Merry Christmas sign

Well, it’s Christmas Eve. All of us in the Pewari house are trying to motivate ourselves to get organised and pack for our visit to my mum for the festive season. I don’t know if I’ll manage to blog or what my internet access will be over the next few days, so if I don’t pop in again until Sunday (when we return) then I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas.

I have spent all evening faffing with templates to produce my very own photo blog (am hoping it will be an incentive to take the camera out more often). You can find it at Pewari’s Piccies, although there’s not much there at the moment. I would be grateful if any breakages could be reported!

I’m now trying to find a way to get either a random picture or most recent picture from there as a thumbnail on the sidebar of this site. I’m assuming I need some sort of script to plod through the directory the photos are stored in and spit it out into the relevant gap, but the only script I’ve found requires this site to have .php as its extension (and there’s no WAY I’m changing all of that!)

Tech advice gratefully received.

father christmas

The doorbell rang last night. I opened it to face the two kids who came several days early for Halloween this year begging for chocolate when their only nod to the occasion was a couple of cheap plastic masks from Woolworths. This time, they opened into a very tuneless rendition of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” and had made no attempt to dress up, no official charity box or anything.

WHAT?! Are carol singers the new Trick-or-Treaters?! We’ve survived the doorstep bribery for confectionary of October, the random firework flinging and “penny for the guy” of November and now we’ve reached December we’ve got kids coming to the door begging for cash after singing two lines! Please tell me January is a begging-free zone?

Living on a large modern estate, we get all the beggars come to ring our doorbell – some are more respectable than others: the “official” charity workers refusing to budge until you’ve signed your life away on a direct debit for a “good cause”, the youths from the local young offenders charity selling dusters and cleaning cloths, the gas company representatives who try to scam you by assuring you that you’re just signing “for further information”. You can’t open your door these days without someone trying to scam you for your hard earned dosh.

It gets to the point where you’d like to see some Jehovah’s Witnesses for a bit of variety.

Oh, and the “carol singers”? I laughed at them, said I wasn’t interested and closed the door on them. I haven’t had my house egged…. yet.

a train

Happy Yule to you all. Yes, it’s good news for SAD sufferers and those of us that just hate the dark nights of winter – from here on in, it gets lighter.

Although the solstice is technically today this year, I had a low key “celebration” yesterday instead – partly out of habit and partly because it’s easier to do a full roast with all the trimmings on a Sunday when there’s someone about to entertain Akra Jr! Last year, I didn’t decorate until the 21st to make the day feel more special, but I succumbed to the lure of a proper Christmas tree much earlier this year. However, as I mentioned yesterday, we did have quite a Christmassy and fun day so all was good.

I feel like I ought to do more to mark the occasion today – like go on a nature walk with Akra Jr or something, but I’m feeling feeble and just want to huddle in the warmth and stuff my face. Then again, that’s probably a fairly “traditional” way of celebrating the solstice! So, have fun eating, drinking and being merry whether it’s by a roaring fire or a slightly less picturesque roaring radiator. You’re in good company!

a christmas tree

It’s officially Christmas. I thought you’d like to know.

The Christmas presents are wrapped (except one for me, which apparently Akra got mailed to the wrong address… *sigh*), we’ve had a big roast chicken dinner with all trimmings including a glass of chilled white wine (oh, Akra Jr got water, and I’ve been sipping slowly and only allowed myself one glass, don’t panic), we’ve watched our official Christmas movie.

There’s something special about the definitive Christmas movie. It’s a very personal choice and is one that speaks to the heart and reflects our personality. Without seeing it, it doesn’t quite feel that it’s really Christmas. Now while I feel that such classics as It’s A Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street (whichever version) have their place, the definitive film for me is the all time great, The Muppet Christmas Carol.

You may laugh, but I believe this undervalued rough diamond is a must see for any family Christmas – the festive season just isn’t complete without it. Maybe it’s the classic tale of yuletide redemption brought to life by the considerable acting talents of Michael Caine, or maybe it’s just the comic genius of Rizzo the Rat. Either way, this is one magical journey you would be a fool to deprive yourself of.

Okay, okay … I confess. I just have a soft spot for skating penguins.

the moon

I found a fun little site I thought you might like, it’s a small flash run Snowglobe. Takes a little loading but it’s rather cute!

Enjoy…

Edit: eep, I promise I didn’t see this at Bacon, Cheese and Oatcakes before I posted it or I would have been more original (or at the very least, credited it)! Okay, another Christmassy link for you but special for Christmas Eve: NORAD tracks Santa.

a sleigh

Picture the scene: it’s a busy afternoon in Marks & Spencers’ Food Hall. I’ve been around fighting my way through the crowds looking for nice things to eat (oooo…. mini-shepherds pies… how cute!) I’ve selected enough things to feel slightly guilty about all the unnecessary stuff I’ll be filling the freezer with but not so much that I’m struggling to lift the hand basket. I’ve been in the queue for the tills for ages, but got through, had my shopping packed and have just signed the credit card slip.

I’m feeling slightly warm and tired. Probably would be a good idea to stop for something to eat and drink after this, get some energy back. I open my coat while I’m waiting for my receipt back, trying to keep cool. Still, I think to myself, at least I’m not feeling as if I’m going to faint like that time in Allders.

Next I know, I’m on the floor and the dear lady behind me in the queue is telling me not to get up until the first aider is here and “you fell incredibly gracefully, my dear”. As per the last time, they wouldn’t let me leave for ages until they’d taken down all my details and given me a glass of water, then they escorted me off the premises. Oh the shame!

Looking back at my comments on the Allders’ experience, I notice that it was almost to the day in pregnancy that I fainted last time. I must remember if I ever decide to have child number three, to block this particular week of pregnancy out in the diary and write in big capital letters “DON’T EVEN THINK OF GOING SHOPPING THIS WEEK!”

an angel

It’s terrible really, I swear the pregnancy hormones (or maybe extreme exhaustion) has brought out the cynic in me. I’m not normally this negative, honest. The worst thing I’m finding at the moment is having to bite my tongue when my inner cynic whispers something sarcastic into my ear.

At the yoga class, there was a very eager woman (first pregnancy) who was gleefully reporting that after coming to classes she knew more about the process of birth than her friend who was pregnant with her second. As a result, she was able to tell her friend a thing or two (bet that went down well!) Now to be fair, I will admit she probably had a good point. Parentcraft classes are notoriously variable – the main point of mine the first time around seemed to be to play with a plastic doll and a huge fabric monstrosity which was supposed to represent the womb and pelvis, and to freak us all out by showing us how large a pair of forceps were. However, all my inner cynic could whisper to me was “she’d better enjoy it while it lasts – it’ll be the last time she’ll be the expert on anything.”

I did stop myself saying it out loud, but it did get me thinking. Why do we hold birth in such exaggerated importance? The ‘perfect birth’ has become almost a cult subject among mums and mums-to-be, and has the power to hold fear, competition and bitter disappointment over our heads.

I can understand why it’s such an important topic for pregnant women – particularly first timers. It’s such an unknown fear. For months we’ve been subjected to proof after proof that we are no longer in control over our own bodies only to look forward to the ultimate humiliation of submission to the rite of passage – pain.

I listen to all these stories of exactly how these women want their births to go and they’re building up all their energy into their perfect image of how they want the birth to be like, with little thought to dealing with the resulting baby at the end – even the second timers do this as a way of exorcising the previous bad birth demons, and yes, I’m doing it too.

This focus doesn’t stop after the birth either, but then something more insiduous creeps in – maternal competition. Trust me, there’s nothing more soul destroying than listening to someone tell you about their quick three hour delivery where they didn’t even feel the need to use the gas and air on offer when you had every intervention under the sun. I know mums who, even years after the birth, are bitterly disappointed that they had a caesarian and others who had such a frightful experience of vaginal birth that they’re begging for a caesarian next time around – neither truly understanding the downsides of the other’s experience.

Then there’s the reverse competition – “my birth was more horrific than yours” stories, which in my opinion should be banned anywhere near the vicinity of a woman who hasn’t had children or is newly pregnant – guaranteed to unnecessarily drain any fragile confidence you might have.

But does it all really matter? Why do we focus SO much energy on something which is only a means to bring our precious babies into the world? Coming through the other side with a healthy baby MUST be paramount in our thinking, and if that means our long-hoped for birth plan falls by the wayside then so be it. It’s a small price to pay. After all, the whole sum of parenthood does not swing on how well you handle the birth, whether you get through on endorphins alone or need every drug available. Once that little human being is out into the world, all bets are off. Trust me when I say you have many years ahead in which to truly screw up – the REAL hard work and pain starts here.

Good luck. We’re all going to need it.

a robin

I may as well bore you all with a full yoga report.

I did decide to go in the end and as expected the drive there was horrible. I really dislike driving at night on country, unlit roads when I don’t know the road well, especially as people who know the road blindfolded seem to collect behind my bumper on the way (and I wasn’t driving THAT slowly, honest! It’s just they don’t polish the cats eyes that well around here, and it wasn’t always that clear which way the damn road bent!) – I was almost grateful when I finally got to a 30mph zone, now that’s a first.

Anyway, I was nice and stressed by the time I arrived…. fifteen minutes early. Yes, I had completely overestimated the time I would need to get there. Still, at least that meant that finding a carparking space on the road outside wasn’t an issue. It did make for a fun ten minutes wandering around a darkened health centre carpark on my own, trying to work out where the hell I was supposed to enter the building.

Got inside eventually though without being mugged, which is always an advantage. The organiser seemed totally uninterested and hardly acknowledged that I’d spoken to her on the phone before which unnerved me a bit, but I attached myself to someone else whose first time it was too and went in to claim some cushions on the floor.

Very considerate it was, leaving all these nice comfy cushions about. I prop myself up against the wall, nicely padded slouched and comfy. Organiser enters the room. “Well, I can always tell who has been to my classes for a while and who is new by the way they are sitting,” she says. THEN I notice everyone seems to be in perfect lotus position with rigidly upright spines. DOH!

It appears everyone there is a yoga expert. Even the other new girl comes from another pregnancy yoga class, so bang goes my hopes of safety in numbers. I’m not exactly a yoga ignoramus – I used to do some out of a book and off vids when I wasn’t pregnant some years ago, so I know a lot of the terms but I still felt very out of place. I didn’t even feel that comfortable in the standard “pregnancy chatter” with the other mums – most of them are on their first pregnancies and have still got that optimistic glow about them. Either that or I’ve just turned into a complete cynic, I’m not sure which. I didn’t really want to shatter their illusions by opening my mouth too much, though. An opening conversational gambit of “let me tell you what labour pain is REALLY like” doesn’t tend to go down too well in those sorts of circles, I’ve found.

I did get into the swing of things eventually though. Lots of relaxation and breathing techniques which will come in useful on the drives there and back if nothing else. Belly Dancing and something called a Camel Dance movement are supposed to be particularly good for the pregnant body, although it does seem to be a lot better if you do them with your eyes closed and try not to have hysterics at the 30-something week pregnant ladies trying to do erotic dances. I will try and work on my attitude before the next class, honest miss.

During the last relaxation bit, she turns off all the lights and you lie down on your left side and relax all your body – a sort of meditative state. Loud snores drifted over from one side of the room as someone had become so relaxed they’d fallen asleep. Oh well, at least it wasn’t me being the disruptive influence this time.

At least I was nice and relaxed on the drive home… well, until the major roundabout coming into Worcester and I couldn’t work out which of the five lanes I was supposed to be in (*blushes with shame*) so I arrived home as tense as I’d left. I’ll revise my A-to-Z before the next class.

a star

Got my very first antenatal yoga class tonight. I know it’ll be good for me, logically I know that I’ll enjoy it when I get there…

But can I just stamp my foot and say I don’t wanna go?!

I feel like poo, all this blooming in second trimester malarky is a complete myth as far as I’m concerned, will look like a prat, don’t have any “proper” exercisey clothes to wear, have to drive somewhere new in the dark and I don’t really know where I’m going, meet new people, have to pretend to feel sociable and cheery and thrilled to be there… what if everyone else is super healthy blooming examples of impending motherhood?! Eh?! What then?!

I’ll just be that sad uncoordinated woman in the corner everyone feels sorry for…