glory days

You cannot simply have a birthday in our house. It is not about just opening cards, opening presents, thanks, whoosh there goes another year. Oh no. Birthdays are super special and so the day deserves the elevated status of super-special-this-is-your-one-extraordinary-day. And so, birthdays in our house come with a few rules.

Get your theme on

There must be a theme. Mainly an option for the little humans in the house but the big, grownup, numbers with an 0 birthdays get a theme too.  This has ranged from super-heroes to hawaiin luau to Frozen to London Olympics 2012 to Lego to Bollywood to Eurovision for them and an N party for me and a black&white party for him (he's a Geordie...it wasn't a segregation party). Just prior to a birthday, we can be found huddled together, planning what this year's theme will be and then cue...Pinterest. I will then be found trawling Pinterest for decoration, food and of course cake ideas. More about cakes later.

Dance to the music

There must be a birthday playlist. Up until now, said playlists have been my area of expertise. With such an eclectic love of genres, a Mama Elsie playlist will take you down an 80s memory lane with a quick stop over at 70s disco, back to some Britpop, stroll with some reggae or country before hanging out with some good ole soul and funk. Since the 3G reckon they've 'discovered' music, they have hi-jacked the creating of playlists to consist of the top 15 songs that are played ad nauseum. These kids need some music education. And the steps to the 'Candy' dance.

Sugar, sugar

There must be cake. I like cake. We all like cake. I haven't got the patience to bake cakes. Before I got over my full-time working mummy guilt and started buying cakes, I used to make the birthday cakes. They usually took me three attempts, finishing well into the night and were presented with a slop of butter icing to resemble themed objects such as a disco dance floor, a princess dress or respective numbers. The best was a number three with orange butter icing; nicknamed by a good friend as the 'pizza' cake. This has now gone down in folklore.

Food, glorious food

There must be a birthday meal. Because they're a little bit young for me to introduce birthday beats, the deal is that the birthday person gets to choose dinner. Be it Sunday roast on a Thursday, Maccy-Ds in the garden, pizza in front of the telly, or getting spruced up for a meal in a restaurant. Your birthday, your choice.

So we got a theme, we got the music, we got a cake...of sorts and we might even get our gladrags on get someone else to cook. Time is running out. They are starting to protest. My theme party ideas will soon become a thing of the past. Although I do like the idea of my70th being a Superhero party so who knows?

This post was inspired by The Photographer's Gallery:familyphotographynow.net: still life

running up that hill

The view from our hill, as painted by a good friend.

It was dark when we arrived. The remains of Christmas were hanging on by tinselled threads but we were still sprightly having just belted up the deserted M1; Chris Rea's Christmas classic booming out from our little, red Citroen Saxo.  Yes, we were driving home for Christmas. Well, his home (we weren't yet married) and it was now Boxing Day but driving to my boyfriend's parents house for Boxing Day wasn't a huge chart success. 

You know when you look back at a surprise event and spot all the little unusual markers with hindsight? Well, as we shuffled our tired selves and overnight bags into the GeordieLad's childhood hallway, the usual warm welcome from his parents was even warmer and lovelier as his Grandma was there. At the time, I ha thought it was odd as it was ever so late and she didn't often stay out in the evening. But it was lovely to see her so I thought nothing of it.

I'd barely taken a sip on my welcome back cuppa when GeordieLad shoves a warm coat at me and practically pushes me out of the door. He wants to go for a walk. This in itself was alarming as we'd just driven nigh on 200 miles and there was a roaring fire in the living room with lashes of tea and family chatter. A walk? In the dark? On a country hillside? Christmas madness, I tell thee.

GeordieLad appeared to be in some sort of rush and strode purposefully to the end of his parent's road and dragged me up a hill. Those alarm bells were ringing louder, because he'd been so quiet in the car and now he was isolating me away from his family. Maybe it had been a mistake to demand that we spent a Christmas alone together and miss out on his Geordie Christmas. Maybe he'd had enough and this was The Talk. Maybe he was planning to start a new year as a singleton again. Or he was going to kill me but I figured his mum would ask where I was when he got back, so I remained positive.

I trudged slowly up the hill to stand beside him. We were both breathless and our panting created a soundscape for the starlight view across the peaceful Northumberland village. For once, he didn't let me speak. I listened to a potted history of what home meant to him, of what he wanted in life and what he considered to be special and important. I heard his dreams.

And then there was a ring.

And a question.

To which I replied 'No Way!'. 

Soon followed by a yes. But not before I made him ask me again down on one knee. So with his dad's flat cap probably resting in a cowpat, he knelt down and asked me to marry him, again.

It's strange because I'd never been one for romantic gestures or someone who particularly wanted to get married. As a lover of 80's bratpack films I had presumed that if anyone was going to propose to me then they had to go all out; in front of a crowd, in song.

But when it came to it. A starry night on a northern village hill was just fine.  

Our first announcement came as no surprise when we returned to beaming smiles from my future-in-laws and of course, his lovely Grandma.

This post was inspired by The Photographer's Gallery:familyphotographynow.net : courtship

hey soul sister

Original photo by www.budsandbranchesphotography.com/

So last week the FPG prompt was sisters, of which biologically I have the one. But this week's prompt of friends who are family means I get to tell of my other sister - gained through marriage.

Once upon a time my husband's only brother introduces us to a beautiful lady with a sunshine smile and a laugh that hugs everyone in the room. We all nodded, knowingly...this was obviously THE ONE. On her first official 'meeting of the family', we were concerned that BigL, who was a pre-schooler at the time, would position herself as a human barrier between her favourite person in the whole world and this lovely intruder.  Within a few minutes, she was founder of the AuntieS fan club; which has increased its membership over the years that she's been part of our lives.

I've gotta be honest when she first came on the scene I was a bit...rolls eyes and makes that sound like a cat choking up a hairball. There she was all young and bikini slim, with all that no-kid freedom and disposable income. She had come into the fold all laugh, laugh, laugh and perky sun smiley, elbowing my grey cloud grumpiness into touch. For all of that, read JEALOUSY!

But you know when you just click with someone? Whether it's over politics, fashion, food, attitude towards the outside world, shared experiences; there is a moment you know. And I knew she was gonna be more than just my brother-in-law's wife when we could communicate without even speaking.  When you can share a joke with me or communicate injustice with your eyebrows...we've soooo connected.

We always say to our respective brother-husbands that we are solely responsible for our family being so close because if we didn't get on as well as we do, life would not have been the same. We often laugh about a parallel-us giving each other cut-eye across Christmas dinner, outdoing each other's outfits at family weddings or over bragging about our kid's achievements. 

Instead she has become the woman who will tell me if I need to go change out of that outfit, or if I'm being too self-centred, or if I'm right...occasionally. She is the person who will listen to my tears and outrage and text my 'wait...what?' moments to during box set binges. She gets it when I want to hold another 'themed' event and dresses up accordingly, she is always ready with 'I know, right' and she loves embarrassing my daughters in public as much as I do. Result.

This post was inspired by The Photographer's Gallery:familyphotographynow.net: friends who are family

two sisters

The day I became a big sister

I was playing with friends,outside and I was called in to have a photo with her. I probably tutted under my breath (it was the 70s and I'm from a West Indian family - I tutted at my peril) and dutifully ran indoors. For seven years I had been an only child. Eldest grandchild from eldest parents. A sacred place at the top of the lowest branch on the family tree.

And then she came along. Snuffling and crying with the tiniest nostrils I had ever seen. My baby sister. 

The whole dynamic of the house actually changed before she arrived as my Mum had to go into hospital well before she was born, meaning she missed by 7th birthday party. Notice I have no recollection as to why she went into hospital. I was only child and it was my birthday. I may have tutted a little bit louder that day. Anyway my fave aunt saved the day but I suspect there was always a little bit of blame placed at the tiny feet of my new sibling.

As a big sister, I imagined all kinds of spoils would be bestowed upon me. A crown, possibly a tartan cape or maybe just more time watching The Fonz, now that another tiny person had taken the attention from me.

Instead, I learnt about the 'go and get'. Go and get more nappies for the baby. Go and get some clothes for your sister. Go and get...I forget what else but whatever it was, it involved stairs. So a silent promise was made in the year of our Lord 1977. I would spend my adult life living in a bungalow. No stairs whatsoever. And, I chirped sagaciously, when I had children I would never ask them to go upstairs to bring things back down.

Hmm-mmm the beauty of childhood, right?

I didn't live in a bungalow. I do send my children upstairs to get things. And I love the fact that my sister is someone so very different from me except when it comes to humour - we have laughed to aching tummies about the daftest things - and Eurovision; now our most honoured family tradition.

this post was inspired by The Photographer's Gallery:familyphotographynow.net : Sister