Space? Who need's it!

Er.. did I say that my grandson was not spoiled?  Excuse me while I smile, broadly.  To cover the fact that I might just be having a moment of exaggeration.  Just a teeny moment! 

You see Kai has 4 full sets of great grandparents for goodness sake.  There's Mama & Papa, Grandpa & Nana, Nanny Irish or Nanny Alice (depending on your mood or what just comes out of your mouth) & Grandad Serge and finally Nanny Maureen & Grandad Bill.  Add to this, grandparents, parents, aunties, cousins, and friends - his and ours - and what you have is an incredible number of birthday gifts one month before Christmas.  Which leads us, as in Hannah and I us,  to tea in bed, one morning, with the hot topic under discussion: what can we get him for Christmas?  At this moment I know that you are all thinking well that's easy - you don't get him anything.  Father Christmas does.  And you'd be so right, as he does indeed visit our home in the early hours of Christmas morning, very soon after we've gone to bed, almost as if he lies in wait to hear the light switch go off and boom he's been.  Stockings pressed down, shaken and running over (as in the true spirit of Christmas - in other word's copying the generosity of the 'one' it's all about anyway).  However, I don't know about your home but Father Christmas brings our stocking gifts, hence the constant cry from every mouth of "thank you Father Christmas" as each item is separated from it's wrapping paper.  We're a thankful bunch.  So if he 'does the stocking' what about the pile downstairs - you've guessed it!  It's great grandparents, grandparents, parents, aunties, cousins and friends - his and ours.  It's a pile!  So what do you get the boy who has loads of gifts and a few more!

Oh don't get me wrong we're not complaining, far from it.  He loves it, we love it and honestly between you and me by the time I've carried out my ritual declutter of outgrown, broken and totally useless (as in happymeal junk useless) toys and then my ceremonial 'decant' of all that is new and lovely into their prepared spaces: under beds, into newly bought plastic boxes hidden in cupboards, and delightful shabby chic chests happily displayed around the living room, then honestly it really isn't that much after all.  We might run out of black bags and have filled all the recylcing containers of all that is not wanted and managed a few trips to the charity shops, but it all fits.  There's a place for everything and everything has it's place.  Well at least until Kai comes back from nursery or has a couple of friends round then 'the place' is on the floor, in the bed, down the toilet, under the sofa, down the back of the sofa, in the DVD player and any other number of nooks and crannies discovered whilst running round the house like wild things, a tornado of children and stuff, of stuff and children.  Some gets lost.  Some gets broken.  All gets played with.  Enjoyed.  Treasured.  And eventually, poor young Mimi starts to sacrificially put everything back in its place: under beds, into boxes in cupboards and thank goodness for those delightful shabby chic chests which keep my home looking less like a playgroup and more like our cosy, charming, inviting, humble place, where we belong.  A place for everyone and everyone can share our place.

It doesn't matter if you're old or young.

I've had the pleasure of partaking in a bit of birthday celebrating this past week. From the 80 years young to the 4 years old.

It was Grandpa's (well Alan's dad to me) surprise family gathering at the weekend and it really was a surprise for most of us when late Friday night Grandpa, spying Hollie from his bedroom window, came to greet us all. He was of course ready for bed but it wasn't his pyjamas, or lack of them that kept us all staring but rather his lack of something else - I'll leave that to your imagination.  Needless to say it amused the fun-loving Evans but he didn't care because his chickens, well those in the country, were all back in the roost and there's no better feeling for an old rooster. 

I want to pause for a moment, before I take you through the fun of Saturday's celebrations, because Saturday was also the 19th November, a day that will be etched on the memory of us Evans for always. A day that will always cast a shadow on life itself. That shadow might change in size depending on the day, the time, the occasion but it exists and it doesn't leave our side.  It's a beautiful shadow, as full as any shadow can be. It's a she and she's Kate.  Daughter, mother, sister, wife, friend. Not just any one's but ours.  She's in heaven now, the daughter of the King, His bride, a friend of Jesus and it is my hope and belief that one day I'll see her again...... "we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Saviour of all men, and especially of them that believe."

It was a precious moment that saw us all stop at her grave to put some flowers there and remember - like we ever forget!  Love you Kate.

Tranmere Rovers was our destination - Grandpa's football team and a total shock to him that ALL of his family became their supporters just for one day.  We cheered, we groaned, we stood, we chanted but this team couldn't pull it out of the bag - not even for Hector David Garnham Evans' 80th birthday.  However the look of joy that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face did not budge.  Well we assume not because in usual Grandpa style he did just walk off at the end of the game and was nowhere to be found for the '80th birthday family photo' that the rest of us took part in.  The guest of honour was absent so maybe he was weeping in secret for his beloved Tranmere. Eventually found, he'd obviously dried his tears and the inexhaustible joy had returned and we were homeward bound, via a stop for a '80th birthday family meal' for which he stayed, scoffed (as slowly as only Grandpa can), and smiled. I am, of course, the usurper, along with others, to this most marvelous family and I want to make it known publicly that I love the family that my husband, girls and grandson are a part of and I look to 'Dad' as one of the most wonderful men that I know.  If you know me well, you understand my pride in being a 'Smith girl' but I have to say that I am also very proud to be an 'Evans woman'.

It was just a few days later that us Evans were back celebrating. 'Have I grown?  Am I taller?'  asks the little man Kai.  He'd jumped up in bed on the day of his birthday and was anticipating a huge growth that becoming 4 would instigate.  Of course he'd grown, it happens doesn't it, one day older but suddenly a year older and they always look bigger, only not quite as tall as his mummy which bothered him, no matter how many times she gave away the secret of a lady's age.  She is of course 22 years tall!  Mountains of presents, loved by so many, what a blessed boy he is. He enjoyed every one of them, the card's perhaps not so much.  Ripping off the paper, 'can you play this one with me now?' Good job he didn't have to go to nursery until the afternoon as he spent his morning surrounded by people's love in toy form.  Spoiled! Never! 

We had a little party for his new nursery pals, a small one with no bouncy castles, or soft play but, at his request, party games, birthday cake and party hats. Traditional, homely, a chips and chicken nuggets type of party as seen in children's books, only instead of the Tiger Coming to Tea there were 8 delightful boys and girls with their faces looking up in eager anticipation for what was coming next.  Which had to be lots because their no minute attention span would have been a disaster if it hadn't been for that list in the kitchen detailing all that had been planned, in military operation style. Phew, decorating bags, sweet shops to fill the bags, musical this that and the other, pass the parcel, squeak piggy squeak, food, cookie monster cupcakes, birthday cake with candles, twice, because Alfie got there first, foam swords and tiaras, mums, dads, friends, greatgrandparents, friends, mums and as the last one leaves Hannah turns to me, smiling, with that look of 'I did good didn't I?'.  It was indeed very very good.   But for now, it was time for bed, we were all partied out and as he went upstairs you could just hear a little voice asking 'am I still 4?'.  Yes you are, and you will be for another whole year.

You old Seadog.

To my dear Hollie

I'm glad to read on twitter that you have at last had an enjoyable train journey and being chatted up by the 'old' ticket collector must have made your day. Not!  Maybe it was a better journey because the destination this weekend was Leeds and not Manchester, although what that then goes on to mean who knows!  Still I hope you have a wonderful weekend with your man and remember just what it is you both love about each other.

It's a quiet Saturday morning when you're away and Kai is also at his daddy's.  None of the 'guilty pleasure' dancing and singing that normally fills those hours before everyone disperses into the world of work.  No cries of 'Seadog' (Kai's pet name for Hollie, taken from yet another Disney, Pocahontas this time).   I had to make my own eggs this morning and they are never quite as good as your's.  Kai is always telling me that.

I wandered into your bedroom, to look in the full length mirror of course, and as usual tripped over the many clothes still strewn on the floor - only you could tell if it was the clean washing not put away or the dirty stuff and it makes me smile.  It makes me mad too, but it does make me smile.  Because it's you.  It's that wonderful, scatty, I don't care, but of course I do care, I'll do it tomorrow, when the whirlwind that is my social life stops just for one moment and then can I just catch up with TOWIE first, self.

I love you very much Hollie Sarah Elizabeth Evans.  It's very hard not to.  I loved you when you came home from hospital and straightway slept through the whole night, I love you now when you mess up my kitchen baking and I'm left with a layer of flour and icing sugar on everything for days, and I will love you forever, whoever and wherever you are. Manchester, Chicago or London?

And have I told you how very proud I am of you.  Your incredible zeal for life.  Your ability to make the most of all opportunities.  Your desire to grab at the world by both hands, taking all it has to offer.  Your love for fashion.  Your brilliant friendship choices. Your ability to communicate with all kinds of people and the ease you have with them.  Your passionate love you have for your nephew. Your love for young people, especially those who struggle for whatever reason.  Underpinning all of this is your deep love for God, for Jesus.  Wow.  With God's help, a lot of your father's personality and a smattering of me, the recipe worked.  I can look at you and say "we did good".    "You do good."

So for now, keep at it.  'In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your paths'.  Meanwhile I'll just go back into the unknown territory that is your room and pick up the numerous numbers of towels that need a wash. 

See you Sunday evening as long as the trains are working ok.

Love you

Mummy xxxx

Hollie and her nephew Kai.

Not a shy bone in his body.

Today was Kai's first 'performance' at nursery.

I honestly was very excited.  His mother is a performer and  I have fond memories of being told by another parent, at one of her first concerts, that my daughter was obviously going to be a star.  Now, 18 years later, everything points to Kai following in her footsteps, charming teachers, pupils and parents alike whilst enjoying the limelight even more than his mummy did.  After all he has a ready made four person audience here at home, who like nothing better than to indulge his desire to amuse and entertain.  He's used to being photographed, videoed, ooohed, aaaahed and laughed at.  The only query would be what genre would he particularly shine in. Probably most of them. 

We arrived, his mother and I, and we were not disappointed as we were greeted with  the most enormous smile and happy wave. Smugly we moved to prime position, iPhone in hand ready to record this momentous event. 

Just waiting for a few more parents............ and it starts to go horribly wrong.  Kai begins to roar.  Loudly.  Sssssh says the teacher and turns her smiling face to the audience.

"I want my mummy".

"I'm not going to sing"

"I don't want to sing"

"Mummmmmmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeee". 

Ten songs later with Kai sporting a well-practised sulky face, clasped between his two hands and rocking as if he suffered from some terrible abuse, the concert was over.  Kai had sang nothing and to be honest I felt a bit stupid standing there, clapping all the other children who mostly had done very well. 

Not quite what we'd hoped for.  But hey Christmas is just around the corner, giving our boy another opportunity to show his teachers, fellow pupils and of course the other parents just what he really is made of. 

Roooooaaaaaarrrrrrrrr!

I dreamed a dream, or did I?

It's the one thing I do really well, dream.  In fact I'm constantly dreaming ridiculous things that if I was to ever speak them out I'd likely be sectioned.  Here's one of my recurring ones.  It's not the most crazy but it's still on the crazy chart......

My husband is a piano tuner and occasionally has the 'privilege' of tuning a famous person's piano.  Which totally gives me the opportunity to imagine that said person loves my piano tuning man, as he's totally lovable to all, and decides they want to be his friend which means they then want to bestow ridiculous amounts of gifts such as houses and cars on him.  So when he arrives home or even more when he phones home declaring he's had a gift I start to plan where we're going to live or make extensive plans as to how I can afford the insurance of the new car, when of course that would all have been paid for anyway.  It's only a tiny bit of disappointment I feel when his wonderful Japanese customers have made him a cake or it's Christmas and he's been given a bottle of wine (we're teetotallers - so we use it for cooking).  After all I know my dreams are just that, dreams, of the daytime variety. 

Today, my daughter Hannah phoned.  Alan answered and as he brought the phone to me he uttered the words "some thing's happened!"  Immediately my mind went into dream mode.  By the time he'd walked from one room to another I'd imagined she'd either heard from the guy she likes, she'd been offered a west end theatre job, she'd met someone who was going to further her career, she'd just met someone.  Phew!  How does my brain do that - come up with unbelievable amount of stuff in a ridiculously short space of time.  Of course I should know that Alan knows me, and loves to tease me.  Nothing had happened at all.  It was more of a 'I'm going out to dinner before I come home' conversation.  It was only a tiny bit of disappointment I felt.....

Hannah has of course inherited the 'dreaming' gene from me.  She calls it Hannah's world! And everything is good in Hannah's world.  This probably has something to do with the fact that the real Hannah's world has been a bit tough since she hit 16.  As she likes to say "8 operations and a baby", and that's not the half.  So perhaps it's understandable that she/me want to dream good things.

I had a real dream once.  The type that is a vision, a passion, a hope and life goals are set by it.  Well unless you're me and sitting on the sofa with hardly enough energy to type into a computer whilst watching Eastenders.

I dreamt of a youth centre........ let me tell you about it one day.  

46 days, 12 hours and 35 minutes, but who's counting.

Started the buying of christmas decorations today. Oh and a couple of Cath Kidston mugs.  You will soon find out how much I love Christmas and you can never have too many decorations and you certainly can never have too much Cath Kidston.  Cup of tea anyone?

A date for winter wonderland

Okay.  I'm going to be really honest now and admit that much of my personality requires that my children be not just happy (as the usual mantra goes), but I want them to be in a relationship and happy.  Obviously I don't want the' in a relationship and unhappy' because we've tried that and it really isn't great, for both them and me.  How  shallow does that make me?

I'm guessing it's to do with the fact that they are now old enough to leave home and have lives of their own, only I really want them to have somone to share it with, someone to take care of them, someone to support them and the truth is .someone who chooses them.  There's my own feelings of insecurity rising up so high that it overflows onto my girls, who thankfully have inherited more of the security of their father who actually couldn't care at all.  Well other than if there was someone else who could 'pay' for them. 

It also stems from my own sense of awe that in spite of all kinds of disasters I ended up with 'the one' and don't we always want better for our children.  So who do I look to for this?  I credit God with, second to my salvation, the best thing that ever happened to me.  Alan.  And if he could do it for me, yes even me, he sure can work it for my girls.

So I pray and wait, I dream and wait, I long and wait until the day we can 'hand them over' .

Meanwhile, when I'm not constantly reminding Him, or begging Him, or demanding of Him, or pleading with Him, I try really hard to just be still.   A verse in Exodus summed it up for me the other day: "The Lord will fight for you, you need only be still".

Alright!  I know I'm rubbish at it though.

Home and not so Dry

Had a lovely few days down in Cornwall.  It was amazingly our 27th wedding anniversary while we were there.  Not quite sure why I just wrote amazingly - was it because it's amazing we've actually reached this number without either of us destroying each other in the process.  Most people believe that Alan deserves some kind of sainthood because I truly am a bad-tempered, cup half full, person, whilst I believe that any extra blessings poured out from heaven should totally be headed my way based on my toleration of what can only be described as an obsessive compulsive football disorder.  Too old to play but he just didn't get the memo; so focused that dog walks and everything else are cut short so as to watch/listen/read about his other beloved.  Everton.  As I write Everton are on the tv, but hey, he's handsome, funny and all the football playing means he's fit and nothing like most 50 year olds, so who am I really to complain.  We were joined by Kai on the break away, which amused many that we would take him with us but doting mimi and poppy didn't care - Kai on the beach, rolling in the sand and waves even in mid October is too much fun to miss out on.

And we're back and I've finally waded through the ridiculous amounts of washing that a shut pink palace generates and ready to blog on.