I found myself trotting out all these encouraging, confidence boosting, esteem building nuggets today. It was the Northumberland RFU Under 7's County Cup today, and Sam was very nervous. I told him:
that nervousness is good, it get's your adrenalin pumping
it doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's the taking part
for a team to win, it needs all the players to play as a team, to support each other
it's supposed to be fun
rugby is a team sport, the try is scored by one person, but he can only score it with the help of everyone else
if you don't keep practicing, you won't get any better
yes, it's dissapointing not to win, but it's not the end of the world
losing feels horrible, but it shouldn't stop you from going back out and trying again, or you will never know what winning feels like
don't give up
you've not even played a full season yet, you can't expect to be an expert yet
most importantly - RUN FORWARDS and PASS BACK!!!
So, his team, the Percy Park Penguins (they are the B team, the A team are called the Pirates... the names are an indication of respective rugby playing ability!!) got knocked out and to say my little lad was disapointed, is somewhat of an understatement!! Devastated, gutted and miserable as hell is probably closer to the mark. He really does not lose well and approval and praise from those in authority (in this case, the coaches - mums and dads praise is not sufficient) is very important to him.
Ah well, at least the sun is shining. Sam has cheered up and the boys are playing out with some of the neighbouring kids, roll on Summer!!
Sunday, 20 March 2011
Friday, 18 March 2011
Surreal, huh
So I was in Edinburgh a couple of weeks back, just for a fleeting 24 hours. But it was fantastic. My wonderful friend Andrea, largely pregnant, along with her wonderful friends Kerry and Linda. We were a quartet of south african woman, all having been part of Andrea's life at one point or another.
There was me, from her youth
There was Linda, from her Hillcrest days and
Kerry, from her now
It was for Andrea, (and I stress here, only for Andrea) an extremely surreal experience. To be celebrating her 38th birthday in the glorious city of Edinburgh, in the company of important woman from her native country, whose friendship spanned most of her life. Truly surreal ;-)
But mostly, how wonderful is that?
It was also just a fantastic trip for me! I was nervous, not knowing Andrea's other friends and being notoriously crap with strangers, I was slightly dreading it. But I was immediately comfortable and at my ease. The conversation ebbed and flowed, and was by turns serious and side-splittingly funny, but always supportive - in that amazing way that only a group of warm, caring woman can be.
Awesome.
(and in Edinburgh, a city which I love... although I am very fond of Glasgow as well!!!)
There was me, from her youth
There was Linda, from her Hillcrest days and
Kerry, from her now
It was for Andrea, (and I stress here, only for Andrea) an extremely surreal experience. To be celebrating her 38th birthday in the glorious city of Edinburgh, in the company of important woman from her native country, whose friendship spanned most of her life. Truly surreal ;-)
But mostly, how wonderful is that?
It was also just a fantastic trip for me! I was nervous, not knowing Andrea's other friends and being notoriously crap with strangers, I was slightly dreading it. But I was immediately comfortable and at my ease. The conversation ebbed and flowed, and was by turns serious and side-splittingly funny, but always supportive - in that amazing way that only a group of warm, caring woman can be.
Awesome.
(and in Edinburgh, a city which I love... although I am very fond of Glasgow as well!!!)
Thursday, 10 March 2011
It started out as parent's evening report, and turned into a love letter.
Last week was parent's evening. Steve and I went along to meet with the teachers at the nursery (first meeting about Tom) and Steve went along to chat Mrs Brown, Sam's year 2 teacher, as I was having a rather bad reaction to the codeine prescribed for my shoulder injury.
There wasn't a whole lot to say about Tom, as he had only been there 4 weeks. But they were very impressed with how well and how easily he has fitted in. He is happy, interacts with the other kids and with the teachers. Right from the start he has been eager to get there, racing along the street as I do an awkward mum's shuffle (not quite a full run, not quite a fast walk) to keep up with him. He is completely unfazed by me leaving him (and there are kids who are still sobbing on separation from their parents, who have been there since September!) and he is popular with the children. So all in all, it's going well. He is really confident, especially amongst his peers, less so amongst adults - although he forms a strong attachment to any available male role model!
Mrs Brown was very pleased with Sam, and had nothing to complain about or ask us to work on with him. His creative writing was highly praised and his science work received an "excellent" (proud mummy, especially loving his flair for the creative). His literacy and numeracy both got a "very good", his manners were commended and his keenness and enthusiasm remarked upon. He does worry about getting things right, about failing to follow instructions properly, and these are things that concern me. Although I am unsure how to help him, besides boosting his self esteem and confidence.
I am a very proud, very happy mother. My boys are both doing really well in their own little environments, and are, super importantly, happy in those environments.
I honestly couldn't ask for more.
I love you darling boys, more than words can say, more than kisses and cuddles can show.
I hope I always do enough, that the knowledge of my love for you is an intrinsic part of you, of your sense of self. That it underpins a strong self belief and an awareness that you are important. That you, the basic, stripped down essence of you, always knows that you are good enough. <3
There wasn't a whole lot to say about Tom, as he had only been there 4 weeks. But they were very impressed with how well and how easily he has fitted in. He is happy, interacts with the other kids and with the teachers. Right from the start he has been eager to get there, racing along the street as I do an awkward mum's shuffle (not quite a full run, not quite a fast walk) to keep up with him. He is completely unfazed by me leaving him (and there are kids who are still sobbing on separation from their parents, who have been there since September!) and he is popular with the children. So all in all, it's going well. He is really confident, especially amongst his peers, less so amongst adults - although he forms a strong attachment to any available male role model!
Mrs Brown was very pleased with Sam, and had nothing to complain about or ask us to work on with him. His creative writing was highly praised and his science work received an "excellent" (proud mummy, especially loving his flair for the creative). His literacy and numeracy both got a "very good", his manners were commended and his keenness and enthusiasm remarked upon. He does worry about getting things right, about failing to follow instructions properly, and these are things that concern me. Although I am unsure how to help him, besides boosting his self esteem and confidence.
I am a very proud, very happy mother. My boys are both doing really well in their own little environments, and are, super importantly, happy in those environments.
I honestly couldn't ask for more.
I love you darling boys, more than words can say, more than kisses and cuddles can show.
I hope I always do enough, that the knowledge of my love for you is an intrinsic part of you, of your sense of self. That it underpins a strong self belief and an awareness that you are important. That you, the basic, stripped down essence of you, always knows that you are good enough. <3
Sunday, 6 March 2011
A bit of a rant, being rantlike, but only short
One of the things that irks me most about being diabetic, and I admit it is probably rather petty, but nonetheless, here it is:
having just brushed my teeth prior to clambering into my bed (unequivocally the best bed in the world) and snuggling under the covers for a blissful 7 hours (not enough) in the arms of my literary crush, Morpheus (The Sandman, Neil Gaiman for the philistines amongst you!!), checking my blood sugars as all good diabetics should, and discovering I am BLOODY LOW!! and I have to bloody eat something high in bloody sugar to prevent a bloody nightime hypo.
Grrrrrrrrrrr.
Tiresomely, aggravatingly annoyingly irksome.
having just brushed my teeth prior to clambering into my bed (unequivocally the best bed in the world) and snuggling under the covers for a blissful 7 hours (not enough) in the arms of my literary crush, Morpheus (The Sandman, Neil Gaiman for the philistines amongst you!!), checking my blood sugars as all good diabetics should, and discovering I am BLOODY LOW!! and I have to bloody eat something high in bloody sugar to prevent a bloody nightime hypo.
Grrrrrrrrrrr.
Tiresomely, aggravatingly annoyingly irksome.
It's a funny thing, pain
Picture it; Whitley Bay 2011. A young (ok, youngish!) woman and her family decide to take advantage of the sunshine (if not actual warmth) and have their first family bicycle ride; Sam on his big 20 inch bike he got from Father Christmas, Steve on his shiny space age looking bike he got from Mother Christmas and Tom and I on my clapped out old purple number, with the child seat securely mounted at the front.
Lovely.
Bonding.
Excercise.
Laughter.
We go to a park that is a little distance away, maybe 15mins child cycle pace away, called Churchill Playing Fields. It's a great park - grass, swings, loads of slides, climbing frames, see saws, zip wire... oh yes, the zip wire. Sam had met a boy from his class, whose Dad, Patrick, I know, as he is one of the Beavers sub leaders. They were playing well, Tom was being included, it was a lovely little snapshot moment that you etch into your memory.
They were all queueing up for a go on the zip wire, and Steve gave both of our kids a big push to zip them along with a bit more oomph - they loved it, laughed themselves silly and then had had enough and were moving on to the next piece of playground equipment. Tom had had the last go and as Steve bumped him back along to the start, he gave me his mischievous little grin and said "Mummy have a go!" more of a command than a question really. I said something along of the lines of "these things are not really made for mummies" Steve said something encouraging, e xactly what I can't quite remember, and so chuckling away I got on.
Steve gave me an almighty push and I was off, breath quite taken from me at how fast I was actually travelling. It is not far, the distance from start to finish, and I was moving FAST, but it was still long enough for me to muse that it was too fast, and that the speed, along with the slightly carousel up and down motion, was making my stomach flip a bit, and wasn't I a big girl's blouse not even being able to handle a zip wire, and would I confess this queasiness? no probably not - need some street cred in front of the kids (isn't mummy FUN!) and there's the end it's nearly over, must hold on the kids always bop all over the place when they connect with that rubber bit, with my weight it will be even more, here it is, get ready.
Connection.
I'm in the air - I'm still in the same seated position, hands still holding onto a non existent rope, and there is a sickening, bone crunching thud amidst the deafening silence, as I hit the matted, muddy ground, shoulder first. The sound "ooof" seems to resonate through my head, which suddenly feels the wrong size, shape, position. I can't quite work out where my limbs are, they feel strange, awkward. And then I feel pain, closely followed by nausea. I tried to sit up and Steve came running over "are you okay?" I wasn't, and said so. I wanted to sit up and lie down and got to sleep at the same time. The pain was extraordinary, I can honestly say I have never felt such excruciating pain before (no, although I have 2 children, my diabetes prevented me from experiencing the joy, and pain, of labour!). And oddly, despite being twisted around myself in agony and shallow breathing, I still had this separate, lucid little thought bubble - where I was being grateful for the fact that I have experienced so little physical pain in this life of mine!
My wonderful friend Emma, who truly has shown herself to be a friend in need, was duly called for, and wonderously, came. In her car, with her husband and children, plucked from the carefree family outing they had been enjoying. She was far away, but she came, and there I was white with pain and shock, tear streaked and shaking fit to jumpstart a car. They scooped me up, teased me gently and Mike deposited Emma and I swiftly at our local A and E, where Emma stood in the queue and I promptly, and quietly, found a toilet to throw up in.
It is so sore, throwing up, when your shoulder, arm, chest and back are contorted with pain. It is interesting the things you learn; pain in a particular muscular area makes you aware of how interconnected the body is - how a movement, which in your head has no relation to your shoulder and which you should therefore be able to accomplish fairly painlessly, is actually just the head domino in a not-so-delightful domino effect over vast expanses of your body.
Anyhow, as interesting as all that might be (?!), back to the story! I was whipped (ha ha, just read this back and thought, whipped? no, don't remember any whipping, but then I was kinda out of it!!) through an initial assessment and an x-ray as quick as you like, with Emma, Florence Nightingaling me every step of the way. Once they had established that nothing was actually broken we were released back into the stuffy, people infested waiting room like a disappointed sigh. Emma got me settled and went to ring Steve - who had been in charge of getting 3 bicycles, 2 children and himself home (with thanks to the kindness of the Aldridge family, friends and neighbours) - to let him know what was going on. Steve soon arrived, Emma went home, with our thanks, but I am sure, no real idea of the depth of my gratitude and love. <3
We were seen soon enough I suppose, given the number of people waiting, and it was confirmed that it was merely "deep tissue damage, have some painkillers, take loads, it's going to be abut 6 weeks before it feels normal again." Erm thanks Doctor, sorry, Hannah, ummm and you are fully qualified and trained and experienced and all that, only you look SO young...?
Lovely.
Bonding.
Excercise.
Laughter.
We go to a park that is a little distance away, maybe 15mins child cycle pace away, called Churchill Playing Fields. It's a great park - grass, swings, loads of slides, climbing frames, see saws, zip wire... oh yes, the zip wire. Sam had met a boy from his class, whose Dad, Patrick, I know, as he is one of the Beavers sub leaders. They were playing well, Tom was being included, it was a lovely little snapshot moment that you etch into your memory.
They were all queueing up for a go on the zip wire, and Steve gave both of our kids a big push to zip them along with a bit more oomph - they loved it, laughed themselves silly and then had had enough and were moving on to the next piece of playground equipment. Tom had had the last go and as Steve bumped him back along to the start, he gave me his mischievous little grin and said "Mummy have a go!" more of a command than a question really. I said something along of the lines of "these things are not really made for mummies" Steve said something encouraging, e xactly what I can't quite remember, and so chuckling away I got on.
Steve gave me an almighty push and I was off, breath quite taken from me at how fast I was actually travelling. It is not far, the distance from start to finish, and I was moving FAST, but it was still long enough for me to muse that it was too fast, and that the speed, along with the slightly carousel up and down motion, was making my stomach flip a bit, and wasn't I a big girl's blouse not even being able to handle a zip wire, and would I confess this queasiness? no probably not - need some street cred in front of the kids (isn't mummy FUN!) and there's the end it's nearly over, must hold on the kids always bop all over the place when they connect with that rubber bit, with my weight it will be even more, here it is, get ready.
Connection.
I'm in the air - I'm still in the same seated position, hands still holding onto a non existent rope, and there is a sickening, bone crunching thud amidst the deafening silence, as I hit the matted, muddy ground, shoulder first. The sound "ooof" seems to resonate through my head, which suddenly feels the wrong size, shape, position. I can't quite work out where my limbs are, they feel strange, awkward. And then I feel pain, closely followed by nausea. I tried to sit up and Steve came running over "are you okay?" I wasn't, and said so. I wanted to sit up and lie down and got to sleep at the same time. The pain was extraordinary, I can honestly say I have never felt such excruciating pain before (no, although I have 2 children, my diabetes prevented me from experiencing the joy, and pain, of labour!). And oddly, despite being twisted around myself in agony and shallow breathing, I still had this separate, lucid little thought bubble - where I was being grateful for the fact that I have experienced so little physical pain in this life of mine!
My wonderful friend Emma, who truly has shown herself to be a friend in need, was duly called for, and wonderously, came. In her car, with her husband and children, plucked from the carefree family outing they had been enjoying. She was far away, but she came, and there I was white with pain and shock, tear streaked and shaking fit to jumpstart a car. They scooped me up, teased me gently and Mike deposited Emma and I swiftly at our local A and E, where Emma stood in the queue and I promptly, and quietly, found a toilet to throw up in.
It is so sore, throwing up, when your shoulder, arm, chest and back are contorted with pain. It is interesting the things you learn; pain in a particular muscular area makes you aware of how interconnected the body is - how a movement, which in your head has no relation to your shoulder and which you should therefore be able to accomplish fairly painlessly, is actually just the head domino in a not-so-delightful domino effect over vast expanses of your body.
Anyhow, as interesting as all that might be (?!), back to the story! I was whipped (ha ha, just read this back and thought, whipped? no, don't remember any whipping, but then I was kinda out of it!!) through an initial assessment and an x-ray as quick as you like, with Emma, Florence Nightingaling me every step of the way. Once they had established that nothing was actually broken we were released back into the stuffy, people infested waiting room like a disappointed sigh. Emma got me settled and went to ring Steve - who had been in charge of getting 3 bicycles, 2 children and himself home (with thanks to the kindness of the Aldridge family, friends and neighbours) - to let him know what was going on. Steve soon arrived, Emma went home, with our thanks, but I am sure, no real idea of the depth of my gratitude and love. <3
We were seen soon enough I suppose, given the number of people waiting, and it was confirmed that it was merely "deep tissue damage, have some painkillers, take loads, it's going to be abut 6 weeks before it feels normal again." Erm thanks Doctor, sorry, Hannah, ummm and you are fully qualified and trained and experienced and all that, only you look SO young...?
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