the important stuff

Jack's rugby team had a hog roast last Sunday, much to the delight of my husband. What a Father's Day treat - binging on pork and drinking cider! To be honest, I wasn't really looking forward to it. I wouldn't know many people there (the downside to missing most of Jack's rugby games due to horrible weather and two little sisters who really wouldn't have enjoyed standing in the pouring rain for 2 1/2 hours) and I was the designated driver.

As it happened, it turned out to be a wonderful day. Not only was there an abundance of succulent roasted pork (with the crunchiest crackling), but I really enjoyed chatting with the parents. The kids had a blast, running around in open fields and going down the bouncy slide one hundred times. The sun finally came out after weeks of rain and misery.

Isla started getting bored so I took her away from the chaos on a little walk around the grounds.  She spied some sheep and immediately wanted to go over to say hello. We sat together on a stile, watching the sheep munching on the grass. "Look at the little sheep!" she said. "What he called?" We stayed there for ages gazing across the fields, swatting away flies, counting sheep, enjoying the quiet.

We left the sheep to explore the grounds. We came across a Celtic knotwork garden, tucked away behind an iron gate and brick walls. We admired the carefully manicured shrubs and returned to get Mia to share our discovery.



A kind woman from the church explained what the different plants were and the significance of the pomegranate mosaic. It was the personal symbol of Queen Katherine, AKA Catherine of Aragon, who lived here for one year.

 

We returned to the rugby celebrations and spent the rest of the afternoon lazing on the grass. It was chilled and fantastic. Exactly what was needed, and a very good reminder of what is actually important.

The copious amount of pork also contributed to my happiness, obviously.

"SHHHH SHE'LL HEAR US!"

You know when you were a kid and you were constantly shocked by your mother's ability to know what you were up to, despite being as quiet as a mouse in another room? It's not because she was superhuman, it's because you were way, WAY louder than you thought.

My kids have no sense of volume control.

clueless

Toddler Girl (talking about what she wants on her birthday cake): "I want fairies. And bingles."
Me: "Bagels?"
Toddler Girl: "Bingles!"
Me: "Pringles?!"
Toddler Girl: "BIN-GLES! PINK BINGLES!"
Me: "Oh, sprinkles!"
Toddler Girl: "An' a wan."
Me: "A one?"
Toddler Girl: "WAN. WAAAN!"
4-year-old interpreter: "She says she wants a wand, mummy."

Under 5s should come with subtitles, for goodness sake.

what's the opposite of hipster?

Someone sent me a request from Klout the other day, so I checked it out. I cannot figure out what purpose it serves, and I don't mean that in a "Pfffft what a pile of piffle!" kind of way. I really, honestly, have no clue what it does. Now, I consider myself to be an Internet-savvy kinda gal and as a tech writer, I'm pretty good at figuring out how stuff works - but I'm stumped.

Klout seems completely unintuitive to me and the site's a bit laggy, unless it just doesn't play nicely with Chrome. From what I can gather, it illustrates how active and popular you are online. For what purpose, I have no idea. I can't say I was comfortable "connecting" Klout to everything I do online, and the skeptical side of me thinks this has to do with marketing/information harvesting.

The only amusing thing about Klout is the list of topics I am supposedly "influential" about. This list includes: family, Facebook, food, music, cookies, chocolate, and bacon. I think their algorithms might need a little fine tuning.

So what is it all about? Do I need it? Will my online life be better as a result? Will I ever become influential about firemen and Hendrick's gin?

a monster moved in next door

I knew that my elderly neighbour had been in hospital, but I kept neglecting to sort out a visit. For two solid weeks at various points, we all had a stomach virus and I really didn't want to pass anything along. I finally saw my neighbour's husband today and I asked how she was doing. "She has bowel cancer", he said. "She has a long recovery ahead of her."

It was a complete shock to everyone; she went in with stomach complaints and was diagnosed with a twisted bowel. Upon further investigation, they found the cancer. Just like that.

The husband was a stocky man with a booming voice, shouting greetings at me from his driveway (mostly because he's hard of hearing). Today he looked so old, so tired, so small. He looked like he hadn't slept well in a while and had a fretful, confused look in his eyes. When he told me the news, I didn't know what to say except that I was so very sorry and that he could call on us to help however we could. I wanted to ask what the prognosis was, but didn't feel like it was the right thing to say.

My neighbour treats my kids like they're her own grandkids (of which she has several). We speak regularly over the fence; she fills me in on her family and she fills them in on us. I've only met her daughter a couple of times, but she greets me like an old friend and knows everything about my children.

My neighbour was one of the first people to learn that I'd miscarried and held me tight while I sobbed in her arms. She whispered in my ear that she went through the same thing. She looked after Jack while I was in hospital without a second thought. I will always, always remember this and hold it dear in my heart.

I will take over some food and repeat my offer of help, but really, what else can I do?

Fuck cancer. Fuck it.

tally ho, pip pip, bob's your uncle

I'm going to my very first street party on Monday to celebrate the Queen's Jubilee, and I cannot wait. As a Canadian we grew up with all things British (mostly because we're populated by a lot of ex-pats) and we like to think of ourselves as British at heart - which is why when we're told we're no different than the Americans, we get a bit glum. You can buy HP sauce, Marmite, and Twinings tea in the supermarkets, you know. Plus, we like to stick the letter u in words and it's "zed", not "zee".

We had a tea party at our house for the royal wedding last year, and I went a bit nuts with it. I was a little disappointed that the tackiest thing I could find in all of the discount and pound shops was this slightly hideous tea towel:



We had crustless sandwiches, scones, mini Victoria sponge cakes, lemon drizzle cake, tea, and Pimm's. If the government continues to insist that people take a test to demonstrate their knowledge of Britain to obtain citizenship, they should take stuff like this into account. Look at how British this is! I even bought royal cake stands for the occasion and bunting!

 

So it's with unmitigated and unabashed glee that I look forward to the Jubilee festivities. We were asked to bring a dish and one of the ladies organising the party mentioned that a cheesecake would be nice. "It's not terribly British", I said. "But then again, neither am I."

notes from neverland

When Jack lost his first tooth, he wanted to leave a note for the tooth fairy. He wanted to ask if the tooth fairy was a boy or a girl, what his/her name was, and if he could please keep his first lost tooth. I thought this was just about the cutest thing ever, and I dug out some paper the kids hadn't seen before to use as tooth fairy stationery (from my Big Box of Scrapbooking Stuff That Never Made It Into a Scrapbook Because I Never Got Around to Doing the Kids' Scrapbooks.)

The tooth fairy told Jack that he's a boy called Terrence and that he could indeed keep his tooth. Fabulous, Jack was very pleased, and didn't send notes to Terrence for the next few lost teeth. But when he lost a tooth a couple of weeks ago, he had a plan. A complicated plan. A plan that made me go, oh. Crap.

He was determined not only to get a letter back from Terrence but to SEE him. Jack was desperate to know what his tooth fairy looked like. He made a bed for Terrence out of a small plastic box with a cloth in it, and a tiny pillow from Mia's doll's house. He wrote him a note to let him know that the bed was his, and could he please stay the night? He also wanted to set up a video camera (I drew the line at that one) and spent the night waking up every few hours to put his hand in the bed to see if Terrence was there.

The first thought to cross my mind was to take a photo of Jack sleeping and Photoshop in a little fairy. As the night went on and doubts about my Photoshop skills surfaced (Jack is a very clever boy and the photo would have to be flawless), I decided to write a note back to Jack.

Jack was a little disappointed, but he liked the note. He told me that he thought I had been writing Terrence's notes, but now he knows Terrence is real because he's never seen this notepaper before - and "It looks like fairy paper!" The bed is still there next to his, along with the note.

Long may these days of magic and belief last.

Terrence the Tooth Fairy's response to Jack's letter, a photo by Lisa Durbin on Flickr.