I love this photo. When I look at it I think it could be my sister and I when we were wee, in warmer climes – all hazy and exotic.

But it’s just you two at Edinburgh Airport. You sat there for quite a while just watching, asking why and how questions.

Then it was off for hot chocolate and to spend all your weekend holiday spending money on tat and comics before we’d even taken off.

The kitchen cupboard doors are the same – green fronts with no obvious handles – and I still try to open them the wrong way. The shooting gallery is still filled with photos of the family; 5 children, 7 grand children and 5 great grand children at last count. The fruit bowl is still full but I’ve never seen anyone eat a piece in all my visits.

I instinctively reach up for the chain to flush the toilet when of course it was changed to a handle some ten years ago. When I touch the banister I remember being held over it by my arm and leg as my big Uncle swung me back and forth giving my ‘Flying Lessons’. The house feels small.

The biggest hole of course is that Grandad isn’t here anymore although there are photos of him all around, from handsome soldier to My Grandad with his soap smelling face and oh such soft skin. His hat still hangs in the kitchen after all these years. He didn’t get to meet you and so many of the other children and new joiners to the family – he would’ve loved pottering about the garden with you and teasing you about forever looking at yourselves in mirrors.

There are new things at number 53. A shiny Stannah stair lift runs up the stair case – you can keep your Peppa Pig World – getting strapped into that baby and having your family sing ‘Goodbye, Farewell’ to you as you ascended the staircase has been the highlight of the visit so far.

Nana May sits on her throne in the corner with her feet raised watching, surrounded by us all and I think she looks rather happy. At 90 I know she’s probably feeling a bit fed up most days – she misses her Dave and has seen her siblings all go – but I like to think that you two bring her a twinkle of happiness to her heart. When she high fived you goodnight tonight she was smiling.

I suspect I might need to explain who that young man is on her tray, the one that she balances on her lap when she’s having a bit of lunch or a cup of tea. That’s Peter Andre. She’s got a lot of time for Peter after going to meet him at a personal appearance in a local shopping centre. My resourceful young cousin decided it’d do no harm to take an old bird in a wheelchair with her. And she was right. The poor screaming girls were left wanting as Peter bonded with Nana May, they chatted about kids and life and he waved only to her as he departed up the escalator.

That’s your Nana May. That’s number 53. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This week for the first time since seeing ‘Stick Man’ live on stage nearly two years ago, I went to the theatre. A grown up show and everything. My sister, my teenage niece and I drove through to Glasgow and sat in seats on our own in the large auditorium as by the time we booked, we’d only had the choice of sitting all together in the nose bleed seats or separately where we could actually see.

Best known for acting in Scrubs I will now think of Zach Braff as a writer too. His play ‘Other People’ was touching and funny, the production and stage set were slick and sharp. It takes me a while to get into the zone with theatre, I always think I prefer the polished edge of film, but I really did enjoy it.

Imagine that – writing a play. Being paid to write, to write all day long, how lucky would you feel? And that’s just how Mr Braff looked as he took a bow, he looked rather sheepish and overawed. I liked that.

]]> http://lettersfromyourmum.wordpress.com/2012/02/17/52-week-project-week-7/feed/ 2 scribblingmum 20120218-122900.jpg http://lettersfromyourmum.wordpress.com/2012/02/13/mugs-no-really-actual-mugs/ http://lettersfromyourmum.wordpress.com/2012/02/13/mugs-no-really-actual-mugs/#comments Mon, 13 Feb 2012 18:00:56 +0000 scribblingmum http://lettersfromyourmum.wordpress.com/?p=568 ]]> My Top 5 list about Mugs – seriously, what’s not to love? A list. About mugs.

Kate runs a weekly ‘Listography’ and I was sucked in to this weeks rather odd topic after some late night chit chat on Twitter. It’s amazing how easily I get distracted.

1. Phoebe’s Cheeky Monkey. Only for hot chocolate and ‘marsh-mellows’. The hot chocolate will always be left, she only asks for the mellows.

2. My favourite mug. Mainly for coffee, I love the shape, the birds, the size and the house reminds me of the one George buys Mary in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’. I love it more than a girl should love a mug.

3. The Boy’s mug. A present from me to him whilst we were holidaying in Cornwall last year, it reminds me of happy times with our bestest friends, our children playing together on the beaches, lost sunglasses and frisbees.

4. My Twitter Addict cup – My 2nd favourite mug, only recently knocked off the top spot. Thick, ceramic, warm and reminds me of my ‘old’ blogging days. You too can get one here.

5. Fitba’ mug. A nod to his love of football and my Jock-ness. The perfect combination.

Now, off you go and do something entirely more sane.

There are two bells?

‘Ooh, I’m not sure, probably the second so lets speed it up a bit. Come on.’

I am the Late Mum. I’m not the only one. There’s a little gang of us silently united by our tardiness, some of them I know and some I just nod to, but we all roll our eyes at each other. As we walk round to the door we have to fight against the tide of On Time Parents coming towards us, my friends who I smile at and shout ‘mornin’ to.

All of the other children have gone in, we miss the early morning competition to see who can be first in line. Even the teachers who open the doors and conduct you all to sing-say ‘Good Morning’ have been replaced by the funny old dude who only appears at 9.01am and whose sole job seems to be to rib the late children. He’s not the janitor, not a teacher, I don’t know what the rest of his job entails.

I don’t mean to be late, on paper we should be on time. But I get distracted. We’ll be on target and then I’ll get all cocky and lulled into a false sense of security and slow it down. All it takes is ten minutes and before I know it we’re going to be late.

‘Quick! Get your gloves on. STOP mucking about. Have you had your vitamin? GET YOUR gloves ON. Come on, out, out, out.’

‘Are we late again, Mum?’

At least four times I have been on time, early even, and it’s thrown everyone. One friend did a double take and you could see the look of panic in her eye as she thought she must be late too. If you see me then you know you’re in trouble. I guess you could say I’m providing a service for everyone else.

But, really, can anyone tell me why there is the need for a first and a second bell? Because for me it just feels like a taunt. Answers on a postcard please.

Written as part of Josie’s Writing Workshop – this week the prompt was ‘second’.

This week I had a bit of luck and had to change my working days which meant that I got to be the parent helper on Lois’s weekly Nature Trail. I had always assumed there was some organisation to this time, that the teacher would direct or lead some hunting for bugs or they’d discuss why the leaves were changing.

But, no. The children put on their wellies, out the back door and away they went.

They roamed free, climbed trees, made dens, hid, ran, dug, rolled around in leaves or collected twigs and sticks. My instruction was to let them take risks, within reason of course, and to just be an extra pair of eyes if they needed me.

The sun shone through the branches and the children were children.

Bliss.

Then I started thinking; what did we do before we had an iphone attached to our hands?

We’d have made an arrangement in advance and have to stick to it as, once you’d left the house, there was no way to contact them. If we were delayed, well – tough. We’d feel bad, sure, but there was nothing you could do about it, zip.

Your date would have to be patient. Now, there’s an emotion we’re all starting to use a lot less.

Your date would have to stand and huff. Look at their watch, play with their hair. Maybe have a wee pick of their nose. They’d likely look up, look around as there would be nothing for them to hold in their hands, no security blanket. They might watch people walking past and maybe make eye contact with these passers by. They might even use their imagination, make up stories about these strangers lives and where they were heading in such a rush.

They wouldn’t hang their head and scrabble about in their bag, have a quick look on Facebook, tweet that their friend was late again or check their emails.

For ten minutes of my journey I resisted the urge to pick up my phone – not in a ‘feck her, she can wait’ way but in an odd ‘I shall not give in to technology’ way. Of course it was futile and I sent her a hurried ’5 mins late sorry’ text. Then I cursed myself.

Remember when you had to memorise phone numbers? I can still remember my best friend from school’s number twenty years later but I don’t think that part of my brain works anymore.

Or if you dialled the wrong digit you’d have to hang up and start again? Not just delete the last digit but actually hang up and start again from the beginning. And way back in the day before we had phones with buttons you had to be even more patient and replace the handset, wait a few seconds, pick it up and check you had a dial tone and spin that dial all over again.

When we finally arrived at our rendevous in the car park my friend was nowhere to be seen. I texted her again ‘Is there a different car park?’ No response. I tried to call her to see if I’d got the arrangement wrong. No response.

Time ticked by and I could feel my earlier sanctimonious ’phones make us impatient’ thoughts start to evaporate. I was forced to sit and be patient and it made my heart beat a bit too fast. We eventually did meet up after fifteen minutes that involved her forgetting her phone, them running after me as I drove past, an emergency wee stop and some scones.

I love my phone but sometimes I also hate what it does to me.

Would you look at that.

One twenty quid chair, an ebay piece of foam, a staple gun, a material remnant from the John Lewis bargain bin and a helping hand from my willing Mr Assistant.

My very own chair. I’m rather impressed with myself.

]]> http://lettersfromyourmum.wordpress.com/2012/02/02/52-week-project-week-5/feed/ 5 scribblingmum Chair http://lettersfromyourmum.wordpress.com/2012/01/29/noise/ http://lettersfromyourmum.wordpress.com/2012/01/29/noise/#comments Sun, 29 Jan 2012 15:16:46 +0000 scribblingmum http://lettersfromyourmum.wordpress.com/?p=480 ]]>

noun, verb, noised, nois·ing.

It’s unlike a conversation where people take turns and there’s a rhythm to it, a flow that can continue in the background of activities without interrupting it. No, the noise that you two make every once in a while is quite different. It’s a constant sound so jammed packed with noises that it takes over everything else. Neither of you seem to take a breath, it’s a rally of noises.

We sit amazed, it’s mesmerising in it’s ridiculousness.

You want to be a ‘weather girl for the tennis match’ and stand side on and close to the telly, pointing and explaining, talking and talking and talking utter nonsense. On and on and on you go.

Your little sister stands at your side hopping on one leg, shouting.

Then the chairs are lined up behind each other, it’s a train; ‘WOOOOOO-WOOOOOO’.

Next the keyboard is given a bashing, the microphone with recorded applause, singing loud in a made up language and marking each other out of ten.

It’s time to get the shimmery material out. The material that I turned my nose up at when your Nanny rescued it from the charity shop, ‘what would they want that for?!’ It’s thrown over your heads so you can move about unseen as secret spies. One is wrapped in it and lies like a stranded mermaid awaiting rescue from the other. Last week, Lois, you instructed Phoebe to sit on it and asked ‘Shall we play that game where I’m the Queen and you’re the skunk?’ before pulling her around the dining room. Yes, you can lose hours playing with the shimmery material.

Maybe children’s ears work differently from adults. Maybe their hearing is only on medium strength until they reach teenage-hood when it gets turned off all together. And it’s only when we’re fully grown adults that our hearing’s finally turned up to full strength.

Or do they simply not care as the noise they’re making is all they have to worry about? The noise they’re making is not interrupting anything else for them, it’s 100% of what they’re about at that moment.

Funny how these noise fests coincide with me picking up the phone or switching my laptop on. You can smell that all right, the opportunity to interrupt me, nothing wrong with your sense of smell little ladies.

We bought you what you wanted for your Christmas; a pink kilt. You wear it well, your usual mix of clashing colours, stripes and dragged-through-a-hedge hair.

Och aye the noo everyone, tonight we shall feast on haggis egg and chips – Happy Burns Night.

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