Monthly Archives: July 2014

L is for love

Photo Credit: Kamil Janowski

On this day three years ago, I was not yet married. After a whirlwind year and a bit of unexpected romance I was hanging out in East London with the man I’d fancied since I was seventeen who was to become my husband the very next day.

This was not the wedding we’d been planning for months, the one where all our friends and family would be helping us celebrate. That wedding would be happening two weeks later, by which time we would have upped sticks and moved to Devon ready to start a new life together.

But the humanist celebration that was still to come would not make us legally married. We’d thought we’d just get that bit out of the way in a registry office initially, but when we discovered we could have a legal ceremony in Shoreditch House – where we’d ended up on our very first date – it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss.

We stayed there the night before, enjoying dinner on the rooftop and shunning the convention of spending our last unmarried night apart. We giggled nervously as we lay in bed looking over the night glow of London, realising rather late that whilst this wedding was not the one we’d poured all our energies into it was still the one that would make us married.

The next morning we were brought a pile of newspapers to mark the date, and I disappeared off to my favourite hairdresser Taylor Taylor where I’d made an emergency appointment a few days before. My dress had been a bargain from Very, and I’d splurged a little on blue shoes from Joules, but I’d realised rather late that a ponytail might not quite cut it.

Our immediate family joined us for the ceremony, held in a little side room off the bar with bare brick walls and music cued up on Leigh’s iPhone. There was a delicious lunch after that: I couldn’t tell you what exactly, but I know it was good. Then Leigh and I left everyone behind whilst we went for a walk around the surrounding streets with Leigh’s friend Kamil, a photographer, in tow.

I love the pictures he took to capture the afternoon after we got married. We were so in love, and just a little bit tipsy, and found ourselves caught up in a wave of surprise emotion on the day we had thought we were just satisfying legal requirements but were in fact cementing a bond that had been slowly forming over so many years.

When we were done we went back to join our families, had piggyback races in the pool and drank a few too many espresso martinis. It was a pretty awesome start to married life.

Tomorrow is our first third wedding anniversary. I’m looking forward to reflecting on how much has happened over the past three years, to drinking wine and making plans for our future. But most of all I’m looking forward to spending some quality time with my husband, whom I love.

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast.

Airplane!

1 Reply

On warm summer evenings with the last of the light reflecting off the water we have often stood and looked at the Riviera Wheel glittering across the bay. We have said many times that we should make the time to ride it, and last week – finding ourselves in Torquay on a glorious day with an hour to kill – we finally did.

Arthur could not conceal his excitement as we approached: he cried out ‘Airplane! Airplane!’, pointing at the swinging cabins which circled high above us.

Once we were up he was mesmerised. The views were spectacular over the marina and the town, with the beautiful blue waters of Torbay stretching out into the distance.

It it was a place to step back from the heat and the hecticness of the streets below, to pause and reflect on just what a beautiful part of the country we live in, to regain a little perspective. Arthur was so transfixed by the views that Leigh and I even had a few moments to revel in the romance of it all.

Silent Sunday: 27th July 2014

9 Replies

Word of the Week: Play

4 Replies

One of the loveliest things about the stage Arthur is at at the moment is how completely he is embracing play. He will often wake up in the morning and, once he’s orientated himself and had his milk and cuddles declare his desire to ‘walk, play!’ repeatedly until we help him down from the bed.

He calls out from the highchair too, and sometimes from the sling: ‘walk, play! Walk, play! Walk, play!’

I love that he is articulating that need to move and explore, to actively engage in the serious business of playing that is going to be so important in the next few years of his development. It gives me a real thrill to watch the beginnings of make believe, to watch him creating his own world out of the things that are around him.

Of course if there are other children around to play with that’s even better. Grown ups are good sometimes too, but Arthur is beginning to make a distinction between the worlds we inhabit and more often than not is drawn to the vitality and creativity of those who have not yet felt the straightjacket of adulthood.

At the festival we were at last weekend it was wonderful to see him running around with my cousin’s kids and their neighbours. He was a little forlorn without them when we got home, but the arrival of his cousins from London soon distracted him!

He has spent the week playing in the garden, determined to ride his new dumper truck and keep up with the pace of his older playmates.

There’s been pool and beach fun too – we literally couldn’t have picked a better week to share the joys of living on the English Riviera!

Arthur’s back on his own again now, and whilst I’ve caught him looking around for his absent playmates he hasn’t let it get to him too much. He constantly amazes me with his ability to entertain himself, to enter into the spirit of play whatever his circumstances and surroundings.

I guess that’s what makes childhood so special, really. And it is my pledge to you, Arthur, to give you as many opportunities to play as I can possibly muster.

K is for kite

4 Replies

Boxing day, 2013. Leigh had been given a kite for Christmas, and as we headed to the beach to walk off the indulgence of the day before there was a palpable sense of excitement. The day was crisp and cold and bright: for a British winter it could hardly have been bettered. The wind was strong, but as it happened that was just what we wanted.

Arthur was nuzzled up in the sling, still computing the craziness of his first Christmas season and, not that he knew it, waiting to experience his first birthday two days later. It was the adults though who were rapt with the simple pleasure of a kite flying high in the December sky.

We each had a go, nonchalant at first, trying to conceal our nervousness and anticipation. But as the wind caught the fabric that our hands controlled we in turn were caught by a childlike joy. Those of us who were not physically attached to its pulls and turns found ourselves mimicking the twists and grins of the one who was, unable to tear our eyes away and united in our quest to maintain its flight for as long as possible.

K is for kite.

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast.

Somersaulting into summer

5 Replies

Continuing this summer’s emerging theme of music and partying and tents we have just had another fantastic weekend of very little internet – this time at the sensational Somersault Festival in North Devon.

We arrived on Thursday morning and set up camp with two other families – it was hard to tell who was more excited as the anticipation began to build, but kids and adults alike were determined to have a good time. It wasn’t hard.

Our little camp was a brilliant base for the weekend’s festivities. There were bubbles and body painting, duck baths and duelling ukeleles.

Arthur loved being able to roll out of bed in his pyjamas and get straight into a new day’s play. He’s becoming quite the seasoned little camper with all our adventures, and certainly seemed to sleep well in the tent with all the fresh air and excitement.

He loved exploring the festival site too – whether he was running around or cozied up in the sling, checking out the stalls or making new friends.

We were all super impressed with the kids’ area. I’ve always been curious about what goes on, slightly jealous of the glitter and magic and games in the children’s fields of festivals I’ve gone to in the past. This time though I had a child of my own to take me there, and it didn’t disappoint.

Arthur was particularly fond of frolicking with the fairies, and though I didn’t keep him still for long enough to do any crafts there was a great selection of different things to make – from a stunning array of masks to wings, wands and hula hoops.

The bigger kids we were with even made bath bombs – then had the genius idea of using them back at camp to soothe their tired feet as they prepared for an evening of dancing. I will definitely be getting Arthur onto that when he’s a bit older – though I will have to appoint myself chief tester…

One thing we certainly didn’t expect is just how HOT the weekend was going to be! We had a couple of showers, but nothing like the torrential downpours the Met office had been promising. Lots of people took the opportunity to cool off in the river – a pretty cool feature to have in the middle of a festival, though I’m glad no-one took an unintentional dip in the middle of the night!

We were sorely tempted to join them, but instead decided to head to the beach on Saturday afternoon. The sea was heavenly, and it was all we could do to tear Arthur away from running on the sand and splashing in the waves. I’ve never actually been to the North Devon coast before. It was pretty stunning – we’re already planning our next trip!

With the myriad of different things to do it was easy to almost forget we’d actually come for the music. The line-up was eclectic and exciting, a perfect blend of bands I know well and was looking forward to seeing again and people I hadn’t heard but wanted to! Arthur absolutely loved the music – whether he was chilling out in the afternoon sun at the Communion stage, jigging around in the sling to Jack Johnson or dancing to Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars with a huge grin on his face.

We weren’t able to get that close to the stage, mainly because Arthur has decided he won’t wear his ear defenders any more – they were awesome last summer when he was still tiny, but now that he’s a bit older I think we’re going to need to work on getting him used to them! The distance didn’t matter too much though – especially once Arthur was up on his Daddy’s shoulders so he could see what was going on.

I think he found the live music really inspiring, and it’s inspired me again to find more gigs to take him to. Festivals are brilliant for introducing kids to the sheer joy of live music – especially one that’s so completely family friendly as Somersault. It’s brilliant as a parent too to be able to do the things that are not so easy with a kid in tow – and to know that they’re enjoying it too rather than being stuck at home.

As the sun went down I was very glad to have a baby that still loves to be worn – he snuggled up in the Connecta where he was warm and safe, nodding off not that much later than his usual bedtime. Which meant I could stay up and enjoy the rest of the acts!

Ben Howard was superb on the Sunday night. I really love the new edgier direction his music seems to be taking, though it was great to hear the crowd singing along to the old favourites too.

My absolute musical highlight of the weekend was definitely Bear’s Den though. They played a fantastic set late on Sunday night on the Communion stage, with haunting melodies and infectious rhythms carried along by the banter of the band.

Even with such a packed weekend I still left feeling like there was so much we didn’t see or do or hear – which is a very good reason to go back next year. I think Arthur’s just going to love festivals more and more as he grows up. He was looking a little forlorn as we packed away the tents, and rocking his ukelele with renewed vigour even as we were trying to pack him into the car to make our way home.

Word of the Week: Swimming

7 Replies

This week was a pretty momentous week for my little water baby: with the help of his float suit he had his first experience of swimming freely – and he loved it!

We spent a couple of days at my parents’ house, enjoying the peace and quiet after the crazy brilliance of their party. We were keen to make the most of their pool, and specifically to try out the float suit we’d ordered from Splash About.

We’d tried it out a couple of times when we were in Cyprus, but he was a little little for it then. It fits him much better now, though it still took a bit of getting used to. In our first session he was happy to hold on to the bars at the side of the pool, enjoying the novelty of not being supported by us but floundering a bit when we encouraged him to move away from the side.

And then the next day he amazed us by letting go, finding his balance, and actually beginning to move through the water.

We’re working on getting his legs kicking and paddling with his hands now, and he seems to be picking it up incredibly quickly. He even had a go in the sea when we were back in Brixham: the float suit seems to be working so well that we’ve invested in a little neoprene float jacket too for the colder water.

It’ll obviously be a little while before he’s able to swim without all the extra buoyancy, but it’s a pretty impressive start! I’m not sure who’s more excited by his new found skill to be honest – Arthur is clearly thrilled with himself, but I am one proud mummy.

J is for journey

1 Reply

I love to travel. Partly, of course, it’s about exploring new places: the sights, the smells, the buzz of being somewhere different. But to borrow from a cliche the journey itself is at least as important as the destination.

I like to travel slowly when I can: on foot, by train, by boat. Anything that will let me appreciate the landscapes that I’m passing through, that will give me a sense of distance and time.

The moment above was captured by Leigh in the middle of our first big adventure as a family, and actually in the middle of a journey within a journey – one of many on that trip.

We were in New York, and left our hotel in the meatpacking district in the morning with a vague idea that we would walk to the children’s museum in Brooklyn. It looked a fairly long way on the map, but we figured we weren’t in any rush. And a good thing too – in between getting lost and voluntarily taking scenic detours we were on our feet for about eight hours. Most of that time we weren’t anywhere particularly significant, but that really didn’t matter. We made it to the museum, giving Arthur a baby-friendly pitstop where he actually crawled for the first time. The rest of the time he was in the sling, sleeping or feeding or just looking around.

It’s always hard with cities to know how to get the measure of them, but I’ve found that just wandering is a pretty good way to start.

There’s a lesson for life in there somewhere too I reckon. Not to stay still for too long, to keep meandering, even if you feel aimless, because only then do you stand a chance of coming across the thing that will give you direction. To appreciate what you find along the way, too – not just focus blindly on your destination, on the things you think you’re going to find, because it’s often in the unexpected that the magic lies.

J is for journey.

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast.

Why anyone has to be better than Gove

1 Reply

When I heard the news on the radio this morning I felt my spirit lighten: after all of the heartbreak he has caused as he dismantled our education system brick by brick, Gove was being removed as education secretary. Finally it appeared that teachers, parents, children and educationalists up and down the country were being listened to: we had roared ‘Gove must go’ until we were hoarse, and now our pleas had been answered.

Of course I am not naive enough to think that placating the victims of Gove’s reforms was Cameron’s motivation. I cannot allow myself to hope that now that he has been replaced the misguided direction of the Tory education policy will change significantly. I’m trying to avoid finding out too much about his successor, Nicky Morgan: I’d rather spend just one day in blissful ignorance. From what has seeped into my twitter feed I gather that her politics are at least as unsavoury as Gove’s, but then given her political allegiance that’s not entirely surprising.

The thing is it was not just his politics that made me so angry whenever Gove opened his mouth to say something about education. In fact the political stance he was taking was generally the least of my worries – after all, there were so many other things to be angry about.

There was the way he completely disregarded the professional opinion of people who had devoted their lives to education, presuming that his own experience of school could over-ride decades of evidence-based research.

Worse, there was his coining of the term ‘the blob’ for those who disagreed with his reforms – the sneering condescension with which he dismissed their concerns about the impact those reforms might have on young people.

There was the exploitation of those young people for photo opportunities to try to disguise the archaic nature of his mission with a vulgar attempt to get down with the kids.

The total failure to acknowledge the impact his race to lead the world might have on the mental health of young people and their teachers – along with his buddy Wilshaw he seemed determined to wear down all of the stakeholders in the education system, deciding that misery was a mark of success.

Another thing that made me furious was the way new policies appeared to have been scribbled on the back of a cigar box after one too many glasses of claret at a dinner party. Dropped on to breakfast tables with the Sunday papers they often bore more than a whiff of the public school education of his peers, and very rarely stood up to tight scrutiny in the cold light of day.

There was also, of course, the way he held up the private sector as the pinnacle of education, blithely ignoring all of the other factors that influenced the success of its alumni to wrongly presume that these fee-paying schools were fundamentally doing everything better than their state-funded equivalents, that within their ivy-clad walls and manicured lawns was the cure for all the maladies of the education system.

At the core of all this was the way Gove completely ignored the truth wherever it got in the way of his vision. He took this to ridiculous lengths – if rumours are to be believed he rewrote syllabi for English and History GCSEs, an absurd arrogance and grossly overstepping his role as education secretary.

There is so much more I could add to this list, but I can feel my blood beginning to boil just remembering all of the injustices served to our nation’s young people by that man. I am however finding great solace in the repetition of the phrase ‘there was’. He is now in the past, at least as far as our education system is concerned, and hopefully schools and teachers and students and everyone with their best interests at heart can begin the slow process of recovery from the damage he has done to their sense of worth.

There is much for Nicky Morgan to consider as she steps into this role, but there is one key thing I would ask of her: to listen. To recognise how much people care, and how much they know. To rebuild the bridges between the policy makers and the professionals, so that together we can work to carve out a better future for our children.

Arthur’s first haircut

5 Replies

Yesterday afternoon, after much umming and ahhing and wondering how much longer we could get away with not doing it, we sat Arthur down for his first proper haircut. We first tackled the fringe about six months ago – I held him down (well, on the boob) and my mum did the best she could to get the hair out of his eyes. He really didn’t like it very much – he let out Samson-esque wails of disapproval as if we were actually cutting away his strength with those lovely blond locks – and even then it made me feel sick to my stomach.

Yesterday was even worse. Well, for me anyway – fortunately Arthur handled the whole thing much better!

It’s hard to explain exactly why it was such a big deal. I suppose with any first haircut there’s a sense of a rite of passage, a transition from babyhood to boyhood that comes from altering the way nature intended him to look and complying to some extent with society’s expectations. For Arthur, his hair was a major part of his identity. He had a mass of dark hair when he was born, and rather than falling out as we were told to expect it just grew and grew, getting lighter and lighter with the passage of time and the bleaching rays of the sun. For a while now it’s been about 50-50 whether people who don’t know him will presume he’s a girl. That has mainly amused me rather than bothered me in any way, and it was almost becoming a reason not to cut his hair – especially when people told me I should. But then over this weekend, chilling with my parents and watching our little boy running around with those golden locks flowing behind him, Leigh and I decided it was time.

I’m very grateful that after bringing up four kids my mum is fairly confident with a pair of scissors. I’m not sure I would have been able to let a stranger loose on my baby, and my hairdressing skills are as yet non-existent. We trawled the internet for inspiration – I wanted to keep something of the spirit of Arthur’s amazing hair, even if we were going to have to lose the length – then sat him in his highchair, took a collective deep breath, and began.

He wasn’t totally convinced at first, though he soon settled into it.

We kept him distracted with some music, and that worked pretty well – in between the headbanging anyway. Three boxes of raisins helped too…

As did breaks for duddles on request.

By the time his patience really began to wane mum had got most of the length off – it wasn’t perfect, but it was getting there.

When he woke up this morning though there was an undeniable helmet-hair effect going on so we went in for another go. Mum was incredibly tolerant of my constant wincing and interference, and I think she did a pretty impressive job. I’m fairly sure we would have been thrown out of any hairdresser long before we got something I was happy with!

It will no doubt take a bit of getting used to having a toddler with vaguely normal looking hair, but it had to happen sometime. I’m curious to see how it will grow out again, though I doubt we’ll let it get quite as long as before. After all it’s going to be so much easier to wash all the food out of it now it’s shorter…

photo 93142f35-6d39-479f-b3de-d94dbca68162_zps58499252.jpg

	Governor’s Sch… on Word of the Week: Toddlin…
	sophieblovett on Raising revolutionaries
	Bob Abramms on Raising revolutionaries
	Comprehensive, creat… on Why private school’s not…
	Together we are stro… on How to grow a writer

Sophie is…

on a journey of (re)discovery in a brave new world.

Monthly Archives: July 2014

L is for love

Airplane!

Silent Sunday: 27th July 2014

Word of the Week: Play

K is for kite

Somersaulting into summer

Word of the Week: Swimming

J is for journey

Why anyone has to be better than Gove

Arthur’s first haircut