Building Houses for Fairies

“Mummy, I met Sime again today!” announced my young son, with a beaming smile on his face, this evening, as we were sitting, with my daughter, drinking our respective choice of banana milkshake, hot chocolate, and coffee, whilst looking out onto a busy road, from a café.  I had been lost in my thoughts, and was pleasantly surprised by my son volunteering some news of his day.  It was then, that I really noticed and appreciated the sunshine.  His new friend’s class had been on a return visit from their school, to his, and to visit the village church, as part of both schools’ religious education studies.  “We built a church together.  I helped Sime build it.”

I was reminded, that it was on another gloriously sunny day, when I had, had the privilege of being a parent helper, when my son and his class mates and teachers, went on their school trip to Sime’s school, exactly a month ago today.   I have been desperately trying to cling onto the memory of what was another, beautiful, perfectly imperfect day, in another Northern town, not far from Manchester.  It was a day full of joy, and hope and love.  A day of enlightenment, for me.  But a day, which ended so shockingly, tragically for others, and which seemed to be only the beginning of a month with a catalogue of horrific news stories, where people have suffered, have died, by neglect and by design.

Anyone with children or who works with children, will know the struggle with balancing safety and freedom, every day.  We had the usual, every day fears – will we manage to get the children to the bus on time, to the destinations on time, back to the bus on time, back to school on time; as they chatter along on their merry way up and down the hills, complaining that their legs hurt, dawdling all the way?  Will we manage this without anyone falling or dashing into the road?  As the sun was (unexpectedly) beating down on their heads, when we enjoyed a picnic lunch - were they too hot, would they burn, did they have enough to drink?  When they removed their cardigans and jumpers - would any of them lose them?  Would we lose any of Them, as we constantly counted heads?  It was a day of noise, of laughter, of minor squabbles, of toilet trips at less than convenient moments, of “Miss, he said…she did…!”  It was another beautiful, perfectly imperfect, day.  And like the concert goers in Manchester later that evening, the last of the worries on our minds, was whether a suicide bomber would break our journey home.

So, our school trip, on 22 May 2017, happened to be to join another school, in another part of town, and to visit a mosque together, and then to enjoy some activities together at the other school.  And I so wanted to share my story of that day, right from the off, but for a long time, didn’t know how.  The day after seemed so raw, and, in the midst of all that horror, how could I tell this story, without it appearing that I was making this terrible atrocity into something about me?  Mixed also with fear – fearful to go to see Robbie Williams that Friday.  Fearful of what reprisals might follow such an act, and they have.  But, there were so many acts of love too.  And those, braver than I, who I am so pleased have already found the words to speak out, to emphasise that people who act in such a way, are not representative of the many.  These acts of hate, whoever commits them, and whoever they aim them against, are representative of the few. 

So, here it is…

We were greeted by light at the doors to the mosque.  Smiling, welcoming faces, beckoned us in – a jolly Yorkshireman, who could have done a stint as a part time comedian, a confident Scottish lady, and the Imam.  Not the serious and sombre atmosphere, my mind had expected.  We were kindly shown, “this is what we do, and this is why we do it.”

I was in awe of the rainbow of books in the reading room, and the wave of peace that covered me when listening to the Imam demonstrate his call to prayer.  The children tried on different hats, and whilst they were well behaved and respectful, they were having fun.  The washing of hands and feet and faces, was especially poignant.  There seemed something very spiritual, calming and unifying, between the children, as they acted out the ritual.

We learned about the five pillars of Islam.  “We fast, so we know what it is like to be hungry and we can have compassion for others.”  Charity is one of the five pillars.  “If someone doesn’t have a coat, we give them a coat.” 

The children were divided into mixed teams and played games, and we were all unexpectedly fed and watered.  There was laughter.  There was love.

At the school, which is much bigger than my son’s, we walked through the classrooms to an outside play area.  On the way, there were whispers from other children.  “Who are they?  They look different.  They are wearing different cardigans.”

After lunch the children were invited to share in an activity together.  That was when my son met Sime.  Sime was looking for someone to help.  The two children worked so well together, as a team, building their house for fairies, with an upturned plant pot, glitter, beads, bits of wool, and straw.  Sime showed my son, how to cut out a hole for a door.  “What do you think of this?” said my son, as he placed some beads on the top of the house. 

As is usual with such things, there was a hurry to leave as time seemed to be running out to catch the bus home.  The children had all separated again, but my son had to find his “new best friend” to say goodbye.  I felt quite emotional, watching him seek out his new friend, just to say those important words.  So today, when he was so thrilled to have seen him, I wasn’t surprised, just pleased.  And it seemed so important to him to have seen Sime and to have helped Sime build something, for Sime to take with him too.  Our House for Fairies, still sits proudly on its shelf.

In the days that followed the Manchester bombing, and the culture of hatred towards Muslims from some, seems to have surfaced, it has occurred to me at times: If a school ground bully had come across and crushed “the house for fairies”, would we have blamed all the children in the school?  No. Ordinarily, one child would be punished for their crime, and the others would be encouraged to mourn the loss of their house, but to build another one.

We have so much to learn from each other, and especially from our children.  Let’s know each other more, and remember to keep building, together.  And remember (in the words of my Swedish friend) “there are always more nice people, than mean people”.

Annabel 💚

Mothering Sunday is not just for mothers

"Happy Mothers' Day".  I cannot deny the joy at receiving breakfast in bed, cards and gifts from my lovely children, or the joy I will have in spending some time with my own mum today.  For many, however, it isn't an easy day or it can even be a very painful one.  It's a day when loved ones are notably absent, or the child you yearn for has not arrived, perhaps never will.  For some, it's a time when they read the words on cards in the shops, full of what a mother "should be", struggling to see their own mothers, or even themselves.  Such is the pressure of this commercialised day, and society's view of what a mother should be.  No wonder so many of us battle with this constant feeling of not being good enough.

Just lately, I have been reflecting a lot, on the meaning of many things, but particularly as "Mothers' Day" arrives.  My own mother has reached a stage where our roles are quite reversed, and she jokingly refers to me as her mother.  My two children seem to be growing up so fast, and at every stage we meet new challenges.  Like for many parents, they are the main focus of my life right now.  Most of the time, they are a joy to mother and it feels like the best job in the world. Sometimes they astonish me with the wisdom that falls from their lips, their kindnesses too, and I feel amazed at how much they unwittingly teach me.  But quite often, they drive me to complete distraction, like at the moment, with their new past time of what feels like constant bickering and complaining.  At those times, I can feel less than motherly, and much more monsterly - certainly less than the perfect mother I (whether consciously or subconsciously) aspire to be.  Especially when it's pointed out to me! Yes, thank you random man in the street who felt the need to say "You only have two children", on Friday evening, when I shouted "Just get out of the car, will you!" Herummph - and your point is?

These past few days I've been thinking about what this day is really all about.  Its roots are in the Christian celebration day called Mothering Sunday, notably not referred to as Mothers' Day.  To my mind, mothering is a type of love - a nurturing, unconditional love.  The type of love which draws us instinctively to care for and protect the vulnerable, to aid their growth, their survival, their fulfilment of life.  Mary mother of Jesus, is symbolic of this type of love within the Christian faith, but that does not mean that this type of love is exclusive to mothers or that mothers themselves are always capable of giving this type of love all the time.  My occasional (cough) frustrated rants at my children are what make me human, and I'm sure, even Mary, had unmotherly moments.

If we could ditch the overcommercialised, high pressure focus, of this day and rather see it as a day simply to give thanks for motherly love, it could be, what it was intended to be - a celebration for us all.  Mothering is to be celebrated.  Not just humans, but most mammals survive because of the mothering instinct.  In our language, giving birth makes you a mother, but, in practice,  it doesn't make you mothering.  That amazing instinct to give mothering love can be found in any of us, whether we are a woman, a man, or even still a child ourselves.  It is a gift.  A joy to give, as much as to receive.

This Mothering Sunday, I will be reflecting on and being thankful for all the mothering love I have received in my life, not just from my own mother, but from other family members, friends, teachers, doctors, nurses, etc; and all those who give mothering love to my children, when I am not there.  I will seek to let go of the resentment of random (or not so random) people who feel the need to pass comment on my parenting skills - it was you being motherly, random man in the street, wasn't it?  If I am having a particularly pious moment, or a large glass of wine, I might even feel thankful for unsolicited parenting advice.  I will be most thankful for the gift of giving mothering love - whether to my own children, nieces, nephew, other children, my siblings, my mother...    And I will also remember to forgive myself, for those unmotherly moments, when I am a perfectly imperfect mother.  I hope you will all do the same.

Love to you all on Mothering Sunday

Annabel 💚

My Perfectly Imperfect Blog

Today is the brave day, when I finally make my first post on my blog. I have been thinking about it and talking about it for so long. The problem is that, even though my whole blog is about my journey to accept "imperfection" and just get on with my life and do the things I love without fear, I am very fearful of it.

What exactly am I afraid of? I am afraid that it won't be "good enough", and it is blocking me from doing something I would dearly love to do.

But here it is, my perfectly imperfect blog. It may be that someone might read it and think, "Who does she think she is?" Someone might spot grammatical errors. Someone might find it deathly boring. Someone might think it isn't updated enough. 

But there might be someone out there who is equally blocked, as I have been, from doing something they love, out of a fear of not being good enough. Or they simply might find it difficult to enjoy what they do, because they don't feel good enough. That one person might relate to what I have to say. They might find themselves at the start of their own journey to live the life they want to, by letting go of the fear which is pressing down on them and holding them back. 

Most of all, I might be that one step closer to freedom, to just enjoy life, and to finally make a career of my favourite past time - writing - as I have always dreamed of.

Thank you for reading.

Annabel 💚

In the beginning....

In the beginning... I knew I was imperfect. We all are. We are all humans after all. What I didn't realise at the time was that I had a subconscious belief that I should be perfect, and therefore because I was not perfect, I was not good enough. It held me back. It seems it was the root cause of most of my worries, fears, anxieties. Call it what you will. It is still what holds me back sometimes. It is what has held me back from even writing this blog. What if it is not good enough? 

In the beginning of this story, there was light. A long awaited child, perfectly formed, perfectly free of any hang ups and fears, with literally the whole of an unspoilt life in front of her. Then there was darkness. Abject fear. What if I, as her mother, was not good enough? 

The first time I sat at the wheel of the car, on my own, with my beautiful daughter safely strapped into her top of the range, properly fitted car seat behind me, I was totally overwhelmed with the enormity of the responsibility of this new life. I have never been so afraid. For a few minutes I was frozen to the spot. Completely afraid of making a mistake. Of not being perfect. I could live with making my own mistakes, but making mistakes which might mean her life was less than perfect....

Fortunately most of the time my rational head could shake off these ridiculous thoughts, and we made our first car journey without a single problem. 

As the weeks and months went by, I became increasingly aware of an irrational self. Looking back I was probably bordering on depression. 

I felt constantly criticised when I was offered unsolicited parenting advice, and the way I felt about it seemed irrational even to me. Acknowledgement of this irrationality and the fear of passing that on to my precious daughter, started me on my journey.  

A journey I hope to share with you, when time and space allow. 

With love, Annabel 💚