Thursday, January 3, 2013

New Shoes

We took my 10 year old to buy new shoes and, turns out, he has man feet.

The tiny premature boy, who shivered his way into the world one rainy day in November, a decade ago in a North London hospital, no longer fits anything in the children's shoe department.

"Some babies are just ready early," the special care nurse had said, as my little man lay there with a breathing tube up his nose. so small and blue-white and vulnerable.

We didn't believe her at first. It looked like we might lose him. But it turned out she was right after all,  and that was the first (and I expect last) time he was,  or will ever be,  'ready early' for anything.

Using the contraption in the store, I had measured his feet.
Adult size 7.

My other half laughed, patted him, proudly, on the back and called him "Flipper "  - only to receive a stern talking to from our 5 year old about "name calling" and how it can easily be classified as "bullying."

My 5 year old stared. Marveling at the giant expanse of foot,  he commiserated that this would mean there'd be no chance of shoes that light up when you walk - a complete disaster from my 5 year old's point of view.

I worried he might be embarrassed.

"It's a good thing to have big feet, honey, because then you won't blow over in a strong wind, " I said, using the logic that had been used on me.
My 10 year old, stretched his legs, stood up and then walking up and down in his new shoes to test the comfort, said, "I need to have big feet, because I have a long way to travel."

When I check on him last thing at night, tucking his blanket around him, I see him as I did 10 years ago, even though he's far from small and not blue-white or shivering.
Then, closing the door, I can't help but snigger at the humungous great toes sticking out the end of his childhood bed.

My 10 year old son has man feet.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Happy New...whatever x


Ask my kids about the New Year and to them it's no big deal.  
The prospective arrival of a new dawn is met with the question:  "Is it a school day?'
When the answer is no, then the following question is "So, today, will we go buy Skylanders?"
From their point of view, nothing is particularly special about 'yesterday' or 'tomorrow', this year or last year. Everything's about getting the best out of what's going on today.

When I was a kid I never understood why people would say "Happy New Year"  with an air of melancholy.
As I've gotten older I do.

But a lot of things are different from when I was a kid. For a start, now I celebrate New Year three times.

The first: Hogmanay.

Hogamany is what New Year's Eve is called in Scotland. (and frankly the best title for it ever)
Round about 3pm, here in LA, sounds of Jimmy Shand will be heard echoing through the house along with the Alexander brothers, Andy Stewart and even the odd song from Glen Daly. Scotland enters the New Year at 4pm our time, so the Skype is on overtime.

Then we head over to some good friends from the East coast to celebrate, whilst we watch the Times Square ball drop live on TV from New York.
We write on little pieces of paper, what we wish to take with us into the New Year and what to leave behind, and silently throw them into the fire.

Then at midnight, LA time, when the rest of the world is already well into a new year, back here at Tweddley Towers, me and Mr Twed toast New Year Pacific time, sitting in the back yard looking up at the stars (you can see them briefly, in between the scores of helicopters that clutter up the LA night sky, all the bloody time.)

And  I see myself from the outside:  A middle aged woman with ridiculous hair and two magnificent children and a pretty spectacular bloke - which is bizarre because, inside, I'm certain I'm only 27 and only five minutes ago it was 1992.
And I think of New Years gone by. And I wonder where I'll be, when I look back on this one from a distance.
And I wish my parents could find a way to call me from the Bahamas. 

An uncle once said to me. "Be careful where you place your mind.  If you always have one foot in the past and one foot in the future, your arse will be dangling over the present." (my family have always been eloquent)

So this year, before throwing it into the fire, I'll write on my piece of paper "Is it today we get to go and buy Skylanders?"

Happy New Year to you wherever you are, and whatever time zone you find yourself in. xxx

Friday, December 28, 2012

Not sure this is very romantic, but...


I like this time of year. I really do.

It’s like the big comfortable hammock,  hanging between the stresser of Christmas,  and the upcoming resolutions of New Year:  
A sort of, kick back and do what you want time. Eat leftovers and wear pajama trousers time.
(Although if you’re the lady in the park this afternoon in the Christmas penguin flannelette combo,  I’m guessing that’s you most of the time. I mean, come on. A Christmas penguin two piece and Gucci sunglasses?  And completely unabashed. That’s the lifeshould be living!)

Anyway, this might be my favorite week of the year; even though we’ve a wedding anniversary right in the middle of it, and wedding anniversaries are one of those times when there’s an expectation. And I don't mean from my other half.

Honestly, tell people you haven’t so much as exchanged a card in the 11 years you’ve been married, and they can’t hide their alarm. 

Personally I blame the ancient Romans.
The Romans were always screwing everything up for everybody:  Building straight roads (when everybody knows the best roads are bendy) the whoopee cushion - and they called themselves a civilisation - and for, bloody well, making anyone have to try and understand Latin.
And then if that wasn't enough, in the Holy Roman Empire, they had a tradition that when a couple had been married 25 years, the husband should present his wife with a crown of silver laurels.
Those sort of traditions breed like kardasians , and now, on the first anniversary you give paper, second cotton, 4th fruit  and so it goes on.

We've been married 11 years, so I'm meant to give him steel. So I handed him a spoon to stir his coffee this morning. 

But my husband and I had two weddings, so although we've been married 11 years, technically this is our 21st wedding anniversary. - Yes, take that Romans!

Our first wedding on December 28th 2001, is what we called our legal marriage. We had the second wedding,  the following summer in Brittany, France.
A ridiculously fun affair, that lasted three days- in a chateau with a campsite and some bed and breakfasts nearby, so guests could be upmarket in a chateau,  and those who preferred, could be upmarket in a sleeping bag, in their own tent.

I won't go into the why's and the wherefores of France (unless of course I'm still blogging on that anniversary) but in short, the wine is great, the weather's pretty good and gay people can get married that way too.  My husband and I are both heterosexual but that doesn't mean we believe we're part of a club that has exclusive access to "spiritual commitment." 

Anyway, we had to be legally married somewhere else first, and so we chose a little snow-bound registry office in Dunoon on the west coast of Scotland, with only close family present.
The ceremony was short and sweet and then all 24 of us headed off to a reception in the local hotel function room (which boasted it could hold 250).

The hotel staff were pretty bewildered by the size of the party- one solitary table in the middle of what seemed like a great cavern. The flowers were sparse against the emptiness of the room,  and Frank Sinatra played from the CD player, whilst disco lights flashed on an empty dancefloor.
Ridiculous karaoke was sung by those who would normally NEVER sing publicly, but who didn't give a damn to be up on stage singing to 23 other people in a function suite that should be holding 250.
And as the snow fell outside, coal fires burned inside, and malt whisky in glasses and terrible versions of  "Sweet Caroline," and the silliest, silliest of parties.

If only all the signing of legal documents could be celebrated like that,  visiting an  attorney would be a whole lot more fun.


It's not that I'm not grateful. I am. But at this time of year both me and him feel kind of "gifted out."
As for cards,  Hallmark don't seem to make any that say, "Can't believe I still like you this much, after all this time.”

Personally,  I think you should celebrate your anniversaries the way you celebrate your wedding -  not to please other people, but exactly how it suits you. – (which for you, lady in the park this afternoon, may well have been in some flannelette penguin two piece)
That's right, screw you Caesar.

So, happy happy happy anniversary husband.
11 years. 21 anniversaries.
And so this year, I’ve erm…written you a blog xxx