Starbucks shame and frost-melting rants

It's peaceful here this morning.  The kids have a day of school and seem to be planning to spend most of it asleep, so a whole morning without fights and moans and frantic uniform hunting.. Outside the garden is covered in a thick layer of  frost which, for a little while, makes the world sparkle. Snow is forecast and Mia and Joss are pinning their hopes on schools closed for " snow days," and snowball fights in the road.

I was at a meeting yesterday, discussing how to make Children's Centres more inclusive and welcoming to families with children with a disability. Those meetings make my blood boil. I find it extraordinary that in 2012 we still need to have meetings about it. Time and again I hear stories of families, overcoming their fears of being judged, struggling to get children who find walking difficult out of cars, walking through doors of children's centres or shops or cafes. And when at last, they make it to reception or a table, they are made to feel unwelcome or ignored or kept waiting while people walk past and stare.  And I want to stand on reception desks and shout from cafe tables " Shame on You".  Sounds like I am a do-gooder I know but I'm not.  I am as quick to judge as anyone but it is so WRONG.  Because this world, its good parts and bad parts, snow covered or heat burnt, belongs to everyone, not just those who can walk normally.  

One of my friends has a daughter in a wheelchair. A few years ago she tried to take her to Starbucks in Chichester, only when they got there, there was no ramp and the door wasn't wide enough. And once again people stared and the family " were making a fuss." And the staff in Starbucks didn't even apologise.  I asked my friend why they didn't make an official complaint but even as I asked I could see the exhaustion and resignation in her eyes.  Because there is a limit to how many battles a parent can fight. And while the battle to get your child the right walking aids or a place in the right school, is one you will never give up on, fighting a big tax-evading company like Starbucks when other cafes with perfectly good wheelchair access are just round the corner, is just  one battle too many.

I have ranted for so long that the frost is melting. Maybe, one day, the world underneath will still be sparkling..

Christmas blues and vestless angels

Back to morning blogs!
Sitting at staff meeting yesterday, planning when we are going to take children from Nursery to choose the Christmas tree, suddenly made me realise that December is very nearly here.  And with it, that huge wave, that has been on pause such last Christmas, is about to crash down upon us again causing Christmas chaos.  From Monday, the excitement will be growing like a bubble with a sparkly, white membrane that will burst on Christmas day.  It is hard not to find yourself caught up in  the excitement of young children as the floors of the nursery and Children' Centre  are covered in  glitter and every inch of tree is weighed down by homemade decorations, until it looks like Christmas has been regurgitated all over them!  Children practice Christmas songs and laugh and dance and sing and cry and stamp and scream.  Excitement overkill is exhausting!  But there is something hidden behind the merriment that I find hard.  I listen to the parents talking competitively and proudly about the amazing electronic toys, overpriced clothes and latest mobile phones they have bought for their children and family and I feel sad.  I am thinking of marketing bottles of " quality time,"  jars of " love and patience," tokens for " an unbroken night's sleep." and a bestseller: " a handcrafted bag of FUN with the television turned off!"
Somehow I don't think it would make me rich.  Sounds "holier than thouish," I know, but I struggle with the consumeristic, materialistic frenzy that Christmas has become.  I can't help sympathising with the Grinch.
On Saturday the first doors on Advent calenders will be opened and the countdown will officially have begun. And despite myself I will join in. I know there will be moments of magic and lots of delicious food and huge amounts of chocolate.  And I will ignore the little part of me that is getting greener and grumpier and bah humbuggier. And I will pretend that I am not plotting how to steal Christmas.

One of our neighbours once told the story of her daughter who, every year, had wanted to play an angel in the Nativity play at school.  At last she was chosen.  With great excitement she helped her mum make her white costume with gold edged wings.  The day of the dress rehearsal was freezing, so her mum helped her dress up warm in vest and shirt. to wear under the costume.
That afternoon her daughter came home from school in floods of tears.
" What's the matter?" her mum asked, " did something happen in the rehearsal?"
Her daughter shook her head.
" I'm not an angel," she sobbed.
"Did they tell you you couldn't be one after all?" her mum asked, anger beginning to flair at the injustice of it.
Her daughter shook her head again.
" No,"she sobbed, " I'm not an angel because angels don't wear vests!"

Madly whirling Mondays and an 82 year wait.

It's feels strange blogging in the evening.  Usually it is early in the morning and the rest of the day is lying in front of me, waiting to be walked through. Now the day is coming to an end and I have left my footprints all over it. Mondays always feel like crazy days and I am always glad when it gets to the evening and all the groups at the Children's Centre have finished and the kids have been taken to and fetched from everywhere they have to go after school. Sometimes it feels less like walking through a day and more like whirling through it madly. And we only have two kids and Ninesh and I share the load.  I don't know how all of you with three or more kids do it, especially if you are on your own.

At the moment, Joss has to go to hospital 3 times a week.  He is having phototherapy and often I  find myself sitting next to other patients while I wait for him. And it is like collecting stories listening to them.  Today I sat next to someone from Pakistan.  He is working as a chef in Butlins holiday camp but only because love drew him away from London, where he was training with Gordon Ramsay.
" Is he as scary in real life as he seems to be on telly?"  I asked.
" Oh, he is very scary," said my waiting-room neighbour, ' but I have never learnt so much or wanted to stay somewhere so badly. But I came to Bognor and married my girlfriend and now we are expecting our first baby.  "
" So are you glad you gave everything up to come here?" I asked.
He stared at the ceiling reflectively.  " Well, we have a free flat and we are together and that is good," he said " But it is hard being a chef in Butlins.  They don't like to use spices in their food."

And then there was the 82 year old.
" I'm going to buy myself some trousers tomorrow," she told me triumphantly. "I'm going to be 83 in December and I've never bought a pair of trousers. But tomorrow I'm going to. This weather is just too cold for my legs. Who'd have thought I'd ever buy trousers."
" Who will take you shopping to buy them? " I asked because she used two waking sticks, so trying on trousers wouldn't be easy.
" I'll ask my niece," she said, " I don't have any children of my own.  Never married.  Fell in love with a soldier when I was in the army.  Head over heels I was.  He didn't tell me he was married.  Never got over my broken heart."
And her taxi arrived and she strode off bravely, leaning on her sticks.
I hope her first pair of trousers are worth the 82 year wait!

Upstairs Joss is singing tunelessly at the top of his voice, celebrating the fact that he only has a few more hospital visits left.   I am happy for him.  But I will miss my waiting room conversations.

Thanksgiving curries

Right now I should be tidying the house in preparation for the arrival of my parents-in-law but instead I am busy feeling thankful!  Last night we went out with our friends to celebrate Thanksgiving in the good old American tradition of going for a curry. And we had such a lovely evening- playing games, eating delicious food and laughing more than I remember laughing for a long time, Outside the wind was howling and rain was battering the windows ( I'm English- I have to mention the weather ) while inside lights and hearts were glowing.
" So go on, " my friend said, "what are you thankful for this year?" And suddenly the laughing stopped and we all looked at each other.  How do you answer that?
Cheesily: I am thankful for my family, my friends, my health, the love of those I love......
Materialistically:  I am thankful for my DM boots with the roses embroidered up the side and for the new fire pit in our garden
Philosophically: I am just thankful for being
Greedily: I am thankful for delicious food but most especially chocolate.
The truth is, it is hard to put into words what we are thankful for. It is more a general sense of wellbeing that we are lucky to be who we are, living where we are, when we do.
But last night, sitting in the restaurant sharing delicious food, creating  golden memories with good friends, it was hard not to be thankful for the creaminess of the saag paneer.


And what I forgot to write about bedtime story last weekend, is that as our story-teller sat back down on his chair, there was a squeal from underneath him and a little boy emerged hands and arms waving. Obviously the story-teller's chair looked more comfortable than the cushioned floor The story- teller jumped up.
"I'm not sure who's more surprised," he said, " him or me!"

Stories in the darkness and the great pyjama debate

Last night was bedtime story at the Children's Centre.
The children arrived wrapped in blankets of excitement.  Not because they were going to listen to stories but because it was dark and they were coming to Nursery in their pyjamas.
And, pyjama envy aside, there was something magical about it.
Pyjama clad, we searched the Nursery for the headteacher and when we found her fast asleep, wearing rollers in her hair, silk pyjamas and furry slippers, the children seemed to think it was perfectly normal.  Of course teachers live at school?
And as we all  fell under the Divali spell of our story- teller, weaving tales of evil  kings, brave children and lights in the darkness, it was hard not to feel part of something special.
When the stories were over and the hot chocolate drunk, I watched  everyone disappearing into the night.
Children wrapped tightly in fluffy dressing gowns, clutching teddy bears, parents pushing buggies or holding tightly onto tiny hands.
We tidied the Nursery and whenever we found a discarded blanket, we picked it up, folded it carefully and packed away the excitement.
Ready for next year's bedtime story.

And now there is an ongoing  pyjama debate raging in our house.  
My friend's daughter was horrified yesterday when I explained that I sometimes go to the corner shop, at the end of our road, in my pyjamas.
 She looked sympathetically at Mia, who shrugged and said " see what I have to put up with."
 I tried to explain that pyjamas are snug, warm and exceptionally fashionable at the moment.
But my friend's daughter kept repeating: " you go to the shop in your pyjamas!"
 I asked her what she would do.
She said she would get dressed, go to the shop, come  home and put her pyjamas back on.
" That seems like a lot of effort just to buy a pint of milk," I said.
" At least no one would see me in my pyjamas," she said.
At which point Mia told the story of how, one time, she had been chatting to her friends by the shop when I arrived, pyjama clad, said hello and walked straight in.
.  My friend's daughter looked at me.
" At least," the look seemed to say, " if you can't do if for yourself. get dressed for your daughter's sake!"
But life's too short to get dressed, when your pyjamas are so warm and comfortable.
 That's what I say.

birthday strangeness

Today is Ninesh's birthday.  Presents wrapped, candle with cake ready.... and I am thinking about how strange it is, that everyone has certain dates that are special just to them.  Your birthday, the birthdays of your children, the date you got your first big break, your wedding anniversary ( if you remember it! ), the date you left home,  bought your first car.  We each of us have special days that shape our years and our lives.  What's strange, is that anyone you walk past on those days, has no idea that they are special. To you it is, in some small way, momentous, to them it is just another day. I don't know why this suddenly seems strange.  We spend our lives walking past people we know nothing about. These dates are just one more thing we don't have in common with them.  But I can't help wishing that there was some code, some piece of clothing you could wear, a certain smile, that would tell everyone else this is a special day for you.  And maybe, just maybe, they would come and shake your hand or wish you well or share a smile.

Today though, the 14th November, is strange in it's specialness.  It is not just Ninesh's birthday.  It is the birthday of our friends adopted daughter,  long awaited and much loved.  I will never forget the day my friend came round, after years of emotional roller-coasting, to tell me that they had met the two girls who were to become their daughters.  They had met the oldest one, 11 today, first.  My friend told me how she and her husband walked up the garden  path  that day . Looking up, they saw a little girl, all curly hair and smiles waiting for them at the front door.  " Who's that?" they heard her ask her foster carer. " They're your mummy and daddy," said the foster carer.   And my friend turned to me, smiling too, and said " That's what we are."

And then there is the sadness because Ninesh shares his birthday with someone else too.  A friend who we didn't know for long enough and who is never really faraway.  I hope the flowers in the garden that is planted on her grave are flowering today.

Happy birthday to Ninesh, Ceylan and to a smiling girl with curly hair who has found her mum and dad.

Remembering and calmness in the rain

Yesterday at Mums Aloud, a Sunday drop-in and brunch for mums and their families at the Children's Centre, we held a minute's silence for Remembrance Sunday.  It's amazing how quiet 30 mums and 60 children, mostly under 5, can be when they really try.  And there was something so moving about seeing so many mums and young children holding hands or hugging each other quietly.  It made the loss seem so real and remembering the dads and grandads who were never given the chance to be part of their own family, so sad.  As soon as the minute was over, the children went back to cycling wildly round the garden or using huge amounts of glue to stick tiny bits of scarlet, poppy coloured paper onto a collage.  Everyone laughed and chatted and played.  But somehow, one minute's remembering made the next hour something worth treasuring.

Spent Saturday wandering around Brighton with a friend and our daughters.  My friend has 2 teenage children and 2 children under 5 ( rather her than me ). She was telling me that her 4 year old daughter had been given a wooden sword and was pretending to stab her younger brother with it.
" It's alright," she told her mum when she walked in and saw her , " I'm killing him very gently."

Joss ( 13 )asked me the other day, why Mia ( 15 )gets worried about school tests.  It's hard to know how to answer that!

Last night as Mia and I were driving back from dropping off a friend, we spied a man standing on the pavement at a busy intersection, doing T'ai Chi in the dark and rain.  He radiated such a peace and inner calmness. I hope we can carry it with us through today.

Trivial mundanity and train announcements

It is always a good feeling to wake up and know it's Friday. So even though it's still dark, I've got up to enjoy those first few minutes of the last working day of the week. Today is going to be one of those domino effect days: our big, brave, new multi-agency room is having desks put in all around the walls, so we have to put all our things in the very small meeting room next door, which means the health visitors who use that room, will have to move into another room, which means the group in the other room will have to be squeezed into one room instead of two, which means......It makes me realise how much of our lives we spend sorting out mundane trivialities and I can't help wishing it wasn't so.  But then, I suppose, it is the trivial things that provide the firm base upon which great things are built. It's especially true as a parent.  If you don't help your kids find their lost PE shirt, make sure they've eaten some breakfast, done their homework, switched off their computers, stopped tweeting on their phones, replace a broken compass and protractor- if you don't do all those little things, the solid base of their world can crumble.  It's hard to spread your wings and fly if you have no firm footing to take off from. Life will always be precarious, full of unexpected potholes, some small, some so gaping and enormous,  that all we can do is tiptoe around them and be careful not to fall back in. There is not much we can do about those.  The mundane triviality we can sort out though. So maybe, walking through this Friday, I'll be glad that's all I have to do.

Ninesh has changed his phone ring to the sound that is made in Swiss stations just before a train announcement is made.  So now, every time he gets a text message, I expect a train to arrive in our kitchen.

Roses and victory

And he won.  In front of me,on the table, from a vase full of flowers, a perfect, orange rose has unfurled.
I will carry Obama's victory and the scent of one fresh rose with me as I walk through today.

Shouting votes and blue food colouring

I am thinking about the elections  in America, as I sit here in freezing Chichester.  I  hope the right person wins. It is going to be so close and I wonder if knowing that, will make more people vote.  In England the voting apathy at election time is both sad and disheartening.  It is not so long ago that women were chaining themselves to railings and sacrificing themselves to ensure votes for women.  Yet today, many women cannot even be bothered to vote.  When we lived in Switzerland, I was shocked to discover that there was one area where women only got the vote in 1976! Perhaps it is because politicians and the word games they play, seem so far removed from the daily grind of making your benefits last to the end of the week or trying to get a house that is big enough for your family or applying for another job to be rejected from.  Maybe voting for someone who doesn't know you and probably doesn't really care, seems pointless.  In America especially today, I can't imagine how hard it must be for people who have lost everything in the hurricane, to summon up the energy to vote when their lives lie in shreds around them.  But still, I hope they do. Because voting is all we have.  However far removed the politicians may seem from us, voting is the only tool we have to make our voices heard.  One vote is a whisper, a whole community of votes is a SHOUT!

Yesterday I was searching for a candle for a birthday cake for one of my colleagues at work.  As I opened the cupboard in the  kitchen, a bottle of opened food colouring fell out, turning every inch of surface and every millimetre of white grout, a brilliant blue.  A splash of colour on a grey day.  Not sure my boss will agree though!

Magic moments and pink cupcakes

Joss, my 13 year old son is ill.  So instead of going to work, I have spent the morning curled up next to him, by the fire, reading the third book of "His Dark Materials," Trilogy: The Amber Spyglass.  It is easy to get lost in the tangibly magical worlds Philip Pullman creates. But sitting here with Joss next to me, I realise that  you don't need stories, or television or films to create magic. What you need is time. Time to be a mum, time to be a family, time to be a friend.  Time to talk, time to laugh, time to share your dreams.  And that is enough. Because the memories of mornings like today are what keep us warm on even the coldest days. And that's magic.

At work yesterday one of the mums was telling me that her 3 year old daughter had asked for pink cup cakes for breakfast.
" When do you ever have cupcakes for breakfast?" her mum asked.
" Today would be a good day," replied her daughter!
" And did she get them?" I asked.
The mum laughed.
" I told today probably was as good a day as any.  The kitchen's still covered in pink icing though! "

The taste of happiness

Last night I was having dinner ( and too much wine )with a friend, a children's centre co-ordinator like me. With our first glass of wine we decided that we could probably write a play about the daily craziness that is life in a Childrens Centre, by the second glass we thought it should probably be a soap opera and by the third we realised that actually it would have to be a sit com.

Like all jobs, running a Children's Centre has it highs and lows. But since no two lives are the same, neither are any two days at work. There are parents who come in crying because they are about to lose their house, their partner, their children, their lives.  THere are parents who panic if their children are more than two steps away from them and parents who don't e seem to know where their children are or care what they are doing. There are families, newly arrived from other countries, who walk through our door hoping that we can guide them as they begin their  life in England, children and adults in wheelchairs and walkers coveted by children who can "walk normally." There are teenage parents who arrive angry- expecting to be judged, volunteers with learning difficulties who have walked the edge of society looking for somewhere to be accepted and belong.  Parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, step-cousins.And all accompanied by the the cry of new born babies, the tears and laughter of young children and the chatter of parents and carers.  What we hope, is that everyone who walks through our doors feels unconditionally welcomed.  Sometimes we manage it, sometimes we don't.  But we will never stop trying.

It is the half term holiday at the moment, so it is a bit quieter than usual.  I am covering in the Community Cafe while our manager is on holiday, proudly producing squashed paninis and overfilled, untidy sandwiches.  Yesterday one of our teenagers with learning difficulties was helping me.  He's been going through a hard time lately, his future lying scarily unshaped before him. And helping too,  was one of our mums who has had to fight many demons to walk back bravely through our doors.  And together, with her guiding and him listening, they made the most amazing chocolate chip cookies: huge with melted chocolate buttons instead of  chocolate chips. And as the cookies cooled, my heart warmed.  Two lost souls, coming together, creating  something  delicious.  Both so proud of what they had done and for just a few minutes so engrossed in what they were doing, that they  forgot the sadness and troubles weighing them down. Today, we will sell the cookies in the cafe and I am sure that everyone who takes a bite will smile.  That's what happens when you taste happiness!