Now We Are Four...

It's been a real whirlwind of activity around here of late. Joe turned four on the August bank holiday Monday.

We celebrated it by taking him on the Worth Valley Railway, starting at Oxenhope. It's just over the border in Yorkshire (and a lovely drive too). 

We got there nice and early and the weather was perfect: warm and sunny. Joe was excited to go on the train and, of course, eager to get stuck into the sandwiches way before lunchtime.

I've never actually been there before; it's a similar set-up to our local touristy line. Except perhaps prettier in places. And you can explore the station where The Railway Children was filmed, with all its Edwardian props and details.

Buying a day ticket meant we were free to hop on and off as we pleased. So a stop in Haworth was called for, where the birthday boy had a play in the park.

We also wandered up the main street. Joe chose some gummy bears from the sweet shop and we walked through the church yard to the Bronte Parsonage.

I somehow managed to take some people-free photos. Sunshine + bank holiday + Haworth = many, many tourists and visitors. By the time we got back to the station it was packed.

I don't like crowds very much. 

But we had a great time (even if Joe refused to ride on the open-topped vintage bus). Packed lunches, steam trains and treats. And a barbecue in the back garden at tea time.

The celebrations lasted all week: pizza with one set of grandparents, lunch in the cafe with his Nana, another family birthday barbecue in Manchester...

And on Sunday a little get-together outside with his friends. We set up the gazebo and a treasure hunt in the back field, picked up some straw bales to sit on and served up hot dogs and birthday cake.

Some of the mums may have indulged in a glass or two of prosecco too.

Of course, after the party we had to dispose of the straw. So we took it up to the local animal sanctuary. Joe loved the idea of Wallace, his favourite goat, being nice and warm at night thanks to us.

A birthday well-celebrated then.

And now he's at school. The summer went by in a blur and all of a sudden there he was yesterday morning, his new trousers that bit too long, book bag in hand, all ready to go.

We've made a point of telling him how exciting school will be. So he was keen to get going. And I didn't get upset either. Perhaps it's because the school's literally yards from the house. Maybe it helps that he's only doing mornings this week and afternoons next week; that by lunchtime yesterday he was back in his playing-out clothes with lots of stories to tell and Lego scattered all over the floor again.

Who knows, I could suddenly start feeling melancholy and anxious and tearful. But right now I'm OK. And more importantly, that little boy of mine is taking it all in his stride. And that makes me happy.

P.S. Apologies for the small pictures. I've been playing around and resizing but for some reason can't make them any bigger in Blogger today. So I thought I'd just go ahead and post anyway, rather than spend any more (precious) time tinkering and getting more and more annoyed...

Three cheers for Blogger. Not.

Our favourite haunt

Thank you for your comments on mt last post. I'll share more pictures, perhaps at the end of the month, but for now: something a bit closer to home. Around 440 miles closer.

The summer holidays will be here soon. Cue a mild panic about how to entertain Joe every day for six weeks. Crossing fingers for good weather, feeling grateful that we have the school garden to take care of with its play area and nice secure fences.

Joe's currently at preschool for 15 hours a week. It's divided into two days of 9am until 3pm, and a Monday morning. The rest of the time we're together.

We have regular activities: Monday afternoon playgroup at the village school, Tuesday morning get-togethers with my friends and their little ones. I like routine and often I feel a bit like a P.A. to a three-year-old, running his diary and organising his social schedule.

We do the local cafe on a Wednesday after preschool, the library on a Thursday. But some of the best times are when we just have a slow morning, a bit of time in the garden, a walk through the fields.

Somewhere we visit a lot: the little churchyard across the road. It's safe for him to run about and it's a very pretty place. Telling people I like to hang out with my preschooler in a graveyard sounds a bit odd, hence my use of the word 'churchyard'.

We invariably go in through the lych gate and Joe immediately runs off ahead to collect dandelions and daisies (the latter for chain-making). I take photographs and admire the carefully-tended flower beds around the church.

There are lots of wildflowers; right now we have buttercups and vetch, cuckoo flowers and sorrel. I sometimes collect a few to take home for printmaking.

We sit on the bench (Joe has a favourite. He's very into order and exactness at the moment) and talk and I sneak cuddles from him.

Last week we took paper and crayons for making rubbings. He opted to draw spaceships instead.

On the way home we stop off at the farm to buy eggs and get a lolly (yellow) from the sweetie jar. And that always means scrambled eggs with ketchup for tea.

I do love a good churchyard. I often seek them out if we visit somewhere new. They're perhaps even better savoured alone. I like reading the headstones and their inscriptions. Some are sad, like war graves or those belonging to children. And those long-forgotten resting places, covered in lichen and moss. I like the peace and quiet, the trees and and birdsong and the overgrown corners.

With a little one they're somewhere to explore, to share stories. 

Joe

I've taken so many photos lately, and had intended to do a couple of posts about seasonal flowers. But sometimes I don't stick to my plans. Often I'll just write about what's on my mind, so instead: a post about Joe.

Of course, he's always on my mind. Whether he's with me or not (I went out with friends for a meal on Saturday night and we ended up looking through pictures of our little ones and discussing all the sweet - and not so sweet - things they do). 

This morning I decided to opt out of the chaos that is the preschool car park. Instead we walked down the steep, narrow lane and I realised how lucky we are. Hedgerows and stone walls on either side of us, wildflowers and woodland, the moors rising up ahead. We talked about when leaves change colour, and what buttercups are. We picked dandelions and blew the seeds away. We stuck cleavers ('stickybobs') onto our sleeves.

He starts school in September. It's not very far away now. The thought of it makes me sad.

I know that even though he'll only just have turned four, he'll be fine. I've anxiously sought out advice from the preschool staff, from family members who teach. But still... He'll be so little. He still makes a dreadful mess when he eats. He still has the occasional 'accident' when he's too absorbed in playing to bother going to the loo. He's cuddly and silly and thinks everyone in the world is harmless.

I toyed with the idea of holding him back for another year, but the reality is he's bright and curious and within a few months he'd be climbing the walls with boredom and frustration. His peers would have all gone off to school and he'd be left playing with the toddlers.

And I need to work. A few snatched hours here and there isn't enough. I need time to deal with the technical side of things, to make my work and promote it. I initially thought that once Joe was nine months old, maybe a year, I'd go back out to work. I couldn't see me ever being maternal. In fact, it worried me.

Turns out I was very wrong. I wanted to stay with him and yes, have a frugal couple of years if that was what was needed. It's a very personal decision and one I don't regret for even a moment.

Yes, there are times when I feel exhausted, provoked, angry, exasperated. That's what children do to you. I sometimes look back wistfully at those pre-motherhood days when I could enjoy a lie-in and a quiet weekend with a book. 

But he's my boy and we're part of each other. We go on adventures and make one another laugh. He brings me feathers to put in my workroom and makes me 'dinner' in his toy kitchen. We have fun and learn about things. 

School simply means he's getting bigger. This phase of his life is coming to an end and a new one's beginning. We've got lots of memories and photographs and stories, and I plan to make these last few months of his being properly little count. September will be here before we know it. I read a quote somewhere recently about motherhood: that the days are long but the years are short.

So we'll keep having fun, and buying that new uniform can wait just a little while longer.

Maytime miscellany

Told you I was going for grey, didn't I? Here's how it's looking so far as the dye grows out. I'm torn between worry that it'll make me look ancient and unkempt, and a sense of rebellion now I'm no longer a slave to colouring it. 

Here's a closer look. I have no idea how it's going to end up. Will there be a lot of grey or just some? Whatever. I'm sticking to my guns. 

May's been an incredibly busy month so far. Those of you who follow me on Instagram will have seen my dining table full of drying prints, made in readiness for last weekend's handmade market. Which turned out to be a total waste of time if I'm honest: the glorious weather kept people away, no doubt headed for the coast or the back garden. A lot of work and travelling for  very little return.

I think I'll stick to selling through galleries. And I'd better get everything photographed for my online shop too. This whole working for yourself thing has presented me with an incredibly steep learning curve.

Of course, most of my time's spent with Joe. We head out for a little daily amble to the churchyard across the road. He runs about up and down the paths and presents me with dandelion posies.

I read the inscriptions on the headstones and photograph the flowers which grow there. Right now the magnolia trees are in full bloom; primroses are growing amongst the graves under the trees and in marshy spots there are cuckoo flowers. We also make daisy chains and collect grasses for pressing and printmaking. He's my little assistant.

The garden has recovered after a fast thaw and is no longer waterlogged. We have tulips and rhubarb and bluebells. 

Jay put a shed up on Sunday whilst I was at the handmade market. It meant he had to cut back the beech tree, so I've got armfuls of trimmings in the house. They look quite spectacular actually - a jugful on the table spans a good couple of feet across.

Of course, there are walks near the railway line so Joe gets his locomotive fix.

And he isn't one for staying clean either. 

I have so many photographs of bluebells. And the trip to the West Lancashire plains for the market was beautiful. Spring seems to be a bit further along over there - cow parsley and blossom everywhere. I do love May, even though I'm an autumn girl at heart. It's my birthday next week too so I'm crossing my fingers for nice weather.

On Saturday we took Joe to Helmshore Mills. It's an old textile mill, a museum which is sadly on the brink of closing down due to funding issues. They've been given a reprieve until September.

It's very close to my old primary school and I have fond memories of us walking down there to learn all about our Lancashire textile heritage. I knew Joe would like the waterwheel and the frightening machinery. He did.

No. we don't dress him in a flat cap. He wore it as part of the 'experience'. The outdoor area is where we teenagers used to gather on summer evenings and drink cider and pretend to be drunk. It's now closed at night and they grow flowers and edibles instead.

A much better use of the space.

We heard some great stories about the mills and the working conditions there. I also liked looking around the mill manager's office with its books and old typewriter and general antiquey things.

And after that, a walk to Musbury: scene of many childhood picnics.

Joe managed to get creosote all over his hands after playing on an old telegraph pole. It smelt rather nice but necessitated an early bath.

So, in between printing and selling, playing with Joe and doing housework, it's been a busy time indeed. We've visited friends and half-stained the new shed, dried lots of washing on the line and befriended the lambs (who are actually quite bold and come to the gate looking for treats).

The holiday is approaching and I can't wait. As some of you will know, our family has had a tough couple of years and although I don't really blog about it in detail, it can be very draining. There are ongoing issues and the prospect of escaping to that little crofter's cottage on Skye is so appealing. 

Finally, thank you for your words of encouragement after my last post. I'm hoping to negotiate the technological maze that is putting a new website together, and to do all the other stuff that entails: new social media accounts, archiving old stuff and making sure people can actually find me out there. It's a long, frustrating process but if nothing else I'm a typical stubborn Taurean and will not give up.

I'm hoping to write a post with some lovely floral photographs, perhaps in time for the weekend. In the meantime  - enjoy the gloriousness that is May!

Hibernation and contemplation

I know that January and February are usually (for me, at least) the months of the year where we just have to somehow 'get through'. And having read other blogs it would seem many others feel the same too. But then I read a post which made me think - why wish time away? Why not embrace it for what it is (in this case cold, dark, wet and windy)?

Without wishing to sound too preachy there are people who are really suffering. Yes, the gloom has a negative effect on mood. Yes, it would be great to get out into the garden if the rain ever stops.

But really - there's nothing you can do to make the sun appear or the clouds disappear. Better to go with the flow than try to swim against it.

Yesterday, after weeks (months?) of saying we must adopt the whole Slow Sundays way of doing things, we actually did it. I put my phone in my bag and stuffed it behind the sofa. We lounged around and had a late breakfast then layered up and went for a walk. The sun did appear once or twice, and how wonderful it was to sit on a bench and soak up those fleeting rays. Yes, we had to take shelter in the church doorway during a passing hail shower. But we also saw hellebores and tulip leaves thrusting through the earth, snowdrops and steam trains. 

Refreshed and invigorated (and plastered in mud) we returned home to spend the afternoon keeping warm and eating good food.

I noticed something: the weekend doesn't fly by as quickly when you slow things down and do a bit less. Slow Sundays will now be every Sunday. It may take a little while to establish that but I'm determined to do it.

I'm currently reading 'The Victorian House' by Judith Flanders. It's fascinating; social history, particularly that of a domestic nature, is something I really enjoy learning about. A good book on a wet day is something that can't be beaten.

And speaking of learning: I recently came across an article about Highly Sensitive People (H.S.P's). It resonated with me. I'm not really one for psychobabble or the leaping onto the latest affliction/condition bandwagon. But it just rang a bell or three. Maybe everyone feels this way but there are many traits - listed on this site - which are just me. Things like being accused of being overly sensitive, my inability to cope with loud noise, of feeling easily overwhelmed. Of feeling rattled when I have lots to do at once, of being highly aware of other people's moods, of being ridiculously sensitive to caffeine.

The list goes on. It's really interesting and has been a bit of a revelation to be honest. I think I was also a Highly Sensitive Child and that could explain why certain events had such a marked effect on me emotionally.

Non of this stuff means I need therapy or indeed, want it. Sometimes it's just good to identify with something. And maybe there is a bit of a trend at the moment. I've heard about this book too. Maybe we introverts, those of us who spend more time thinking and listening than talking, are about to have our day!

So there we have it. A bit of enlightenment in these dark months. Amazing how good reading, slowing things down, savouring the weekend and spending time indoors with family can make the gloom shift. Even if it's just metaphorical. I'll take it.