firework

I love that Tara Cain introduced her post this week with the definition of spectacular. It would have been easy for me to pick one of the ropey firework shots I took whilst balancing on stairs this weekend.

But as I scoured through my blurry images I kept scooting past random shots of the 3G hanging out in different places with different poses. And then it hit me. These darn kids are "beautiful in a dramatic eye-catching way". 

It's not the easy option. On most days they drive me crazy to tipping point with their bickering and their 'yeah I know you think you're in charge mummy but really we are' type attitude. I rarely step back and look at these girls for the brilliant beings that they are. 

Never a dull moment. Always have some nugget of hilarity at the wrong moment. Never stand still. Always ready with a pose or a pout. Never have one expression for more that 5 minutes. Always ready with a smile or a giggle. Never cease to surprise me to speechless. Always full of chatter, stories and I love yous.

The 3G. Spectacular.

This post is linked up with The Photo Gallery 207 - Sticky Fingers Spectacular

lovely day

I have to come to accept that we are a camping family. I may have had dreams and aspirations of being a jet-setting family; Dubai, Hong Kong, Canada, Europe in a week. Well you know, the 3G are young, I guess there's still time to add some stamps in our passports... if shirt buttons become accepted currency. But for now, it's camping across this beautiful island and making the most of it.

I used to dread it: the cold, the rain, getting up to pee in the dark, toilets in wooden shacks, showers the size of my leg, spiders in the toilets the size of my leg, cooking boil in the bag pasta for days on end.

But a year ago we discovered electric hook ups. So now our camping trips are all of the above, still, but get a load of this...we now have a fan heater. Bliss.

This is linked up with The Photo Gallery 192 - Sticky Fingers : The Great Outdoors

breathe

It's pretty widely accepted that the moment your babies arrive, you are left breathless..with relief, love and joy. But life with children is full of breath-taking moments.

There have been proud moments when my heart could burst; watching BigL walk out on the pitch at Twickenham as the mascot for England Women's rugby this year; being surprised to walk in and see LittleE as the emergency (!) Mary in the Nativity last year; and seeing MiddleS getting moved up to the next swimming category after we didn't even think she was bothered about learning to swim in the first place. And of course the precious days when they have all walked into their reception classes in September kitted out in perfect uniform.

And there are moments I may have forgotten, only to remember them when a photo zooms past on the digital photo frame, and catches my eye .

Three moments I needed to remember to breathe.

May 2014. As mentioned before MiddleS can sometimes not be bothered about things. Or so we are led to believe. Walking? Sat down for 13 months and then sauntered into the living room one day. Reading? Seemed to be struggling as wonderful nursery staff tried to challenge her in the run up to starting school, then skips through four reading levels in her Reception Year. This is just how she is. She'll do things when she's ready. Bike riding was not for her. Oh she may have wanted a sparkly pink bike with dolly basket to boot - but actually getting on it. Nope. No way. Nada. Until one surprisingly sunny Sunday, after watching her little sister attempting to ride without stabilisers, MiddleS takes it upon herself to try a bit of pedalling. She's a bit nervous at first so I quietly suggest trying the path rather than the grass. And off she goes...we give encouraging cheers as she wobbles in front of us, then we stand up to watch her successfully turn a small corner, followed by unbridled panic as she speeds downhill towards the local river, weaving in and out of smiling Sunday strollers. My screams of 'Use your brakes" were lost to MiddleS as she expertly rounded another corner and completed the cycling circuit beaming from ear to ear. 

And breathe, mama elsie, breathe.

France 2013. Nearing the end of a wonderful holiday with the extended family on both sides - Children 7 Parents 6 - we passed one of those bungee type things on the side of a beach, and BigL said she wanted to go. Before this story continues, let's settle a couple of things. I am a coward of the highest degree. And BigL isn't usually that far behind me. So we were a little surprised and pleased. Of course she could go. Then as I considered checking the owner's past history and credentials as he secured BigL to what looked like Houdiniesque harnesses, I was overcome with fear and self loathing that I was sending my first born to a horrible fate. What on earth was I doing? My basic French was surely not sufficient to communicate what I would do to him if anything untoward happened to this beauty I had nurtured for 8 years, and I would strike him down in great vengeance and furious anger...yes I was feeling like getting a little Sam L J on his sandy beach bungee ass. However once I was able to pry my fingers out of GeordieLad's arms, I looked up and saw the biggest smile across a French, coastal, evening sky accompanied by a thumbs up. She jumped, spun, and even allowed him to bounce her higher. 

And breathe, mama elsie, breathe.

Olympic summer 2012. To be honest, this tale still leaves me choked and with a tightness in my chest. I am pretty sure my heart stopped on this day. Full of Olympic spirit the 3G followed the torch around most of West London. Along with some family and good friends we eagerly awaited the arrival of Boris Becker and his golden flame. Ever prepared, each child had a wrist band with my phone number on it, and back then I was still able to dictate that the girls wore samey clothes in case they got separated from me in London crowds. You know, so I could inform helpful police offcers that said missing child looked like this one - points to one or two un-missing children - but bigger / smaller (delete as appropriate). You see I have all these things worked out. To cut a painful story short I lost LittleE. She was prancing around with her sisters one minute. And then she was gone the next. The family mantra of 'What do you do if you get lost? Stand still and shout Mummy very loudly had obviously been ignored.  So now there was a 40 something woman reduced to a sniffling wreck shouting across a United Nations sea of flags for FantasticoDad to find her baby. For then LittleE was only 3. As the crowds surged to see BB carrying the torch down towards us, I was convinced she was gone. Out of the park and into the depths of the city. Until after a few moments carefully disguised as hours, there was a woman's cry of 'There's a little girl crying here' which brought every emotion surging through me. Prodigal daughter was delivered to me and we both cried into our ice creams for the rest of the afternoon. Well I did, coz this is the 3G about five minutes after she was found. Not a care.

And breathe, mama elsie, breath.

Something tells me it ain't over yet!


This post is linked up with Photo Gallery 189 - Sticky Fingers

altogether now

The 3G are starting to argue. Now I know this snippet of family life will not hold front pages but it's becoming a regular occurrence at Twickers Towers. And it's making me sad.

There was a reason I knew I always wanted to have babies close together; there are seven years between me and SuperSis so we only got really close once we older. Don't get me wrong, I adored my likkle sister and I have photographic evidence that she once looked up to me. But there was never that rolling around on the floor, sharing clothes, discovering new experiences together kind of sisterness. I appreciate I may be looking through rose coloured specs here but that's what I thought would happen if we had children of a similar age.

I am now hoping that this will materialize, but at the moment I can't see any sewing of sisterly quilts happening in this household. Rather, who can break glass first with the high pitched screams of indignation because someone has dared to stick their tongue out at someone else. And all before breakfast!

When BigL first met MiddleS she was overjoyed, we planned very carefully how the two would be introduced to each other - read up on how new baby should 'buy' big sibling a present, and never utter the phrase ' don't go near the baby'. And it worked. BigL was so helpful with baths, getting nappies, helping cool down the milk, and she was ever so proud when her little sister joined her at nursery. Lovely.

With the arrival of LittleE, we started all over again - involving the girls as we settled her into our family.  And there was even more love going around. MiddleS was hanging out with her at nursery and BigL was chuffed when I brought LittleE into her Reception class to talk about how we look after babies. Lovelier.

So what the hell happened to all the love? Mornings are spent listening to them argue about who gets which colour bowl. Car journeys seem to bring out the worst in them as they fight over which song on the CD they listen to for the whole 10 minutes spent on the way to school...and this is then repeated on the way home. Weekends result in a Cold Wars caused by disagreements about who is using the iPad, choosing the next Horrible History Song, getting the bath first - or last, sitting next to mummy at the dinner table. I swear I could make a dance track based on the slamming doors, humphs and stomping feet we witness on a daily basis. And they are only in primary school - sob! I was all geared up for this behaviour at about, say, 14/15...but not yet, for goodness sake. I hadn't finished making daisy chains for their hair.

Having said all of this, there are moments we seem to get it right. Like the time when I had gone up to their bedroom for the millionth time to tell the to go to sleep and as I walked away I heard MiddleS do my voice telling them off and the other two giggled their heads off. I couldn't go back in to tell her off because I was laughing too much outside their door. And the time when they learnt the words to 'Let it go' and would sing it in their bedroom over and over again with the door shut and stop if I walked up the stairs.

And this moment when there had been a morning of arguing about iPads and whatnot, and this mama had had enough, so sent them in the garden to enjoy the sunshine. 

They may grow with contrasting personalities, interests, strengths and foibles. But moments like this will remind me, and them, of easier days when dressing up was all it took to get along.

This post is linked up with The Photo Gallery 188 - Sticky Fingers

i'm still standing

So it's Monday and I'm allowed a bit of a moan...

Queues. Aren't the Brits supposed the dons of queuing? Pass any bus stop, post office counter, primary school classroom at 3.30 and we're all about the queuing. But something got me wondering whether this is a dying art for the future generations because some of us are not passing this time honoured skill to our offspring. 

I was hanging out with the 3G this weekend and we were waiting to go into to a venue with a gaggle of other mums (mainly) and children. All lovely in the sun and friendly smiles were passed around as we waited for the start of the event. As per usual, this manic mama had turned up with plenty of time to spare and secured a loosely placed position high up in the queue (you know we weren't standing to attention like soldiers, but I knew who was in front, and who was behind, right?). So doors open, a little late but the sun was shining, no stress. And then I saw it. The mood changed in an instant. Mothers of perfectly groomed and well-read Janet and Peters suddenly became surburbia's answer to Beast Quest: the stampede of deck shoes that could be heard right up the Thames; the gentle nudging of book clutching juniors to the ticket desk which morphed into a lift and thrust that Nicola Adams would be proud of; and the momentous swell of hipster mums left me and the 3G flailing against the theatre steps.

I had considered nestling the 3G in the folds of my pashmina and sling-shotting them up to the front desk, but I managed, with a little patience and no gnashing of teeth to get tickets, and even get a seat near the front. Joy.

Anyway queuegate started again when the little lovelies are given the opportunity to line up to get some goodies. As littleS stood waiting politely I could see the confusion on her face as she seemed to get shunted backwards in the opposite direction whilst I, now seriously considering gnashing and  or wailing, watched helplessly. We have raised the 3G to be courteous in public, mind their ps&qs, and be respectful of adults...but this was one of those days when I would happily have thrown that rulebook out on it's ear. For a split second I wanted her to stand her ground and push forward, just for a moment I wanted her to use the sharp tongue we have heard slash out at her sisters, but she didn't.  She just looked so vulnerable clutching her new books to her chest as MOTHERS squashed and squeezed their kids in front of her. I didn't wade in, I didn't gesticulate wildly, I just gave her a thumbs up from a distance and congratulated her afterwards for waiting in line so nicely.

She got her goodies, she was happy and no blood was split.  Queues - there for the good and the gracious.

...Monday moan over.

days are gone

A photo I am proud of.

After not long moving to TwickersTowers, the 3G really started to enjoy each other and play together. They shared a larger room than in our old house, so were no longer squeezing between scattered furniture to get to their toys. They had their own bedroom playground. Plus a trampoline in the garden - left by the previous owners. Joy!  So getting these three to sit or stand still to make some memories in our new house was a real chore, especially because it was a beautiful summer and LittleE had finally mastered walking.

This was a captured moment of stillness as they scampered up to play in their room and I called them back.  I didn't tell them I wanted a photo but instead asked them to come and look at something. Note MiddleS's unimpressed look as she sees my camera.

I took two of these photos - one in colour, then quickly switched to b/w and I really prefer this one. I always look at this photo and think it could be an album cover. You never know, the 3G may become a girl band, like Haim or something, and come looking for ideas for their first band image... I'd make a great celebrity mum!

Now fours year on in TwickersTowers, the 3G are more than happy to pose aplenty these days. And looking back on this photo I love remembering how teeny and excited they were to be in our new house. They are growing so darn quickly, and I am now realising that they will become teenagers in this house. But something tells me that when I look at them sleeping, no matter how old they get - they will always be stuck in time in this picture.

This post is linked up with The Photo Gallery 181 - Sticky Fingers