The Gallery: Daddy

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With the impending celebration of all things daddy this weekend, Tara has set us a challenge of giving some big Gallery love to the men in our families:

Your children's dad, your dad, father in laws, grandpas . . .

Now on this blog, Mr. andMe doesn't tend to get much of a look-in. He gets occasionally referred to as hubby and 'daddy' but generally doesn't get talked about. Thing is this man is the rock in my life and he probably doesn't realise how much he is needed and loved in our family. He is the calm to my storm and is an amazing husband. I am in awe of how much patience he has with The Boy, such a patient teacher and friend to him.

When The Boy was born, he needed to go onto oxygen straight away. He had a little rest on my chest for the minimal amount of time, but then straight over to be assessed and sorted out. I could see hubby was torn, but I told him straight away that he needed to go to him. Our tiny little bundle that was whimpering and so very unhappy. This was the first photo taken where we were really allowed physical contact, and fittingly it is of my two boys.

 

 

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6 sticks later…

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Reading MammyWoo's hilarious tale of 'How it all began' earlier, and almost waking The Boy up as I shook with laughter, has prompted me to share my own 'finding out I was pregnant' story.

Early in the September term in 2008 on a Friday afternoon, my friend asked me if (quite frankly) my boobs were still sore. I replied that they were but that it was probably PMT. She asked me if I was still late, I replied that it was September in school, of course I was. She looked me in the eye and said very seriously, "Chick, I really think you need to do a pregnancy test when you get home!" In that moment, it actually clicked in my head but I truly didn't think that I was pregnant.

I rushed over to Boots (not my local branch, too many people know me) and stood gawping at the selection in front of me. I mean, for God's sake, how many different ways are there of peeing on a stick and telling someone if they're pregnant or not? I picked up the own-brand one because they seemed middle of the road in price (the first step in spending thousands of pounds on your child).

I got home and discovered that I didn't need the loo. I drank three glasses of water. I did starjumps in the kitchen. I drank another glass of water. I did squats. Then I rushed upstairs, read the instructions which said some nonsense about waiting 'til morning, and squeezed some out. It really didn't occur to me to wait for my husband because I wasn't pregnant and I didn't want to get his hopes up. Placing the stick carefully on the side of the bath without shaking it (why do they waive it around on television? It says to hold it steady!), I waited.

I knelt down on the bathroom floor in front of the bath and waited.

I am rubbish at waiting.

I watched the first mark came through (I actually can't remember if it's supposed to be a cross or a line) and my heart sank as the second mark started to come through; it was just a line. Up until that point I really hadn't even entertained the idea that I could be pregnant, but now it's all I wanted. The tears started to flow…

… and then: a CROSS! It was faint as hell, but it was a cross!

I'm not entirely sure I breathed for a few minutes, I just knelt there rocking backwards and forwards staring increduously at this rapidly darkening mark.

I bet you can guess what I did next. Yep, the second test in the box.

I wee-ed on it wrongly. For the love of God, I completely and utterly missed! They need to make these things bigger and longer so you don't end up weeing all over your hands.

Then I did quite possibly the most stupid thing ever; I phoned my husband who was driving home from work. The conversation went exactly like this (it's imprinted in both our memories):

Me: Can you call into Boots on the way home and pick up a twin-pack of Clear Blue digital pregnancy tests please?

Him: Why?

Me: Because I wee-ed wrongly on the second one and it didn't work.

Him: What about the first one?

Me: Oh yes, that one was positive!

Him: <silence, then> I'll be home as soon as I can!!!

Yes I know: he was driving, he could have had a crash. When he did get in, he raced up the stairs where I was still sat looking at the first test.

The third stick provided us with another positive conclusion: I'm rubbish at aiming when I wee!

The fourth stick was dipped into a pot that I'd decided to use instead (pregnant!)

Both the fifth and sixth sticks (he'd been despatched for more) came up with that oh so familiar affirmation: you are 2-3 weeks pregnant! The feeling is one that I have never come close to before or since: your life has just changed (for the better) forever.

We spent the entire weekend wanting to tell everyone (we're both rubbish at keeping secrets) and not telling anyone. However when I walked into the school grounds on Monday morning and saw my friend crossing between the two buildings I called to get her attention. She took one look at me and squealed with delight. She also completely roared with laughter that I'd done six tests.

Well come on, be honest: how many did you do?

Census 2011

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I've seen and heard a lot of comments about the Census 2011 over the last month or so. Some of it positive, a fair amount of it is negative, some of it ridiculous; it is called the Census, not the Concensus you plonker!

I can understand people's scepticism about it, but personally I find it really exciting. As soon as The Boy is asleep (this may take some time, he's currently singing to his daddy upstairs, interspersed with occasionals squeals of glee and shouting), then hubby and I are going to sit down and fill it in in a ceremonial fashion.

The census is such an important way of collecting data; initially because of the impact to local services that it has. It is a crucial piece of data collection to ensure the correct and relevant provision and funding of public services. Health-care, child-care, public transport, schools, etc. How do you think they are able to predict the need for school places in the area if not for the census?

The aim is to get an idea of who is living in the UK on a specific day, and how they live their lives. Yes, some people may find it intrusive, but I find it fascinating and it just goes to highlight the impressive social, cultural and religious diversity that exists in Britain today.

Aside from the impact on today's services, just think about in the future. I've been researching my family tree over the past five years or so, and although I take a break every so often because it can become complex and confusing, whenever I return my first port of call is always the census records! Through the online collation and access of the records from 1911 and before, I have been able to find over 300 members of both my paternal and maternal family tree. I can trace the shift in social standing, find out what jobs they had, ascertain what happened to my great, great, great grandfather's children and where they lived. None of this would happen without the collation of information through the census.

Personally for me, this census is extremely exciting. Last census, I was about to embark on the biggest journey of my life! Ten years ago I was 23 and in my final year of my teaching degree, living at home with my mum and dad, borrowing my mum's car, jobless and in a long-distance relationship with an English bloke. This census I am married to that English bloke, a mother, a teacher, living in my own (ok, mortgaged) home, driving my own car. My world had changed and I can't wait to share that information on the census!

Flashback Friday – Arabian Adventures

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When hubby and I first started going out, his parents were living in the United Arab Emirates for a short time. We were lucky enough to have two trips out there to visit them and completely embraced the tourist attractions. One of the activities that we did was a 4×4 trek into the desert ending in a feast and evening of entertainment  at a 'traditional'-style Bedouin camp.

The 4×4 trek was fantastic; a whole convey of Toyotas traversing the sand-dunes at a range of angles which are not the norm! Every so often, you'd see a Toyota pull-over a middle-aged, middle-class lady lean out and vomit all over the once-pristine sand. Made me chuckle.

When we arrived at the Bedouin camp, we entered into the spirit of the Arabian adventure and rode a camel. This I nearly vomited at! They lurch up bum-end first, onto their knees, then bum up again until they're properly up. Hilarious though.

We had an amazing feast, sat on thick carpets in the desert, beside a roaring fire and belly-dancers etc. I had a henna tattoo done on my ankle which is the closest I'll get to a real one! A brilliant evening, well remembered by this photograph.

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This post was put together as part of CafeBebe's carnival of flashbacks.

"…let me count the ways."

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"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. "
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I'm not a poet, and generally not into poetry, but by God that woman had passion. Imagine how strongly she felt about the person she wrote that for. Oh hang on, I don't have to imagine, I know.

So excuse the soppiness dear reader, but here's why I love my husband:

He is thoughtful. It's the little things that count and make your life easier. Half an hour ago we started getting ready to go to bed, I walked into the kitchen and my tablets were sat there on the counter next to a glass of water. Next to that was exactly half a glass of milk. Sometimes in the morning if I'm struggling to wake up, I'll stagger downstairs to find my cereal bowl and toast plate out, a spoon and knife next to them, bread in the toaster ready.

He is calm, I am not. I am hot-headed, tempestuous, stroppy and generally very high-maintenance. He deals with it all. Sometimes he doesn't react in the correct manner straightaway, but generally on a day to day basis, life with him is calm and peaceful (unless he's forgotten to empty the bin or not paired the socks). Having grown-up as the youngest of four children, life could get fraught. Even now, I struggle to keep calm sometimes, he helps.

He is funny. He jokes that he is the funniest person I know and, aside from The Boy who is unintentionally funny, he is. I've not been able to appreciate his humour much since The Boy's arrival, tiredness has removed my funny bone (not literally, it's a metaphor see?), but he is humorous.

He gets me. He understands why I get wound up and that it's usually hiding a deeper upset, he knows how to react and he backs me up. He never offers a controversial opinion without the go-ahead, as he knows that I probably don't want to hear that. There is never any pressure or guilt laid thick.

He is my soul-mate. From the moment that I saw him at the end of the train station underpass I knew that he was The One. He reminded me that that was 11yrs ago the other week, guiltily I had to admit that I hadn't realised the date. This year we will have been married for ten happy years, long may it continue!

Togetherness

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Tara set us a lovely challenge this week, a real heart-warming theme especially for Valentine's Day: "This week's theme is: Togetherness. You, your children, your other half, your siblings, friends, lovers, Romans."

It's a fabulous theme and thought-provoking for a new family. This is our second Valentine's Day with The Boy in our lives, but probably the first time that I've analysed how our relationship has changed since he arrived. We are shattered. We never seem to have time for ourselves, evenings are spent washing bottles, tidying up, ironing, paperwork, cleaning; all the things that you can't do when you've got a curious toddler around. We have to make an effort to remember to talk to each other. We can't do impulsive things anymore like going out for dinner at the drop of a hat, or popping out to the cinema because there's nothing on television.

And yet, we have never felt more complete. The Boy is amazing and astounds us daily with the way he enhances our lives. We cannot remember a time when he wasn't in our lives, it certainly must have been more boring and superficial!

Valentine's Day is a time for couples to show how much they love each other, but then we only have to look at our son to quantify it. The Boy is the ultimate symbol of our love.

Black out.

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Bang!

Flash!

"Mum-meee! Dad-deee!"

And with that ensued a mild panic on my part while I tried to remain calm, keep The Boy happy and safe, find the candles and work out why we had returned to the dark ages.

A power cut? But it's 2011, we don't have things like that anymore!

Apparently we do though. I looked outside the front door & everything was a sea of non-light. It was like Ron Weasley had been along with his de-illuminator. No light pollution and the faint high-pitched wails of burglar alarms protesting and being rendered incapable of doing their jobs.

Meanwhile inside, The Boy was quite enjoying this new game and hubby was in his boy scout element finding torches, plugging in the basic, non-electric phone and feeling all a bit 'me man, protect family'-ish.

Busy, busy, busy. Where are the candles? Who put the matches at the back of the only kitchen drawer which was wedged shut with pens and red Royal Mail elastic bands?

So I heated up The Boy's milk on the gas hob ('that's why we have a dual-fuel cooker' thought I smugly) and hubby took The Boy upstairs to get ready for bed, ably assisted by his super-duper Maglight.

I texted a few people and it transpired the whole of the 40,000 strong town was out. Well now this is serious! I know, I'll ask twitter for advice. Ah, no wireless. But aha, I have 3G! So I duly tweeted, and they ignored me. Pah!

A lovely automated phoneline from SWALEC informed me that it would be 10pm before the power would be back on.10pm?! But that's 3 whole hours away, what will we do? No 'net, no tv, no reading… and no I'm sorry don't even think about suggesting that! No wonder the Victorians had so many children.

"It's like the Blitz," says I to hubby.

He looked at me. You know that look. "Yes darling, but without the aeroplanes and bombing," says he.

He may have a point there, I'll concede that one.

So there I am, putting The Boy to bed in the pitch-black (don't worry, that's normal) when I hear the heating strike back up, the phone blip, the burglar alarms silence and normality return to the world.

Electricity, how I love thee.

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