All I want for Christmas

All I want for Christmas

is
my two front teeth!
A big fit at school yesterday, and then a big exciting late night made for one tired Mog this morning. One very very sleepy Mog who was definitely not up for a busy day at school.

One Mog who slept through our best efforts to entertain her this morning, who roused briefly at lunchtime before dozing again through most of the afternoon.

And one Mog who decided bedtime was party time, and is presently singing up a storm.

School tomorrow!
Tia

Twist me and turn me

And show me the elf,
I looked in the water,
And there saw...

myself.

Anyone else remember that?

"We're Brownie Guides, we're Brownie Guides, we're here to Lend a Hand"

A brown dress, a brown hat, a yellow tie. 10p for a phone call, a notebook, a pen, a rubber band and a stamp in your top pocket. Various assorted Owls for leaders, and games only ever played at Brownies, on a scarily polished church hall floor.

Well, the uniform's changed, the Motto has gone, the Promise has been altered somewhat too. It's about loving God, not duty towards Him, serving both queen and country now, but the essence is pretty similar. No toadstool and no mirror, and a big yellow brooch rather than a tiny brass pin which needed regular polishing.

Tonight, Mog made her Brownie Promise and joined my old Brownie Pack
Not the best photo; better ones had other girls in. Her Buddy marched her through the Brownie Arch, past the flag (I'm sure we had a strange leather triangular penant instead) and up to her Brownie Guider who held her fingers in a salute as she pressed her switch and repeated the promise recorded on it.

Head held high without her collar (anyone who sees fluffy brown and yellow socks please let me know; her regular stash definitely do not match), lined up between her Buddy and her Sixer, Promise badge gleaming and shiny new uniform worn with pride, Mog linked fingers to sing Brownie Bells. Mouth open wide, she sang as loudly as the rest of them, and came fizzing home again high on all the excitement.

And so, more than when she made her Rainbow Promise, Mog became a part of the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts. Perhaps that doesn't mean very much these days. But it does to me. When I was a Guide, we celebrated "75 in '85"; 75 years since the day a group of girls turned up to a Boy Scout rally. Now we're celebrating 100 years of Guiding , and Mog is just as much a part of that as I was and am.

It's been a very Guidey day today. I spent this morning booking tickets for our Guides to go on a Centenary Adventure; come April next year, we'll be camping on the lawns of Alton Towers before spending a day at the Theme Park. I saw we; although I've booked the tickets it'll be the other leaders camping with the Guides; the girls and I will be tucked up cosily in the AT hotel enjoying comfy beds and central heating.

It's a nice connection, this. Little Fish goes to my old school, and if she wants to, then I'm sure she'll also do the whole Brownie thing. But there are fewer places where Mog's childhood and my own can coincide.

And, although I don't especially enjoy being a Guider at the moment (mainly as I'd rather be here at home in the evenings than just about anywhere else), I wouldn't have missed my own Guiding and Scouting experiences for anything. I have abseiled off our church roof and down towers in Oxford, camped on mountains and in fields full of cows and sheep and slept in barns and gone pot-holing and canoeing and built great vast rope bridges, sung to Old People and with Young People and on stage in Gang Shows. I have seen sunrises in Korea and painted lanterns in Japan and learnt from people around the world, made instant friends in California and taken part in Thinking Day celebrations in London. I have seen shy girls put aside their timidity and belt out campfire songs, and I have seen overly sophisticated girls forget themselves and roll around laughing in the mud once there were no boys around and so no need to keep up the act. I've seen groups of pre-teens organise themselves and others into doing amazing things, and I've met adults who have given years to make things happen for the girls in their care. I have listened to older, wiser, retired Guiders talk about their experiences of inner-city Guiding in the 50s, and seen, over and over again, how although the outside appearance of the meetings and activities may change, the core values and core experiences for the girls remain the same, time and again.

I have a lot to be thankful for. I loved my own experiences as a Brownie, a Junior Girl Scout, a Guide, and a Venture Scout. Being chosen to carry the flag for church parade, marching through town on St George's Day, a neverending stream of experiences, both new and so comfortingly old and familiar. And of course, I owe my very existence to Guiding and Scouting, my parents having met at a Student Scout and Guide Club.

So here's to Mog the Brownie, and here's to the next hundred years of Guiding.
Tia

Two years on

We buried my Goldie two years ago today.

The collage I made for her funeral is still hanging on its temporary nail in our hallway; I should probably either decide that's really where it needs to be and hang it properly, or else decide what else to do with it and do it. I think it needs to stay really; it holds so many memories.

I can still hear her, you know. Shopping sometimes, I am sure she's squealing in the next aisle and then I remember she can't be. I dreamed the other night we were all running dreadfully late for something (not a rare occurence), and that we'd forgotten to pick her up. Things were getting impossibly tangled, and we were getting further and further away from collecting her. And then I woke up, and realised we weren't late for the appointment at all, and I still had plenty of time to call her carers and arrange things. And then I picked up the telephone and scrolled down to her number, and then I realised I didn't need to make that phone call after all...

Her phone number is still in my telephone. I thought I'd lose it when I switched phones, but somehow it travelled on the SIM card and is still there. How do you delete it? How do you not?

Today the Health and Safety Executive officer who investigated the circumstances surrounding Goldie's death phoned me with a date for the final part of the investigation. It'll be two and a half years since the accident, and the very last official part of her story.

It might be time to take down the order of service from its resting point on the kitchen window sill. Then again...

I wish, I wish Little Fish had had more time to get to know her biggest sister. I wish I had a decent photograph of all three girls together. I wish so many things about her last few months. Do I wish I'd known? An impossible question; if I'd known we would have so little time I'd not have agreed to her moving out; if she hadn't moved out she wouldn't have had the accident and so then she'd still be here.

Doesn't matter what I wish though; she did move out; I pushed hard for her move for so many reasons, and then she died. And then we all sat around and waited, and waited, and eventually we were allowed to have a funeral and then we buried her.

And in the three months between her death and her funeral I sat and hoped that having the funeral might help bring some kind of relief. And it did, sort of, but the pain and loss and separation was of course still there. And then I hoped the inquest might help. And then I hoped the court case might feel like some kind of an ending. And now this last piece of the official process, and I can't imagine that'll change things either.

It isn't all doom and gloom. I can't imagine Goldie being terribly happy amongst doom and gloom. In fact I know she'd have hated that; she didn't like people being upset around her, it frightened her. And I can't imagine her sitting quietly whilst people talked of her in hushed voices; she'd get the giggles and squeak, and shout out lines from her favourite stories.

Echoes in my mind - "That was absoLUTEly perfect, and Baby Beer SQUEAKED...Time to go home, come on, AMEN!"

I hope she's having fun today.
Tia

The rest is silence

Bliss.

Yesterday the firemen phoned back and set up an appointment for 3.15 today. Perfect timing; home time for both girls so no chance whatsoever of me forgetting to be at home. Always useful.

A domestically busy day today - new cleaner, so a couple of hours of frantic tidying so she could see the floors I needed her to mop, and find the toilets beyond the towels. As I gathered up the tattered remains of a Charlie and Lola magazine, and stuffed it behind the toaster, I found myself surveying the kitchen scene and thinking, with a sense of satisfaction "that's not too bad". Which begs the question, at what point did "it isn't terrible" become the housekeeping standard to which I aspire?

A phone call, and I went to meet our newest cleaner at the bus stop. Having left a nicely pleasantly scented not terrible house behind me, it was somewhat disappointing to step back into a house reeking with the acrid odour of feline urine. Gotcha's got the hang of things now, but Grolly prefers to look at the litter tray and pee elsewhere whilst staring closely at it - presumably to check it doesn't move, I'm not quite sure on the finer points of her logic.

I cleaned the wee, apologised to the cleaner, and introduced her to the delights of our cleaning cupboard. Last month's cleaner requested a new mop and endless disposable wipes. This new cleaner prefers our old dusters and the more natural cleaning fluids in our range. If we keep swapping cleaners at this rate, and if they keep requesting alternative cleaning products, it is entirely possible that by the New Year I'll be building a shed just to store the supplies. I suppose we could leave the supplies in the house and move into the shed; there'd be less to clean and it would probably be very clean. Apart from the spiders.

The cleaner settled in, and spent the next hour scrubbing the bathroom. I have shiny taps! And the next hour polishing my stove - I have shiny hobs too! And then she ran out of time, and I have a crumb-ridden floor and a dust-strewn hall, but I have a gleaming and glistening bathtub and so I don't actually care.

Meanwhile I spent her hours making a start on cardigan number two. Two hours, two inches. This could take a while.

Next stop Waitrose; spaghetti and supplies for the Guides. A failed quest for some black food colouring; hopefully plain chocolate will be an acceptable alternative. Driving home listening to an unbearably poignant episode of the Archers, and then unload the shopping and admire the clean and fresh smells emanating from the bathroom.

Very clean and fresh smelling, and a clear hour before the girls get home from school. I could knit another inch, I could check emails, or I could climb into the bath and make the most of it. Readers; I took a bath.

And a very nice one it was too, and I soaked and I soaped and I scrubbed, and I shampooed my hair, and just as I was completely covered head to toe in bubbles, there was a mighty hammering on the door, and then the doorbell rang several times. Not the postman; I'd had a parcel earlier. Not the chemist; we only put the prescription request in on Saturday. Too early for the end of school, and we haven't ordered pizza. So, I dragged on my dressing gown and squeezed out the worst of the soap, and poked half my head around the front door.

To be greeted by two firemen.

"Sorry we're a little early" apologised the first, offering to go away and come back another day. As he spoke, the alarm warbled it's CHIRP, and I hastily invited them both in.

"What the @!$@£$%^ did you do to your hair?" asked the second, which didn't earn him many brownie points. Pointing them towards the noisy alarm, I fled to the bathroom where I threw on the only clothes in the room; my Guiders' Uniform. No matter; it's Guides tonight. I don't usually put the uniform on until just before I leave, but it's got to be better than a dressing gown. Oh, and I rinse the shampoo out too.

The two firemen disassemble the first smoke alarm, but fail to stop it chirping. I ask them about the 3rd one (the 1st having done the same thing six months ago), and they decide to change that one for me too, and leave me, hoping that we don't need to meet again for another ten years. Neither of them can meet me in the eye at this point; I suspect it's not just the dodgy smoke alarms they're having difficulty with at this point.

But, they close the door leaving me with two new smoke alarms. And the rest IS silence. Beautiful, blissful, restful silence. For around ten minutes until the girls get home from school, the cats start fighting, the washing machine dings, a feed pump beeps, and life resumes its normal chaotic beat. But a beat no longer measured by the smoke alarm chirping every sixtyseven seconds. I can live with that.

Tia

Christmas Bonus

Mog's Christmas bonus came through today. A gift from the government for her to have a happy Christmas. I expect I'll get letters about Little Fish's and my own shortly. It's a nice idea - and in 1972 when it was first set up, £10 had quite a lot of buying power. Today I suspect the logistics of getting it out to everyone, including sending the inevitable separate letter to each qualifying member of a household, quite possibly costs about the same as the bonus itself.

There's always a heady debate about what we should spend it on. A pizza, for those of us who can eat? A couple of pairs of socks? A bunch of flowers?

It doesn't stretch quite as far now as it did in 1972. But there is a way it could stretch further; we could send it somewhere where the cost of living is quite a bit cheaper. I've mentioned Sarah before. She's just got word another 40 children are arriving for her next week. What might buy us a couple of nice takeaways or an alternative to the Sound of Music could go quite a bit further in India. It wouldn't come close to meeting her immediate needs, but what if lots of us did the same thing? If 24 of of us sent our Christmas bonuses to Sarah, that would cover the $400 she is wanting for Christmas presents for all the new children. If 14 of us did, that would cover pyjamas for them all. 8 of us could buy a new physio table. Just 3 of us could cover all the towels they need.

If it weren't for the letter announcing its arrival, I'm not sure I'd notice the extra £10 in the bank. I suspect there are quite a few of us in the same situation. Anyone else up for making it count?
Tia

BEEP

So, back in July, I thought Wednesday to Friday was rather a long time to have to listen to a smoke alarm beep every 63 seconds.

How little I knew.

Our second smoke alarm started chirping on Tuesday. I made the call, the fire service said they'd get out here soon. I asked them to hurry; it's the one outside Mog's bedroom so every 63 seconds I get a PIP from the alarm followed by a FIT from the child. They said they would call to arrange a time.

It's now late Friday night and no contact has been made.

I did offer to hit it with a mallet; they offered to let me know just how much I'd be putting lives at risk. I wonder if they know how much their lives are at risk if they don't come soon?

We're out most of tomorrow; the Guides are having a sleepover and whilst officially we're ducking out of the actual sleeping over bit I may just decide a shed full of pre-teen girls is less offensive than the chip chip pip fit.

Swine 'flu jabs tomorrowv morning; that, a peeping alarm and 2 dozen overexcited girls; this may just be the best weekend ever. Or very possibly not...
Tia

Plackard Caps

I may not have been blogging, but I've still been having thoughts (it happens sometimes, take that surprised look off your face). And I've come up with an invention. Those LED signs which seem to be everywhere now, flashing helpful messages:

Your doctor's clinic is
currently running
45 minutes late we
apologise for the
delay which is due
to large numbers
of patients need
PETER SMITH
TO DR JONES
ing to be seen.
Coughs and sneezes
spread diseases
wash your hands
if you have 'flu
go away. If you
don't why are
you here?

That sort of thing. I need a personalised one, one I can wear over my head. It'll have an assortment of messages to suit every occasion. For example:

I am not staring
at your son. I am
looking at his
wheelchair and
wondering if it
might work for
my daughter. If
she were here you'd
know that but
because I'm alone
I probably look
like I'm staring
at your son.
Sorry.

Or, coming from the other side of the divide

If you keep
staring at my
daughter you
will walk into
a lamppost and
I will laugh.
Thank you.

and

No she isn't
asleep and she
isn't dead she
just likes to
close her eyes.

This hat wouldn't just have our life specific messages though, there would be general every day ones too. Health:

No I don't
have swine 'flu
it's just a
sneeze.

Hey you!
Don't spit
in the street
it's disgusting.

Traffic:

You in the big car
beeping the old
lady as she pushes
her trolley slowly
across the road.
Think about it -
would you really
prefer her to go
back to driving
again?

and teenagers:

I know it's been
a whole 12 hours
since you saw
your friends last
and lots has
happened and
you need to share
it all all at once.
But
This is my
pavement too
please
move over.
You won't die
if you have to
walk in groups
of less than 5
aside you know.

So that's my invention. Pat Pending. Interested investors please form an orderly queue.
Tia