthday? Buy flowers online, and they'll be delivered within hours. I love the fact that I don't have to trek round a town centre comparing prices. It's a consumers world.

So why does it annoy me so much that the shops are being over helpful and providing things for me to buy when I really don't even want to think about them yet? I'm referring to Christmas stuff in October, and Easter eggs immediately Christmas is over. In our local supermarket they had an enormous pile of cream eggs just near the door on Boxing Day. Why? Who wants to think about Easter eggs when we're still in the middle of Christmas? Most of us are still ploughing through the Christmas chocolates at that time.

Now, here we are two weeks before St Valentine's day, and for at least a week shops have been displaying heart shaped dishes, soppy teddies and cake tins ready for you to make your other half the squidgy chocolate heart shaped cake, that your magazine has persuaded you is the thing he wants most.

When the school summer holidays start, parents are bombarded with adverts for school uniforms for the following school year. The poor kids have barely had time to get out on their scooters when they're being dragged into town by mothers panicked into buying school clothes before the shops sell out.

Once they are back at school, then the shops fill up with horrible American influenced hallowe'en gear. Films like ET have a lot to answer for....hallowe'en used to be a time when you'd stay in with the curtains shut, just in case your mum was wrong when she said there was no such thing as a ghost.

Before hallowe'en even arrives  the fireworks have appeared in the shops, and night after night we are subjected to bangs and flashes as people decide to have a firework party. Firework displays can be wonderful. A few fireworks in your back garden, not so great. There was a time when you could take your nervous dog to the vet for a sedative on November 4th, in preparation for the following nights festivities. Not now, the poor animal just has to suffer, or spend a month under sedation.

And of course in the middle of all this, the shops have got their Christmas displays up, and pubs are advising you to book your office parties, and so it goes, on and on...

Family Ties!

My (older) cousin Ann mentioned that she was enjoying reading my blog, and it got me thinking of my family, and of the memories I have of when we were younger. Ann and I have really only got to know each other since we've grown up. I feel sure that if we'd lived close to each other as children, we would have been friends. Her father was my mother's brother. They were a large family, ten children of sixteen, surviving infancy. I think the fact that my brother Les is named after Ann's dad tells you that Uncle Les was very much loved in our family. When he was very ill at the end, I travelled from the south coast to County Durham to visit him in hospital. He was in a side ward, sitting up in bed, still smiling. They brought him his dinner. I have this lovely picture in my head of him picking up a little disposable vomit pot and putting it on his head. ...he said it was to stop his hair dropping out into his dinner! I have to say it did look like a hat, with a little brim.

After he died, Ann's mum went to say with my parents in Suffolk for a week. They said they really enjoyed having her to stay. I think they got to know her better in that week than they ever had before. I don't think they did a lot, pub lunches and some drives out, but it must have been so different from her life in a town. They lived in a village that was so tiny the doctors surgery was in someone's front room twice a week. Their house was on farmland surrounded on all sides by fields full of crops. Very quiet, very flat, very beautiful.

Ann and I have another cousin, Kathleen. We didn't see much of her either, as she lives in Scotland, but again, as adults, we have seen more of each other, though not enough. The family stories about Kathleen's mother are legendary, and mostly very funny. She was a wonderful cook, and a great joker. Once she left me in her kitchen, where I'd been "helping" her to bake. I was about four or five at the time. She told me to keep an eye on everything whilst she went to the toilet. After a couple of minutes, there was a knock on the door, and I was confronted by an old tramp asking for a glass of water. I invited him in and, knowing how nice my Aunty Cis was, said "You can have one of my Auntie's cakes and a cup of tea if you want". I don't know how many years it was before I discovered it was Auntie Cis with a stocking over her head, wearing an old black coat and a man's hat!

My Grandchildren all live in different parts of the country, so for some of them, it's difficult to see their cousins often. When they do see each other they really enjoy each others company. My own children were in the same position but I know that on the occasions they see their cousins, they are very happy to see each other. And Facebook has brought us all together. I enjoy reading about what is happening in my family, even if I can't see them as often as I'd like.

And the contact with my cousins is growing and developing even now, mainly through Facebook. This year I hope to meet two cousins on my father's side of the family, Trudy and Lesley. It's weird that despite us not knowing about each other until relatively recently, there is a very definite family feeling, or connection, an interest in the things that are happening in their lives, and a concern for them when things are difficult. I'm very much looking forward to making our family connection a personal one.

I'd like to think that future generations of my family will know their extended family better than I know mine, perhaps they will have the chance to live closer to each other than we have, but if they don't, I suppose there will always be Facebook!

Perceptions of time.

My husband and I have very happy memories of an evening we spent right at the beginning of our relationship. We had dinner, and then sat in the garden watching my small Grandson play. I think we both remember very small details of that evening...what the weather was like, the mound of earth and tree stump Tom was playing on with his cars, the drama when it was time to leave, and one of the cars was missing. "Mike will find it and keep it for you" just wouldn't work, so a search with a torch was necessary. Luckily, we found it , and Tom climbed back into his car seat, with his precious bag of toys clutched in his hand, happy that he had everything with him.

That was a relatively short time ago, nearly eight years ago. Tom, of course, has no memory of that evening, or of the preceding weekend, which he and I had spent with his Uncle and Aunt in Devon. Yet to me, that time is very fresh in my memory.

We all know, of course, that children do not remember very much before the age of about five or six, but I recently started thinking of it in terms of the proportions of your life span. Tom doesn't remember because it was just over half his lifetime ago.

Remember when you were a child, and Christmas took ages to get here? Now we wonder where the time has gone, when all of a sudden it's December again and we haven't done what we promised ourselves we'd do and spread the cost over the year. The week before Christmas flies by. I'm certain that it always felt like a month instead of a week when I was a child.

So, my perception of time passing has changed over the years, and I'm interested to know what my Grandchildren remember of that time that was so important to Mike and me. Some have been born since then, so Mike has always been there as far as they are concerned. But are the "middle children" aware of that time before Mike and I met? I doubt it. Beth is nineteen, so she will remember, but I'm sure, because of the proportion of her lifetime that Mike has been around, that she will think of it as all happening a really long time ago.

When I was a child, we lived in Germany as part of the occupying forces after the war. I remember a lot of conversations started with "During the war...", and it seemed to me that all that had happened  a long time ago. After all it was ten years ago! Now, thinking of the Falklands war puts it into perspective. Thirty years ago we watched our service men and women sail out to war. It seemed, and was, a huge thing. It certainly doesn't seem like 30 years ago. It seems a relatively short time ago, but to my eldest son, who was eleven at the time, it seems like a very long time ago; though being a boy who was interested in all that was going on, he does have fairly clear memories of it.

What I do know is that the older I get, the faster time flies by. Just when I'm settled, and happy, and wanting this time to last so that I can enjoy it, it whizzes past. Soon it will be Christmas, and I'll be kicking myself for not starting the shopping in January, as I promised I would.

Set for life?

I've been prompted to write this by something my friend said to me; that when we were teenagers in the sixties we thought we were set for life, and what shocks we both had ahead of us. She is right. At that time we were sharing a room, living away from home for the first time, and doing a very responsible job, looking after very young children in a Barnardo's home.

The job, and the fact that we didn't have parents telling us what to do, gave us a false sense of our own maturity. We felt grown up, we certainly acted like grown ups in our everyday lives. We were well behaved, stuck to the very strict curfew times imposed on us by the home, where even being two minutes late meant you were in the office the next day having to explain yourself.

Added to all this, things really were different in those days. They talk about the swinging sixties... the sixties weren't swinging that much for most normal young girls in rural Britain. Yes, we had the wonderful fashion, and the excitement of a revolution in music, and all these things were reported in the papers and on TV for the first time. We teenagers were the centre of attention, and we knew it, and we liked it. It had started in the fifties, to be fair, with rock and roll and new fashions just for teenagers, but by the mid sixties there was an explosion in the fashion and music worlds, and we were lucky to be there and caught up in it, even if we were only on the edge, with our home made dresses and ultra short skirts.

Despite the label "Swinging Sixties", and the advent of the pill, things really hadn't changed a lot since our parents' time. People certainly didn't tell anyone if they were having sex outside marriage, and divorce was still very uncommon. I was shocked when my friend told me her aunt was divorced. I was even more shocked when I later discovered I also had an aunt who was divorced... I think it was some sort of dirty family secret.
For these reasons it was normal to get married when you were very young. People regarded themselves as "on the shelf" if they were not at least engaged by the time they were about 23.

And so, when I met my friend, and room mate, she was 18, and already engaged, and that seemed absolutely normal. She certainly seemed old enough to be contemplating settling down for the rest of her life. She wasn't the only one. I got engaged at aged 19, absolutely certain that this was "IT".

But as she said, we were both in for shocks. At the age we were, we were really quite naive and certain that the only problems ahead of us would be the odd argument with our devoted husbands. We would end up walking into the sunset with the men (boys) we had chosen, and everything would be sweetness and light. That is, if we ever thought about the future at all. I really don't think I did.

Now, years later, we can look back at some of the horrendous problems we've had to face, and see how we were setting ourselves up for those problems in those heady days of mini skirts and The Beatles. Today's teenagers have different expectations and problems. There's no expectation that girls should marry before having children, and there's no shame in divorce, and there's not even a problem with allowing parents and Grandparents to know that they are having sex.

I think for that reason, people don't tend to marry until they are older. there is no longer a need. There's no shame if you get pregnant, and no shame if a girl ends up alone to look after the baby. Things have certainly changed.

One thing that hasn't changed though, is teenagers themselves. however mature they feel themselves to be, they are still barely out of childhood. But ask any 18 year old now, whatever their circumstances, and I bet they still have the same attitude underneath, that we had... they are set for life.

My New Blog!

For some time now I've been reading and enjoying my younger daughter's blog. I've been constantly surprised by the new insights I've gained into the life she lives, and sometimes by the way she thinks, but mainly I've been delighted to follow the way her children are growing and developing. It keeps them close to me despite the fact that they live about 200 miles away.

When my husband said he could help me set up my own blog, I thought at first it would be difficult to know what to write, but as I tend to be a bit opinionated , I think perhaps I won't find it too difficult.

For today, I want to talk about how it felt when I was first told that I was going to be a Grandparent, nearly twenty years ago now. It came at a very sad time in my life, the news being given in the phone call I had made to my eldest son to tell him that his father and I were splitting up. So on the one hand I was terribly upset, and then I was being given this utterly joyous news.

Up until then I had given little thought to Grandchildren and to their relationships with their Grandparents, beyond the very happy memories I had of my own Grandparents. Suddenly all those jokes came back to me,about Grandparents and their obsessions with their Grandchildren, their boasting and their photographs.

I started to think about something my Father had said to me about something entirely different. He had been talking to me about The Book of Common Prayer. He said he liked to go to services where they used these old  prayers, because they gave him a connection to his ancestors, who would have said the same prayers, used the same words, followed the same services.

I realised then that one of the things that was so amazing about this new Grandchild, was that she was connected through the generations to all those people. That however she turned out it was due in some way to each of these people, diluted the further back you go, of course, but that is what makes it so interesting. Who knows whether her eyes are like those of her great grandmother? We know her curls are from her mother...and perhaps also from my Dad.

Since the birth of that first beautiful child, I've been blessed with nine more Grandchildren, and I've searched the faces of each newborn baby to see what I could recognize in them. Some of them have looked a lot like my own babies, some looked more like the other parent. All of them had something of me, whether I could see it or not. All of them are special individuals, and I like to think that something of my parents and my grandparents lives on in each one of them. It may be my Father's intelligence, my Mother's beauty, my Grandmother's work ethic, my Grandfather's stubborn ways, who knows? All I know is that I have never got over the feeling of wonder at the birth of another child into the chain that is our family.