Being vs Doing
a short poem by Brenda Drumm
I am supposed to be 'a
human being
not a human doing!'
and yet,
I am so busy doing,
that I have no time
for just being!
August 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
A case of mistaken confectionery
Last Friday 18 June 2010 was a big day for me - we had the launch of Myeloma (bone marrow cancer) Awareness Week 2010 at 12 noon in the Mansion House in Dublin which is the residence of the Lord Mayor of Dublin. We had been working on the launch for months, weeks and we were anxious that everything would go well.
The day started well for me - I looked out the window first thing in the morning and there were two magpies sitting in the garden. I quickly recited the rhyme: "one for sorrow, two for joy". Whew, I thought, two for joy, I am okay I thought.
I was hyper as I had not been able to sleep the night before - partly because of the excitement and partly because I am on steroids. I guess I was also just anxious that everything would go well.
I showered, dressed, changed outfits, did my make-up, decided - bare legs or tights, made my son Cathal's lunch, got his school bag ready, put breakfast out, woke the kids, supervised the morning school routine.
Then I loaded the car - six boxes of our mugs for myeloma for our fundrasier, two banners, laptop, projector, camera, handbag, change of clothes, high shoes (as I can't drive in them), make-up, briefcase with all the literature and my speech, a scissors, sellotape and a birthday candle.
We dropped Cathal off to school and my daughter Emma (our helper for the day) and I drove straight to
Then we got to work and my co-ordinator of Myeloma Awareness Week arrived with balloons to be blown up and with a gigantic projector screen. All the piecees of the puzzle were soon in place and all we were waiting for were the guests and our birthday cake which we were having to mark our website’s first birthday – oh and our guest speaker Miriam O’Callaghan,
While waiting out the front of the Mansion House and having some pictures taken a man approached with a box and said: "Do you know anything about a birthday cake?" "Yes I said, we are expecting a birthday cake." So he handed me the box and walked off. I put it inside under the table ready for the moment when we would formally mark the first birthday of our website http://www.mymyeloma.ie/ .
In the meantime we had some more pics done and as we were taking them I looked to the right and saw two magpies on the lawn of the Mansion House. I recited the rhyme again: "One for sorrow, two for joy". Whew, there were two and we were okay!
Miriam arrived – she had been delayed in RTE. She was immediately wonderfully warm and enthusiastic and dived into the middle of the photo session in the garden. There was no awkwardness or formality – a warmth and a instant ray of sunshine.
Pics done we went inside. I was MC for the event and we had about 80 people. My Dad was first up to speak about what it was like for him to live with the fact that I have a serious illesss. I had told him in advance not to say anything that would make me cry. As he spoke I got emotional and Miriam came over and stood beside me and put her arm around me.
She heckled my Dad a few times trying to ecourage my him to tell us the things I had told him not to say as he had just told the audience that there were things that I had told him not to say!
Miriam spoke, she used no notes, no prompts – it was from the heart. It was wonderful and she just added such a wonderful lift to the whole event. Then we had some medical professionals including the wonderful doctor, now a Professor, who saw me through my stem cell transplant.
Then the talking was over and my daughter Emma was called up with the cake – a giant, pink cupcake with little white stars dotted around the top. It was stunning and the photographers started to take snaps of the cake. Miriam was handed it and she pretended to eat it as did Emma and I. There was a lot of flash bulbs going off. Then we left the cake down and went in for refreshments.
I must admit I thought it a bit strange that when I went into the refreshments room thre was another cake in there – an enormous one with the words Happy Birthday My Myeloma on it. That’s nice I thought, the Mansion House must have given us a cake also for the day. I preferred the cup cake as it was much more striking so I took a few of the stars off and ate then and Emma had a couple too.
There was mixing and mingling and a wonderful hope-filled atmosphere as patients and family members shared stories. My Dad’s speech was the star attraction and people queued up to shake his hand. I was immensely proud of him and I could see that my Mum was too. It was effortless for him although he told me after he had been nervous.
A journalist called on the phone for an interview and asked to speak to my Mum. I gave mum my phone and left her to it, having pre-warned her that she was talking to a tabloid newspaper. Ten minutes later she gave me back the phone.
"How was it", I said,
"OK", she said.
What did she ask you?, I said.
I don’t know Mam said.
What did you say, I said
I don’t know, she said! I forget.
Guess who is dreading the tabloid newspaper on Monday.
People started to trickle away as the event ended and as I looked around the almost empty room I noticed that the pink cupcake cake was still there. It had not been cut or touched. I placed it back in it’s box but not before Emma and I had one more star each from the top and took some more silly pics of us pretending to eat it. Then we left it with the rest of the things to go to the car/van as no one else wanted to take any cake home with them.
We were saying our goodbyes when a very stressed looking girl came out and said: “Does anyone here know anything about a large pink cupcake, cake?” Emma and I looked at each other and immediately sidled out the door to retrieve said cake from beside the car where it had been deposited with all the other bits and pieces from the launch. On the way in we met my colleague who told us that the cake was not ours after all, that in fact the one we had cut and eaten was ours. "Oh I said, no harm", and I brought the cake in and handed it to the girl and the Mansion House manager. "ER we can’t seem to find the lid of the box", I said, and "er, I am sorry that the bottom of the box is wet, I spilled some water."
"Who owns the cake?" I asked.
"Well the Lord Mayor is having a birthday party tonight for her sister and this is the birthday cake", she said.
Well Emma and I almost choked on the stars we had taken from the top of the cake! We then went on to try and explain how the delivery man had just handed me the cake on the side of the street and walked off.
We laughed about it – not a case of mistaken identity but a case of mistaken confectionery!
"No harm done", I said to Emma as we walked out to the front of the Mansion House to the car. "No harm done at all and what’s a few little icing stars between the Lord Mayor and one of her citizens, sure no one will ever know we had her cake!"
Then suddenly it dawned on me – the photos that the photographers had taken for the papers – what if they end up on the front page of tomorrow’s newspapers – how will the Lord Mayor’s sister feel about her birthday cake being mock eaten by complete strangers. A few frantic calls later and we had the reassurance that none would be used. We said our goodbyes and drove away from the Mansion House tired but very satisfied.
As we left
Friday 18 June 2010 was a truly joy-filled day. But then some scientist had said that that particular day was the happiest day of the year.
Friday, May 28, 2010
A brush with treasure
I am not sure when it started but from the time my son Cathal was about one he used to get a hairbrush and go around brushing his hair and then my hair. At the time I had long, thick hair and it used to kill me as the hairbrush would get stuck in all sorts of tangles and it would end up just hanging there in some part of my mop.
As he got older he used to watch me doing Emma's hair, adding clips to it as I got her ready for school in the morning. When he was about two year's of age he began to add the clips after he brushed my hair. Most of the time the clips would be stuck in my head rather than my hair and there would be a lot of ouch and aagh coming from me.
I think it used to soothe him to sit behind me on the couch, brushing my hair, while we watched telly.
In June 2007 I lost all my hair as a result of chemo I received as part of cancer treatment. My hair had thinned considerably and I had a bald batch, so I decided one Friday it had to go. While the kids were at school I shaved what was left of my hair.
I collected Cathal from his creche and Emma from school, wearing a hat to hide what I had done. I had tried my best to prepare them and I was able to show Emma (aged 9) and sort of have a laugh with her.
I was more concerned about how Cathal would feel. He didn't know I had cancer - cancer would not mean much anyway to a two-year old. I had told him that my hair would fall out because of some special Mammy medicine I was on. He would shrug and just run off again and play.
On the day of the reveal I sat him down at the table and we had a drink each. I told him that my hair was gone and I asked him if he wanted to see. He nodded and I took my hat off. He looked and me and said: 'put your hat back on Mammy'.
That was that. No tears. No look of shock or horror. He went off about his business.
The following night we were all sitting down in the living room, watching TV. Cathal came in with a hairbrush in his hand and said: 'Mammy, can I brush your hair?'. I remember looking over at my hubby in shock. What do we do about this? I panicked and then froze.
Cathal came over and said 'take off your hat Mammy', which I did. He sat up behind me and brushed my bald head. He didn't bat an eyelid, he never said: 'Where's your hair?' He didn't bother with clips, just sat there brushing. It all happened so fast that I barely had time to react - which was just as well.
I was shocked really by how natural the whole thing was. For him, it was no different, he didn't look at me any differently bald than he did when I had hair. He saw the big picture - just me, his Mum, and not a stranger with an egg head. He took comfort from the ritual that he had been doing for months.
It was one of the most emotional and poignant moments of my whole cancer journey and I will treasure the moment forever.
That particular memory all came back to me this evening - three years later, when out of the blue Cathal came up and asked me if he could brush my hair. I have hair now, it grew back thick and strong - not that it would make any difference to Cathal anyway!!!!
xx
As he got older he used to watch me doing Emma's hair, adding clips to it as I got her ready for school in the morning. When he was about two year's of age he began to add the clips after he brushed my hair. Most of the time the clips would be stuck in my head rather than my hair and there would be a lot of ouch and aagh coming from me.
I think it used to soothe him to sit behind me on the couch, brushing my hair, while we watched telly.
In June 2007 I lost all my hair as a result of chemo I received as part of cancer treatment. My hair had thinned considerably and I had a bald batch, so I decided one Friday it had to go. While the kids were at school I shaved what was left of my hair.
I collected Cathal from his creche and Emma from school, wearing a hat to hide what I had done. I had tried my best to prepare them and I was able to show Emma (aged 9) and sort of have a laugh with her.
I was more concerned about how Cathal would feel. He didn't know I had cancer - cancer would not mean much anyway to a two-year old. I had told him that my hair would fall out because of some special Mammy medicine I was on. He would shrug and just run off again and play.
On the day of the reveal I sat him down at the table and we had a drink each. I told him that my hair was gone and I asked him if he wanted to see. He nodded and I took my hat off. He looked and me and said: 'put your hat back on Mammy'.
That was that. No tears. No look of shock or horror. He went off about his business.
The following night we were all sitting down in the living room, watching TV. Cathal came in with a hairbrush in his hand and said: 'Mammy, can I brush your hair?'. I remember looking over at my hubby in shock. What do we do about this? I panicked and then froze.
Cathal came over and said 'take off your hat Mammy', which I did. He sat up behind me and brushed my bald head. He didn't bat an eyelid, he never said: 'Where's your hair?' He didn't bother with clips, just sat there brushing. It all happened so fast that I barely had time to react - which was just as well.
I was shocked really by how natural the whole thing was. For him, it was no different, he didn't look at me any differently bald than he did when I had hair. He saw the big picture - just me, his Mum, and not a stranger with an egg head. He took comfort from the ritual that he had been doing for months.
It was one of the most emotional and poignant moments of my whole cancer journey and I will treasure the moment forever.
That particular memory all came back to me this evening - three years later, when out of the blue Cathal came up and asked me if he could brush my hair. I have hair now, it grew back thick and strong - not that it would make any difference to Cathal anyway!!!!
xx
Friday, April 23, 2010
FAMA
My weakness has to be fashion - clothes, shoes, make-up, handbags and accessories! I love it all. But I am not a slave to fashion, I never just go with the trend – thankfully, well can you imagine me in a puffball skirt at age 41? No, I didn’t think so. I am not a lemming to the slaughter (albeit a well dressed lemming), I make my own styles.
My best friend Sara will tell you that I was doing the ‘wearing a dress with trousers’ style before anyone else was – certainly before any of the designers were. I didn’t do it because I had a vision that it was the next big fashion trend, no, I did it because I hate wearing tights and because on that particular day I was just too darn lazy to shave my legs!!!!!!
I am not saying that I don’t sometimes make mistakes – last weekend an RTE cameraman asked me to take off my coat as it was too loud and was ruining his shot! The coat was rather loud for wearing inside a cathedral now that I think of it – especially when everyone around me [all priests] were well men in black.
Dresses are my particular weakness - I have a kaleidoscope of different colour dresses in my wardrobe – I just can’t walk past them in the shop and I know that having 20 LBD’s (little black dresses) goes against the laws of fashion as there should only need to be one LBD, but they were all so yummy looking in the shops!
Now don’t assume that I am up on all the fashion lingo and names – I am no Sara Jessica Parker and I certainly don’t have the luxury of getting a brand new wardrobe of clothes each time a season changes!
But I often think of how different things would be if I was made Taoiseach! One of the first things I would do (after doubling whatever wardrobe allowance Brian Cowen has) would be to create a Department of Fashion Affairs with a Minister for shoes and handbags, a Minister for trends and accessories, a junior make-up Minister to keep an eye on all that side of things and an Ambassador for Irish Fashion – imagine the junkets to Paris and Milan Fashion Weeks!
Walk-in wardrobes would be compulsory in all new houses and I would introduce a scheme whereby older houses could get a grant for having them retro-fit!
I would have to introduce a new National holiday to give people more time to shop and of course there would have to be a new element to An Garda Siochana – in that I would have to introduce a new division to them – yes a fashion police. We could call them the Gunaí Gardai!!!!!
There would have to be a new tax relief introduced on the purchase of handbags and shoes – the more expensive - the higher the tax relief. I would make sure that the State would underwrite all credit card splurges on clothes and shoes etc. In fact, in the case where girls were under threat of having their credit cards taken away, we would even write off some of the debt as bad impulse buys! I would call that agency FAMA – Fashion Asset Management Agency!
The country would probably be in just as bad a state as we are now – but gosh we would look and feel great!
Brenda
xx
My best friend Sara will tell you that I was doing the ‘wearing a dress with trousers’ style before anyone else was – certainly before any of the designers were. I didn’t do it because I had a vision that it was the next big fashion trend, no, I did it because I hate wearing tights and because on that particular day I was just too darn lazy to shave my legs!!!!!!
I am not saying that I don’t sometimes make mistakes – last weekend an RTE cameraman asked me to take off my coat as it was too loud and was ruining his shot! The coat was rather loud for wearing inside a cathedral now that I think of it – especially when everyone around me [all priests] were well men in black.
Dresses are my particular weakness - I have a kaleidoscope of different colour dresses in my wardrobe – I just can’t walk past them in the shop and I know that having 20 LBD’s (little black dresses) goes against the laws of fashion as there should only need to be one LBD, but they were all so yummy looking in the shops!
Now don’t assume that I am up on all the fashion lingo and names – I am no Sara Jessica Parker and I certainly don’t have the luxury of getting a brand new wardrobe of clothes each time a season changes!
But I often think of how different things would be if I was made Taoiseach! One of the first things I would do (after doubling whatever wardrobe allowance Brian Cowen has) would be to create a Department of Fashion Affairs with a Minister for shoes and handbags, a Minister for trends and accessories, a junior make-up Minister to keep an eye on all that side of things and an Ambassador for Irish Fashion – imagine the junkets to Paris and Milan Fashion Weeks!
Walk-in wardrobes would be compulsory in all new houses and I would introduce a scheme whereby older houses could get a grant for having them retro-fit!
I would have to introduce a new National holiday to give people more time to shop and of course there would have to be a new element to An Garda Siochana – in that I would have to introduce a new division to them – yes a fashion police. We could call them the Gunaí Gardai!!!!!
There would have to be a new tax relief introduced on the purchase of handbags and shoes – the more expensive - the higher the tax relief. I would make sure that the State would underwrite all credit card splurges on clothes and shoes etc. In fact, in the case where girls were under threat of having their credit cards taken away, we would even write off some of the debt as bad impulse buys! I would call that agency FAMA – Fashion Asset Management Agency!
The country would probably be in just as bad a state as we are now – but gosh we would look and feel great!
Brenda
xx
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Top Gun Saves Brenda Drumm
I have a habit of driving around on fumes – I don’t know why because it doesn’t cost any more money to keep petrol in the car than to drive on fumes.
On my old car I had an alarm that used to go off when I had 100 km worth of petrol left. I always ignored it and would often drive in a panic to the petrol station when I suddenly noticed that the gauge was at 000!
My husband goes mad – he can’t understand why I just don’t keep the car full or at least fill it when the alarm sounds.
I got a new car this year and of course I am getting used to it so I am still not sure when the alarm goes off and tells me I am low on petrol, what it actually means! It sounds when there is 80km worth of petrol left in the car and of course I say to myself 'now does that mean I have 80km worth of fuel left or does it mean I have 80km worth of fuel left and then some fumes?'
The alarm sounded on my way into work last Monday and I ignored it, intending to get fuel on the way home from work – of course I never did!
On Tuesday morning I was driving to Tallaght Hospital for treatment and just as I was at the turn for Baldonnell, my car started to feel strange. I was in the slow lane so I sort of egged the car on as far as I could and then I pulled in to the side of the road. I knew immediately what was wrong. The dial was at empty, there was a big fat 0km staring at me from the petrol gauge. In fact if my car had the ability to show minus in terms of petrol – it would probably be reading minus 10km.
I was stranded and it was totally my own fault. I couldn’t ring my husband – well daren’t really! Well he couldn’t help anyway, being all the way up in Dublin, and he would have said ‘I told you so!’ and he would have been exactly perfectly right!
I do have breakdown cover and I know that one of the most common things that they attend to on the roadside is a person running out of petrol. Not much consolation to me though as I sat at the side of the road with no idea where the nearest petrol station was and with cars whizzing by so fast that the car shook each time.
But then a car drew up alongside me on the hard shoulder and the driver rolled down his window. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked. Mortified I sort of laughed and said ‘eh…. well I have run out of petrol’. He said: 'Where are you going?' and I said ‘Tallaght Hospital', adding for good measure 'for treatment’. I totally played the helpless card.
He unlocked his car and said hop in. I rummaged around in my car, making sure I had my bag. Before I sat into his car I also made sure I had my phone – well he could be an axe murderer and I had always been warned not to take lifts from strangers.
Just before we pulled out into the stream of traffic I said: 'Hang on I need to make sure that my car is locked!' He looked at me and said: 'Well it’s not going anywhere is it!!!!!' 'I suppose not I said', burning with embarrassment.
I had a look at him and he was very good looking – he also had a sort of a sensible/safe look about him so I relaxed a bit – I still kept hold of my phone though, just in case.
I apologised to him for making him late for work. He said: ‘It’s fine’. I asked him had he far to go and he said: ‘I am on my way to Baldonnell Airforce Base’. 'Oh I said',wWhat do you do?' He sort of smirked and said ‘I am a pilot’. Well, all I could think was wait until I tell the girls in work. I run out of petrol on the N7 and I am rescued by an airline pilot! It could only happen to me!
As it turned out I could have walked to the petrol station as where I broke down was just around the corner from a huge petrol station. I told him I could make my way back to the car – he was reluctant to leave me to my own devices. 'It’s okay', I said, 'I am well able for this, I am a scout leader you know'. He looked at me and said: 'er isn’t the motto of the scouts to be prepared?'
When I got over the shame of his parting words to me, I did text a couple of the girls to tell them what had happened. It was a lesson well learned though.
So the moral of the story is: ‘Do what your hubby says and keep your car filled with adequate petrol to guarantee to get you from A to B or A to Hospital! But I prefer this one: The moral of the story is - if you run out of petrol, make sure you are on the N7, just at the turn for Baldonnell Air Base, so as your knight in shining armour might turn out to be an airforce pilot.
I still haven't told my hubby what happened!
Ends
Ends
On my old car I had an alarm that used to go off when I had 100 km worth of petrol left. I always ignored it and would often drive in a panic to the petrol station when I suddenly noticed that the gauge was at 000!
My husband goes mad – he can’t understand why I just don’t keep the car full or at least fill it when the alarm sounds.
I got a new car this year and of course I am getting used to it so I am still not sure when the alarm goes off and tells me I am low on petrol, what it actually means! It sounds when there is 80km worth of petrol left in the car and of course I say to myself 'now does that mean I have 80km worth of fuel left or does it mean I have 80km worth of fuel left and then some fumes?'
The alarm sounded on my way into work last Monday and I ignored it, intending to get fuel on the way home from work – of course I never did!
On Tuesday morning I was driving to Tallaght Hospital for treatment and just as I was at the turn for Baldonnell, my car started to feel strange. I was in the slow lane so I sort of egged the car on as far as I could and then I pulled in to the side of the road. I knew immediately what was wrong. The dial was at empty, there was a big fat 0km staring at me from the petrol gauge. In fact if my car had the ability to show minus in terms of petrol – it would probably be reading minus 10km.
I was stranded and it was totally my own fault. I couldn’t ring my husband – well daren’t really! Well he couldn’t help anyway, being all the way up in Dublin, and he would have said ‘I told you so!’ and he would have been exactly perfectly right!
I do have breakdown cover and I know that one of the most common things that they attend to on the roadside is a person running out of petrol. Not much consolation to me though as I sat at the side of the road with no idea where the nearest petrol station was and with cars whizzing by so fast that the car shook each time.
But then a car drew up alongside me on the hard shoulder and the driver rolled down his window. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked. Mortified I sort of laughed and said ‘eh…. well I have run out of petrol’. He said: 'Where are you going?' and I said ‘Tallaght Hospital', adding for good measure 'for treatment’. I totally played the helpless card.
He unlocked his car and said hop in. I rummaged around in my car, making sure I had my bag. Before I sat into his car I also made sure I had my phone – well he could be an axe murderer and I had always been warned not to take lifts from strangers.
Just before we pulled out into the stream of traffic I said: 'Hang on I need to make sure that my car is locked!' He looked at me and said: 'Well it’s not going anywhere is it!!!!!' 'I suppose not I said', burning with embarrassment.
I had a look at him and he was very good looking – he also had a sort of a sensible/safe look about him so I relaxed a bit – I still kept hold of my phone though, just in case.
I apologised to him for making him late for work. He said: ‘It’s fine’. I asked him had he far to go and he said: ‘I am on my way to Baldonnell Airforce Base’. 'Oh I said',wWhat do you do?' He sort of smirked and said ‘I am a pilot’. Well, all I could think was wait until I tell the girls in work. I run out of petrol on the N7 and I am rescued by an airline pilot! It could only happen to me!
As it turned out I could have walked to the petrol station as where I broke down was just around the corner from a huge petrol station. I told him I could make my way back to the car – he was reluctant to leave me to my own devices. 'It’s okay', I said, 'I am well able for this, I am a scout leader you know'. He looked at me and said: 'er isn’t the motto of the scouts to be prepared?'
When I got over the shame of his parting words to me, I did text a couple of the girls to tell them what had happened. It was a lesson well learned though.
So the moral of the story is: ‘Do what your hubby says and keep your car filled with adequate petrol to guarantee to get you from A to B or A to Hospital! But I prefer this one: The moral of the story is - if you run out of petrol, make sure you are on the N7, just at the turn for Baldonnell Air Base, so as your knight in shining armour might turn out to be an airforce pilot.
I still haven't told my hubby what happened!
Ends
Ends
Monday, March 1, 2010
Time to Talk
My 12 year old daughter asked if she could bake a cake the other evening, so I said 'yes', on condition that she also tidied up after herself i.e. wash up and put all the ingredients away. She was making marzipan cake (it tastes nicer than it sounds).
I hovered in the kitchen, lending a hand here and there and when the cake went into the oven she set about tidying and washing up. We have a dishwasher which is usually filled and emptied by one person. It was already on a wash cycle so we decided to clean up the old fashioned way.
'I will wash and you dry', I said. As I said that I had the most vivid flashback to when I was in our small kitchen at home in Cavan, either washing-up or drying the dishes with my Mum. There was only room for two of us in the kitchen so it was a half of hour of my Mum's ear, during which we would chat - well I would talk and she would listen.
It struck me, as I was filling the basin with hot water and putting in some washing-up liquid, how much time-saving, modern appliances have almost destroyed a lot of the natural, everyday opportunities that parents, mothers especially, have with their kids!
It took us about 45 minutes to wash, dry and put everything away and during that time my daughter and I had a good old chat about all sorts - well she talked and I listened. It is often during these impromptu chats that concerns and worries get aired and shared, and these moments are so very valuable.
Don't get me wrong, we do talk, but sometimes it's a contrived almost un-natural way, because we live our lives in such haste! It really made me think that I will have to start building in more natural opportunities like that to chat with her and her brother as they grow up.
It's really good to talk, but it's so much richer to listen, really listen to your kids.
B
I hovered in the kitchen, lending a hand here and there and when the cake went into the oven she set about tidying and washing up. We have a dishwasher which is usually filled and emptied by one person. It was already on a wash cycle so we decided to clean up the old fashioned way.
'I will wash and you dry', I said. As I said that I had the most vivid flashback to when I was in our small kitchen at home in Cavan, either washing-up or drying the dishes with my Mum. There was only room for two of us in the kitchen so it was a half of hour of my Mum's ear, during which we would chat - well I would talk and she would listen.
It struck me, as I was filling the basin with hot water and putting in some washing-up liquid, how much time-saving, modern appliances have almost destroyed a lot of the natural, everyday opportunities that parents, mothers especially, have with their kids!
It took us about 45 minutes to wash, dry and put everything away and during that time my daughter and I had a good old chat about all sorts - well she talked and I listened. It is often during these impromptu chats that concerns and worries get aired and shared, and these moments are so very valuable.
Don't get me wrong, we do talk, but sometimes it's a contrived almost un-natural way, because we live our lives in such haste! It really made me think that I will have to start building in more natural opportunities like that to chat with her and her brother as they grow up.
It's really good to talk, but it's so much richer to listen, really listen to your kids.
B
Monday, February 8, 2010
Tag Line
I suppose I should have explained the tag line that I have underneath the title of my blog. The line - Just a girl writing about her life and not asking you to love it or even like it.
It is a play on one of my favourite lines from a movie. The movie is Notting Hill and the original line is in a scene quite close to the end of the movie when Julia Roberts is trying to persuade Hugh Grant to maybe consider spending some time with her, after all that has happened. He declines and she talks about the fame side of her life in the movie and then she says: 'Also I am just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her'.
Such a lovely line. Aawww!!!!!!
Just thought I should explain that the line is borrowed.
B
It is a play on one of my favourite lines from a movie. The movie is Notting Hill and the original line is in a scene quite close to the end of the movie when Julia Roberts is trying to persuade Hugh Grant to maybe consider spending some time with her, after all that has happened. He declines and she talks about the fame side of her life in the movie and then she says: 'Also I am just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her'.
Such a lovely line. Aawww!!!!!!
Just thought I should explain that the line is borrowed.
B
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