Level 2 Chi Kung.

On the way home from school, Katie told me a long story about a dream she had last night, in which she woke to find the whole house submerged, up to the eaves, in sparkly-white, pristine snow. In the dream, she climbed out the attic window and jumped down in order to create a tunnel to allow Sherlock to go in and out of his dog door. For weeks now she has been tortured by forecasts of snow that never seems to materialise, so when she woke from this wonderful, glittering, ecstatic dream, in which she had the role of dog-rescuing hero, she was delighted to find a thin sprinkling of actual snow on the ground. For her sake I do hope we get a bit more. Both her and Dash are desperate to do the boiled-maple-syrup-tipped-on-the snow thing. Katie is also convinced that Sherlock will love snow and want to frolic in it. I am not so sure – this morning he showed not the slightest interest in the little bit of snow. And far from any desire to frolic, he seemed rather keen to stay in his bed in the warm kitchen as long as possible!

Level 2 Chi Kung.

A day of completing errands and receiving small bits of good news. I was delighted when the (fairly new and rather grumpy) cleaner reported that the oat-based Aveeno Cream I gave her last week had cleared up her little boy’s eczema without her having to use the steroid cream provided by the GP. The number of people I have put onto Aveeno Cream, J&J really ought to put me on commission. Then I received word from the builder working on my Christchurch house to say that all the asbestos has been removed and they are just waiting for the clean air testing to get the all clear to go back in and finish off the work. On the errands front I confirmed the date and venue for Jack’s transition review, arranged a tour of a sixth form college he might attend, began dealing with the laundry mountain (again) and brushed the dog. Normally Sherlock just goes to the groomer, but we somehow missed booking him in and now we can’t get an appointment until the 7th of March. He is already looking like an animated sheepskin rug, so heaven knows what he will be like by March.

Level 2 Chi Kung.

For the last week or so, Katie has been talking about wanting to have ‘a perfect day’ with just the two of us. Since we were both badly in need of a trip to the hairdresser, I suggested a Bayswater day, in which we go back to our old stamping ground, go to the hairdresser, wander around the shops or the park (depending on weather) and then have either lunch or dinner at Katie’s favourite restaurant, the Notting Hill branch of Carluccio’s. Katie agreed that a Bayswater day would be just the thing, and I called the hairdresser and booked us both in for 3:30pm on Sunday.

Partly because she loves going to the hairdresser (on account of the pampering and free biscuits), and partly for ease of dealing with her curls, Katie greatly prefers to keep her hair quite short. However she kindly agreed to grow it for a few months to allow me to take some portraits of her with her hair up. I was thinking of something like this:

Photographer Takes Portraits of Her 5 Year Old Daughter Dressed as Famous Women from History

Photographer Takes Portraits of Her 5-Year-Old Daughter Dressed as Famous Women from History.

I had begun to draw up with a list, for discussion with Katie obviously, of notable women whose portraits I would like to duplicate: Marie Curie, Georgia O’Keefe, Florence Nightingale, Kate Sheppard, Doris Lessing, George Elliot, Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Jacqueline Du Pre, Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey… But somehow the project never felt quite right – there was no momentum behind it and, as the months passed and Katie’s hair grew longer, it gradually morphed into simply wanting to record her perfect seven year old self. Even that didn’t get done however as she seemed to have a succession of minor scratches on her face which I really didn’t want to immortalise. Now, though, the hairdresser was booked, so it had to be this morning – or never. Fortunately Katie loves having her photo taken, so was happy for our perfect day to include a photo shoot.

With Nick off on a long bike ride, certain other things had to be taken care of first, but as soon as I had made a mountain of toast for Jack and pancakes with maple syrup for Dash and Katie, I went upstairs and laid out clothes for Katie, then set up the tripod and got out a range of props (mostly jewellery and scarves but also, in a nod to the original idea, a lab coat, paint brush and oils, and Katie’s cello. Katie was the perfect model, and sat patiently, looking in whatever direction I indicated and needing only an occasional break to get the requisite giggling done. I was very pleased with the pictures – now I just need to bite the bullet and buy Photo Ninja so I can get the raws onto the Mac.

We spent longer than planned taking photographs, so I called the salon and asked if we could move the appointment to 3:30pm, partly so that we would have time for dim sum at the Royal China beforehand. They were happy to oblige. We headed off and got as far as Waterloo before we experienced our first setback – discovering that there is still (STILL) no change to the Central Line at Bond Street. Katie dislikes the underground, so she was a bit put out that this would mean three underground trains instead of two ON OUR PERFECT DAY. However the third train arrived straight away and a man moved so that we could sit together and, as we chatted, she squeezed my hand and said ‘Actually Mummy, it hasn’t ruined our perfect day, because it’s quite nice having the extra time to chat’. I agreed, while inside my heart sang at this indication of my wee girl adopting a mindset which will give her the best chance of a happy and mentally healthy life. We arrived at Queensway Station to find one of the lifts out of action, and had a joke about the lift being broken when we moved out and, two and a half years later, it’s still not fixed! Delayed by the train problems and the long wait for the one functional lift, we finally reached the restaurant at about 2:40pm, only to find a long queue of people waiting for tables. It is quite usual to find people queueing out the door and right down the street if you show up at noon on a weekend day, but after 2pm one would normally expect to get straight in. We were told that there would be a 20 minute wait for a table and (knowing that it would likely be much longer, given that the Royal China has no tables that seat less than four and FCFS counts for nothing if they have the option to get four diners seated instead of two) I explained to Katie that that wouldn’t really give us time to eat before we had to leave for the hairdresser. Katie looked a bit downcast at the idea of missing out on the long awaited prawn crackers but then we both had the idea of getting the food to take away and eating it in the park. In the end they took so long to get the food sorted (unusual – they are normally very very fast) that we ended up having to take it with us to the hairdresser. Fortunately the place was almost deserted, our stylist wasn’t ready for us, and the only other customer had a little girl with her who was very keen to share our prawn crackers. So we made ourselves at home on the sofa and nibbled happily on our dim sum.

Katie got her hair cut into a short layered bob and then made friends with the new receptionist and danced around the salon with her while I waited for my colour to work and then while I relaxed in the huge leather massaging chair getting my hair washed and scalp massaged. Bliss.

A spot of shopping, then off to Carluccio’s where Katie had her favourite: penne with butter and parmesan. They bring the penne out with only melted butter on it and then offer a sprinkle of parmesan from a lidded bowl. Katie somewhat startled the waitress: each time the waitress paused, or asked if Katie would like more parmesan, Katie said ‘Yes, please’, very politely, until the bowl was empty. At one point, the waitress looked over at me as if to say ‘She can’t really want more, can she?’ but I just nodded and said ‘She really likes parmesan.’. Later, having eaten every scrap, Katie announced ‘Well Mummy, they haven’t lost their touch.’.

We decided to take the bus back to Charing Cross rather than tangle with the underground again, which went well right up until we got into ChX and discovered that NO trains were running at all. I felt sorry for the poor staff, who had obviously drawn the short straw, having to hang around the station all evening telling travellers that there were no trains and trying to work out alternative ways to get them to their destinations. One had clearly decided to make the best of it.

Cheery staff member: Do you two ladies need any help?
J: Well, we’ve just been told to go to Canon Street because there are no trains.
CSM: That’s right. No trains. And what a thing to happen to two beautiful ladies on a day out together. Where are you trying to get to?
J and K: Blackheath
CSM: Blackheath, that’s lovely. Just go out that side door, turn right, walk down to Embankment and take the circle line to Canon Street.
J: Thank you.
K: What a nice man!

So, definitely a perfect day. For what could be more perfect than a day on which someone you love learns that not everything has to go right for it to be a perfect day?

Level 2 Chi Kung.

A successful guitar lesson for Dash. I have switched the focus of my persuasion to getting Dash to practice for half an hour immediately before his lesson. Seems to work better than the ten minutes a day we used to try for (but not often achieve). Lazy afternoon at home – very nice.

Level 2 Chi Kung.

Monique, our talented Italian nanny, returned from singing opera in Thailand yesterday. After weeks of (reasonably diligent!) use of Duolingo, I must have managed a reasonable accent, as she seemed to understand when I said ‘Ben tornata’ (Welcome back). Emboldened, I then tried ‘Bevi l’acqua’, and she said yes, she would like some water. Woohoo!

Level 2 Chi Kung.

Well, I was seriously out-manoeuvred today. Regular readers will recall that I am reluctant to have Katie’s friend X for play dates. It is a truth universally acknowledged that most children behave better for other people than they do for their own parents – sensibly choosing to exorcise their wild side in the secure environment of home. X is the opposite – I see her whining around mummy like butter wouldn’t melt, but at my place, she is horrible: incredibly rude and disobedient, lies about what she is and is not allowed to eat, demands food and then doesn’t eat it, and generally trashes the place. And what’s worse, after she has gone home and I am desperate for a bit of normality, Katie tends to copy her bad behaviour.

After last time, I had vowed that there would be no further play dates – at least not at my place. However I was caught on the hop a bit last week when X’s mummy asked if Katie could come to theirs for a play date. She asked at school pick up time, in front of the girls. Katie was jumping up and down and saying ‘Please, please’, Sherlock was pulling on the lead, and we were in a hurry to get home for Dash, so I said something non-committal and off we went. That evening I got a text asking when K could come over. After that, the texts went like this:

Fri
J: Well, it’s a bit difficult as Katie now does something every night of the week. I guess after film club and before trampoline on Thursday would work. Or after yoga on Friday?
X’s mummy: No, that won’t work, X isn’t doing any after school clubs this term and it’s awkward to do two pick-ups. Maybe a Saturday after 11:30?
J: Ok, I could drop her round in the afternoon if you like, but are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a quiet weekend?
X’s mummy: We have family time at 3pm, so bring her after 11:50 and pick her up by 3pm.
X’s mummy [a few minutes later]: New plan. Actually tomorrow I am starting a new babysitter to give us a rest on Saturdays. So let’s leave it a few weeks.
J: That sounds much more sensible – you need a break and Katie needs to chill on the weekends.

Mon
X’s mummy: [obviously being nagged mercilessly!] Thinking about Thursday, I could get my assistant to pick Katie up from film club and then you could just collect Katie from trampolining.
J: Ok. Sounds fine.

Thu
X’s mummy: Morning! A favour please. Any chance you could pick up X and X’s sister and Katie and bring them home to me and I’ll do the rest? Or better still, can you drop X’s sister home to me and then have X at home with you until trampolining?
J: [wondering if there is an emoticon for heart sinking] Ok.

X duly walked home with us, refusing to hold hands as we crossed the busy roads, making personal remarks about my hair, and teasing poor Dash mercilessly all the way. We got in the front door and, although I had heard Katie reminding X on the way home that they would have to play downstairs, X headed straight up the stairs.

J: [firmly] No girls, play downstairs please.
X: Why?
J: [curtly] Because I don’t like the mess you two make when you are out of my sight.
X: [running up the stairs]: Well I’m going up anyway.
J: [thinks longingly of violence, nurturing fantasies involving rolled up magazines and damp tea towels, breathes, counts to 10, counts to 100, gives up bloody counting and goes upstairs] WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
X: [rolling wet play dough on the carpet] It’s called playing. You’ve heard of play haven’t you?
J: [through gritted teeth] Go downstairs please. Now. Right now, please. Now!

Late for trampolining, on account of X refusing to get her coat and boots on, and the only three parent chairs are taken, so spend the next hour perched on a wooden bench eight inches off the ground, fuming.

I’m way too old to still be getting manoeuvred into situations that I know, in advance, are going to be horrible, but even in hindsight, I struggle to see how I could graciously have achieved a better outcome.

Level 2 Chi Kung.

Tonight was Katie’s school’s turn to participate in Young Voices, a kind of massive multi-school choir. When we were first told about it, back in December, Katie didn’t seem that interested. So, given that spending three hours listening to 7,000 kids grind tunelessly through a primary school teacher’s idea of what constitutes ‘modern music’, in the soulless environs of the O2 Arena, is about as far from my idea of a good time as it is possible toget, I didn’t buy a ticket. By the time, about a week ago, that Katie started to talk as if Young Voices would be the most important night of her young life, the only available tickets were right at the top, in seats which (seriously!) have a health warning indicating that they are unsuitable for those with vertigo or a fear of heights. Inexplicably, these seats, which are usually heavily discounted, were, for this event, the same exorbitant price as the front row. To be a parent is to be vulnerable to all kinds of scams, the perpetrators of which (including schools… especially schools!) are confident in the efficacy of emotional blackmail.

Level 2 Chi Kung.

After Katie left Stagecoach, I received an email asking me to participate in a focus group about the company. I agreed, partly because I felt that our local Stagecoach had really gone down hill and would enjoy the chance to vent my dissatisfaction, partly because I have paid for this kind of research in the past (on Healthy Start) and wanted to see what it was like from the other side, and partly because the incentive payment (£100) seemed ok for a couple of hours sitting around chatting and drinking tea.

I assumed that they would have lots of people wanting to do it and that I wouldn’t hear back from them but, in fact, they pretty much ripped my arm off and hit me with the wet end. And even after I had said yes they kept phoning to make sure that I was still coming, explaining that my presence was vital as I was ‘the only representative of my demographic’. This intrigued me and I wondered if I would be able to spot, by looking at the other participants, which demographic I was the only representative of.

Tonight was the night and, heading in to the city, I was impressed with the quality of the directions, which not only specified the nearest tube station but which exit to take (crucial) and turn by turn from there. Arrived at Old Street, took exit 4 as instructed, then the first left into Leonard Street. Except the first left isn’t Leonard Street and neither is the second. Arrrgh! I was still trying to work out where the hell I was when I got a call to say that they had screwed up the directions, which should have said exit 2!

Got to the venue and it was immediately clear what demographic I was there to represent: white/female. It was explained that the client would be watching the proceedings through one-way glass (I hope we didn’t do that to our Healthy Start parents!). The big surprise though, was that all the material we were asked to comment on was very much focusing on Stagecoach as a way to kick-start your child’s career in the performing arts! This was weird – none of the parents I talked to at drop off or pick up over the course of two years had any such aspiration, they wanted their wee ones to have a good time, develop confidence, explore their creative side.. Some of the parents made no secret of the fact that the kids were in Stagecoach so that mum and dad could go to the gym or run on the heath.

The participants tried to gently suggest that it was actually the softer skills parents were after: confidence, team work etc. Finally, maddened by the dodgy directions and lack of tea (that’s right: no tea! no coffee! not even a jug of bloody water!) I said ‘Look, parents who want their kids to have a career in the performing arts don’t send them to Stagecoach – they send them to Trinity Laban or somewhere where they know what they’re bloody doing.’ Sadly for the client (did I hear a gasp from behind the one-way glass?) the other participants then pitched in in a similar vein and, though the term ‘washed-up starlets’ wasn’t quite used to describe the Stagecoach staff, it was clearly coming… The facilitator closed the session early, went into the next room to check whether the client had any supplementary questions (No! No!) and we escaped into the night – collecting our two crisp £50 notes a-piece on the way out.

Level 2 Chi Kung.

A day of minor frustrations. Dashi’s bus arrived just too late for me to do Chi Kung before the school run. Then I arrived home from school just fractionally too late to do Chi Kung before the cleaner needed to be let in. Except the cleaner then phoned to say she would be late, so I would have had time, but by the time she did arrive, there wasn’t enough time before I had to leave for the re-scheduled parent-teacher meeting at Dash’s school. Really good meeting – though I discovered that Lewisham didn’t pass on any of the paperwork to Dash’s new school, so his teacher has essentially been flying blind – but instead of the scheduled hour, it took two. Stopped to drop off a prescription on the way home but instead of the 15 minutes they promised, it took 35 (to take a tube of cream out of a cupboard and stick a label on it). Which meant that – you guessed it – there wasn’t enough time to do Chi Kung before I had to go pick up Katie! Arrived home, made Katie a snack, and raced straight upstairs to do Chi Kung. Relief!

Katie and I were chatting on the way home from her art class in the evening – happy and relaxed in spite of the cold and dark because, for once, we weren’t needing to be somewhere else by a particular time – when Katie started to list all the things she feels grateful for. This pleased me on several levels. First, we know from research that people who notice and feel grateful for the good things in their lives are happier and healthier, so it’s great to see her developing this mindset so young. Second, most of the things she was talking about were experiences, rather than stuff – which is lovely, and bodes well for her future impact on the planet. And finally, as the person who does most of the organising that enables her to have these neat experiences, its really nice for me to hear that she appreciates them.

K: I’m really lucky you know Mummy.
J: Hmmm.
K: I get to do art classes, and cello, and swimming and film club and trampolining…
J: And yoga.
K: AND YOGA! And I have my own room and on Saturdays, I get to sleep in and have a relaxing day. And you know Mummy, not all children have this.
J: That’s true. We’re very lucky.

So far, so cosy, and then:

K: And I get taken to a fancy hairdresser, far far away, where you get FREE BISCUITS. And you know some children just get taken to a cheap nasty hairdresser in the village.
J: [startled and stalling] How do you know?
K: Well Bobby just got his hair cut and it’s the WORST haircut I’ve EVER SEEN.

Amongst all the little Finns and Russians, and Italians and Czechs and Spanish and Croatians at Katie’s school, actual Sarf Londoners are a bit of a rarity, and often seem disadvantaged in relation to all of us invaders. Bobby is one of only two genuine ‘locals’ in Katie’s class of 30 and seems to have had a rough start in life with serious health problems, so I was immediately alarmed at the thought of him possibly being teased about his haircut.

J: I hope you didn’t say anything to Bobby, about his hair cut.
K: [horrified] Of course not! Bobby’s my friend – I would never say anything to hurt his feelings.

I have a sneaky fondness for puns. A panellist on Radio 4 this morning, asked to suggest a recipe to provide inspiration to a literary writers’ group, suggested ‘Tequila Mocking Bird’.