With all the baby girls that have been arriving around here both at church and at school, I woke up with a deep desire to see this little girl again. Praise God for video cameras and parents who transfer the hundreds of segments of tape onto DVDs. I sat myself down with a box of tissues and a disc entitled 1999 and listened to my beautiful baby with her funny little English accent telling me about her sore back and opening Easter eggs and birthday presents.
When the 17 year old version emerged from her lair at 9am with long, tousled hair and sleep laden eyes, she plonked herself down on top of me like she used to do, and I slowly lost feeling in my legs.
Even Himself observed how weird it was to see her there, like that, and here, like this, at the same time.
What would our ancestors have made of it?
Words of Wisdom
Youth is wasted on the young.
Sunday, 20 May 2012
Thursday, 17 May 2012
Sage Advice From an Expert!
As Time Goes By. Or Gallops Past.
Labels:
Baby Angel,
birthdays,
cakes
This week we have celebrated the, somewhat astonishing, passing of the 17th anniversary of my Baby Angel's birth.
I mean, not really astonishing, after all, last year she was 16 so I can hardly claim to be surprised. But when I think back on the event in question- the number 17, especially when associated with the word 'years', leaves me with a surreal feeling.
Time messes with your head.
I mean, how did this
become this?
If nothing else convinces you of the existence of a divine plan, the glorious emergence of a full person from the tiny creatures we birth must surely come close.
Last year we had many proclamations of neglect:
"I didn't even get a birthday party!"
Well BA, let me remind you what you did on your birthday
Sorry. Was the whole Formal experience not enough??????
What about the cake?
Was not enough attention paid to you?
Welcome to the life of someone born ten days before Christmas! But enough about MY issues.
This year was a 'big one'. After all, seventeen means driving, and finishing school......and to tell the truth, perhaps I was feeling a little guilty over last year. Plus, as I reminded myself, we had always done a bigger birthday on the odd years.
So I started planning. I booked an Italian restaurant, because that's the type she likes. I ordered those concert tickets online for her, getting an extra one so she could take a friend, and finally I facebooked a few of her oldest friends (from the 978 she apparently has!!!!!) to meet us in town at the restaurant for a surprise.
Her birthday dawned and she had a package to open in the morning.
The gang were there to meet her at the restaurant.
Boyfriend was on hand, attentive and had bought her nice things!
Even if he does look a bit cagy here. In his defence, apparently the flash was quite bright. I assume this means he has not spent most of his childhood being photographed by his doting parents...I mean...does the BA look fazed by the flash??
And LOOK! We had the Small Boy with us!!!! (Also looking slightly cagy and fazed by the flash.
Maybe it is a boy thing? )
Great silliness ensued. Boyfriend looked on indulgently. Really, he is incredibly indulgent. I would have got fed up with all that giggling months ago!
Gotta say they are pretty gorgeous kids though.
The only minor downer was that I actually ran out of time and space and had to buy her a cake.
Oh well. She wants to do a 'gathering' at our place later in the year so perhaps I will do one of my tacky homemade cakes then? I mean, a tradition is a tradition!!!!
Happy Birthday my beautiful and precious girl. I can't believe it is 17 years ago. A lifetime. Literally.
Certainly the best part of mine.
I mean, not really astonishing, after all, last year she was 16 so I can hardly claim to be surprised. But when I think back on the event in question- the number 17, especially when associated with the word 'years', leaves me with a surreal feeling.
Time messes with your head.
I mean, how did this
become this?
If nothing else convinces you of the existence of a divine plan, the glorious emergence of a full person from the tiny creatures we birth must surely come close.
Last year we had many proclamations of neglect:
"I didn't even get a birthday party!"
Well BA, let me remind you what you did on your birthday
Sorry. Was the whole Formal experience not enough??????
What about the cake?
Was not enough attention paid to you?
Welcome to the life of someone born ten days before Christmas! But enough about MY issues.
This year was a 'big one'. After all, seventeen means driving, and finishing school......and to tell the truth, perhaps I was feeling a little guilty over last year. Plus, as I reminded myself, we had always done a bigger birthday on the odd years.
So I started planning. I booked an Italian restaurant, because that's the type she likes. I ordered those concert tickets online for her, getting an extra one so she could take a friend, and finally I facebooked a few of her oldest friends (from the 978 she apparently has!!!!!) to meet us in town at the restaurant for a surprise.
Her birthday dawned and she had a package to open in the morning.
The gang were there to meet her at the restaurant.
Boyfriend was on hand, attentive and had bought her nice things!
Even if he does look a bit cagy here. In his defence, apparently the flash was quite bright. I assume this means he has not spent most of his childhood being photographed by his doting parents...I mean...does the BA look fazed by the flash??
And LOOK! We had the Small Boy with us!!!! (Also looking slightly cagy and fazed by the flash.
Maybe it is a boy thing? )
Great silliness ensued. Boyfriend looked on indulgently. Really, he is incredibly indulgent. I would have got fed up with all that giggling months ago!
Gotta say they are pretty gorgeous kids though.
The only minor downer was that I actually ran out of time and space and had to buy her a cake.
Oh well. She wants to do a 'gathering' at our place later in the year so perhaps I will do one of my tacky homemade cakes then? I mean, a tradition is a tradition!!!!
Happy Birthday my beautiful and precious girl. I can't believe it is 17 years ago. A lifetime. Literally.
Certainly the best part of mine.
Sunday, 6 May 2012
You Know My Methods Watson!
Labels:
cats,
detective work,
Himself,
humour,
sausages
As I savoured the last minutes of my 'lie-in' this morning, I heard Himself exploding at the other end of the house.
"BL***Y CATS!!!!!!"........
There-in followed the thump of feet up the corridor. His enraged visage popped around the door jamb, the steam fairly issuing from his ears.
"You know those sausages we left out on the counter last night (I know, I know....don't say anything....)? Well the BL***Y cats have EATEN THE LOT! There were about TEN of them!!!!!!"
I processed this information.
Firstly, it was unlikely that there were ten left over, but I decided to let that anomaly pass.
"Well, surely they wouldn't have eaten all 10? Surely No 2 Son might have come home late and had some?"
"There was one left out on the counter!!! No 2 Son wouldn't have done that!!!" Himself roared.
"To be fair, he might have if he was....ummm....indisposed."
The thunderclap clanged shut and Himself humphed, set his jaw and stalked back down the hallway muttering under his breath:
"Bl***y cats. You can all go and live outside. Waste of bl***y space all of them. Bl***y cats. Mutter mutter mutter. Animals don't belong in the house! Mutter mutter etc"
Slightly perturbed, and concerned for the safety of the cats if nothing else, I levered myself out of my prone postion and wrapped myself in a dressing gown. As I pattered down the corridor towards the kitchen I tried to analyse the situation in my mind. Firstly, Pippin doesn't eat real meat, raw or cooked. He rather likes the idea of raw meat and hangs about my feet if I'm cooking (he's way too savvy to hang about Himself's feet!) but if I toss him a sliver of raw chicken, or open a tin of tuna when the dry cat food has run out, he looks at me in confusion. Surely that jelly like stuff cannot be the source of that delicious odour? He paws at it and walks off in disgust. So the culprit was unlikely to be Pippin.
Now Mortisha leans a little more towards whole foods. She is our mega hunter, bell and all, and frequently brings home a mouse or a bird. Mind you, she never eats the whole thing. We are frequently dodging a mouse head or pile of disembowelled, slightly sticky feathers in the laundry, or outside the bedroom door; highly dangerous whilst barefoot first thing in the morning! The thought of her scoffing ten whole sausages (or even the more likely count of 6) seemed highly unlikely.
Now, Lily. Lily is a wild card given her feral beginnings. She has been known to get up on a bench, she certainly enjoys a bit of raw meat, but she too never finishes the whole mouse and if truth be known, she's often out at night.
By the time I reached the kitchen I was feeling less and less convinced that the cats were to blame. This feeling was confirmed as Pippin dashed in, squalling and rubbing up against me, ready for food.
"Sweet heart, I really don't think the cats could have demolished all of those sausages," I said as I surveyed the lone sausage which had obviously been dragged across the bench. "For one thing Pippin is waaay too hungry to have pigged out on sausages last night." I glanced around at the scene of the crime.
"Oh, and also," I said, my eye lighting on a large, nearly empty glass bowl nearby,
"I really don't think they would have eaten the salad!"
We have yet to catch up with No 2 Son to confirm my suspicions. Nevertheless, the cats get to live indoors a bit longer :-)
"BL***Y CATS!!!!!!"........
There-in followed the thump of feet up the corridor. His enraged visage popped around the door jamb, the steam fairly issuing from his ears.
"You know those sausages we left out on the counter last night (I know, I know....don't say anything....)? Well the BL***Y cats have EATEN THE LOT! There were about TEN of them!!!!!!"
I processed this information.
Firstly, it was unlikely that there were ten left over, but I decided to let that anomaly pass.
"Well, surely they wouldn't have eaten all 10? Surely No 2 Son might have come home late and had some?"
"There was one left out on the counter!!! No 2 Son wouldn't have done that!!!" Himself roared.
"To be fair, he might have if he was....ummm....indisposed."
The thunderclap clanged shut and Himself humphed, set his jaw and stalked back down the hallway muttering under his breath:
"Bl***y cats. You can all go and live outside. Waste of bl***y space all of them. Bl***y cats. Mutter mutter mutter. Animals don't belong in the house! Mutter mutter etc"
Slightly perturbed, and concerned for the safety of the cats if nothing else, I levered myself out of my prone postion and wrapped myself in a dressing gown. As I pattered down the corridor towards the kitchen I tried to analyse the situation in my mind. Firstly, Pippin doesn't eat real meat, raw or cooked. He rather likes the idea of raw meat and hangs about my feet if I'm cooking (he's way too savvy to hang about Himself's feet!) but if I toss him a sliver of raw chicken, or open a tin of tuna when the dry cat food has run out, he looks at me in confusion. Surely that jelly like stuff cannot be the source of that delicious odour? He paws at it and walks off in disgust. So the culprit was unlikely to be Pippin.
Now Mortisha leans a little more towards whole foods. She is our mega hunter, bell and all, and frequently brings home a mouse or a bird. Mind you, she never eats the whole thing. We are frequently dodging a mouse head or pile of disembowelled, slightly sticky feathers in the laundry, or outside the bedroom door; highly dangerous whilst barefoot first thing in the morning! The thought of her scoffing ten whole sausages (or even the more likely count of 6) seemed highly unlikely.
Now, Lily. Lily is a wild card given her feral beginnings. She has been known to get up on a bench, she certainly enjoys a bit of raw meat, but she too never finishes the whole mouse and if truth be known, she's often out at night.
By the time I reached the kitchen I was feeling less and less convinced that the cats were to blame. This feeling was confirmed as Pippin dashed in, squalling and rubbing up against me, ready for food.
"Sweet heart, I really don't think the cats could have demolished all of those sausages," I said as I surveyed the lone sausage which had obviously been dragged across the bench. "For one thing Pippin is waaay too hungry to have pigged out on sausages last night." I glanced around at the scene of the crime.
"Oh, and also," I said, my eye lighting on a large, nearly empty glass bowl nearby,
"I really don't think they would have eaten the salad!"
We have yet to catch up with No 2 Son to confirm my suspicions. Nevertheless, the cats get to live indoors a bit longer :-)
Tuesday, 1 May 2012
Hello Ma Baby, Hello Ma Honey, Hello Ma Ragtime Gal
Labels:
Baby Angel,
inappropriate fashion,
modesty
She inevitably goes off to parties dressed like this: a bit short on the skirt but otherwise modestly covered.
Then I find the hot pink, bandeau bra top in the wash the next day and know that the modest look had not been the predominant style statement of the evening.
It's a minefield, this value laden judgement we place upon our children. I mean, if I had to think back upon the things I wore way back when.....mind you, I think my belly was mostly covered but that may have been due to my complete absence of melanin.
Nowadays I would be happy to have a stomach which was worth uncovering!
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