not everyone is always looking at you

“Not everyone is always looking at you” is something my mother said to me very often.” There is really no need to be so self-conscious”.

 So, when I walked onto the beach in San Diego a few years with a borrowed surfboard under my arm I repeated this mantra to myself. Around me the beautiful people were sunbathing, tending to their beautiful children and generally blinding me with their fabulousness. But no, I was not going to be distracted. This was probably the only chance I would get to surf in the Pacific for the foreseeable future, maybe even ever; I was going to take advantage of it.

As I paddling through the shallow water, I heard the sound of men laughing. For goodness sake, I thought, not everyone is looking at you! Just get on with it. (I should add here that I am not really (remotely) a surfer, I just want to be. I can paddle out a bit on the board and sometimes catch a wave on the way back and about three times ever, I have stood up for a second or two. That’s over about four years of trying.)

Then I found myself looking at a man beside me “Hey!” he said “Me and my buddy were just laughing at you! We always get a kick out of watching people try to surf!”

Happy Birthday

Mum was seventy six last week.  (Yep, a post about ageing and nursing homes and all that cheerful stuff. Feel free to read something happier on Designmom.com or Vintagekidsbooksmykidloves.com. It’s fine. No offence taken. ) 

I went over to the nursing home on the evening of her birthday and she was in the sitting room with the usual motley crew (crue?). They were having a cup of tea and a nurse was sitting with them. A young one who, cringingly, felt she needed to keep some sort of cheerful three way conversation going.

“She was in good form today, weren’t you Dani!” I smiled and started the pretty pointless “Hi Mum! Happy Birthday!” Adding “It’s Lucy, your daughter!” for the benefit of the nurse, although why I didn’t introduce myself I really don’t know. Beaming, she (the nurse, not mum unfortunately) continued “I think she knew something special was going on!” which was so sad I couldn’t really answer.

I got a welcome distraction when I noticed the old lady who always says “who on EARTH are you?” was eyeing me up. Leaning towards the man sitting beside her she conspiratorially muttered “Certain people, hmmm….without so much as a by-your-leave…” and he was nodding knowingly. Although knowingly is an unfortunate term to be using about anyone in a dementia unit.

It was cheering to see their camaraderie though.  The way they sort of ganged up was comforting. God knows, if anyone needs a friend or a confidante, it is a resident of a nursing home. Judging by the hungry eyes when I enter the main sitting room on my way to mums unit, loneliness is pretty rampant. I used to stop and talk to some of them, but in the end figured I was just spending less time with mum, which didn’t seem fair. And also felt a bit guilty that it was so much easier to talk to someone who could understand what I was saying. 

There following a rather mortifying minute when I said to the older nurse who came in with some biscuits. “she’s seventy five today, at least I’m pretty sure she is?” and she said “Well, she was born in 1936..” and I thought she was asking me to tot up mums age, so I said “Hmmm 46, 56, 66…” and realised quickly that I was going to panic when I got to 96.  I know it’s not difficult maths, but I always, always freeze when someone asks me to do a sum in my head.  (Similarly, when someone says “catch!” I usually know for absolute certain I am not going to catch the keys they are throwing. )

The nurse said kindly “seventy six” and I wasn’t sure when I should be embarrassed about not knowing mum’s age or being so crap at mental maths.  But there was no need for either really, she was gone already, wheeling the tea trolley back to the kitchen. I chatted to nurse-young-and-cheerful, held mums hand for a few minutes and headed home. 

Carry on camping

I never really thought of myself a complete moron before, but when I think of how last week I skipped into a stationary shop to buy a scrapbook in which to preserve this year’s holiday memories, I have to consider it might be the case.

buying my Mum a doll

“I’m just talking to an old lady.” My son was on the Xbox when I asked him what he was doing. (So much for worrying about violence and gore on this game anyway). As it happened, I was about to do the same thing, being on my way to the nursing home to see Mum.  Usually I visit with my brother but he was on holidays, so that day it was just me.

travelling with kids, without an ipad

The plan this week was to write about the struggle of doing without an ipad on a long car journey with kids. To outline that in our house there are no iphones, no ipods, no i anythings. We don’t have a mini dvd player for the car, a tv in the kids bedroom or playroom or anything on which to play the many cute and amazing apps I read about on coolmomtech.com.

It is all true but really, who am I fooling? I'm just showing off. For me these journeys are just a great excuse to buy nice stuff online. 


So, cutting out all the nonsense for once, this is what I recommend to keep kids aged one to ten happy(or if not happy, at the very least quiet for a while) on long car journeys. 

mutha f-ers

I looked over my husband’s shoulder when he chuckled.  He was sitting at the kitchen table and on the lap top screen in front of him was the in-box of his email account. He pointed to one subject.

It read “Hey mutha f-er’s. Night out!”

Don't pay the ferryman

“Who put Cork on this?”

I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have done it. My husband was hunched over the laptop pricing ferries, tents, flights, car rental and roof racks and beside him sat our eight year old “helping”, with an outline map of Ireland. He had asked me to put dots where Dublin, Kerry and Cork were located so he could assist with the journey plan. His Dad looked over his shoulder and looked at Cork. I had to own up.

 “For god’s sake Lucy, that’s where Limerick is.”