Little Echoes

There she spoke her first word. Here she learned to talk. Very shortly after moving day, I returned home from work to the delighted chorus of "Mummy, Mummy!" Moth charging through the hall to greet me, and Ever following in his wake, giving voice to her new found word: "Mummy." 

Soon the little echoes became a regular occurrence. With two parents and a younger brother to imitate, Ever quickly rose to the challenge. Now that she had found her voice, she was determined to speak just as competently as those around her. 

Whenever I spoke, no matter how quietly, I was guaranteed to hear the words echo. Almost effortlessly single words merged with others and expanded into basic sentences and expressions. "I enjoyed today," she would say every night before bed.

Then came the day that she spoke of her own accord. I recognised the words and expressions as my own, but this time she was not merely repeating what she'd heard me say seconds beforehand. She had quite literally taken the words out of my mouth and was using them appropriately to say what she wanted. 

Now she subjects us to questions, and an endless running commentary of all that's going on around us, her observations and interpretations of what she can see. "What are you doing?" she asks me repeatedly, even though often she knows the answer already.

As someone who's sometimes afraid to speak up, I cannot help but marvel as I listen to my little echo, imitating no more but discovering her own voice, and not hesitating to use it.

Moving Moth

I know it was a lot to expect of my children, a move so far from all that was familiar, the place that to them was home. Ever found the transition relatively easy. Her view was more simplistic: for her, home did not so much concern the surroundings as it did the people in it, namely, Mummy, Daddy and brother. 

For Moth it was harder. Moth had begun to grow familiar with his surroundings. He was in a comfortable routine and had established relationships beyond our home. Moth was old enough to know what he was leaving behind. We tried to prepare him in advance, but it's hard to explain the unknown to a child with delayed speech. We tried, but he didn't understand. 

We had a long drive ahead following a day that involved a lot of hanging around while two strangers loaded our belongings into a removal van. I don't remember the children being difficult though, despite the change that hung forbodingly in the air with the potential to infect their behaviour and wreak further havoc on the day. In fact, they seemed to welcome the adventure, the lack of routine, and the novelty of their grandfather and uncle's presence to help oversee our preparations for departure. We visited the little park around the corner a couple of times, but mostly watched the comings and goings of the removal men, the furniture gradually diminishing around us.

It was a relief to finally close the door, leave the spare key for the new owner, and get into the car, adrenaline pulsing through us and temporarily postponing the sheer exhaustion of the last few days. Moth and Ever were happy to sit in their car seats and watch Charlie and Lola and Stuart Little, on the DVD player, while we put miles between us and our first family home.

Moth's cries on our arrival, just before midnight, pained me. We had turned the DVD player off at his request an hour or two before, and he went to sleep, blissfully unaware that his world was about to change. He stirred as we were unloading the essentials from our car, his howls drawing attention from the open window of the flat opposite. I carried him into the house and he seemed to resist. "Back to car! Back to car!" he repeated over and over again, until, too tired to protest any more, he let me settle him to sleep in his new bedroom. 

Everything was different the next day. Moth and Ever were refreshed after a good night's sleep. I'm afraid the same can not be said for myself after an uncomfortable night on a damp mattress with no coverlet, and then the arrival of a small army of removal men at dawn. The adrenaline rush from the day before was ebbing, but my two small children were unrelenting, so I pushed onwards. 

Moth and I ventured to the local shop, a two minute walk away, and we restocked our fridge and freezer. His face lit up when he saw the community garden opposite, a place that would soon become a favourite haunt of his. After lunch we walked to the big park, just half a mile down the road and as beautiful as I remembered from our first visit nearly a year before, when we went to view the house that was now ours. We played and explored for the rest of the afternoon. 

While Moth's behaviour proved to be a challenge over the next few weeks, he didn't express any further distress towards the move, but seemed to settle in his own way, and by the time he joined the nursery class at the local primary school, a few weeks later, he was familiar with his surroundings and comfortable with his new routine. 

What he will remember of our former home is uncertain. When we returned to visit family two months later, he did not show any recognition, especially when we attended our old church which had been a big part of our weekly routine. Now he seems completely at ease with life as it is, and we have received more support than we could have hoped for from his school who recognise his need for additional help. 

Moving Moth was never going to be easy, but I believe it was a move that came at the right time, and I am confident this place has so much more to offer him and Ever than the town they were born in. For the last eighteen months I have watched them flourish and grow into themselves and I am so incredibly proud of them.

Three Decades

A weekend of celebration lies ahead as I reach another milestone in my life; Saturday being the last day of my twenties and Sunday the first in my thirties.

It's looking to be a quiet start to my fourth decade, our plans to go for a drive in the mountains tomorrow put on hold due to the heavy rain and strong winds forecast with the arrival of Storm Eric. I think everyone with a February birthday should be entitled to a second birthday in the summer months. 

But I know my birthday will be special in its own way. Tomorrow we will make a cake and let the children help. Then, on the day itself, the weather is supposed to clear up so we may have an hour or two to spend at one of the local country parks, between church and the arrival of my parents later in the day. 

Whenever my birthday comes round each year I can only ever feel gratitude for the time I've had so far. I've never been one for turning twenty-one repeatedly. Three decades seems quite a long time to have walked the earth. 

This last decade has been especially sweet. I graduated from university with a first class degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. I have uprooted twice, moving a few hundred miles at a time and across the border into another country on the second occasion. I bought my first car, and several more  subsequently. I bought a house, sold it, bought another, better house. It's fair to say I didn't do most of these things on my own. I got married to my first and only love. Together we have contributed to the human race, with the arrival of Moth and Ever. My twenties have been nothing short of personal achievement. 

I regret that this isn't the decade that I've succeeded in becoming a published author but it's always good to have something to carry across to the bucket list for my thirties, along with setting up a home business in candle-making. And I continue to write and have ideas and so I hope these will turn into a book someday.

I intend to keep my expectations low for the decade ahead, although I can only wish that my thirties will be just as good as my twenties have been. 

A Long Year

2018 started dismally for me. Normally I begin the New Year feeling positive and energised, but this time I set myself quite ambitious targets that quickly unravelled. I had high hopes to finish writing my book, and realised early into the year that finding the time, inspiration and energy was never going to happen, while simultaneously raising a family and trying to bring some order to our project house. At the end of March I broke with the project I had been working on for five years, and apart from dabbling with a couple of new ideas have written very little all year.

 

2018 began with a long winter, although the first days of spring came early in February, giving us false hope. The weather wasn't set to change until several weeks later. At the beginning of March we made a sizeable snowman, though one day at the end of the month, the children ate their dinner outside in their coats. 

Once we were into April the winter was quickly forgotten, and our spirits thawed. In June we spent a week exploring the Isle of Bute, and could easily have left our coats and jumpers at home for we had no need of them. Having long dreamed of visiting the Scottish islands it was a delight to take in the first and truly begin our adventure. 

The soaring temperatures seemed to affect the wildlife. We saw notices on Facebook about what to do in the event of spotting a hedgehog in broad daylight and never thought we would have the need to aid one of the prickly species, until late afternoon, one day in early July when Sewel spotted a young hedgehog wandering in our garden. We gave it water and brought it inside, keeping it warm as we had been advised, until it could be collected by the SSPCA. 

We got away for a few weeks at the end of July, and into August, taking our annual tour down South to visit Sewel's family in the East, and then my family in the South-West. We returned for the start of the school term, and Moth returned to nursery for his pre-school year. Watching my little two grow throughout the year is always a highlight. The Autumn was quiet, our stream of visitors in the spring, followed by our travels in the summer, now over. We concentrated our energies on household projects and finally completed our living room in time for Christmas. 

Although I haven't updated my blogs much I started writing in my diary again after a long absence, and I've found a great joy in capturing day to day moments forever in words. And being involved with a monthly book group has meant I've read plenty: 46 books in total, which for me is an achievement, at least when compared with recent years. I believe my break from my writing project was long overdue, but I hope it is something I will fall back into in the coming year, along with candle-making, blogging, and reading, which goes without saying!

Bute Medley

It's been a long-held dream of mine to visit the Scottish islands, as many of them as I can fit into my lifetime. Our move to Scotland last year has made this ambition more of a possibility. In June we began our adventure with a visit to Bute, a small island with a population a similar size to the village where we live. It also seems to be a lesser known islands, dwarfed by the popularity of Skye and other islands that seem to be overrun by tourists in the summer. Our week was a quiet one towards the end of the school term and still a long way off the height of the tourist season.

It was just an hour's drive to Wemyss Bay and a thirty minute ferry crossing to Rothesay. Our holiday let for the week was on the seafront, where we could look across to the mainland and watch the ferry coming and going all day long, and a distant lighthouse flashing at nightfall.

It was a place where everything seemed very close to hand. We could drive around the island at a leisurely pace in just a couple of hours, which is something we did towards the end of our stay. We spent the early days skimming stones, paddling in the warm sea and digging in the sand, breathing in the calming sea air and absorbing the ambience of this small but idyllic place.

We visited Rothesay Castle, which at the time was overpopulated with nesting gulls and their young. We braved the battlements and thankfully weren't perceived to be a threat by the mothers, who can be notoriously defensive when they want to be. I should know, as I was once dive-bombed in my garden by a seagull who thought I presented a risk to her young, two storeys up on the roof!

I was completely struck by the shape of other islands in the distance, especially the dramatic and mountainous terrain of Arran, which though six miles away seemed incredibly close when seen from parts of Bute. Looking out to sea and seeing other islands rising in the distance, always filled me with the same sense of wonder and desire to explore these uncharted territories.

I think we chose the best week in the year for weather. It rained but once during our stay, soon after our arrival, and so lightly that we weren't even aware of it until afterwards when we noticed the ground was slightly wet. The sea was a beautiful azure in the sunshine and it was such a delight to take in the landscape from viewpoints, such as the one above Scalpsie Bay, which we visited on more than one occasion.

We also visited one of several lochs on the island, Loch Fad. It was a very quiet and peaceful place, almost completely deserted apart from a couple of horses, grazing in a field nearby. Even from here we could see the mountains of Arran rising in the distance beyond the loch.

One of Rothesay's top tourist attractions are the Victorian toilets on the seafront. We paid forty pence to take a look, and they certainly proved to be an interesting and novel diversion. 

We enjoyed our walks along the seafront at Rothesay, looking out across the water to the Kyles of Bute, and watching the ferry arrive. Moth was incredibly excitable during the ferry journey, and looked forward to the return journey so much that I feel this was his highlight of the week.

As our holiday drew to a close, we scoured the points where seal sightings were most common, but always in vain. It was only by chance that we spotted one on our last day, basking on a rock near Rothesay. 

 

The day of our departure arrived and we boarded the ferry again and watched as Bute shrank gradually into the distance. We drove a little way down the coast from Wemyss Bay, and stopped at Largs where we watched the ferry arriving from Great Cumbrae. We looked across to the island and Little Cumbrae beside it, and still we could see Bute a little way beyond.

We enjoyed our first Scottish island adventure. Bute certainly whet our appetite for further exploration of the Western isles. But on this occasion we were glad of the short drive home, aware also that the close proximity will allow us to return to Bute someday, even if only for a day trip.

Happy Place

Reading has become precious to me. Books are where I go to unwind, absorb, even disappear for a time. It doesn't matter where I am, but if I can steal a few minutes inside a paperback then I will. I always carry a book around on the off-chance, hence my preference for rucksacks over handbags.

The prospect of a new book group starting at church was like a gift. I glowed with excitement and had the first scheduled books ordered within a few days. But as we neared the first meeting I felt nervous. It had been almost eight years since I'd been involved in a group discussion about a book. And reading a book critically is something I have a degree in. The point of a book group is to have a discussion. My main concern was that I would come and find that I had nothing to say. 

The new year saw a slow start to my reading. I only read one book in January, but February was more prosperous, as were the months that followed. The book group gave me a new incentive to read whenever I could.

And I loved it. From the very first meeting I flourished, joining in as much as anyone else present. I am there at every meeting and was recently encouraged to write an article about the group for the church magazine. My happy place will always consist of the written word. And now, at last, I've found some people locally to share this with.

Message in a Bottle

Life has been busy, time sparing, and progress slow. But mysteries have gradually unfurled themselves from the unyielding walls, and a message in a bottle seemed as good a reason as any to post an update. This is the second discovery I've made behind the walls, the first a bookcase built into the chimney breast, concealed by a piece of plasterboard in what is to be Moth's bedroom. 

More recently we've been working on the living room, stripping the old plaster back to the scratch coat and brushing a bond coat across the surface in the hope that someone will then come and replaster the walls for us. When I had finished my tasks for the evening, I decided to pry back the panel of plasterboard, stuck to the left of the fireplace that has always looked grotesquely out of place. We felt sure there must be something in behind because whenever we tapped it, there came a distinctly hollow echo.

The plasterboard came away without protest, as though it knew it didn't really belong there, to reveal a decorative alcove. But the biggest surprise lay within the alcove: an empty bottle of non-alcoholic fizz, distinctly labelled: "Message in a bottle". My heart was beating with anticipation as I called Sewel through to share my find. Our suspense increased as we paused to photograph our excavation before investigating further. Finally, I slipped out the scroll of paper concealed within the bottle and read. 

We had in our hands, not a clue to hidden gold alas, but words of greeting and encouragement from the previous owner, perhaps an even greater treasure. I shared the details of my discovery on Facebook and piqued the excitement and intrigue of a great many friends, who were delighted to hear a real-life account of something we only tend to read about in storybooks. But for me it's a comfort to know that our predecessor will approve of our renovation work as we transform the house into our family home. And it's a wonder to think that we will become a part of the history of this building, and somehow leave our mark on the place.