The Croissant Chart

I was about to throw away this scrap of well scribbled on A4 paper when I realised that I had never blogged about my little boy Dylan's birthday and felt a compulsion to do so.

Dylan's birthday could have easily passed by relatively unnoticed this year... lost in the chaos that is my life since it was confirmed that we would be moving away from the home I've loved for ten wonderful years to pastures new. His birthday could have passed by relatively unnoticed were it not for the fact that he had been excitedly counting down the days for a whole month prior to the event.

He made a chart - a birthday countdown chart. He religiously crossed the days off and proudly announced how many more sleeps there were until he was five years old. He called it his 'cross off' chart and on more than one occasion I misheard him and wondered what on earth was the Croissant Chart he was searching for.

It would have been impossible not to treat his birthday with the same excitement he had for it.

Dylan's  birthday fell on a Sunday and it just happened to coincide with a date that features in our running diary - a local fun run. The five mile route through beautiful Shropshire countryside can be tackled on foot or by bike and we had plans to take part as a family. My eldest daughter was going to run with me while three of my other daughters took to their wheels with the birthday boy riding 'tag-along' on the back of dad's bike. For my youngest daughter, Addy, this was a big challenge. It is a fairly recent development that she's had the confidence to cycle any sort of distance on roads (albeit quiet country ones) but she was very determined to meet the challenge with the ring of her bell, a favourite teddy in her front basket and a big smile.

I absolutely loved every one of the five miles running (and strategic walking!) with my daughter. It was lovely when the cyclists, who start at the back of the pack behind elite runners and fun runners, overtook us and offered encouragement. I could see that my little family team were all having a good time. I was especially delighted as I approached the finish line (which due to a route change was now a painful uphill slog) to see my triumphant little girl, wearing her finishers medal, running towards me to run the last few metres with me.

Dylan was in a fever pitch of excitement. Both he and Addy jumped on me as I lay on the ground to recover from my exertions. I didn't mind at all! Dylan declared that he was having the Best Birthday in the Universe!

Back home, family and friends celebrated with cake as Dylan ran around the garden in a  knight's costume getting up to no good with a giant water soaker gun - both well appreciated birthday presents.

The only one of my offspring not to have taken part in the birthday fun run was 18year old Charis. She had celebrated her last day at boarding school the previous day and my husband and I were there with her to witness her collecting the academic prizes she had been awarded, to enjoy a picnic lunch and see her taking part in a fencing demonstration. I don't know much about fencing but I think she may have just won a well timed point as I took the following snap!

Her evening ended with a lavish Leavers Ball. As much as I would have loved to have seen her swanning around like a princess in the gown and sparkly heels that I had the privilege of buying for her, we left her to it hoping for a glimpse into her world with whatever photographs might appear on social media. 

We collected her in the early hours of the morning when the champagne had all been drunk and promises to stay in touch with friends had been made. Pitifully inadequate hours of sleep later, she was off on a training course for a summer holiday job to fund driving lessons and travel plans.

Although much has happened in the two years that Charis has been away at boarding school, the time has passed frighteningly quickly. As I reflect on the crossed off days of Dylan's Croissant Chart I am reminded of this passage of time. No one knows how many blank days lie ahead for them waiting to be filled and crossed off but we do know with certainty that the number is decreasing steadily and unstoppably. It's often not easy but I always want to try to embrace each new day and fill it with good things as best I can because one day, inevitably sooner than I'd like, the Croissant Chart of my life will be nothing more than a well scribbled on scrap of A4 paper that needs to be thrown away.

The first mince pie of Christmas

I felt justified wearing my Christmas socks this weekend as two excited children decorated our tree, an unexpected gift of home made mincemeat arrived and I had the pleasure of attending a Carol service and Charity concert both featuring the vocal talents of my amazing daughter Charis (along with a good injection of seasonal celebration).

My older daughters always remind me that I would not let them anywhere near the baubles and fairy lights in Christmases past. The tree had to be immaculately decorated with perfect symmetry and  adhere to a strict colour theme. Nowadays I am much more relaxed and enjoy watching my two little ones dive in and turn a plain conifer into a magical work of art. I admit to not being able to relinquish my control entirely - I provide the baubles I want hung rather than giving them a free choice of the countless decorations we have accumulated over the years and once they are in bed, I might just reposition the odd offending bauble (or two!)

It took a lot longer than usual to dress the tree this year. Addy was so excited that she literally jumped up and down after every successful positioning of a decoration and Dylan was intent on using his  remote control vehicle to transport baubles from box to tree. It was a delight to watch but not the most efficient use of time.

And time was tight.

On both Saturday and Sunday evenings, we had engagements at my daughter's boarding school.

Babysitters were organised, glad rags donned and we set off on the Saturday to see Charis perform with her chamber choir and an A Cappella quintet in a concert raising money for a charity whose aim is to provide loving, family based care for all children currently in institutionalised settings around the world.   Understanding the plight of the orphans and abandoned childen was heartbreaking and in stark contrast to the jollity of the evening's entertainment. Charis was superb as always, especially with the quintet, performing one of her own Xmas arrangements as well as a brilliant rendition of Hark Hear the Bells in which she was barely able to take a breath for more bars than I could count. In fact, she was so accomplished and confident you could be forgiven for mistaking her for one of the teachers rather than a student. She has come a long way from the odd little girl who wouldn't talk that she once was.

There were mince pies and mulled wine during the interval. My first mince pie of the year is always a bit of an event for me and this was a lovely way to mark the occasion. The mulled wine had the right smell but looked muddy and tasted foul. I am looking forward to finding the right moment for mulled wine at home (a non muddy version) and mince pies made with my treasured little jar of home made mincemeat.

On the Sunday, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer and White Christmas were swapped for Christmas Carols and Bible readings in the school chapel. It was a lovely service and the choir sang with haunting beauty. I had forgotten to take my reading glasses and didn't stand a chance in the dim light of seeing the tiny print on the order of service that would have helped me with the words of the carols that required participation from the congregation. I am always surprised by how many of the words I actually know anyway so I sang along in the glass shattering range I reserve for church and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Things got easier during the candlelit part of the service. My little candle shed enough bright light for a miraculous restoration of my sight (and dripped enough wax on my hand to be slightly disconcerting!)

The busy nature of the weekend meant that the kids missed out on their bathtime and I failed to get the costumes for their school play ready. It was a mad dash this morning trying to make them both look vaguely respectable and stuff suitably coloured clothes and tinsel into separate bags to transform them into a twinkling star and a snowflake. I had hardly finished congratulating myself for getting them to school before the bell when I noticed that one of the mothers had provided a shop purchased full star costume for her little thespian. I didn't even know such things existed! The bag I was about to hand over with a sad bit of gold tinsel started to seem a bit inadequate. Then I remembered Dylan telling me that he doesn't even want to be a twinkling star - he wants to be a twinkling shark.

It made me feel a bit better.

Feeling Good

I am feeling pretty good right now.

January's credit card bill has been paid off in full without too much of a struggle.

I have set my running targets for next month which focus on building up distance and went for a lovely four mile run with my husband to make sure I wasn't being unrealistic about what I could achieve.

My daughter has been home from boarding school for the weekend and I continue to be amazed at the huge leaps in confidence and maturity that are evident in everything she does. It was an absolute privilege to see her perform two songs at her school's Senior Vocal Concert. It wasn't so much a 'proud mummy moment' as totally in awe of her.

My January resolution to make more pamper time for myself and make use of my collection of gorgeous lotions and potions that have remained unopened for long enough, has been enhanced greatly by my husband finally getting round to fixing the spa feature on my bath. I had a wonderfully relaxing jacuzzi bath yesterday evening which felt so good on post-run muscles.

I have some ideas for small changes for the better I can make over the coming months (my version of New Year's Resolutions for 2014)  and am making plans to enter some running events that will really challenge me. I am definitely feeling very positive about the year ahead.

Charis

It was late in the evening of 29th December, 1996. I was lying on the sofa with my husband, watching the Judge Dredd movie on the TV and eating Quality Street left over from Christmas, when my waters broke. It wasn't a gush but it was considerably more than a trickle. My husband was slow to respond but he did eventually answer my plea for TOWELS!!!

I had a home birth planned so the most important thing was to stay calm. I got myself cleaned up and as the contractions were not particularly bothersome at this early stage, I decided to go to bed to try and get some sleep in preparation for the exhausting feat of labour I would soon be experiencing.

I slept as much as excitement and nervousness would allow, but I was at least resting.

By morning, the contractions were stronger. My husband was completely useless at emotional support but he was very good at the practical stuff - looking after our three children and contacting the hospital. This was my second home birth and I have to confess that the details of each are muddled in my memory. I suffered badly with depression at that time and there are huge chunks of my life that are lost to the fog of mental illness. I do remember watching The Animals of Farthing wood on DVD in my bed with the kids and when the pains came, reassuring them that it was OK, they were good pains - but I'm not sure which of the home births that is a detail from.

By evening, there was still no sign of the new arrival. The children were put to bed and eventually the midwife was called. As I still wasn't fully dilated, the midwife made herself a bed out of our spare duvet  in the corner of our bedroom and tried to get some rest herself. A tin of Christmas biscuits was on standby for when instant energy was needed.

When it got to 24 hours since my waters broke, the midwife spoke of the need to get me to hospital. Thankfully, she was quite relaxed and as things began to progress more quickly, she gave me a little more time to have the home birth I wanted. Things began to progress MUCH more quickly. The second midwife was called to attend the birth and only just got there in time. In the early hours of 31st December 1996, my daughter was born.

Right from the start I thought she was different from the three daughters I already had. Each of them had weighed in at around 7+ pounds. This baby was over 9lbs. The birth had felt different (much more painful) and she looked different - not just bigger but lacking the fragility of a newborn. The first sized clothes were instantly discarded in favour of the next size up. I remember asking my husband if she was alright. I don't remember him answering. I think he was busy taking the tea/coffee requests from the midwives.

The midwives left. Alone with my new baby, I fed her and fell asleep with her cradled in my arms. In the morning, I introduced Baby Charis to her sisters. The youngest took one look at her, said "I don't like Baby Carrots" and stomped off!

It wasn't long before she was a fully integrated member of the family with each of her sisters eager to share in the looking after. She was unfazed by the clumsy attempts of a three year old to comfort her by sticking a finger in her mouth.

Charis was placid and self contained. She didn't require very much attention.

As she grew older, it became clear that she was a little different. Her speech was not developing in the expected way and there were fears that she was perhaps not hearing properly. Thorough testing found nothing wrong with her hearing. It seemed that Charis was making the choice to live in her own little bubble of silence. It broke my heart to hear other children her age chattering away and imploring parents to "Look at me!!" as they played. Charis said nothing.

She had a habit of sucking the index and middle finger of one hand. She would not remove the fingers when drinking milk from her lidded beaker. She devised a technique whereby the milk would run down the channel between her fingers and into her mouth. She loved her milk. It was probably the first word that she uttered with any reliability - only she didn't call it 'milk', she called it 'moo'. We all began to call it moo!

When Charis started nursery school, I pre-warned the staff about her lack of language. After a few days, they assured me that there was no problem - she communicated perfectly. They probably thought I was some kind of neurotic mother. I will never know what really happened but Charis just talked as though there had never been a problem.

I stopped worrying about her language development but did find it peculiar that she would line all her toys up in size order and organise her drawers and shelves with military precision.

At primary school, it was remarked upon how she would listen intently and she thrived academically. However, it did become obvious that she lacked some social skills that seemed to come naturally to her peers and made literal interpretations that sometimes left her terribly confused. Poetry and flowery prose were a complete mystery to her.

One of her teachers suggested to me that she might fall under the autistic umbrella. I had long since suspected as much and it was reassuring to have my suspicions validated by an educational professional. I worked with Charis to help her make sense of her confusion and by observing and imitating social behaviour, she managed to fit in.

Charis grew very tall but without a hint of awkwardness. She possessed natural grace and poise. She excelled academically at secondary school and enjoyed the security of a close circle of friends.  She found a passion for music and drama and never failed to move me with her performances.

There were occasional obstacles to her success - poetry and prose continued to be a mystery that she needed help to unravel. I always felt honoured if I could provide that help somehow.

Charis achieved an outstanding set of results in her GCSEs and today, she took the next step in her journey when I dropped her off at the boarding school she won a scholarship to attend.

We have spent time over summer preparing for this moment. There were shopping trips that stretched my credit card to the limit. There were two days of sewing name labels onto every item of clothing. There was packing. There were goodbyes. Throughout it all, she was worried that she wasn't feeling anything - not nervousness, not excitement, not fear that she would miss us - nothing. On the drive to school, she suddenly felt it all - all at once. She had a five minute panic then calm was restored as she emerged ready for all the new challenges.

I could not have been more proud of the confident, excited young woman who settled herself in to her room (with her usual meticulous organisation) and introduced herself to fellow students.

As I left her to start the new chapter of her life, I wished her luck. I don't think she is going to need it.

A Malory Towers Adventure

Some time ago, my ex-husband bought the set of Malory Towers books by Enid Blyton for our daughter Charis' birthday.

With the wealth of wonderful Young Adult fiction available these days, it seemed an odd choice. What possible relevance could such old fashioned books published in the forties have for children today?    The one dimensional characters enjoying midnight feasts and lacrosse games whilst at boarding school  did not seem easy to relate to. The books ended up being donated to a charity shop - but not before we all had a good giggle at the rather stilted dialogue and narration. Spiffing!

Little did we know, the journey Charis was on with her life (and in particular with her education) was about to lead her to a destination not too dissimilar to the world portrayed within the pages of those books.

When Charis announced that she wanted to be a doctor, it made perfect sense. I had never even thought about possible careers for her but as soon as she mentioned it, it seemed so obvious. She is very academic and hard working and has an unusually logical, matter of fact approach to life and problems. She also has a caring and empathic side to her that revealed itself when she did work experience in an old folks home. She respects people. She is fascinated by the workings of the human body. She is incredibly capable. If I were to go into hospital. I would want someone just like her to be responsible for any life and death decisions pertaining to me.

I always try to support and encourage all of my children in whatever ways I can. Sometimes it can backfire and certainly my relationship with one of my daughters was tested to the limit when my attempts to help her move her life forward in a positive way was perceived as unreasonable pressure. Parenting can mean walking the fine line between doing the right thing and getting it totally wrong.

I am as close to 100% certain as it is possible to be that what we are doing for  Charis, is the right thing. 

The school Charis currently attends is the local comprehensive. It is very convenient for us but I am under no illusions about the quality of the education the establishment has to offer. It has served her well enough thus far. She is predicted As and A*s in her GCSEs and she has a strong friendship group. I believe that she has learned many life lessons that have contributed to the roundness of her character and her resilience as an individual. However, in order to succeed in her ambition to be a doctor, we felt that the sixth form college that forms part of the campus would not necessarily be geared to meet her needs.

We started to look at the alternatives.

My husband has worked in private education for many years and he recognised in Charis the qualities  that would enable her to thrive in that environment. He suggested that she attend some open days.

The school that caught her imagination - the school that she could see herself a member of - was one that my husband had worked for previously. His familiarity with the entrance procedure and knowledge of members of staff meant that the process Charis was about to go through was not too daunting. She spent a weekend at the school taking entrance exams, being interviewed and doing auditions for the music department. She took the whole thing in her stride and impressed the people that mattered. She was offered a scholarship for a place with boarding.

Can Charis make the transition to lacrosse from baseball with a brussel sprout stalk?

I was unbelievably proud of her and could see that she had grown as a person simply from taking part in the admissions process. 

There were two reasons for not wanting Charis to take the place offered:

1) I would miss her terribly - especially all the help she gives so freely and willingly.

2) Even with the scholarship, there would be a considerable financial commitment.

There were countless reasons to ignore 1 and 2 above.

So come September, Charis will be packing her suitcase with posh new uniform and heading off for a Malory Towers style adventure at boarding school. 

In the meantime, I am tightening my purse strings and trying to find ways of economising that do not compromise our lifestyle. I am on a mission to live better for less - to fund the Malory Towers adventure without feeling like the token poor person in a more affluent world. I am actually really enjoying myself with it. You could even say I'm having a spiffing time - marvellously spiffing!