A quick Bermuda Triangle post...

It was a weird day, which ended with Leona and I being met by a poor relation of Jonny Depp outside a tiny village Co-op. Complete with maroon (yep, you heard me correctly - marooooooon) velvet top hat!  Unfortunately for Leona I said what I saw quite loudly, well, loud enough for him to hear, and for her to crack up at me not being able to contain my thoughts, which happens quite a lot just recently.

Anyway, I digress - Can you imagine my excitement at starting a new course today!  I was awake super-early, and ready to go by 8 am (it didn't start until 10am...) Leona was booked in on 'Dress Making'  (she  has had her sewing machine for FOUR years, and still doesn't know how to thread it, never mind actually make anything - Granny Ford would have had a fit if she'd known, so in her memory, she was going to learn) and I was the proud student on the Textile Patchwork and Quilting Course,  already a self-taught machinist (with a bit of help from a short stint at Claydon Fashions waaaaaaay back in the 80's - piece work was never going to be my making!) I thought learning a new skill was just what was needed.

A brand new, all-singing-and-dancing sewing machine was ordered which was due in on Monday.  I should have known how things were going to turn out when I received an email telling me that it wouldn't be delivered until Thursday (god damn it, the class started onTuesday!) so armed with Meg's machine and my new sewing box - Leona's old  (but new to her) machine and her sewing box (in disguise of a Tesco's Christmas bag for life) we went in with great enthusiasm.

Full of beautiful material and buttons and ribbons to match, I very nearly lost control of all my bodily functions THIS WAS BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE!  Everywhere you turned was filled with the most amazing fabrics and wadding and threads and blah blah blah *sighs*......

We both went to our separate areas and got settled in.

Looking around the classroom, I was aware that I was the youngest by about 25 years.  I am DEFINATELY not ageist, and always embrace the knowledge and humour that comes with it.  Being the new girl, the tutor came over to help as everybody else had been coming for years, so they were well advanced in the art of patchwork!

Armed with a list of items required before I could start, my first half an hour was spent perusing shelves full of interesting items, and I dreamily floated around the shop like Kirstie Allsopp with a carte blanche cheque on her first episode of "Home Made".

My fantasy was quickly shattered when I found my way back to my sewing area, as to my horror, a 'project' detailed on two A4 pieces of paper laid for my attention.

It was a typical patchwork pattern.  The one that looks like a Star of David in hideous gaudy colours. I took a sharp intake of breath, and panic rising up from my triangle phobic centre - those 25 years of my youth were slipping away quicker than I could get my colour co-ordinated fat quarters out of my sewing box.....

"I can't do this!" I exclaimed.
"I can't do triangles, hexagons or semi-circles or leaf shapes!" I blurted out.
Quickly regaining my composure and not intending to offend any of my classmates my mind searched for an alternative explanation....
"I need to do squares first!"
The Tutor sighed - a gentle knowledgable nod, and she was over by my side ensuring me that I could go at my own pace. Squares were cut and calm and balance restored once again.

I cannot bear triangles. Hexagons are for bees  Semi-circles and leaf shapes remind me of my brothers kindergarten jig-saws.

 Okay, so I might have slightly exaggerated about my dislike for triangles, there is a place for them I agree, usually filled with cucumber - alongside afternoon tea and scones…..

Let us pray for a creative miracle by the time next weeks lesson comes round.

I just ran my third marathon this morning……Just kidding, I'm on my third cupcake.

So…. A new year…. A new me? I wonder…… what would I change about myself if I could?  Is it all about body image, or does it go deeper than that?

There are lots of things I am not happy about with my appearance, and as the years have gone by I seem to have slipped into the skin of an imposter!  However, this is not something I wish to push onto my children, because to them, I am a beautiful mummy, whatever my shape and size.  Is it right to alter their perception into the world of shallow vanity?

There was a time, when I was a hot chick! (I know….difficult to believe when looking at me now), the 80's suited me, I loved the permed blonde hair, so sprayed with Harmony hairspray that when the wind caught it, the whole scalp moved as one….the tight black dresses, and heels that if I wore now, would give me a nosebleed and serious knee swelling.  My boobs stood up on their own? I know! Amazing!  It was a time when everyone dressed up to go out, and we danced all night. 'Disco' was as popular as a Starbucks Frappuccino….

When I was pregnant with Meg, I was back into my jeans within a week of giving birth,  and lost so much weight from then on (mainly due to a lack of sleep), that my body image didn't even come into my mindset (I was slightly crazy).  I felt such a failure as a mother, that nothing mattered outside my inability to be able to get my beautiful baby daughter to sleep and stop screaming 24/7.  Sleep deprivation does something very strange to your wellbeing and rational thinking.  This was made even worse by the fact that Meg wasn't diagnosed until MUCH later, and so during this period (which was years…..) I was led to believe that what she required was "A good routine and a no-nonsense approach", which is fine if you have an 'average' baby without serious health implications….. Of course, Meg didn't play ball with this notion, and so my standards about my appearance started to slip.

When Daisy came along, I looked like Violet Beauregarde (except less blue…), but was so happy that this baby slept. I became completely absorbed in being a Mummy, that I didn't care how I looked - MY BABY SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT! TAAAAA DAAAA!

Friends manage to stay beautiful and youthful.  Their hair appointments regularly kept, adorned in nice clothes with evenings out - keeping them spritely and as neat as a Kensington Garden.  Where as somewhere along the line, I started to look a hedgerow in a disused railway line, out of control and unruly.

However, something amazing has happened during the last year.  What I thought mattered, actually doesn't….  Through everything, I am still smiling, happy and content.  Am I bothered that I've put on weight? No.  That my grey hair comes through quicker than a Quick-Fit-Fitter? No. That I am living in clothes that are practical and comfortable? No.

I have learnt that to keep sane, something has to give.  You can't be perfect in EVERY way, and those that you think are perfect let me tell you.  They're not.

Spending the majority of the last 4 years in hospitals, and balancing the care out equally with my other daughter, keeping our home in some sort of 'normal' state, and good food on the table, has meant that my looks have had to take a step back.

One day I'll have the time and inclination to return to that self-caring mode, but for the moment, I think I'm not doing too badly.  I know my hair is brushed.  I'm clean, and comfy, and able to pack a hospital bag within 2 minutes, whilst taking a home made meal out of the freezer for the others, and sorting Daisy out.  I am kind to my friends.

My role models are not media grabbers, but real men, women and children, from whom I have learnt valuable lessons.  Be confident, patient and kind.  These are basic virtues everyone should seek.  Nobody's perfect, everyone, including role models make mistakes.  Just do your best.  Be the best you can be.  Despite their mistakes, good role models earn the trust of those who believe in them.

Move over Twiggy…. The Real Mama Cubitt's coming through!