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.

Oxford Blues

Over three decades ago, I held an envelope in my hand. Inside that envelope was a rejection or offer letter from Oxford University. I opened the letter. It was a rejection.

This was not a devastating blow to me. I treated it all a bit like a game, enjoying the special treatment I got at school during the application process. I wore a borrowed pencil skirt and gold high heels to my interview. I didn't even know that the prime minister at the time had studied the same subject at the same college I applied for. I cringe now to think how flippant I was about an amazing opportunity.

I could never accuse my daughter Charis of being flippant. She fell in love with Oxford when we visited recently and despite knowing how tough the competition would be for a place to study medicine in the city of dreaming spires, she felt she owed it to herself to try.

Yesterday, we sat waiting anxiously for the postman to arrive with the letter that would direct her one way or another in a critical fork in the road of her life journey. It had already been an excruciatingly difficult wait from her interview in December until this moment  I'm sure Charis won't mind me saying that she was not always easy to live with while the weight of not knowing if her Oxford dream would become a reality sat so heavily on her shoulders. Now that the 'knowing' was one postal delivery away, the pressure was intense.

Adding to the pressure was the fact that she needed to be in Leicester for another University interview by midday. I was driving her there and we needed to leave by 10am to give us plenty of time to find the right building. Ten o'clock came and still no sign of the postman. We waited another 15 minutes before
accepting that this was not going to work out. We needed to leave and no amount of wishing and praying was going to make a postman materialise at our front door.

We agreed that we needed to put it out of our minds, give the Leicester interview 100% and as I would be returning home without her, I would open the letter and let her know if it was a yes or a no after five o'clock when she would be finished with the interview and on a train back to her boarding school. Simple.

Simple, that is, if it were possible to put such an important thing out of your mind. She really did have a face like thunder. I felt pity for the poor, unsuspecting person tasked with interviewing her!

Simple, that is, until I started my return journey and had time to think about the enormous responsibility of opening the letter, knowing the fate of my daughter and having to find a way to tell her if the news was bad.

I arrived home. As I opened the door I had a moment of doubt that the postman may not have called at all but there it was. The letter. The white envelope with the college crest printed in the top left hand corner. My heartbeat quickened. I felt sick. I bent to pick it up.

It did not take a genius to work out that a letter as thick as this one was not going to be a rejection. Dear so and so, you have not been offered a place at Oxford but here is a load of information to show you how good it would have been if we had wanted you. I remembered my letter thirty odd years ago. A single sheet of paper with an apology. I was relaxed and happy as I opened my daughter's letter and confirmed what I already knew.

I did not wait until 5 o'clock to text my daughter with the good news. I didn't even care if her phone buzzed and lit up in her pocket in the middle of an interview. She didn't care that I had deviated from the plan.

She was one delighted young lady with a very bright future ahead of her.

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.

Edinburgh, The Lost Domain and a camera malfunction

I was looking forward to writing a post about Edinburgh to include:

• the architecture - in particular the spectacular Scott Memorial which looked like it had been conjured from the dark mind of the most villainous of fairy tale villains, Maleficent
• the five storey Primark open until 10pm across the road and down a bit from Maleficent's Memorial
• the Royal Mile alive and buzzing with street performers and artists promoting the shows they had brought to the Edinburgh Fringe
• the tranquil Waters of Leith Walkway that was a perfect route for a lovely evening run
• the Scottish National Gallery that introduced me to my new favourite modern artist David Shrigley
• and last but not least - the vegetarian haggis

This post was to be illustrated with the photographs that I had taken during the 2 night stay that I have just returned home from - the photographs that have somehow mysteriously and (for me) tragically disappeared from my camera.

I am so annoyed.

Most annoying was the loss of the photographs of my daughter Charis on the Royal Mile in peasant dress and stage makeup distributing flyers to promote the musical she was performing in. The whole atmosphere on the Mile was vibrant and energetic and she looked as though she was feeding off that atmosphere and radiating it back in a pure and concentrated form. She was beautiful. Maybe too beautiful for the camera to handle. Maybe that's why my photographs self destructed.

The musical was called The Lost Domain and was performed in the basement of a lovely old theatre, the splendour of which was slightly diminished by the fact that there was scaffolding up around it. I loved the show (cried like a baby for the first few minutes when my daughter came on stage). Charis was in the chorus and put her all into the singing and acting. She was an elegant attendee of a masked ball (although not coming from a dance background, her face did sometimes betray fear of falling during dizzying spins and twirls!). She was scarily slutty as a lady of the streets. My usually demure 17 year old had a convincing shoulder and hip wiggle to match her 'come hither' eyes. As a village girl she managed to portray all the emotions demanded of her without speaking a single line. Of course, I have no photographs of any of this either!

I am usually much more of a country girl but I totally loved the beautiful city of Edinburgh with its tall buildings, wide roads (that were a bugger to cross) and a great big castle on a hill which made navigating your way around pretty easy. It was veggie friendly (although my non-meat resolve was seriously challenged by the full Scottish breakfast that included black pudding and haggis) and my eating out experiences have given me some good ideas that I intend to try out at home (posts to follow!) 

In the absence of my photographs this may not have been the post I had intended to write about Edinburgh but I can offer this:

A beautiful photograph - a beautiful young woman

I recently invited my 17 year old daughter to write a guest post about her experience doing voluntary work with a charity in Malawi. The post has generated lots of positive feedback which did not surprise me. It was a beautifully written piece and really conveyed the passion that my daughter feels to pursue a career in medicine and be able to make a difference to people's lives.

She is currently working hard on her Personal Statement for University applications and getting to grips with the BMAT (Bio Medical Admissions Test) and UKCAT (UK Clinical Aptitude Test) that she will need to sit shortly. Her dedication to a task never fails to impress me.

The following photograph was taken by another volunteer in Malawi. I wanted to share it here on my blog because I absolutely adore it. My heart swells with pride when I look at the confident, empathic, brilliant young woman my 'slightly odd' little girl has become.

Photograph by Jane Fan

Helping Charis to Help Others

Send Charis to Malawi Project

Over the summer, my daughter Charis worked tirelessly to fundraise for a project called Medic Malawi, a charity that runs a hospital, an orphanage and a new eye clinic in one of the poorest parts of the world.

The main fundraiser was  a Musical Evening that she organised and performed in. She also hosted informal  'Charis Karaoke' events during which friends and family would pay £1 to sing a song to her piano accompaniment. She attempted to sell eggs (but our chickens were not very co-operative) and she did a sponsored 5K run. Ticket sales, sponsor money, donations and a grand total of £1 in egg sales all added up to an impressive amount.

The qualitiies that Charis demonstrated in her fund raising work  - initiative, hard work, creativity, determination and the ability to do it all with a smile on her face - were recognised by the charity and she was offered the opportunity to join a group of students from her school to travel to Malawi to see the work that was going on there for herself and to get involved in a hands on capacity. The experience would be invaluable to Charis whose ambition is to study medicine at University and has the potential to be life changing.

The trip will cost approximately £2,000.

In an incredible display of sibling love and support, two of Charis' sisters have started a campaign to help raise the money needed to cover the cost of the trip. I had tears in my eyes as I read the 'Send Charis to Malawi' Project Blog, the facebook page and the touching video that gives an insight into Charis as a person and the thought behind the campaign.

I am immensely proud of my daughters for what they are trying to do for Charis and I think it goes without saying that I am immensely proud of Charis for wanting to throw herself into work of the charity. 

I hope with all my heart that the campaign enjoys some success.

Please Help Charis Help Others by sharing the video, the blog, the facebook page or this post. Best of all, donations can be made very simply via the blog .

Many thanks for reading and for your support. 

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!

Bad Magician

Saturday morning belonged to me with an early start and a Parkrun. Sunday belonged to my husband with an even earlier start and a cycle challenge that involved a deliberately vague map route, some 50km and optional cafe stops. He completed it in about three hours without injury and only getting lost once. My involvement was to give him a lift to the starting point. I was slightly confused because he had told me it was in Kidderminster. The sat nav directed me in completely the opposite direction because it was in fact in Kidsgrove. Close enough!!

Charis, my ever helpful daughter, was not available to look after the little ones as she was occupied with her regular Sunday morning piano playing for the local church. Normally, taking Addy and Dylan  on a little adventure, especially with a dad and a bicycle, poses no problem. This time it was a bit different because it was a special day. Addy had been invited to a friend from school's birthday party.

The birthday party was not until 2pm but as soon as Addy woke up she was fussing about what to wear and what to take and whether there would be a bouncy castle or dancing..... Driving back in the car after dropping lycra clad dad off, she convinced herself we were lost and would never get home in time for the party. This level of anxiety never really subsided.

Eventually, the hour rolled close enough to 2pm to consider leaving. The present was wrapped, the card was written and Addy looked fabulous in a little blue party dress and her long blonde hair loose and slightly crimped from her ever present plait. We arrived at the party venue which happened to be at the same pub where big sister Ivy works. The combination of seeing her big sister AND going to a party proved too much.

My plan had been to drop her off at the party, which was in a separate little room away from the main bar, go and say hello to my barmaid daughter and have a coffee. Charis had accepted my invitation to come along, have a lemonade and then possibly take Dylan along to the park for a runaround whilst Addy enjoyed the company of her friends. Enjoying the company of her friends was maybe the last thing on Addy's mind.

I felt Addy's little body tense as we entered the party room. I was grateful that Charis was there to look after Dylan whilst I tried my best to settle Addy down and point out the fun she could be having. She was not easily convinced but I did eventually manage to edge my way out of the room and into the main bar. Coffee and lemonade were ordered, seats were occupied, Dylan was happily occupied with an electronic game and I started to relax.

Then the party entertainer arrived.

I have to admit that as a little girl I was deeply suspicious of adults dressed in strange clothing. I always hated the Santas that made appearances at the family Christmas parties held by the company my dad worked for. I can imagine now how mortified my parents must have been when I refused to play nice because that is exactly how I felt when Addy ran screaming from the man in loud floral suit and spotty hat.

I tired to calm her down (again!) and explain that he was a magician and was there to show some magic tricks to all the children. She screamed surprisingly eloquent but horribly rude reaons why he was a rubbish magician and she hated magicians. Her face was getting redder and redder with anger, as was mine with embarrassment.

Calm and reassuring assistance came in the shape of my wonderful daughter Charis. She totally earned her lemonade when she gently cajoled Addy back into the room, tiny step by tiny step, until Addy was joining in and shouting Abracadabra at the appropriate moment.

Why, oh why did the entertainer have to pick Charis to be his assistant for a trick.

I think Charis asked herself the same question as she was fitted with a strange rubber tubing device that enabled the flower suit man to create the illusion of water passing straight through her middle. As he poured the water into a large funnel attached to the tubing, it looked like some sort of strange home colonic irrigation ritual. The only question Addy was asking herself - and everyone in the pub and possibly neighbouring houses such was the volume and urgency of her voice - was WHY IS THAT MAN TRYING TO KILL MY SISTER!!!

By this time the birthday girl's mum had asked me to come back into the room to sort a hysterical Addy out so I was there to witness (and photograph!) Charis' humiliation.

Addy never really integrated properly back with the party. She sat with me to eat her plate of party food.

I was so disappointed that she had not allowed herself to join in, especially given how much she had been looking forward to it. However, as she left with her party bag, she was as happy as can be. Back home, she shared the treats inside the bag with her brother and talked excitedly about parties. Just don't mention the entertainer - it provokes an instant tirade about a bad magician that tried to kill my lovely big sister...

Panto Time (Oh no it isn't!)

The first school run of the second half of this term went remarkably smoothly. I woke up feeling refreshed and ready for the day ahead after an uninterrupted night's sleep and Addy was very eager to be back in the classroom with her friends.

It has been a half term holiday dominated by pantomime. Oh no it hasn't - I hear you say. I can definitely reply - Oh yes it has! 

My 16 year old daughter Charis has been involved with the local Amateur Dramatics group for quite a few years. It has been an absolute privilege to watch her on stage in the many productions that she has played a part in and to see her blossom as a performer. Her part in the latest production - the annual panto - was as a member of the chorus. She only had one line to say but the chorus had a significant singing and dancing role for the majority of the show.

I am not really a fan of pantomime as a form of entertainment, but it was probably one of the best I've ever seen. It was without a doubt the best amateur panto I've ever seen. This had a lot to do with an inspired performance by a new member of the group cast as the evil fairy. She was amazing. My favourite scene involved the evil fairy concocting an equally evil spell with my Charis and another chorus member playing the part of her minions. Charis was fantastically creepy as she danced with lithesome grace around the cauldron.

Charis is not a natural dancer. She does not have dance lessons. It was through sheer determination and tireless practise that she not only mastered the steps but made them look effortless and professional. I was impressed beyond words. As a result of her accomplishments, she was approached to take on the role of musical director in future productions. Unfortunately, that is an opportunity she is unlikely to be able to explore. This was probably the last production with this particular group that she will be involved with.

The dedication to dancing has also seen her lose inches off her waistline. She was never overweight but she now has a enviably toned, slender body. She looks incredible.

The panto impacted on my week in different ways. For a start, we have had to live with Charis dancing around the house almost non-stop! Rehearsals have been taking up more and more time to the extreme that the technical rehearsal did not finish until after midnight. My husband was always on standby to pick her up and I could never properly go to sleep until she was home.

There were five performances in all including the matinee and Charis was overflowing with enthusiasm for each and every one. I took my mum along to see Thursday night's show. Spending time with my mum was a special treat and I love how she always jumps at the chance to see her grand daughter in action. She agreed with me that Charis was phenomenal with what she had achieved with her dancing. To top it all off - I won the raffle!

As a thank you for the opportunities and support that Charis has been given, I was very happy to make cakes for her to take to the after show party. I am really enjoying baking at the moment and had good results with coffee and walnut, lemon drizzle and chocolate marble cakes. My kitchen was a busy place. I cut all the cakes into slightly bigger than bite-sized, manageable party nibbles and tried not to feel that my sister in law and her children who were staying with us for the weekend were given the thin edge of the hospitality wedge by serving them inelegant piles of off cuts!

The after show party went on well into the early hours. One very jubilant Charis eventually texted one very tired stepdad for a lift home. At this point I was a little worse for wear having consumed unhealthy amounts of wine (and off cuts!) with the afore mentioned bad influence of a sister-in-law.

Charis is not quite sure what to do with herself now that the hectic schedule of rehearsal and performance has come to an end but the friendships she has forged, the confidence it has given her and the many happy memories will no doubt endure.

A Busy Week for Preston Parrot

It has been a busy week for my little Charis. I say 'little' - at 14 years of age she is actually taller than me (and I'm not exactly short at 5' 9") but she is the youngest of the four girls from my first marriage.

The beginning of the week saw her involved in increasingly stressful rehearsals for the play she was taking part in. The stress was a result of people dropping out at the last minute in protest at being told that they would not be allowed to the After Show Party because they had chosen to go to a school disco rather than a rehearsal. These arty types! What are they like?!!

You have to believe that It'll be Aright on the Night - and it was. Better than alright actually. It was thoroughly entertaining and well acted.

On the opening night, Charis was marvellously confident in her role and got a big cheer (not just from me and my mum) when she came out to take her bow at the end.

The following day was school sports day. Charis is very determined but I think she would forgive me for saying that she is not a natural athlete. She didn't come last in any of her races but neither was she going to gain any recognition for her placings. When she got home she was exhausted - overheated and croaky - and she had another performance to pull out of the bag that evening.

Like a true professional, she sorted herself out and found the energy to give 100% to her portrayal of Preston the singing Parrot.

It came as a complete surprise to me that at the end of the show, the Amateur Dramatic Society presented Charis with the impressively named "Bill Marston Trophy for outstanding effort and a consistently high standard of work". She showed off her framed certificate and silver cup with great pride.

The After Show Party kept her busy late into the evening.

She desperately needed a well earned rest but the following day she had to be at school (thankfully not too early) to catch a coach that would take her and fellow linguists on a trip to Spain to immerse themselves in the language and culture. We were still packing her bags minutes before we needed to leave but I think we remembered everything.

A smiling, excited girl boarded that coach for her next adventure. I just hope she managed to get some sleep!