Yet another blogging mummy

 This blog is everything I'm thinking at the moment. It's my therapy. I need this. Please bear with me. I am so tired I can hardly see straight because Pickle has stopped sleeping properly again. Not only this but every night it is at least a two hour BATTLE to get her anywhere near sleep. We are in this weird window of her development where she still needs a nap in the day, even if it's just 20 minutes, and so if she doesn't nap, she makes our life a living hell until she goes to sleep at night, which she fights with body and soul, so in the evening it's approximately 4 hours of horrendousness which I start dreading around noon. If she does nap, however, no matter what we do, like go to the beach or the playground right after daycare, or go and climb one or two of the Himalayas with her, she still will not fall asleep until after 10. 11:30 was the worst one, one of the weeks when my husband was in the UK and we were here. By the end, she was crying, I was sobbing, ...

Do you mind keeping your opinions to yourself? Yes? Oh go on then... Everyone, without exception, said this to me when Pickle was a baby. "It won't last for long, enjoy every moment! Don't take this time for granted!" Old ladies at the shops. Friends who had teenagers. Work colleagues. To the point where I started to get a guilty complex just for existing without gazing adoringly into her eyes for hours and hours. I started to resent the people who told me that, because it felt like they were assuming that I wasn't paying enough attention to her. They couldn't have been more wrong, as it turns out, as if anything, I gave her TOO much attention. Probably as a result of these people constantly telling me to!  And then, when she was sleeping well, through the night in her own room at 6 months, it was "Oh enjoy it while it lasts, because just you wait....it's not going to be like this forever!" It was the "Just you wait" through forced, ang...

After daycare today, I took Pickle to my favourite beach. Here, the azure ocean is more vast than I've seen in any of the other beaches on the island, I could stand and watch the wave choreography for hours, the endlessly stretching mountains, coated in glistening snow, stand in a frozen procession whenever skies are blue, their glory and majesty unmatched. Not to mention it was the site of our wedding photos...beach piano included. Although there was a sad lack of pianos, today it didn't disappoint. Sun glittered impossibly on each little mischievous ripple, sending my brain into orgasms of emotional ecstasy, and my daughter, who, moments before in the car was complaining that she didn't like the beach, upon being presented with a bucket and spade and wrapped up in various warm clothes like a little golden sausage roll, was instantly transported to happyland. She sat beside the tide pools and marvelled at the seaweed, the dead crabs, the pebbles, the hermit crabs who were ...

Kids say such funny cute little things sometimes don't they? I love the way my daughter says "I mam" instead of "i am" and "It's mines!" to claim, well, everything in her immediate vicinity. She also calls Nonno and Grannie's house "Canada" because when we first came to Canada, that was the first place she slept, was welcomed, felt safe. So it remains Canada, despite all the conversations we've had with her about what Canada actually means. I don't mind though, soon she will grow out of all these things and I'll miss them.  Lately though, she has been having some pretty serious separation anxiety. When I pick her up from daycare,  (see how Canadian I'm getting already? I don't call it nursery anymore!) she says that she had a good day but was sad because "Mummy I missed you". At night she cannot sleep unless one or both of us are sleeping next to her, and as she is drifting off, she often suddenly wakes u...

For those with children or for those who just live on planet Earth, you know that the subsequent lyric finishing the title is that the cold never bothered her anyway. I wish I was as resilient, independent, strong, beautifully proportioned and stylish as that Elsa chick, but then again, she never had a toddler. You think you're stressed now Elsa?  So "here I lie, and here I disintegrate. Let the screaming rage on...I've now become immune to it anyway." Is how I think the lyrics would probably go if Elsa had a kid and sang about that. Let me tell you about yesterday.  Background: My husband has gone back to the UK to sort out some stuff and obtain a work visa before moving back here semi permanently. Pickle has had ups and downs. But the downs have become more difficult for me to navigate, as I have had a taste of what it's like to be a single parent. We prepared her of course, I did everything right, or so I thought; I bought a globe and an airplane, I showed her ...

Well, we did it. We decided we were going to do it, and we did it. How, with a 3 year old, you ask? People have undertaken much more heroic and brave adventures than this, and with many more and younger children, dogs, chickens and suitcases than ours. Packing up our house in England and moving to Canada was the last thing I thought and said I'd ever do. But there were reasons - there they were, all shining at me from the table, and I couldn't argue with a single one.  So we decided, one month before leaving for a holiday in Canada, that we would be extending our holiday into an immigration. Or is it emmigration? I never remember.  Who knows. Who cares? We're in Canada! We are living with my elderly but fantastically wonderful parents. I've never in my life met two such dynamic, loving, caring, interesting, welcoming people. Barring my mum telling us the same thing two or three times in the same conversation and calling me by my sister's or my dad's name once or...

Autumnal musings The pumpkins are ripe, shiny orange jewels lie in amongst muddy fields, the smell of bonfires creeps into nostrils, and crunchy, delicious looking leaves wait to be trodden on throughout the countrysides. This season, where crisp cautious sunshine doesn't warm your bones as it did in summertime, where long stomps are chilly and satisfying and end in great talks over a cider or a cozy hot chocolate curled up in front of a log burning stove. The season with the best colours nature can offer (according to me). It is also a season of new beginnings for me.  I have to be honest, I have found this blog post particularly tricky to write. The last post I wrote, I quickly deleted, for fear that the person of whom I was writing would exact some kind of retribution and I would be blacklisted from the teaching profession forever. Taking the post down was done out of fear, but also at the wise advice of some of my very close friends who care about my future and my reputation. I...