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Monday, July 10th, 2006
Yesterday we ventured to church for a family baptism. The church was full of children, pretty much all of whom were well behaved throughout the thirty minute service. Except the row in front of me where Trouble lurked behind every word the vicar said. And yes, my eldest two might have been involved.
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Summertime and the living is easy
Friday, June 9th, 2006England in the summer is surely one of the loveliest places on Earth. The sun is shining, the sound of distant mowers and the smell of freshly cut grass are ever-present, the sense of barbecue all around. Children play noisily in the distant park, their voices carried on the gentle breezes.
We are set for beautiful weather this weekend, the World Cup gets underway with England’s first game tomorrow and there is a definite feel-good factor pervading our media. Summer is finally here and it seems that everyone is to revel in it.
So you’ll see me in the garden this weekend, lying in a shady hammock, a glass of (non-alcoholic) Pimms nearby. How very British. How very much needed.
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A life in the day - the better one.
Tuesday, May 9th, 20067.00 Hear husband getting children up. Close my eyes again and go back to sleep.
8.15 Awake to hear only blissful silence. Smile smugly as I remember I am probably the only one in the party who isn’t suffering a major hangover (the last ones got to bed at 3am after drinking the remainder of the booze while in the hot tub fully clothed). Shower, feed the baby then stroll across to the main cottage in the gorgeous sunshine. All the children are playing together having had their breakfast. I get coffee and sit on the terrace with a newspaper. Feel momentarily like I never had children.
9.00 The first of the hangovers stumbles in. By 10.00 everyone has surfaced and the champagne is opened (today is my sister’s birthday and the reason for the weekend away). The noise level starts to rise.
10.30 We head out with all the children for a ride on a steam train. The children are wild with excitement. The adults are looking mostly quite green.
12.00 We decide to have lunch at a local beach. With nearly 30 in the party we take over the tables in the beach restaurant. The children head off with buckets and spades, the adults with frisbees and beach cricket. As I’m all alone I get chatting to a mum at the next table with twins. Within minutes we are joined by the twins’ dad. I’m very impressed because their dad is John Hannah
and I love John Hannah but of course it is not the done thing to gush at celebrities when they are off-duty so we chat while they admire my (incredibly beautiful) baby and we swap stories about the horrendous things toddlers get up to. Nobody mentions the word “famous!” but it hangs in the air. I congratulate myself on being so nonchalant.
The beach is award-winning and the restaurant serves only organic food so I am pretty impressed.
3.00 Get back to the Estate. Take the children for a swim. Someone else takes them to dry off while I lounge in the jacuzzi. I lie back and think about nothing.
4.30 We gather in the main cottage to feed the children. After supper we arrange races with the single aim of tiring the children out. Most of the adults are getting started on happy hour. There are so many children that they amuse themselves without whining at their parents once. I picture the village raising the children and think about moving into a commune. Decide I’m not cut out for communal living. Wonder if we can move in here instead (for free).
5.00 The girls in the party without children point out that it is only two hours until dinner and they should think about getting ready. The girls in the party with children sigh, roll their eyes and picture themselves throwing their party clothes on at 6.59. Those without children disappear to dress and do whatever it takes two hours to do. I send the children round the lawn a few more times to really tire them out. Happy hour moves officially into cocktail hour.
Bathtime, story, bed. 6.59 Start putting my dress on and attempting to do my hair while feeding the baby. Eldest Son senses something is up and asks me where I am going. I fumble a lie. Eldest Son is not to be fobbed off. Eldest Son asks specific questions about why I am wearing a dress. Sigh with relief as babysitter turns up. Am even more relieved when it turns out she is related to the creator of Thomas the Tank Engine and therefore has the children engrossed. Slip out before any more questions. Take Youngest Son with us across courtyard in incredibly high heels. Pray that Youngest Son won’t require walking up and down corridor for several hours to get to sleep.
The party is in full swing. Eat incredible food until my fat-busting Spanx pants feel like they are about to burst. Think how I could have talked about Gwynnie Paltrow’s Spanx pants with John Hannah then remember that’s why I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to celebrities.Baby sleeps until 11.30 (perfect baby). Party is in full swing. Nobody is in the hot tub fully clothed yet but it is only a matter of time. I’m not drinking so I slope off back to cottage to feed the baby feeling a little wistful at having to miss the rest of the party.
Then smile smugly as I think how I will be the only one in the party not suffering a major hangover tomorrow.
(With thanks to my lovely sister for providing the perfect day.)
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The great escape
Monday, November 14th, 2005In the early stages of this pregnancy I told Matthew that before the baby came I wanted a weekend away. ‘Great,’ he said misunderstanding, ‘where shall we go?’ ‘No,’ I replied hesitantly, ‘I would like to go away by myself.’ Now I am not by nature a solitary person although given my own company I can always find something to fill it with. And I love being a stay at home mother. But for the last four years I haven’t been away from my entire family once. And I needed to get away from them partly so that if I am in hospital for more than a night when the baby comes they can cope (emotionally, rather than physically) and also to remind them that I am first and foremost Ella rather than a mother and wife and also to remind me that I am first and foremost Ella rather than a mother and a wife.
So this weekend I escaped to London with a liberatingly-small overnight suitcase and spent the weekend being pampered and cooked for and not having to run around looking after anyone else. I went to the Tate Gallery and I shopped and no-one moaned that they needed a snack or that it was getting late/boring/time to go a toy shop. I enjoyed the busy-ness of London which always reminds me that there is more going on in the world than the toddler groups and weekly shop that are the highlight of country living as a mother. I sat drinking coffee just watching the world go by, because I could, without any interruption to my banal thoughts. I went to my friend’s wedding and didn’t have to worry that one of the children would fart during the quiet bits in church or would throw expensive canapes over the bride. On Saturday evening I met up with my old business partner, who is still very successful in his field and lives the glamorous, single, party lifestyle. If he looked embarrassed at the tank following him around town on Saturday night he was much too polite to say. To say it was a wonderful weekend would be an understatement.
Everyone in London seems so busy and noisy. I lived in London for a long time and there were times when I found the noise and number of people frustrating (tourists clogging up the sidewalk when I was a busy and noisy person trying to get somewhere in a hurry) but I miss it terribly and I always feel a sense of real excitement and possibility whenever I step out of the underground. It somehow feels like coming home.
Now I am back home in the country with my family and I wouldn’t be anywhere else. But I might just be planning one more weekend away before the baby comes…
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Twenty seven and twenty eight weeks pregnant: My big day out
Tuesday, November 1st, 2005Today I trundled up to the hospital for my glucose test, fortunately without children in tow, having managed to offload them with Grandma (thank you Mum). I was feeling a little resentful at having to spend my precious time away from the children at the hospital being starved and then stuck with needles instead of shopping and drinking coffee in child-free surroundings. The day started badly as I had not been allowed to eat since last night and I was feeling pretty sick but it quickly turned around and I return from the hospital feeling like I have had a mini-break. After a day at the hospital. I really must get out more.
Having arrived on the dot of nine o’clock I entered the department to find about sixty-three people waiting ahead of me and reception not even open. However before I could even sit down I heard my name being called and I was whisked away to have the first blood and urine samples taken. Well, obviously they don’t take a urine sample, I gave one, and then I had to wait for my glucose drink. The longer I waited in reception reading tat about Prince Harry’s girlfriend and the like in Hello magazine the sicker I felt (possibly it was the reading material but more likely it was the fact that I had no food circulating in my hormone-laden body). Then I was handed my glucose drink. One sip of which sent me wretching. The very kindly phlobotomist quickly bundled me down the corridor, thrusting an emesis bowl under my chin and led me to a trolley in a private room. In there I managed to get the glucose drink down me and then I lay down on my trolley and slept for the best part of two hours. Without anybody coming in and hitting me on the head with a Thomas the Tank Engine carriage.
After what seemed like two minutes of sleep I was woken up for the next set of bloods and urine. I perched on the edge of the trolley with my emesis bowl resting on the shelf that is my stomach because I was looking pretty green still, although not feeling too bad. Then the very kindly phlobotomist (known as The Bleeder in the business) took pity on me and ordered me lunch - unheard of on the National Health Service. So I sat in my private room, having had a lovely nap, eating curry and apple crumble cooked by somebody else. And in my book THAT counts as a mini-break.
[SEE THE SPROGGING CATEGORY FOR MORE PREGNANCY POSTS]
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