after the storm: remembering

On Wednesday last week, it was Remembrance Day. I stopped work and walked down to the Cenotaph in the centre of our village, and watched all the children from our local primary school - including my youngest two - sing their songs, read their poems, and recite the names of every man in our village who lost his life in war. Men stood proudly in their well-maintained uniforms, medals shining, flags on heavy flagpoles held aloft. The oldest, a man whose face bore every one of his years, shook each time he had to hoist or lower that flag, or put it into the pouch that held its base at his waist, and yet you could see that every moment of discomfort or difficulty was an honour to him because he was still living, and he remembered those who had gone.

A boy in my son's school had, a year previously, visited the Tower of London's famous cascading poppy display and had been inspired to ask if we could do something similar at our school. All sorts of adults, from the local secondary school's Head of Art, through to our local British Legion representative, came together to breathe life into his dream. The children in the school made their own clay poppies, glazed them, fired them, and on Remembrance Day they became a field to the side of the walkway into school. I see them four times every day, in all weather, and they still stand proud a week later. They remind me to remember, and that is so good.

And then Paris happened. It happened on the same day we remember the birthday of my oldest friend's lost mother. And both those things together: the senselessness of loss, the cruelty of life, all the very best and very worst of humanity laying itself bare... it made me need to write here again. It made me need to say: I remember. I remember those soldiers from more than a century ago. I remember the innocents of Paris, of London, of New York and everywhere else touched by vicious violence. I remember the refugees from Syria, that boy on the beach, the faces of those mothers as they stepped onto Greek islands. I remember Jenny, my friend's mother, who was so, so alive and taken so fast and so unfairly. 

And I choose. I choose not to let all this bring me down: because everyone who died wanted to live, I know I must choose to live fully. To love my family and friends not just in my heart but in my actions. To grieve what's lost and then, on a new page, write a future. I choose to step forward into life with the steps they wished to take.

I know it's hard to feel like there's anything we can do to help after Paris. Those of us with neither the finances nor the power to help the victims or catch the perpetrators feel impotent. But let me tell you: we are not. We have seen the power of the internet to influence others in the name of hate and murder. But through the internet, we have the power to spread happiness, purpose and goodness too. And through life itself. If I raise my boys with love, with kindness and compassion, they can become three men who neither kill, maim or destroy. If I live my life as fully, richly and honourably as I can, I am one more person who hasn't been beaten or broken by the evil in the world. We need more children to grow into good people, and more people to live in the name of peace, kindness and happiness, and if we can do that, add all those people up and we make such a difference. 

This week I have a doll to sew. It may seem a frivolous thing to do in the light of what's happened. But it is my way of living the good in life, of living my values, of bringing happiness to others. My little niece may grow up to love it. It may brighten your day to see it here. And sewing it, for me, is an act of love for my family, and of filling my life and soul with everything that is the opposite of what those vicious men did in Paris. Making the world good starts with making our own lives good.

What a day. Indulge me while I give you nine things, from two perspectives...

The bad

1. There were so many battles with those two boys. Silly fights over silly things. Winding each other up on purpose. I ended up doing some shouting. Mostly I held on to my patience but it was at the expense of my joy.
2. I indulged in a cake. It was a huge lemon Viennese fancy. I discovered lemon should not be in a Viennese fancy. Bit of a waste of a cake treat.
3. I also indulged in a pizza. Beyond the point of full. Possibly even beyond the point of stuffed. Because I plan to treat my body like a temple for the next month so perversely needed to eat rubbish today.
4. I meant to finish working on my CVs. I got time for none of that.
5. I meant to have a nice chat with my parents this morning. Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum ruined that. The current state of play is: mummy tells them what to do. They don't do it. I tell them again. Ditto. By time four or five I get really shirty and even then I am often ignored. What's the point of speaking at all?
6. I meant to do some selfish sewing. No time for that either.
7. I woke up at 5am for no apparent reason.
8. I really do usually love spending time with the boys, and I have been so looking forward to half term. It's a bit of a shame when you build it up and then have a day that probably managed only about an hour total of relaxing, probably only an hour total of enjoying their company, and again an hour of lightness and happiness.
9. It was my birthday today. Which is why all the above was... let's be diplomatic and say disappointing.

The good

1. It was my birthday after all. And that's always nice to mark; nice to remember. Plus I'm a year younger than I thought I was going to be. It's the little things.
2. I got Anna Jones' new book. My body really is going to be a temple. Her first book is one of my favourites. And I have about forty so that's saying something.
3. Just look at that tree! It was a glorious autumn day. The light was amazing and the leaves around here are just every colour of autumnal loveliness right now.
4. That tree was in a park, and while the playground was too busy, the crazy golf was open but almost empty and the boys spent a good half hour running around it sans golf equipment, pretending to be spies or Ninjagos, using up lots of their energy (at last), and I got that same half hour sat on a bench reading a couple of blogs on the phone, actually enjoying them, and relaxing.
5. I had a bath. That can never be bad.
6. The middle son, instigator of many of today's troubles, who is going through a stage of being a bit selfish, a bit whiney, a bit 'that's not fair' was actually really quite lovely for about half an hour this morning in bed snuggling with me.
7. The lovely husband let me faff on the computer after the blow-out pizza dinner. He put the kids to bed by himself. He tidied the kitchen.
8. ... And he's taking me down the road for a couple of drinks now, where there will hopefully be a nice fire or two, and some lovely conversation.
9. And I wrote this. I vented and then I counted my blessings. I checked in on the blog. And tomorrow is, as someone rather glamourous once said, another day.

I need your help...

Last week was kind of rubbish. I have been feeling so frozen. So stuck in the headlights of the future. I have so much that needs doing but nothing driving me forward because I don't know which way to go, and thus I'm stuck in procrastination and pottering and I hate it. So I just thought: I'll write it here. You readers tell me what to do. Please.

The dilemma is my career. Or the lack of it, and the need for it. I'm sorry but this may end up being a long post! Stay with me if you can. I'll try to be concise (says one of the least concise people ever) but I need to set the scene (bonus material: you're kind of going to get my adult life story)...

Seventeen years ago I had my first born. I sat my A-levels while half-way through being pregnant with him. I turned down my place at Cambridge and decided to focus on being the best mother I could be, despite being young and single. I spent two years just mothering him and they were two of the best years of my life. I found myself and who I wanted to be. And I really loved being a mum.

Then, belatedly, I went to university to do the Geography degree, two years later than planned. The eldest and I lived with my parents, he went to the nursery where my mum worked and I commuted into town and what was, luckily, one of the best universities in the country. I loved my degree. I have always loved learning (I'm a bit of a swot). I worked really hard and got a First.

I had planned to stay on and do a Masters then a PhD and finally become a lecture. But some work I did in my final year got me a job offer and, with a child to support and no means of getting our own home otherwise, I had to do the right thing and accept it. I figured the Masters bridge was burned.

I worked for five years in town, in a variety of transport/sustainability/streetscene type jobs. I was pretty good at it and I enjoyed it enough (though not all the time), but it was never what I really wanted to do with my life. During this time I met and married my husband, a northerner, and we realised we'd need to move north at some point to be nearer his mother. The move would mean we could just about get by on his public sector income while I looked after our future children.

That's what we did: seven years ago we moved to the Peaks, I gave up working, and we had our second and third child. Being a stay-at-home mum was a very conscious decision, something I did for them as well as me. I have loved it. But the youngest has just gone to school, our finances are pretty dire, and I have to go back to work. I want to work. But I want to still have as much time with the children as possible.

I have worked a bit in the meantime. In the early days up here I did some part-time admin work for a year or so. For about six months between the second and third boys I was a childminder - I love working with children, but being pregnant and looking after three under-two's was tough. And this last year I've sewn curtains, cushions and blinds half time. You know me: you know I love to sew (and discovered sewing before our last boy was born).

So here are my choices (in current order of preference). Or yours, since you're choosing for me...

1. Perhaps that Masters-PhD-lecturer career path wasn't burnt down all those years ago? I would really love to do this, but there are the finances to consider, I'd need to do some admin work (ideally at the university) part-time, and there would be an impact on the children as I'd need to commute into (probably) Manchester to do it. How would I pay for it? How would I earn at the same time? My husband is usually home from work by 4pm (he starts at 7am) so they wouldn't need too much childcare but I'd have essays and reading to do most evenings. But I think this option is what my heart, soul and brain most yearn for.

2. Teaching. This has always been my back-up option. I know I would love to teach and would be really good at it. But I also know it feels a little like settling. And, most importantly of all, it's a highly time-intensive and stressful career. I want time with my children but the typical teacher does a 70 hour week for the first few years. I would hardly see them. Teaching gives you the school holidays but day-to-day it really isn't a parenting-friendly career any more.

3. Stick with the sewing. This was certainly the plan a year ago. I love it. I could work from home and fit my hours in around the children, so it's certainly the best option for them time-wise. But it's never going to bring in much money, certainly not enough for the eldest starting university, the mortgage, blah blah. It's increasingly looking unviable for these reasons. And my academic brain is pretty dormant.

4. Just find a regular admin type job that fits in with school hours, brings in extra money, and maybe the boys have to do a few days in after-school clubs. The first 3 options involve bringing work home with me but this would not, and that's a benefit to them. But I really, really want to be able to do a job I love for once. And this really wouldn't be it.

5. Go back to the transport world. I'd earn much more than option 4, though I'd be working full time and that would impact on the children. I'm experienced though out-of-touch, so I'd probably have to start on a much lower level than when I left seven years ago. And when I left I was so relieved! I really never wanted to go back to it. But maybe needs must?

What do you think? When I say decide for me, obviously I won't just do what you say, but your opinions and votes will, I hope, help me decide. 

I am a planner, and this is the first time in my life that I can remember being so stuck on a major life decision. I always need to know where I am and where I'm going and I just don't know what to do here. What's best for everyone, not just now but five years down the line when the kids are all older. And while I thought I could do the groundwork on several options at once, running them concurrently for much of this year and then deciding, it turns out that the lack of a plan instills a horrid, self-defeating inertia in me. So I think I really need to decide on one, and maybe keep another one or two as back-up options. You should know, also, that the list in 'order of preference' is a new thing: a week ago, I wouldn't have been able to rank them at all I was so stuck.

PS Option 1 and 2, and maybe 5, could seriously impact on my time to blog and read blogs. Does that matter? I love to write and I love this online world that's just for me. But perhaps the writing element of those three career paths would satisfy my writing needs anyway?

Right. Go! Answers on a postcard (or, for convenience, below in the comments section please!)...

6 tips for how to cope when your child starts school

This month, my eldest child started sixth form college and my youngest started primary school. And over my nearly seventeen years of motherhood I've learnt a few good tips on how to cope when a child starts school. What I've learnt has been especially useful for me now that my youngest is at school, since I'm now also dealing with empty nest syndrome. My baby's growing up! 

So, now you've got through the weirdness of the first day and you might still need a few tips to find your rhythm, I thought I'd give you some ideas on how to be a stay-at-home mum (whether you do it part-time or full-time) when your home is empty of children. Here are my six tried-and-tested tips...

1. Look forward to it!...

Okay, so you may love being a full-time mum (I certainly did) but that doesn't mean you can't also love the time when they're not with you. You need this time! There's a lot to be said for nurturing yourself, as well as that amazing sailing feeling you get from when you're on top of everything. Don't focus on the child you're missing. Focus on how good you can feel when they're at nursery, school or college, and how that will help you be a happier person and mother, as well as have more time for them when they're home.

2. Distract yourself from the combination of mother's guilt, worry, and missing them...

So how do you stop focusing on the child your missing? Distract yourself. Fill your day up with plans. Get that calendar or notebook out, and fill each day with things that you couldn't do when they are around (hello art galleries!) and the things you never get round to (let that 'to-do' list regurgitate itself all over your day!) And remember that your child is mostly going to be having a great time and not thinking about you (sorry, but!)

3. Treat yourself...

Looking after your children all the time is hard work. Just think how many mothers say they go to work to get a break! You've earnt a treat. Whether it's a peaceful cuppa and cake in a cafe with a good book, a decent run with a friend, or a trip to that aforementioned art gallery - schedule it in, give yourself a little something just for you every day. It will give you something to look forward to and a way to nurture yourself. But you must do it without feeling guilty. Remember: if you're an empty vessel you won't be able to fully give what your children need when they're around. After that little break in a coffee shop you'll be a much happier, nicer, contended mum. It's a win-win.

4. Do the things you never had time for when your children were at home...

This is where that to-do list comes in. Go room to room and write down everything that needs doing, from tiny jobs to big ones, and promise yourself to do something from that list every week (or even every day). Write a list of birthdays coming up in the next few months and get those gifts and cards blitzed early. Organise your finances. Organise your files. I do not think there's a mother out there who doesn't have a to-do list weighing her down, and this is your opportunity to lighten that load. You cannot underestimate the benefit to your mood, mental health and mothering from ticking those things off and feeling successful and competent again.

5. Focus in on lunchtime...

Now this is a really practical one and it makes a lot of sense. You've probably had time on your own without the children before. Maybe they've done a little time at nursery already. Maybe they have headed out to play some sports with their dad for a couple of hours at the weekend. But you've probably not had lunch on your own, in your own house, since before they were born. I certainly hadn't! So this time could feel the strangest being alone. Make this meal a real highlight of your day! Sit down and take a break, whether you're sat at the table with the radio on or catching up on blogs or the news on your computer. Make yourself something that's both healthy and a treat, that your kids would never eat. Make lunch the highlight of your day on your own, not the loneliest time.

6. Make their return home from school special...

This is a great one to rid yourself of mother's guilt for all those moments when you've nurtured yourself (you shouldn't feel guilty about it but, come on, we all do). Your children will come home a little hungry and cranky. They've not been with you all day. And, ta-da, here is the plate of flapjacks you've made to make them feel special when they're home! Trust me, a gift of a (not-too-unhealthy) cake goes a long way to make you feel like the 'besd mummy in the wurld' (yes I still have that note my Little One wrote me way back on Mother's Day!)

7. (I know, I said six tips, but here's a bonus one for mums who work)...

I know, you work full time and you feel this whole post has been for those stay-at-home mums you beat yourself up about. But I know both sides of this feeling, since I work from home. And I also have lots of friends struggling with the juggle of work and family life. My number one tip: cut yourself some slack. You're doing your best. Sometimes that's not good enough, sometimes it is. The same goes for every single mother the world over, whether she looks after her kids full time or works. The best thing is that if you didn't work now, your children wouldn't be at home anyway since they have to go to school, so you can wipe off a whole heap of guilt straight away. My second tip: get help. Share the jobs around the house. Get a cleaner if you can afford one. Give up on ironing. Delegate the homework to Dad or your grandparents. Whatever it is, don't try and do two full-time jobs at once. And don't do more than you need to. There are only so many hours in the day and having a nice time together with your kids for some of them will make all of you feel happier.

Good luck!

preserving the blackberry season... without preserving

These have been the joy and the bane of my life recently:

Why? The two little ones are obsessed. 

It's such a joy to see their purple-stained faces as they scour the hedgerows for more midnight-coloured jewels. To teach them the rules of picking (none too low; check for bugs; go for plumpness and colour) and watch them put those rules into action. To see them brush off the thorn scratches and nettle stings that would usually breed misery, yet are now a minor inconvenience on the way to berry heaven. To feel like I'm the mother in an Enid Blyton, rose-tinted childhood story.

But it's also been a bit of a pain to have every walk take three times as long, as every single bush needs to be stopped at and inspected before being devoured. To clean yet another stained and ingrained fingernail. Make yet another ignored plea that "you've had more than enough" and "we really do need to go."

I'm surprised these boys haven't turned into blackberries, in the style of Roald Dahl's Violet Beauregard. Despite eating ridiculous amounts, we have managed to pick just a few to keep rather than eat al fresco. They are hiding in the freezer waiting for the blackberry season to be over - and it's almost done. They're destined for a crumble, but until then we mixed a few with banana, peach, milk and a tiny scoop of vanilla ice cream to make an after-school smoothie treat. There's no point in giving you a recipe: just add a bit of this and a bit of that, and don't forget your milky-mauve-mustache smile at the end.

Saturday baking: pumpkin (or butternut squash), parmesan and olive bread

It's drizzly outside, the leaves are on the turn and autumn's settling in. Shall we do some weekend baking? Do you fancy some Pumpkin/Butternut Squash Bread?

There are only so many bog standard cheese/ham/bread lunches a family can take. We reached our limit a month or two ago. I've been trying to mix it up on our weekend lunches, bringing a bit more creativity to the table to make the weekend lunch - that lovely, languid thing - a little more special.

Today I made Pumpkin, Parmesan and Olive Bread. It takes about 10-15 minutes prep, 45 minutes in the oven, and a few minutes resting - the perfect ratio of low time/effort to high impact/taste.

I ate mine plain and buttered, still steaming warm, and it was lovely. The lovely husband adorned his with cheese and chutney. I'd have thought a bit of ham would be nice too. I added the olives at the end, folding them into one end of the loaf, leaving the other end olive-free to suit the younger boys. And they asked for seconds.Would you like the recipe? It's from our Abel & Cole cookbook, page 121. 

Pre-heat your oven to 190oC/375oF/gas 5. The whole recipe uses a mug to measure - just pick out a standard-size mug from your collection and stick to the same mug all through.

Mix 1 1/3 mugs of self-raising flour in a large bowl with a pinch of sea salt, 1 mug of grated raw butternut squash or pumpkin, 1/2 mug of roughly grated parmesan (or a cheaper alternative - I used Grana Padano), a handful of chopped black olives and 1 tbsp chopped rosemary.

Once your dry ingredients are combined, whisk 2 large eggs with 1 tbsp milk in your vacated mug then add to your mixture and mix until you've got a sticky ball (I used my hands - fun, quick, but messy.)

Drop your ball of dough onto a greased baking tray, form into a patty, and sprinkle a little extra flour and grated parmesan on top. Bake on the middle shelf of your oven for 45-50 mins. When done, the bottom of the loaf will make a hollow sound when you tap it. Let it cool a little for 10 mins before serving. But, trust me, it's best served warm.

This loaf will feed four as part of a lunch spread, or two greedy people (ah-hem) with a bit of butter and cheese. Leftovers are delicious toasted, as the butternut squash caramelises slightly in the heat.

Wishing you and yours a lovely, restful weekend.

Let's make a Home Nature Table with the kids - in 10 easy steps

Well hello autumn! And this is our goodbye to the summer: a nature table in our home, made by my children.

So for those of you who have young children and have spent a good deal of your summer holidays out and about, walking, playing, in the woods, at the beach, on the hills... I bet your hallway looks like this every time you get back:

So did mine. Repeatedly. And after twice catching my husband trying to bin all our finds only a day later, I decided to act. We took what had been lovingly collected but carelessly discarded and actually made it into something beautiful and memorable: a home nature table. Want one too? Then let's get started...

1// Find yourself an under-used table, ideally a low one, made for children. Cover it with some fabric or a tablecloth that will make it feel special and present your finds nicely.

2// Group your nature finds by type and look for some nice containers to vary the height and presentation for each. We put our feathers in an old golden syrup tin. (That's the Tiny One's hand in action)

3// Pine cones look best in a bowl (if you have lots like we did) or a clear jar. That's the Little One proudly placing his big bowl at the back.

4// Use a jar or vase to arrange your leafy twigs just as you would a bunch of flowers.

5// I resisted the urge to do some artful arrangement, so this is the Little One and the Tiny One squeezing every fallen oak twig and random stick they had collected into my little jam jar. They did a fab job.

6// We then placed our beach drift wood and pine cone twigs lying down a the front, for a bit of height variation.

7// The Tiny One chose his favourite beach stones for his favourite blue bowl (there are another few dozen decorating our garden!)

8// And the Little One chose his favourites for his best yellow bowl.

9// Ta da! When we'd finished arranging everything we stood back, had a few proud photographs, then realising we were missing something. What's a nature table without a bit of naturalist labelling?! It had been a long time since the Little One had practiced his writing so we sounded out the letters together while he wrote each label. It was a great opportunity to introduce a bit of literacy without it feeling like homework.

10// We placed the labels by each of our finds and were done! The boys were so excited to show their daddy when he came home. And my hallway is remarkably tidy!

Ps thank you to those of your who took the time to leave kind comments on my last post. They worked!

Wandering: From summer to autumn

We took our regular, twenty-minutes-on-our-own, double-that-with-curious-little-ones walk a couple of weeks ago. The trees were mostly dressed in green, with the odd bit of amber jewellery: dipping their toes in the water of autumn styling.

Rowan trees abundant with huge fistfuls of fruit, a sign of the bountiful nut harvest to come from their woodland neighbours. It truly, and gratefully, is a mast year.

It seems like every time we go for a walk, I take a photo of the sky through the veil of tree foliage. Everyone has a favourite, soulful place. My mum's is on the beach, probably on a spring or autumn day, looking for shells and doughnut stones. Mine is on a wooded walk, stream in my ears, birds in song, hedgerows resplendent in the varied bounty of the English countryside. I could not live anywhere without a host of trees and a stream running through it. Luckily I live here.

Paris, mon amour

We went to Paris.

It was the longest time we'd spent together, minus children, in five years.

Five years earlier we got married, and our time alone together was our honeymoon. Oh Paris, what a lovely way to spend an anniversary.

I have to tell you, Paris, that I'm in love with you. So is the lovely husband. We want to come back.

I'll tell you something else: we discovered we're still in love with all the same things we loved pre-living in toddler world. Pottering through churches, getting eye-drunk in art galleries, little quirky boutiques, architecture, culture, lazy lunches in cafes, impressive dinners in restaurants, too much walking, and philosophical discussions about our lives.

We are also still in love with each other. Head over heels. Not bad after nine years together.

There's still a little Paris clinging on to us. It took me two weeks to bring myself to clean the Paris dust off my shoes. I'm not planning on dusting off my heart any time soon.

That's a little Monet-inspired triptych for you. Wait for us, Paris. One day we'll be back.

 

(Pictures, top to bottom and left to right: The Eiffel Tower from the Pont Alexandre III; vintage car near the Grand Palais; Champ de Mars from the second floor of the Eiffel Tower; the Champs Elysees; Eiffel Tower; the oldest working clock in Paris, on the Palais de Justice; inside Notre Dame; the Memorial des Martyrs de la Deportation; chalk-board sign at the famous bookshop, Shakespeare & Company; the ceiling of Sainte Chapelle; the Eiffel Tower at night.)

 

All photos by my talented husband except the last, slightly rubbish phone photos of Eiffel Tower.

 

And the times, they are a'changin'

I want to talk a little about autumn, but I'm afraid you're going to have to put up with some rubbish mobile phone pictures to go along with my wonderings. I really need to get around to reading my phone's camera instructions. Or nagging my husband to bring his camera everywhere we go.

The trees above are just a month apart, but look at the difference. I've read elsewhere on the web that the autumn colours are disappointing this year, but those thoughts are coming from bloggers in the south of the UK. Up here in the north, things are glorious. There seems to be much more yellow than usual, in beautiful oil-paint vibrancy. Autumn has been slow, too, with a hesitancy to move through to full-on winter and not enough storms to blow all the leaves away. The lingering is much appreciated. I'm looking up everywhere I go. I'm enjoying it with feet in crisp cornflake-like leaf fall, and eyes in the deep yellow hues of a revelling autumn. My nose always accepts an invite too, for there is that beautiful mulchy decay in the crisp air, and wafts of wood fire waiting to surprise you as you go.

It's such an amazing time of year for walking. Oh you just have to get out in the woods, accept the mud that cakes your walking boots and buggy wheels, and take scarves and gloves that will be peeled off in the autumn sunshine. It's not just the leaves that delight, but there have been fungi treats everywhere. I can't help but look out for them. On trees, in grasses, wherever the damp and decaying can be found. Every time I wish I'd brought a mushroom book with me. My favourites are the bubbling mountains of frogspawn-like blush fungi like in the photo above, right. Or the giant crescents that grow out from trees above your head, like a shelter from a storm. 

We enjoyed the berry season so much, mostly on the hoof as it's pretty hard to get a small child to pop a jewel of candy-like blackberry delight into a box to take home rather than their mouth. Now I'm seeing the shrivelled, dried-out remains of the blackberries that were ignored or forgotten, and will give themselves back to nature. The undergrowth is thinning and the evergreens, hardly noticed the rest of the year, are starting to show off again. The robins seem so much more profuse, although they were here all summer long, and I choose to conveniently forget that they are not the sweet, timid little creatures we like to think they are. Autumn is, after all, as much a fantasy of our concoction as a reality of decay and Darwinian dances. 

Every year in spring I think, "no, I was wrong about autumn and this definitely is the best season". Come every autumn, my allegiance changes again and I crown it king. I like these two changing seasons the most, when the world wakes up and then goes to sleep again.

 

The pine cones, acorns, spinning jennies and conkers are the jewels I'm coveting now. I want a cape of crisp autumn leaves, mustard-coloured like so much of the tree decor this year. I want a crown of mushrooms with a robin on top. Well, I accept I'd look just a tad ridiculous. I shall just have to put on my outdoor gear and go kick leaves.

Sunshine on a rainy day*

(* yes, you have to sing that)

Does that cheer you up a bit? Chatsworth in the summer. And that's the back of the Little One when he was a bit littler.

How about this? It's a Malteser birthday cake (Nigella, naturally, and found in 'Feast') that I made (again) for the Big One's fourteenth. Yes, fourteenth. I feel ancient.

 

Or this? Pumpkin pie for Halloween. It was a Hummingbird Bakery recipe that I slightly over-did with the cloves. But it was universally loved.

 

It's been rainy both actually and metaphorically. Really, really hard. One of those days when you never catch up with the version of yourself that's getting it all right. When you get to the end of the day and feel like, although you've hardly stopped all day, your list of things you wanted to get done still lies unaccomplished.

 

I have so much to do. And blogging isn't on the list so goodbye friends! Let's hope tomorrow's better.