Grin and Tonic

And then my knight in shining armour came home and rescued me from the wicked witches. Thank you hubby…… coming home early was the best wedding anniversary present you could give me…. (well, the best one that doesn’t sparkle!!).

There are some things that have to be kept private – at least off the etheral, even for a blogger. And so I always find it hard to write my blog when a huge massive ‘thing’ is hanging over me that I won’t or can’t write about, because A) I might be arrested/committed/am ashamed; B)it affects someone else and their privacy is more important than my public therapy; and C) it’s just too big and just too awful/difficult/hard to share. At the moment I am holding back on the keyboards with things that tick all those boxes. Some day I might share, perhaps I won’t… but for now, I’ll have to shift the hanging ‘thing’ and write around the issue in case people think I’m still hiding from my children under the stairs and can’t get to my computer.

So I’m going to talk about the bi-polar effects of parenting – when your kids bruise and burst your heart in equal measure. Let’s start with Daisy – so bright and beautiful and brilliant. I literally love everything about her, and am so proud of the every day little sparkles of goodness and guile. But she makes my heart tremor in fear as well as pride. She is sensitive and perhaps a little innocent (which is no bad thing in a nearly 6 year old methinks). But the other day, her friends were singing that extremely annoying Katy Perry song Fireworks which I have now had to download on their playlist. They were all dancing and singing to various pop songs when Daisy piped up (bless her, cringe, cringe) and suggested Puff the Magic Dragon. Oh how the faces of her mature, pop cultured friends fell. In fairness, Daisy ignored them and brazened on with her song, although petered out when she forgot the words of the third verse and everyone else had wandered off. I have never been cool, and I suspect Daisy will go through life like me liking what she likes (good) and having endless cringe-worthy moments of embarrassment (bad.) My heart bruises but as I defiantly listen to my Barry Manilow album I think, what’s a little embarrassment in the grand scheme of things?
It’s a bit different with Poppy, who for various reasons listed under B) above, I can’t divulge the utter heart bashing I am having with her. She is the sweetest, most loving, funny child, and I have to steel myself for the battles ahead that she will have to fight, with her daddy and me by her side. But my heart bursts with ridiculous love when I see her overcome her littleness to be the best ballet dancer in class (honest, it’s not just me who says that, but her teacher!), and scooting to school with her little legs going like the clappers, and her imaginary friend, ‘Heart’ who supports her everywhere and will always be her height.
And now we come to the last, but most certainly not least….. Ruby. Any thoughts I had that third children were meant to be quiet and easy going are rudely wrecked every morning with the screaching demanding squawks that announce Ruby’s (and mine) start to the day. My heart bruises when I think of how she has had such a distracted mum over the last year, how she clings to my leg ferociously as if she knows I have only been half there. But it bursts when I see her enjoy life – even at one, when she goes to our little toddler group, and she stands defiantly in the middle of the room and dances and giggles with a confidence that shocks me. Who knows what bruising and bursting she will cause me in the years ahead, but like life I suppose, you take the good with the bad and wrap as much of it up as you can in love.

Ruby was one yesterday, but like a present being slowly unwrapped, she is the celebration. This has been the hardest time of my life, and there were many’s a time over the last year when I honestly did not think I would survive. But I did….and more surprisingly, so did Ruby… a thriving fiesty determined amazing bundle of cuteness. A beautiful gift. If extremely noisy! Oh, how she is noisy!

I am constantly amazed by how different our three girls are. Same genes, same upbringing, completely varying personalities. As Ruby’s character bursts through her blossoming body, a brand new element nudges its way into our family dynamic, all treasures to keep safe, and to enjoy.
Poppy gives and demands affection all day – curling up on my lap whenever she can, whispering sweet nothings into my ear while I sit on the loo, holding my hand to walk across the kitchen. Daisy reserves her love for some quality one-on one time at the end of the day – keeping everything in until I get into bed beside her for ‘talkie talkie’ before she goes to sleep. Last night, talkie talkie lasted for some considereable time, but I banished the lure of my cool glass of Pinot Grigio Blush calling me from downstairs and gave in to the moment. She had something important to share with me. She keeps a little treasure box beside her bed and inside are all her trophies and collections she goes through every night. I listened as she took out every sparkly sticker, every glass bead, every token of discovery (she goes treasure searching in the school yard apparently!) as she gave me its history and meaning, little gifts from friends, fantastic finds and discoveries. Then we moved on to the more special treasure kept in her music box. This includes a little bell from her mobile above her bed, a special clip, an old earring of mine and a piece of paper. Each one tenderly held and adored. Finally I was allowed to see the creme de la creme. Inside her dressing table drawer (neat as a pin, every item in its place lined up side by side) is a little ceramic box for keeping teeth in before the tooth fairy comes. Inside, two pink sparkly jewels. She spoke in awed whispers. Then everything was neatly put back, lying in wait until tonight’s viewing. The treasures of childhood, nuggets of comfort, lessons of love, links to friendships.
(Poppy keeps hers under her pillow – a different one every night, her dressing room drawer a chaotic mess of mass, my discoveries when I hoover their room and find stuff she has hidden under her bed – this can include a wooden spoon, my egg timer, a pair of my pants, and the TV remote control we’ve been looking for for a week).
And I realise I have my little treasure box of nuggets too – I have a box with scaps of paper and whenever the girls say something funny or important, I write it down and throw it into the box so I don’t forget. Every so often I take them out to read – my little treasures, nuggets, memories, comfort. Daisy has offered some classics lately. “Mummy? I wish I was a boy so I could go out to work.” This left me feeling just a tad concerned about my status as a role model! She compensated recently by proudly telling her new teacher that her mummy writes for the Irish Times and when asked who she’d rather be – me or her daddy, she replied – not daddy because he’s too hairy, but not mummy because she works too hard!”
Last week I was sorting some stuff out in my mum’s bedroom, and I came across a bag in the top of her wardrobe. It contained all the letters I have written her over the years, each one lovingly kept, re-read, loved.
We all need our treasures it seems.