Why do we buy presents?

...when the box is always so much more fun?

Me: What are you up to guys?
Anna: Oh, we're just sitting in this box and I'm reading Amaia a story.

Humans of New York

If you've read me before, you know I'm a big fan of Humans of New York. Once again, Brandon's left New York and is currently interviewing families of refugees from Iraq and Syria. By putting a face to these people, you can see that the only reason that they are in that situation instead of you, is simply the postcode lottery of birth. I defy anyone to read their stories and not feel a connection.

And if you have a moment, please read 'Aya's story' and help Brandon with his call for her to be helped.

Danish Xmas in Scotland

Last week we went to Ikea's Xmas party to celebrate St Lucia in true Scandinavian style. The kids had a ball as always, as they danced round the tree, in a way you just don't in Scotland - our trees tend to be found in the corners of rooms or against a window with no room to dance at all. We try to attend it every year, in a vague attempt at Scandinavianizing our Xmas!

At the weekend Charlotte helped the little ones make Danish Xmas biscuits. After all she has been part Danish since she was just six years old. She's even introduced her own personal touch (coconut pandan from the Chinese supermarket) and that has added a streak of green through everything. But it is weird really, when you consider that this is our tenth Xmas as part of a Danish family, and we have never spent Xmas in Denmark. Thomas's parents don't tend to spend Xmas there so there's no home base to return to. Thomas does his best to tell us of their traditions and we do our version: we bake the cookies, we make gingerbread houses, the kids make Scandinavian decorations for our tree. The kids watch their daily episodes of their own imported Julekalender DVDs and have hand-wrapped gifts every day unlike their classmates whole tend to have a chocolate calendar. We have real candles on our real tree while all the neighbours cower in terror at the thought of naked flames on a tree. We have no Santa and we give our gifts on the 24th, not the 25th. The children have always known there's no Santa so spend their childhood keeping their guilty secret from schoolmates, neighbours and even the cousins they see on Xmas day. Their eyes twinkle when they greet them with the question: What did Santa bring you? and they play along, knowingly. In fact we sleep late on Xmas morning when every other house in the street has been up and bouncing since the wee small hours. Half tenish is a normal enough time for us to stir on Xmas morning and that is a whole lot more civilized than the 5ams my friends report! We force down the obligatory herring and rye bread with Schnapps for lunch on the 24th, because Thomas assures us that's what we're meant to do, though only so we can secretly get to the duck as that tastes a whole lot better! But is that what Scandinavian Xmas is like? I don't really know because I've never tried it. All dreams of a log cabin in the snow are just that - only dreams.

I wonder if he has managed to make it real enough for the kids to carry these traditions on into their families when they are older or if the fact that we never made it to Denmark during their childhood will eventually lead to them losing that connection? It would be a real shame given the huge effort Thomas has put in over the years, but will they manage to connect it to their roots in a country they sadly rarely visit or will they simply see our traditions as one family's idiosyncrasies?

Ikea Xmas party

As honorary Scandinavians, we made our annual pilgrimage to Ikea canteen last week for salmon, meatballs and a selection of Swedish desserts, topped off with Swedish entertainment and gingerbread tree biscuit decorating for the kids. It's funny how many of the other guests you start to recognize when you go every year (both to that and their August crayfish party) - from some of the staff from Charlotte's school to Glaswegian Chinese woman with possibly the most ostentatious specs in the West! Even the lady who sells the Xmas trees greeted us with 'Oh hello, you're the Danes who come every year!' - creatures of habit, that's us. If our kids have as many kids as we did, we'll be able to fill their ticket quota single-handedly in about 25 years time!

Xmas jumpers

"Listen Mummy, I can play my jumper!"

Kids will be kids

Thomas: Come on kids, let's tidy up, granny will be here soon! 
3,4&5: Awwwwh! 
Thomas: Don't you want granny to come? 
3,4&5: Yes we want her to come... we just want her to come to messy!

A child's view of our world

Anna: Mummy, you know how Lily is a Syrian hamster?

Me: Yes.

Anna: Are the hamsters going to be ok? I heard there was a war in Syria. Will there be no more hamsters any more? Are Lily's family going to be ok?

Where do you begin?

Birthday planner

Children really know how to make you feel guilty! 

Today Anna came bouncing up to me: I think it's probably about time I stopped coming into your bedroom without knocking!

Me (searching my recent memory for any time we might have been a bit too loud and terrified to ask!): Really?

Anna: Of course, I'd hate to walk in and find (Gulp, what's she going to say!?) you in the middle of wrapping all my birthday presents. I figured you must have everything bought and organized since it's December now!

Me: (I'm not sure this one has sussed her parents' organizational skills! If it isn't birthday eve (ie 18/12) then the chances of anything being wrapped, or even bought are slim, and slimmer still with poor Anna as her birthday is way too close to Christmas for comfort!) Oh yes, Anna, good idea!

Suggestions on what you buy an 8 year old whose main interest at the moment seems to be human anatomy on a postcard please?!

Modern times

So I was sitting in the TV room reading to the youngest two, one on either side. Anna was on my left. She started twiddling my engagement and wedding rings around my finger. Then we had a surreal conversation that really makes you wonder how the kids of today's minds work.

Anna: Is this your wedding ring mummy?

Me: The flat one is my wedding ring, the one with the diamond is my engagement ring.

Anna: They're nice.

Me: Yes.

Anna: I guess they are a nice way to remember daddy.

Me: Well yes, but I live with daddy, so I don't need them to remember him by.

Anna: I know but they'd come in handy if say you ever ran away with another man and you wanted to remember daddy after you'd gone!

Me: I'm not planning on running anywhere Anna, I love daddy. (What a bizarre thought! Given I have been divorced, I know exactly how likely I'd be to want to wear my rings to remember an ex-partner!)

Anna: Well I guess they'd work if he got killed by a bus too!

Jeezo - what do the kids of today watch on the telly?!

That didn't take long

I remember the first time I moved away from home and from Glasgow for any significant time, that is to say for a stay of more than a couple of months. I was 19 and I moved to France at the end of August of 1987. For the first few weeks I stayed with my then boyfriend (now ex-husband) in Besançon, then I went on to a teacher training course in Nancy and finally I moved to Bruyères in the Vosges around the second week of September. Bruyères was to be my home for the next ten months. I knew no one and no one I knew lived within about three hours of where I was. I met my German flatmate a couple of days later and she was in the same position. We were to become close, simply because we were the only two strangers in that very close-knit town.

For the first few weeks, I wondered what I had done. There I was in a town of 4000 inhabitants in the middle of nowhere. The kids I was teaching had little interest in learning English. The boys wanted to grow up to work for the forestry commission. The girls wanted to have kids and bake cakes as their mothers did. I felt at the same time that  I had landed on the moon, and gone back in time by about a generation! I couldn't begin to imagine I would ever feel at home in a tiny village after a lifetime twenty minutes from Scotland's largest city. If my degree hadn't depended on it, I'm not 100% sure I'd have returned after Christmas but when I did, something had changed. I suddenly started to feel at home. I began to appreciate the slower pace of life. I liked the loss of my anonymity. When I returned to France, I liked the fact that the woman in the Post Office asked if I'd enjoyed my trip back home. I liked the kids waving to me as they drove by. I had become part of a community. And when I drove out of that town for the last time the following June, it was blinded by tears and with a crowd waving me off. Slowly that had become home and Scotland had become abroad.

Marcel acted very bravely when he left home. He's only eighteen and although he's fairly mature and worldly wise for his age, he looked a little out of his depth as he opened the door to his student room for the first time. After a month, he'd grown up enough to admit to Thomas, who was through in Edinburgh for a meeting so had taken him for a pizza, that the first few weeks had been terrifying. Worse than back in my day when we had communicated through snail mail, he'd spent his first few weeks watching his large group of friends from Glasgow, none of whom had had the balls to make the jump, still socializing together as he sat in a strange city alone. He wondered what on earth he'd done. And of course, given he got into Glasgow uni too but turned it down, he definitely had a feeling of 'if only'.

Fast forward to last Friday. He turned up here as he'd been invited to a party. He seemed lighter and happier. He's grown greatly in the last ten weeks. I asked how he was and he explained that this was the first time he'd come home and realized home was away and away was home. He went on to clarify that when he left Edinburgh he'd said goodbye to his flatmates and the caretaker in his building because he knows them well. At the bus stop into Edinburgh he'd spoken to a little old lady who is often at his bus stop, he'd greeted the bus driver who he also knew and had spoken to the Polish lady in the coffee shop who serves him when he passes, but on arrival in Glasgow he became anonymous. The bus drivers, the shop owners, the people at the bus stops were strangers. So although he knew the city well, he felt more at home in Edinburgh than Glasgow.

Although that brings a secret tear to my eye, it makes me immensely happy at the same time. He now has the tools to go anywhere and do anything he wants, whether that is on the other side of the world, or one day back here, only time will tell.

A special bond

When Marcel moved out, I wondered what effect that would have on the relationship between him and the very youngest of his siblings. I wondered if the fact that they were so young would make them less close. It seems those worries were unfounded.

I walk into a room and find that they are chatting together on Skype, often initiated by the youngest ones. They jump with joy when he comes through the door and rush over to sit on him. They trip over their tongues trying to fill him in on what he's missed. They ask how long he's staying over and over.

Tonight, as he went to catch the last train back home, Amaia spontaneously came out with: I love Marcel so much, he's my second daddy!

The madness of the five child household!

"Put your shoes away in the shoe cupboard Amaia, please"

Two hours later... Wow, I love it for its innovation - this is a first!

Learning to spell - sort of

Amaia: The other day the teacher was going over the letter O with us.
Me: So did you all have to put up your hands if you knew any words beginning with O?
Amaia: Yes. Some of the boys and girls only knew little words like on or off but I knew a big word so I put up my hand.
Me: And did the teacher pick you?
Amaia: Yes, so I said orthodontist because I remembered that Marcel and Charlotte always used to go to the orthodontist.
Me: I bet she was impressed.
Amaia: Yes. I was thinking about it later and I was annoyed with myself.
Me: Why? Orthodontist is a good word.
Amaia: I know but I remembered later that we went to Edinburgh last week and I could have sounded really clever if I'd mentioned that we climbed Orthur's Seat!

Hmmm - really clever? Maybe not...

The four seasons of Wednesday walks at Whitelee

Winter

Spring

Summer

Autumn

New room

After Marcel moved out, we promised the girls we'd redecorate their room (and then Léon's). In the days when we had only the oldest three kids, it had been Marcel's room and he had painted it bright red. Later we turned our bedroom into a home office, which took us down to four bedrooms forcing the three youngest to share the original master bedroom. During this time we'd made it space-themed. The girls were just desperate to make it brighter and more elegant. Anna decided she wanted turquoise, Amaia wanted lilac so we decided to compromise to keep them both happy. They weren't let in on what we'd bought and Charlotte and I spent most of the October holiday locked inside. We told the girls they weren't allowed in. Lots even told them she had chosen black for their walls and was painting it Halloween-themed. Amaia looked dubious but said that would be ok - ever the tactful. Finally, with a day to go (we'd finished the painting but not the tidying), they could no longer be contained, so Thomas blindfolded them and brought them in. They seemed very pleased with the result of the make-over.

Finally, today we added the finishing touches, so that's one room down. Now we're onto Léon!

Love parenting...

One of those amusing parenting moments:

Amaia: Mummy?

Me: Yes?

Amaia (pensive): Can you only get Wee Willie Winkie's sausages?

Me: What do you mean?

Amaia: I mean do they also do Wee Vagina Winkie's for girls?

Me: *Chokes on her lunch*

Life

Yeah, I know I'm a soppy old fool but this made me cry. As I get older, it never ceases to amaze me how short life really is. Yesterday I was the child, now even my oldest child isn't a child. Apart from death (and the dog), I've already ticked off everything in this list, and having witnessed my parents during dad's illness, I've touched on that from as close as you can before you touch it yourself.

Enjoy the little things, because it'll be over before you know it.

Nursery tales

Charlotte has been helping out at Amaia's old nursery this week as part of the compulsory work experience scheme in her school. Today she came in laughing about how little the kids seemed to be on the ball...

Charlotte: I asked them what day it was today, thinking that wasn't too hard a question. The first one to stick his hand up replied 'Saturday', the second asked if it was 'nursery day' and one wee guy at the back was almost wetting himself waiting for me to pick him to answer so I asked him what day it was and he proudly announced 'It's tomorrow, isn't it?'

Sweet!

Humans of New York again

This week HONY's photographing refugees arriving in Europe and having them recount their stories. Read them.

Mary Queen of Cakes

Leafing through this month's Waitrose magazine with a view to finding the recipe for their ghost meringue Halloween cake, featured on the cover, Charlotte came across a photo of our current queen. I use the word 'our' loosely, as I am not a royalist and really do not like the idea of a head of state who isn't elected... Charlotte, of course, knows my feelings on the subject and also knows that I don't take an interest in any of the royal family gossip floating around the magazine shelves of the local supermarkets. Wondering if Amaia too had picked up on my indifference to all things royal, Charlotte turned to her and asked 'Amaia, do you know who this lady is?' , pointing at the queen...
'Emmmm, is it Mary Berry?' she asked! I think she has indeed inherited my profound indifference to the royal family, and perhaps she's also inherited my love of cake!