A celebration of Wales

They say that to be born Welsh is to be born with music in your heart and poetry in your soul. If you ever wondered where that came from, here’s the full poem.
Dydd Gwyl Dewi Sant Hapus / Happy St David's Day.

In Passing by Brian Harris

To be born in Wales,
Not with a silver spoon in your mouth,
But, with music in your blood
And with poetry in your soul,
Is a privilege indeed.

Your inheritance is a land of Legend,
Of love and contrast.
A land of beauty so bright it burns the eyes.
Of ugliness that scars the Spirit
As the Earth.

Wales is an old land with wounds
That weep in hills.
They wept before in the bodies of men
And in the hearts of women
And time will never heal them.

The stigmata of sorrow,
Of pain and poverty,
Of lonely crucifixion in the dark,
Remain our lives to feed.

This Land of our Fathers was built on coal.
Its rivers of mingled blood and sweat
Have forever darkened it,
Relieved only by death.

We are a sad people.
Our sadness being wrapped in harps and music
And praise to God,
For the lovely, yearning light
That feeds the Spirit as well as the eyes.

The Gallery - Light

I thought I'd join in with The Gallery this week on Tara Cain's Sticky Fingers blog. I couldn't resist the theme and the opportunity to link up with, and browse through, other people's photographs.

I've got a million photographs of the light outside my house, but it's the way it falls inside that I like the most.

Link up with The Gallery here

Running away from the mums' race

It's school sports day season. That anxiety filled time for every headteacher (pray it doesn't rain), every sport hating child and every slow running parent.  

I'm the latter and I'm afraid of the mums' race.

To make it worse, I'm a slow runner with a bit of a competitive streak.This competitive streak doesn't come out very often but recently reared its ugly head at a wedding.

The ladies were asked to discard their stilettos and run towards the camera. I guess the aim was to bring some 'movement' to the picture and get the already-slightly-drunk ladies laughing. It was hot and whilst most of them were wondering if we'd ever get the spindly heels back on to our (already swollen) feet, I seemed to be taking the running request a bit too seriously. The picture is below and I don't think I need to tell you which one is me.

 

Anyway, back to the sports day.

Last year Dad went, son won one race, Dad exited before the parent's race took place. Dads can get away with that but I'm unable to leave anywhere quietly. So this year I'm going and I decided to test the importance of participating in the Mums' race, by asking my six year old.

It went like this:    

Me: Do you think I should go in the Mums' race on sportsday?
Son: Mummy (giggles) you are a really BAD runner
Me: Yes I know that (!), but would you rather me sit on the side while all the other mummies run, or take part for fun?
Son: Please don't go in the running race Mum.

  

So I simultaneously jumped for joy and died just a little bit inside. Yes a get-out clause, but damn my child is ALREADY ashamed of me. It's not really the speed he's embarrassed about, it's definitely more the way I run. I play rugby and he doesn't laugh at the scrum cap or the comedy tackling, yet he always laughs at the idea of me trying to run for the line with a ball (so does my coach).

So what to do? Well I can't think of a good enough excuse not to participate (embarrassing my son doesn't count, that's a requirement). So I now need to decide whether I run as fast as I possibly can and risk looking like I'm trying too hard; OR I quash my competitive spirit and just do a slow jog - which is about the same speed as my sprint, but more casual looking.

My only saving grace is that the fastest mum has the same name as me, so if they publish the results,  I'm a winner anyway :)
 

Bring in the meningitis b vaccine

More than a year ago a vaccine against meningitis B was licensed for use in the UK. Licensed but not brought in – unless you can afford hundreds of pounds to pay for it privately.

The vaccination committee that advises the government has been considering whether (or not) this jab should be part of the immunisation schedule. That would mean it’s given to every baby, as part of your routine jabs, for free on the NHS.

Adding another vaccine to the schedule isn’t an easy decision to make. Spending millions and millions of pounds in a time of cuts isn’t easy either. But protecting every baby in the UK against a disease that kills – on average - two children every week, seems like a no brainer.

Because if a disease is preventable, surely we’d want to prevent it?

Meningitis is the disease parents fear most because it’s so hard to diagnose and can take a child’s (or adult’s) life in just a few hours. There are many causes of meningitis and in the last 20 years vaccines have reduced cases dramatically. But in the UK meningitis still kills more under 5s than any other infectious disease.

As a mum, I want to protect my children in any way I can.

I don’t want to feel that fear and dread every time my child hides away from bright lights, complains of a stiff neck, or worse still, has a rash that looks out of the ordinary.

I don’t want to be that parent telling the tragic tale of how my child was taken from me in hours.

I don’t want to live in fear of a disease that I know can be prevented.

That’s why I’m joining Meningitis Now’s campaign to bring in the meningitis B vaccine. A campaign that’s going direct to the top. The decision is with the Health Secretary now.

Jeremy Hunt, it’s over to you.

Join the campaign by sharing this post or writing your own. Talk about it on Facebook or send this tweet to the man himself.

"@Jeremy_Hunt Bring in the Meningitis B vaccine on the NHS. Don't put cost before children's lives. http://www.meningitisnow.org/beat-it-now/ "

More information  the Meningitis Now campaign

 

Darcy through Elizabeth's eyes

What do you look for in a portrayal of Mr Darcy?

For me, it's the casting of Elizabeth, because we only ever see him through her eyes.

Christmas 2013 finally gave us the opportunity to see Darcy and Eliza in a new light, almost 20 years after Colin Firth and that lake. Firth's very still, somber version was brought to emotional life by Jennifer Ehle's brilliantly boisterous Lizzy, a hero for tomboys everywhere. Without her performance, and a wet shirt, I think we'd have forgetten him within a week. Look at Knightley and McFadyen......

In Death Comes to Pemberley, Anna Maxwell Martin gave me the grown-up Lizzy (and Darcy) I've always craved.

And we even saw Lizzy and Darcy GETTING IT ON.

I sat stunned as I realised we were heading for a love scene, in Austen! After the initial shock I started cheering and dancing around the room. I still can't quite believe it happened.

I don't care much for a whodunnit, but I do care about Lizzy and Darcy.  I feared the worst, a Bridget Jones the third, stuck in a pre-Darcy time warp and failing to move the character on. But she was everything I expected. Bold, beautiful and still slightly frayed around the edges (and muddy around the hem). Pemberley hasn't changed her.

I fell in love all over again. Anna Maxwell Martin showed me an Elizabeth I wanted to be and Matthew Rhys played a tormented and torn Darcy, always battling between his head and his heart. Filled with pain, seething and grumpy - just how I like him.

Colin who?

One Word

"Describe yourself in one word" said Tara this week.........

Careers, kids and having it all

“I have never met a woman, or man, who stated emphatically, "Yes, I have it all.'" Because no matter what any of us has—and how grateful we are for what we have—no one has it all.” Sheryl Sandberg, Facebook CEO

If Sheryl Sandberg’s book had come out two years ago I might be in a different place by now. It’s the story I’ve been searching for since I had my first child. It doesn’t have the answers but it reassures me that other people are asking the same questions.

A year ago today I left my middle-management, nicely pensioned, bloody hard work but very inspiring local government job. I’d worked for someone else since I graduated at 21 and I was giving it all up to go it alone.

When I handed in my notice three months and one week earlier, everyone had seen the signs and guessed it was coming. They knew I was struggling to juggle work, two young children and a husband whose own career was taking off. The tears gave me away.

We’d had a tough few months with two small children timing their chicken pox and childhood bugs perfectly with our peaks in workload. So after pulling too many all-nighters working (and even more all-nighters awake with a young child), I knew that something had to give.

He’d support whatever decision I made (for me or him), but knew I could be the only one to make it.

For the first time in my life I decided my career would take a back seat, I had to focus on family. It’s the hardest decision I’ve ever made. I'm lucky to have had a choice, even if it wasn't the choice I wanted to make.

When I resigned I got lots of “I hear you’re leaving to spend more time with your children, oh that’s lovely.” No! That’s not why I left. This is why;

• Because I value my career, I loved my job and I wanted to be the best I could be
• Because having children made it impossible to live up to my own expectations of what I could achieve in work

• Because I was failing. My career was on hold. Being a mother was holding me back

I would rather stop doing the job, than just do it to a satisfactory level. I no longer had the energy to be the person I wanted to be. Because you can’t have it all.

So I resigned from my proper job and went freelance. I spent the first three months with a huge hole in my heart (that's no exaggeration). Missing my colleagues, the work, even missing the commute – that valuable two hours a day alone with just a radio or book for company.

But as the work picked up I started opening my eyes and living again. One year on I’m back to working almost the same hours I did before  - but now I can bill for it! If I want a day off, I take it and more often than not I’m doing the school run.

It isn’t perfect. I’m suited to working in big teams, in big organisations and I miss my team, local government and all the challenges it brings. But I’ve stopped trying to have it all and I’m happier for it. I can’t have the career I want and be a mother at the same time.

But I do have one regret. That I wasn’t strong enough to believe that I could continue in my job and be a mother at the same time. That I didn’t have the confidence to say "right, off on the school run” with all the attitude and self-assurance of a man in my position.

I still wonder why it's so hard for many people to understand that women can love their jobs as much as they love their children. Working makes me happy and being happy makes me a better mother. I shouldn't be afraid to say that. But this is still a tough blog post to write.

And that’s where women like Sheryl Sandberg come in.

“Our culture needs to find a robust image of female success that is first, not male, and second, not a white woman on the phone, holding a crying baby,” 

what success looks like to me

 

 

 

(not) Wired for sound

I've made some bad purchases in my time.

One year I bought my husband an electronic dartboard. It added up the scores as you threw. He was confused, I was hormonal (I'd recently had a baby). I thought he could put it in the shed and play happily against himself to hide away from the screaming and tantrums (and that was just me).

Anyway I took it back.

Two years ago I bought him a big fat pair of wireless headphones. He was confused again (this time I was 37 weeks pregnant with a second child). He smiled, we put them on the 2 year old and watched him play along with Family Fortunes, laughed a bit, then forgot about them.

Until recently.

The wireless headphones have made a comeback and they are my new favourite thing. Our living space is open plan, we have one big room in which the whole family does everything. Playing, cooking, eating, working, watching TV. To watch something you have to compete with a whole host of other noises. So I generally don't bother.

But now I can watch the news, sound off/headphones on, whilst cooking dinner (the cooker hood made too much noise before). The other half can watch TV while I listen to the radio. The headphones can babysit the 5 year old while I make work calls and use the PC.

And the reach is good. I can wander into the next room, do as much multi-tasking as I like and I can still hear what's going on.

But I can't hear anything else. No fighting, no calling for 'MUMMY', no 'that's my bike', no 'is the kettle on?'. Nothing. I live in blissful ignorance. Happy in my headphones.

Wireless headphones. They are bloody wonderful.

I have no idea what make or model they are, I panic bought them in Lidl along with some funny red things in a jar. This is not a sponsored post.

Mid-term break by Seamus Heaney

RIP Seamus Heaney 1939 - 2013

It's hard to choose a favourite Heaney poem, but when I read Death of a Naturalist as a teenager I never forgot this one. It's a great collection, go out and buy it.

Mid-term Break by Seamus Heaney

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.

Taken from Death of a Naturalist buy it here
Link to Obituary on BBC website http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-13930435

Star Wars and sunglasses - the Gallery

I've got a son and a daughter. In my ideal world they'd indulge in non gender-specific play and my daughter would be as happy playing Star Wars as my son would be dressing up.

Life doesn't always work out that way. Here, dear reader, is my reality.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words........... :-)

This post is part of The Gallery, a weekly photo link up on the Sticky Fingers Blog.

Beloved - 20 years on

"Where words could be spoken that would close your ears shut. Where, if you were alone, feeling could overtake you and stick to you like a shadow. Out there where there were places in which things so bad had happened that when you went near them it would happen again."

It's 20 years since I read Beloved. I remember loving it then and that it made a huge impression on me. But what I remember are the sights, sounds and smells. Where it was set more than what it was about.

A couple of weeks ago I saw it again. It hit me hard, the memory of the book and I remembered feeling drained once I'd read it.

So I picked it up and started again. Twenty years on, knowing more about the world and less of a romantic. Less time to spare but not in a rush to finish.

It's the story of slavery and the experience of slaves. How impossible is to ever be free of it. How one mother kills her child rather than let it lead the life she lived and how that ghost - and many others - come back to haunt her.

It's a story full of pain and it's so much worse now I'm a mother, an aunt, a godmother. I'm hearing, feeling and responding to a completely different story than the one I read before. A story about the desire and drive to protect your children from pain, whatever the cost. 20 years ago I just read it. This week I feel I've lived and breathed every word.

It's stunningly beautiful and just brilliantly written and it carries you along at a sing-song pace - but makes your heart ache. It's packed with detail and full of character. It's a heart-breaking story that you hope ends in peace. Quiet, restful, let-out-a-huge-sigh peace. But when you finish it's impossible to get out of your head.

Phew.

So I'm going to continue this theme and go and find more books that made an impression on me 20 or 30 years ago and see how I like them now.  Next stop is a book my Grandad gave me as a teenager, To Sir with Love. If you do the same, let me know.

Beloved by Toni Morrison, winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Beloved

Surviving your first school year

Parent pressure has reared its ugly head for me this week, as we all counted down to the last day of term.

Thank you gifts for the teacher.

Throughout this week I've been hearing snippets of conversations about goodies being bought and handmade gifts being prepared. I've asked my own friends what they're doing and quietly taken in their replies.

So by Thursday evening I was feeling in a bit of a panic. As I looked down at the cards my son had written for his teacher and teaching assistants, I started to wonder if it was enough.

Not because I didn't think a card was enough, but because for a fleeting moment I was worried about turning up at school without the required gift bag.

Required by whom? Not the teacher I'm sure.  Gifts aren't like dinner money, they won't be chasing me for payment. Yet many parents buy presents simply because 'everyone else does it'.

The only pressure I was feeling was, indirectly, from other parents and the stories I'd been hearing about the preparations for this big day.  It still wasn't enough to do more than the cards but it had made me stop and think.

So I put it out on Facebook (as you do) and asked why the big gifts for teacher obsession?

I got a big range of responses. Different people do different things for all sorts of different reasons. And they probably don't care or notice what I'm doing. Absolutely no one is judging.

So as we come to the end of our first school year, what have I learned as a parent?

I've learned that we put the pressure on ourselves. The best thing you can do is have the courage of your own convictions and the confidence to do what feels right for you.

If that means buying every member of staff a lottery ticket, then that's great. If it means a simple thank you and a smile by the school gate, that's perfect too.

Don't do things because everyone else does, do it because you want to, and then try not to worry about it. Second guessing just takes too much time and energy ( I should know!)

Phew. I hope the second year is easier.

Bingo wings and swollen feet - it's Summer

The thing I like about the wonderfully unpredictable Great British weather is the huge range of wardrobe options you need to survive a year here.

It's hard to plan what to wear too far in advance and every day is a new and exciting challenge. Cotton dress and flip flops in the morning and a quick change into thick cords and wellies by the afternoon. Never a dull wardrobe moment. (I have a jacket for every occasion)

But this heatwave thing that we've got going on, is not only boring (oh look it's sunny again) but it gives me wardrobe issues of a whole different kind. How to deal with gentle perspiration in a ladylike manner.

Footwear - have I painted my toenails and will these shoes still fit in an hour when my feet swell and elephantitis sets in?

Tops - can I risk sleeveless and the big bingo-wing reveal? Too low cut and you'll see my tanline, might even risk showing the beads of sweat disappearing down my cleavage.

Middle - this is the biggest issue for me. There's a huge risk of sweat lines and the material getting folded into your baby layers when you sit down. I reject so many clothes on this basis. (I did consider losing weight but fortunately I've noticed that slim people sweat too)

Skirts and dresses - they let the air circulate and are generally much cooler to wear, but you've got to consider all of the above, with the added joy of some hot thigh rubbing. Lovely. 

And the best materials for the summer - linen and cotton - usually need ironing. Plus I'm absolutely sure that body hair grows twice as fast and suncream gives me greasy spots.

So God, please send me some gentle rain, a breeze and maybe some hail for a day or two.

I want a day off shaving and a bit of a challenge when I get dressed. Just give the sun back in time for the weekend :)

Why I don't like sun days - The Gallery

I am not a big fan of sun. I live in a valley that loses the sun completely by teatime and that is fine by me. There's nothing I like more than a bit of shade.

Sun is good and bad for my photographs. Good when it has that ethereal effect or it's doing the light streaming through trees thing. But bad when it's too hot and it involves me.

Let me demonstrate.....

Good

 

 

Bad

 

 

 

I finally blogged for the first time in ages thanks to a prompt from The Gallery on the Sticky Fingers blog. Visit more sun stories here.

 



History repeats itself

I promised myself I wouldn't brainwash my children the way my Dad brainwashed us. It was all Man Utd and the Beatles. If we weren't watching football we were singing along to his guitar.

I want my children to make their own choices about football teams and music. I want them to support the local team through highs and lows. Rugby even (!).

To be fair to my Dad, United were in the old second division when I was born and we used to sit in crowds of twenty-odd thousand. They were our nearest major team. Ish.

But still,  I want my kids to find their own way. Find their own sport. Support the underdog.

Yet last weekend I found myself here, with my big sister (also brainwashed from a young age), my son and her two boys.

History repeating itself.

My coffee story

DO PEOPLE CONSUME TOO MUCH COFFEE? Asked the BBC this week.

'Does UleyGirl consume too much coffee?' replied my coffee-fuelled paranoia. It felt like the whole of Twitter and Facebook was asking me the same question. I think I need to defend myself.

I talk about coffee a lot but that doesn’t mean I’m addicted (I talk about exercise and sex too – see what I mean?)

Sometimes I can’t face coffee so don't drink it. I never get headaches, experience withdrawal symptoms or throw small animals from upstairs windows. Because I’m not addicted. (Or if I am, I'm not admitting it yet)

I may be happier after a coffee, talk a bit more and occasionally burst into song, but that’s no bad thing is it?

I like sharing it, making it for others, smelling it, savouring it.

But I'm not a coffee snob. I know what I like. I don't like tons of hot milk and I don’t like instant. I used to drink plenty of it but stopped really tasting anything. That's the problem with even the best instant coffee, it doesn't compete on taste and it lacks impact.

So instead of drinking ten cups of instant a day, I drink on average one large cup of filtered coffee or espresso (double – with hot water) per day. Sometimes two, three at the very very most. I can’t drink more than that.

I care about coffee and I really enjoy it, therefore I want to drink a cup roasted, blended and prepared by someone who feels the same way. Which is why I spend most of my time in Nom Nom Cupcakery (serving deep and delicious Rave signature blend) and Prema Café (nutty and smooth just like the owners).

So there. My coffee story.  *blows raspberry and puts the coffee on*

 (and I can think of lots of people who agree)

 Me, having me-time at Nom Nom Cupcakery

Birth and my life in football matches

My son is turning five so I started thinking about the day he was born. What do I remember?

That my husband was wearing a banana t-shirt (imagine that being the first thing you saw on exiting from the gift shop??)

I remember that on the morning after his birth I was late transferring back to Stroud Maternity because I wanted to watch the FA Cup final (Portsmouth 1-0 Cardiff).

I remember that I finally left the 'Stroud Hotel' because United were playing Chelsea in the European Cup Final and I wanted to watch it at home.

I also remember my milk coming in during the first half (feel free to look away now). I felt a mixture of pain and panic, trying to force a tiny baby to drink to relieve the pain, but with breasts rapidly expanding like Violet, the one ton blueberry from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Ever had the feeling you're about to explode??
 

I didn't think I'd live to see the second half, so sent the husband out to scour the supermarkets for a hand pump.

He returned and United won on penalties.
I was elated and the boobs thankfully, deflated.

There you go, my birth memories. All based around football (and I don't even follow it anymore).

A great day out!

Looking for something to do with the kids on Thursday?

Need to entertain a toddler or keep your young ones occupied after school?

Then why not visit a polling station!

You can make an afternoon of it, take a picnic, call in at the park on the way.

You can teach your children all about elections, politicians (the good bit) and the fun things they have to look forward to once they turn 18 (even better if you pass a pub on the way).

They'll get a lovely walk, to laugh at some very funny faces (the candidates) and they might even get to dodge a few tellers.

All in all it's a great day out.

If you live in England or Wales you may have local elections on 2nd May. You've got the right to vote, use it and show your kids how important it is too.

Find out here http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-22019280

We need more men in childcare

Gender imbalance in the home, in the workplace, in life, largely focuses on how to make things better for women. Lately I've been thinking about childcare and how important it is for children to be cared for by both.

Early years education is dominated by women for many reasons I don't need to go into here - negatively perceived ones such as pay, hours, status. But also for positive reasons like experience, expertise, empathy (and our ability to multi-task!)

But we're not going to change stereotypes or teach children to view men and women equally unless we do something about the care they receive in those very early years.

That means changing the way we behave at home (if we can) and encouraging more men to follow a career in child care.

Sexism isn't exclusively part of the male  psyche (oh how we all love to blame them). A quick poll of some of my mum friends reveals a suspicion of men who work in childcare. What are they doing that job for? They must be weird/sexually motivated? Couldn't they get a proper job?

This reaction offends me in oh so many ways.

It is a decent job and one of the most important anyone can do, a child's life is shaped in those first five years. It's well paid in the right setting, with excellent training and opportunities to study and progress. Looking after children is fun and rewarding so why shouldn't men enjoy it? Guess what - men like kids too!

We also know that children without fathers benefit from having strong male role models in their life. 

My children have been cared for by men and women in daycare and I'm hugely grateful for that.

So let's encourage more men into childcare, reduce the ridiculous stigma attached to doing a 'female' job and start giving all those who work with children the respect they deserve.

They taught me, my husband and my children everything we know.

Kylie Love

Do you know what? I really love Kylie. Love her. It's not a guilty pleasure because I don't feel guilty about it.

I loved her even more when she shacked up with Hutchence. 


Anyway, in her honour, a very short Kylie video playlist and one video dedicated to my girls x (page too slow loading if I embed them all).

Kick your shoes off, lose your inhibitions and dance.

1) Love at first sight (see video below)

2) In your eyes http://youtu.be/OjETibEMbJY

3) Breathe http://youtu.be/wMiW7FxBa88

4) Slow (favourite video) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Omrp4QR_Rpo

5) Better the devil you know http://youtu.be/10P_ybz5YTI