Things that have made me smile this weekend

Being presented with a packet of cheese and onion crisps for my consumption at 5am Saturday morning, despite there not being any crisps of that flavour in the house, then being told by Lid to "eat it Mummy. In your mouth.  Quick quick."

The Boy and Lid playing with her doll's house, and making it up as they went along ("This is Mario's room, he shares it with Luigi and Sonic.  Oh, tell Lotte and Lola to get off of the toilet, Lid.").

Bringing Lid for some Mummy and Lid time, whereby I was dragged into every shop that featured anything even vaguely pink by an insatiable toddler who proceeded to baffle the shop assistants by being extremely fussy.

Having a cake with Lid, where she wiped icing all over my face and I couldn't stop laughing, regardless of the horror of other patrons (whom we blew raspberries at).

Teaching The Boy a magic trick (the eponymous colouring book), with hand movements, and his delight at being able to baffle Himself.

Listening to The Boy go through all the vowels and consonent sounds individually, then launching into a monologue about how some words are not spelt right because they don't match phonics (he's right), and his explanations of how they should and would be spelt, were it to be done properly.

Lid jumping into bed with me at 3am, snuggling her freezing cold feet into my back, then sighing happily and murmuring "Mummy" with a clear smile in her voice.

The squabble that broke out between the two midgets over who liked Mummy more, and not in the Simpson-esque argument between Lisa and Bart ("You like her more." "No, *you* like her more.")


The Boy swimming, and absolutely adoring every second.

The realisation that he started punching me when we were getting changed out of our costumes wasn't because he hated me, or because I had fucked up, or because I am a shit parent, rather because he was pissed off that he had to come out of the swimming pool.  So, really he was hitting me because he likes me, he enjoyed spending time with me, he didn't want that time to end, I had done right and I am a good parent (although I admit that that caused me some conceptual trouble to get my head round).

On getting home, The Boy walking up to Lid, giving her a big cuddle and saying "See? I told you I wouldn't be a minute didn't I? Did you have a good time with Daddy?" Then, after ruffling her hair, saying "I missed you" to her, before trotting off to raid the kitchen.

Lid, when she spies me, tapping her legs to beckon me, and calling, with outstretched arms "Mummy! You're back! Come here and give me a cuddle!", then delivering threefold with an engulfing cuddle.

The Boy telling Himself that he has liked going swimming with Mummy, even though she makes him try, but really, he likes that she makes him try "because it means that she won't give up and neither can I. I'm not being beaten by a girl" (italics said with utter contempt).

The big kiss The Boy gave me before he went to bed, as he told me he loved swimming and loved me.

Lid getting up at 8pm again, so even though I missed out on a few hours sleep before work, I got a big cuddle instead.

Not bad.  Not bad at all.

Nativity

One of the great thrills of parenthood is seeing your child in their Christmas performance.


It isn’t something that other parents mention to you the way they knowingly gloat as they inform you that you will not sleep for many years. They always succeed in mentioning how much it will sting every time you urinate after you give birth, but fail to tell you how wonderful it is the first time your child takes possession of you and calls you “my Mum.” They will tell you tales of late nights and worry with croup, never the gratitude you feel when they recover and start nagging you for chocolate biscuits. Their warnings don’t include that the nerves felt on the first day at school, the tears that are cried, will be yours. Your mini despot won’t even see your tears, too engrossed are they in escaping your daily tyranny and starting the next chapter of their life.

Such is the importance of your child’s first Nativity performance. It is a great unifier. There will rarely be a dry eye in the house. It doesn’t matter where your religious beliefs lie, indeed whether you have any. Your child, your baby, is in front of you performing with all their might, and for a time you believe it, you suspend your belief, your knowledge, your education because you know that they believe it. All that matters is maintaining that belief, in helping them along, in clapping and roaring for not just your child, but all of them.

When I was in the Nativity, I was a shepherd. I was desperate to be an angel but I didn’t get the gig. My line? “We are but poor shepherds, we have no gifts.” What happened the night my mum showed up? I fluffed the line. I had an absence halfway through, and didn’t really know what was going on.

The Boy was a shepherd at his first Nativity play, when we were in Earlsfield. He learnt lines to a song, repeated them perfectly. I beamed with pride at his performance.

This year, he was an innkeeper. He had songs, dance routines, and one line. His performance wasn’t the most polished. It was the most heartfelt. He did it all with such enthusiasm, such love that the joy he felt couldn’t be contained on the stage, and he was cheered by the other parents. He even offered Mary and Joseph a room at our house, as we have a spare bedroom, and he thought it was too cold for them to stay in the stable, what with Mary being pregnant and all. The lad was rightly applauded. My heart felt like it could burst I was so proud of him.

This year, Lid had a carol concert at pre school. There was a row of those tiny nursery school chairs for the parents to sit on. All the children were wearing Christmas hats that they had made, adorned with glitter and jewels, with a giant star stuck to the front. When she saw me, she flew at me shouting “Mummy, mummy, it’s my mum!” She didn’t really need to do anything else. There was a lump in my throat right there.

I sat down, and listened as my daughter sang through various songs, always with her beautiful beaming smile shining out to the audience. As she sang “Twinkle twinkle little star”, she looked at me, winked and changed the words to “Lily wants a chocolate bar.”

Simply, she was quite the most beautiful little girl I have ever seen or ever will see. Perfection in a glitter adorned hat.

These are the things, the moments, that are your reward. Your reward for the times when you don’t get to sleep, for when they are driving you utterly crazy. There will be many along the way, and they are worth looking out for. For every bad thing the cynic can tell you, I can give you 3 wonderful things. They are there. Enjoy them.

Wedding

On Saturday, I went to a wedding. A wedding where I was the best man.


Yes, that’s right. A middle aged single woman was the best man. I’m sure there’s an irony there somewhere, but I’m fucked if I can find it.

I spent the night before entertaining the groom, or rather being entertained by the groom, who had brought his Mac and iPhone. He good naturedly let the kids loose on both. The Boy got to work on the Mac and Lid installed applications to do with animals on his iPhone.

We spent the time watching animation, both being huge geeks of that genre, listening to The Smiths and eating cheese on toast.

We laughed at irrelevancies, had a farting competition, and had an arm wrestle over which of us love Will Self more.

We sacked off going to see Florence + The Machine at The Tabernacle just so we could be extra anoraky, before his freedom was lost forever and he has to start being trendy, having dinner parties and going to wine bars (or whatever women make their husbands do).

I watched Have I Got News For You whilst he adjusted his Mac, and all in all a pleasant evening was had by all. By the end of it, we had a midget each sprawled over us. We sat up talking utter shite for hours.

It was just – easy. Nice. Nice to have someone to talk to, without being in each other’s way, without having to bitch about each of us doing something different, not having to worry about what either of us were doing, or having to explain ourselves and I just thought “I could handle this, as a concept, I really could”.

Not with him, obviously, it’s more than a bit late for that now, but I reckon I could do it. It wouldn’t be infeasible.

The comfort zone was not exerted until the next day when, post speeches et al, he announced that he had arranged for me to do a 5 song set. I snorted with laughter. He announced that if I didn’t, it would really upset him. And then he gave me the look. The one he’s been giving me since we were 7 years old, the bastard. This of course meant I couldn’t back out. I hadn’t even been drinking. He even got the kids to gang up on me.

I did it. I did it without any of my bodily functions giving out, without forgetting any words, and only shivering slightly in horror.

Sound wise, it was terrible. In terms of confidence building it wasn’t great whilst I was up there, but afterwards I felt good. I’d done it.

Apparently, that little episode was my gift from the bride and groom. I’d have enjoyed a box of chocolates more, but it wouldn’t have given me as much. The cheeky swines.

Happy wedding Mr and Mrs. Thank you both. Though of course, if you break his heart dear I will give you your teeth in a bag to play with.